#Garage Doors Company Sound Beach

[choccy-zefirka]

In the dark of night, the elevator screeches and groans its rusty way up from the garage and through the megabuilding's murky insides. Its endless grated shaft is filled with some sickly fumes, like a smoker's throat. But on the inside, its flimsy box is deceptively bright, all awash in the orange and pink of the giant monitor panel — here to distract people as they drag themselves down from their crammed apartments, towards a long day of whatever soul-shredding drudgery that earns their corporate overlords a few extra zeros on the dotted line, and then back up again.

The elevator's current passengers can very much distract themselves on their own, however. Their faces are a cloud of jittery pixels, obscured from any surveillance cameras by clever optic implants — but their bodies speak where wandering mouths and hungry eyes cannot. The man's back is pressed into the wall, legs wrapped around the woman's broad, muscular torso... Which almost appears pixelated as well, as she is covered in an elaborate pattern of abstract tattoos: huge patches of solid black, with slivers of pale skin spliced in between. Her jacket has flown wide open, with nothing underneath. Indecent exposure? To no-one but that unseeing, ever-smiling faces of TV hosts up in the screens. And, of course, the man she keeps pinned close — devouring him until the very Ding! of arrival. The elevator's, not theirs; they have a long way to go still.

They have to untangle their limbs then, and step out. A draft of air rushes over them, carrying the living breaths of all the souls that huddle trapped behind graffitied doors or sway in the distant corners, too deep in their own hazy little world to notice their good neighbor V stumble home topless and with company. This little breeze is far from pleasant — the one thing that never lets you forget you are in Night City, is the smell — but it has a bit of a sobering effect. Enough to let V form a coherent sentence or two, as she opens the door with a habitual fingertip press and invites her guest into the square of white light, almost blinding against the greenish darkness outside.

"Here you go. Bit nicer on the inside, yeah? Bathroom's over there if you need to wash up; Vik got me on the coil ages ago, but you might wanna grab a condom just in case. I oughta have a pack left, in the cabinet under the sink. Also got lube and all that gonk. All in there."

This is not the first time V has fired off this little intro speech to a very special nighttime visitor. Sometimes, it would be a no-strings-attached choom, here for a movie, a quick bang, maybe a couple of beers and a cig. More often than not, it would be a very obliging joy toy, in for a nice generous tip for work well done. And on very rare occasions, it would even be someone who might have become something different, something lasting, if shit hadn't kept happening and happening and happening.

If you told V yesterday that she was going to repeat this old song and dance again very soon, she'd shrug and say, "Yeah, preem, love the sound of that." But if you added that the person she'd be giving a tour of her bathroom knicknacks to was going to be Goro fucking Takemura — hair undone, snowy-perfect shirt rumpled, traces of her black lipstick blending the line between his skin and his dormant cybernetics — both she and the rude little joyrider in her skull would heave in guffaws of disbelief.

And yet, shit keeps happening and happening and happening.

This city has a way of washing over you, tossing you ‘round like a horrible fathomless sea of toxic waste... Until it chisels you down to a tiny kernel of beach glass. Small and insignificant and lonely. He's been feeling it too, a disgraced cyber-ronin far from home. S'pose it's a good thing she can help him do something about it. For him, and for her. After all, teasing the old man has always been a reliable pick-me-up, a buoy deep in the toxic sea. And this is basically teasing taken to the extreme.

They've been ever-clashing, ever-bickering chooms-through-forced-circumstance so far; and some day in the future, her skull-jacker might get proven right, and they will end up enemies. But tonight, it's time for distraction.

"V, your belongings are horribly disorganized, I cannot find... What is this?"

Takemura straightens up beside her cabinet. There is a small hand towel thrown over his arm; and in his hands, he is holding up a long, elaborate harness—  with not one, not two, but three appendages attached to the front. Shaped very distinctly like tentacles.

V clears her throat and rests one hand on her hip as she leans into the bathroom’s doorway. Trying to look nonchalant.

Yeah. This is teasing taken to the extreme, all right.

"It's a gag gift from some gal chooms in the Mox. We were hanging out recently, before uh..."

Her breath catches, and not in the giddy-sweet way she would have liked it to, what with Talemura's eyes on her, dark and heavy and intent. In the split second that passes before she remembers to breathe again, it almost seems like there are splatters of red on her bathroom walls. Like back there. When Evelyn —

She blinks, and the tiles are clean again. She decides to slip back into the bathroom, cramped as it is with two people fumbling around, and wash her hands. Splash her face a little too. Her movements are idle, effortless, but her mind is scrambling to find the rhythm of casual conversation again — to leap on it like on a train that's speeding far away from her.

"Before some shit happened. The way it just keeps happening and happening and happening..."

She dries her hands off aggressively on Takemura’s towel, and the last memories of blood with them; then ducks into the cabinet, emerging with the lube he failed to find. And some wet wipes for good measure.

"So yeah,” she’s back in the doorway again, and back to acting so totally natural. “We were having drinks, and one thing after another, we began sharing stories of weird shit we stumbled into online. Not like, beyond-the-Blackwall scares or messed up snuff BDs, but harmless silly weirdness. So I ended up remembering how I was looking for... things, and somehow tumbled down an entire rabbit hole that led to hentai. As you do."

"As you do?"

Takemura follows her out of the bathroom, the tentacle set-up still in his hands, his eyebrows raised.

V snorts out a short laugh, and he smiles slightly to mirror her amusement. He is particularly beautiful when he does that, V thinks to herself, chewing instinctively on the piercing in her lip.

"Oh, I am sure you are too cultured for what makes us Western weebs get our jollies!"

"Hm."

They head for the nook where her bed is. She sits down, pants and jacket completely off, inviting. He presses his knee into the edge of the mattress and kisses her, while running his free hand along her neck and downwards. The motion is slow, and his lips linger on hers, as if he is mulling something over.

"Once in Tokyo, I went to an exhibition of nineteenth-century art that included shunga... erotic images. While it was not what I came there for, it was certainly... memorable."

"Tsk, Goro, what would your grandmother say!"

He huffs at her remark, not unamused — and then drops the harness into her hands.

"How does this work?"

She scoots over to make room for him, and runs her hands over the tentacles. Something pulses suddenly between her legs, and a sneaky glance at Takemura confirms that his own... interest has been going as steady as when they started kissing back in the car.

"I am not sure, I never actually tried it. I think you are supposed to interface with it, and then these little choombas will start moving... in time with your thoughts."

"I see. My implants are offline, so I am uncertain if I can use this on you..." he exhales softly, sliding his fingers under the hip strap of her panties and pulling them down, inch by sweetly excruciating inch. "To recreate the shunga... But you, on me — "

"That what you want?"

"Yes."

He says the word with that quiet laser focus intensity that first intrigued her when they started working together. The pulse thumps again, harder, and pressing her legs together does nothing to quiet it down.

So — gingerly, interrupting every motion to kiss him and grin at his rising moans of impatience — she gets down to preparations.

The harness rests heavy on her hips — no chafing so far; good. Somewhere, tiny ports click into place, and a tingly ripple courses through her, as data is shared between the toy and her body. This little gift is more high-tech that she thought; the girls really went all out for a simple "harhar tentacles" gag.

She is standing in front of the bed now, in all her nude, broad-shouldered glory. Some of her past hookups, especially those who'd spent too much time drooling over the chrome perfection of Lizzy Wizzy, were a bit put off when they peeled back her favorite biker leathers and saw the scars, and the muscles, and the full bush, and the stretch marks from awkward growth spurts back in her tiny-shithead, thinking-she-was-so-cool-cause-she-smoked-weed-once days. They’d hoped “her body would be nicer than her face”, also all tatted up to look like a skull mask, with a square jaw and broad lopsided nose (broken and reset way too many times); but instead, found her the same head to toe. Too rough around the edges, too mannish.

But Takemura, scowl as he might at the boorish ways of the Heywood thieves, never failed to drop a kernel of praise here and there, for a well-landed punch, a quick and deadly shot, a metal shutter rolled up bare-handed like it was tissue paper. And now, too, he gazes up at her, sprawled languidly on her mattress, like she is one of those works of erotic art back in a museum in his beloved Tokyo.

The warmth she feels at the thought, headier than a shot of the best tequila at the Coyote, resonates with the contraption over her crotch. The tentacles whirr to life, extending, unfurling, glistening with lube, their tips probing at the air, awaiting her mental command.

"Oh, this is fucking preem!" V exclaims through a laugh. The words are still hanging in the air, and her mind has already devised a plan. A quickhack to beat all quickhacks.

Now she is the one with her knee on the mattress, with Takemura right under her. The tentacles descend. One slides under his shirt — the parts of it that still cover him — and caresses the organic flesh, circling round his nipple, gliding down along the path of silver-dusted black hair, from his chest down his stomach. It’s more lean and trim than hers, but also crisscrossed by scars. Oh, she'd love to ask about them some day, if he is ever in that sincere, contemplative mood again, like he was during their stakeout on the roof.

He arches his back slightly, cursing in Japanese. His voice is so husky and slurred that V's translator does not pick up on it. But the sound of it adds to the drumming between her legs.

The second tentacle coils along his thigh, and V helps it get rid of his pants and part his legs. In all the fuss with the harness, he never did finish digging around for condoms, but at this point, she thinks they can go without them for a bit. She certainly relishes in watching his cock become fully erect, as perfect as the rest of him. Wonder if she can figure out a pose where she can both continue with the tentacles and get him off with her hand... Fuck, she'd love that.

The third tentacle teases around his buttocks, before finally slipping in, once V has made sure everything is comfortably stretched and lubed up.

Takemura writhes, his desperate huffs turning into long whines that she never thought him capable of... Perhaps he never thought himself capable of either.

The tentacle sinks deeper and deeper, while the other two continue trailing over the flushed, sweat-slick flesh.

"You are taking it really well. I love how great you're doing," V breathes out — and suddenly, Takemura grips the mattress like he would drown otherwise, and gasps for air.

As realization strikes V, the tentacles retract involuntarily. Takemura searches her face with bleary eyes, silently begging for the pleasure to return... But first, she hits him with a question.

"They don't praise you a lot at Arasaka, do they?"

He attempts to frown. To look serious. As if he is not naked and sweating and open for her to toy with.

"Do you... praise your gun... for not missing... the target?" he manages to croak.

V shakes her head, mentally commanding the tentacles to reach for him again.

"You are not a gun, though. You are a person. And fuck, you deserve to be told when you're good. Like right now. You are being so, so good."

Takemura grits his teeth, chest rising and falling.

"V, you wicked little — Gah!"

She has finally figured out the right angle to do... Pretty much everything. Two of the tentacles are wrapped around Takemura once more, and the third — the one that traced the contours of his shuddering, melting body — has bent back, sliding into V, playing with the inner folds, going further and further in, chasing that pounding heat to completion. All the while, she moves the ring of her fingers up and down his cock, in swift, tireless pumps, as if competing with her own toy over who makes him come first.

At the end of it all, she has a sneaking suspicion that the tentacle's won out. There is just more stimulation that way. Oh, the Mox sure delivered.

Takemura swears again; this time, the translator implant informs her loud and clear that he is screaming the Japanese equivalent of "Fuck!". He lurches under her, spilling all over her fingers... And shortly afterwards, the tentacle she stole for herself finishes its job as well.

She dissolves in her own release, a gleeful cry rising from the back of her throat, and collapses right into Takemura, panting, melding into one with him: a weird thrashing mess of bare legs and dripping black appendages.

"Oh, that was fun, wasn't it?" she nuzzles against him, basking in the warmth of the body — so real, so tangible, so soft and sated — that she thought for certain would remain forever at arm's length from her.

"I do not think I deserve this kind of pleasure," he says, quietly and bluntly. It is not self-flagellation; he fully believes every single word and states it as objective fact. "Not while I have a mission to follow. But..."

He kisses her on the temple, where a little vein still carries that elated pulse.

"It is you who has been good to me, V. Thank you."

"No, you," she grins. "You are so fucking good."

Takemura blushes, a rich, dark hue that clouds his face, his collarbones, and would have surely scorched his throat as well if any organic parts of it were still visible.

"Look at him," the by-now unusual solitude in V's head is disturbed yet again. "Of course the guard dog has a praise kink."

"Johnny..." V tries her best to silently channel her most convincing “Oh, you are in trouble now, young man” energy.

"All right, cool off! I am just worried for you, is all."

 In her mind, she watches the flickering digital apparition raise his hand and rub his temples.

"Look. Sex in itself is as simple as a Sixth Street muscle honcho, but when you mix it with something else, things become a million times more complicated. Have all the naked corpo rubbing you want; I’ll make sure to check out. Just... Don't forget to make the right choices."

"Thanks. But I think I'm managing this just fine. Least for now."

In the real world, Takemura seems to be voicing objections of his own.

"You cannot call me good that when I did not even properly pleasure you."

"Well, there is always next time."

Her thoughts are still halfway in Johnny-space, and when they catch up with what she's saying, she is as stunned as Takemura.

They... They can't have a next time! Next time, she might be holding a gun to his head! They are supposed to be just glass pebbles in the poisoned sea, knocked together by chance, just for one night of distraction...

"Next time? Quite unwise. Dangerous for us both. But... Compelling," Takemura murmurs.

"You have seen many sides of me that few others have, V. And I, of you."

He takes her hand and begins wiping it clean. He is very thorough, methodical with every finger; ridiculous as it sounds, it reminds V of cleaning a gun.

"We are two foxes that know each other's scent. We hunt together, lay together — our nature now draws us to find a hidden nest we could return to together."

"Foxes, tentacles, what kind of damn zoo is this," Johnny laments, before fizzling into silence again.

"I wish our circumstances allowed for more... respite like this. Like our conversations over horrible food — "

Now in the middle of cleaning himself up, Takemura cuts himself short, a flash of thought in his augmented eyes.

"V, that disgusting greasy cardboard you chewed on the roof..."

She cocks her head a little, almost wincing with whiplash at the shift from Takemura's favorite fox metaphors to... this.

"Pizza?"

He wrinkles his nose.

"I know of pizza. That is Italian cuisine. Time-honored street food. But it seems that this city spits out nothing but waste paper approximations, regardless of country. V — we can afford to linger, I think, so let me be truly good to you."

He gets up, puts his underwear back on and strides to V's computer. With far too much confidence for an old man who accidentally texts people his search queries.

"What are you doing?"

"I am going to look up what ingredients one requires to make a pizza," Takemura declares, confidence still unwavering. "And prepare one for you. As a gesture of appreciation."

V feels her eyes bulge a little. Can't say she ever got thanked for tentacle pegging and a handjob with food. Which is a bloody shame, come to think of it.

... Shit, Jackie would be so on board with the idea. He'd do something like this for Misty in a heartbeat. He'd —

"I think I'll go take a shower," she mumbles, pressing her hand to her stomach, as if that will close the leering emptiness that digs out her innards now and again, whenever something reminds her of Jackie. She talked to Misty about this, as they nestled together on the footsteps of the Esoterica. Another pair of sea glass pebbles, so very small.

"Grief is absence," she said, a quiet melody in her voice — and fuck, it sure as hell is.

…This is not even the kind of shower you are supposed to take after sex. V just stands there, useless as a mannequin, balled fists pressed into the wall, hot water cascading over her. Time stops passing in this little box of vapor — another metaphor Takemura used once, describing the city... All she knows is that when she finally breaks her trance, finds a full-body towel to wrap herself in, and plods out, wet feet loud against the floor, Takemura is still on her computer, browsing... Very much not pizza recipes.

Somehow — she can guess how; he’s the type of guy to accidentally set his telephone's interface to a language he does not speak — instead of finding and downloading a list of ingredients, or whatever it was he planned to do, he has stumbled his way into the folder with her drawings.

Yeah, big shock. The tall, tattooed, mohawk-sporting street kid has a cutesy little hobby.

She's been practicing on and off for years — that was how she had her first brush with hentai actually; clicked one link too many when scouring the net for digital art tutorials. She never could make anything on it, never could "monetize her skills", as the folks in Atlanta pushed her to — but hell, she ain't no corpo rat. She doesn't owe it to anyone to “monetize” her every breath. Sometimes she just sees light filter through a dirty window in a curious sort of way, and tries to jot down all the yellowish hues it creates. Just because it's neat.

And maybe Takemura, with his fancy corpo education and arsenal of poetic quotes, would have understood that. Something something the beauty of fleeting moments, haiku poetry something something. But of course — of fucking course! — he has scrolled down and stopped the cursor not at her reimaginings of the holographic trees in Kabuki as the real thing, soft petals trailing in the wind; not at the blocky, half-surrealist painting of her megabuilding's elevator shaft as the choked-up, lesion-covered throat of a coughing smoker... But at all the sketches she made of him.

They are mostly squiggles in flaky, textured digital pencil, done from memory and lacking any sort of detail except around his eyes and mouth. Oh, and a couple attempts at using a brush that was supposed to emulate the sumi-e technique (and probably infected her computer with at least three viruses when she tried to get it downloading). He might find those ones particularly insulting. What does an uncouth merc know of recreating fine art — especially art that doesn't involve any scandalous stuff like tentacles?

V holds her breath, clutching the towel awkwardly to her chest. In a silence that churns like spilled oil, she watches Takemura watching his own likenesses roll by on the screen. Heads half-turned in quiet contemplation; outlines of hands clasped round the ghost of a coffee cup; so many pairs of eyes, age lines lovingly rendered, gaze sometimes cutting as sword's age, and sometimes soft and slightly sad. The real man has his back turned back to her; she cannot read the expression in the eyes that ponder their digital twins... Until he swivels around in her computer chair. And then,s she cannot bear to look. She would rather be back in that fucking landfill.

"Oh no," Johnny whispers in her head. And there is not a hint of gloating in his voice. He sounds like he... understands? Did he ever have someone stumble across his music that was meant to be private, hidden, especially from the person that inspired it?

"V..." Takemura says slowly. "Is this how you see me?"

"Sometimes," squeezing the words out takes up all of her mental strength, and none is left for as much as a sideways glance at him.

"What you are not being a pain in my ass."

"It is as I thought. We have revealed more of one another than we should have, but..."

At long last, she raises her head. His look is soft; flattered — what was she even afraid of? She just wrecked his prostate, for fuck's sake!

"But we are in too deep now, eh choom?"

"I suppose we are..."

For a moment, he turns back to the monitor.

"You have a talent, V. I wish you had met people who could see it, the way I did. Perhaps — "

"Fuck. Hate where this is going," Johnny growls. V cannot say she is too ecstatic either.

"Yeah, no. Not selling out to a corp," she snaps, despite herself.

"I like you, Goro. You just felt how much — "

Also despite himself, he blushes.

"But that's where I won't be agreeing with you. It's like..."

With a heavy sigh, she sits down on the bed, next to the discarded harness.

"Do you ever think what happened to all those other kids who washed their clothes in the same toxic ooze? Do you ever think about your chooms, Goro?"

He drums his fingers on the edge of her desk, then balls them into a fist. But eventually, the flash of anger in his face gives way to a wistfulness that makes him look so much like the soft charcoal portrait that has unfurled, full-screen, behind him. His expression beckons V to stand up, and walk up to him, and tuck a strand of silky greying hair behind his ear. He clasps her wrist, but does not pull her hand away — holding on, not breaking eye contact.

"In another life, I would have followed in my father's footsteps. Maybe I would have risen up to open a restaurant of my own, and invited them all to eat there."

"Wouldn't that have been preem?" V murmurs, and kisses his temple like he did hers. Finding that tender little pulse.

"And that pizza would be preem too. Here, old man, let me teach you how to use the Internet."

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[worksinprogress1]

Alba took a last look in her compact mirror before ringing the doorbell to sister’s home. Everything seemed in place. Her son, Cyrus, was at her side, silent as usual. She knew that attempting to reconnect with her family would be Hell. She knew that they seemed to have ears all over Sinnoh and probably knew about the disaster her life had been the last while. But after so many years and so many missing invitations, she was willing to take any face time she could get.

The door was answered by her brother, who gave her a look of surprise and then wordlessly shuffled back to a woman Alba didn’t recognize. Alba noticed he was wearing a wedding band. He’d gotten married without telling her. Great.

“Go play,” Alba whispered to Cyrus, who dutifully left her side. She had to figure out where the booze was before she lost her mind. She managed to find it amongst twenty-some guests and helped herself to the white wine.

“So, how is everything going, Alba?” came her sister’s voice once she was on her third glass.

Alba lowered the glass, flashed her biggest, fakest smile and said, “Wonderful. Everything is perfect. Now that Cyrus is in school, I’ve got a lovely new job with a big tech company. And since we have the extra money now, my husband and I are going to Kalos together next year.”

Her sister arched an eyebrow. “With your husband? If things are going so well with him, why haven’t we ever met your husband? I heard that you were let go about the same time your little boy came into the picture. And that’s also when your husband tapped out, isn’t it?”

Alba took a deep breath and tried to think of an adequate answer. It wouldn’t help her case to say that things had gone downhill long before that and they definitely weren’t going to Kalos.

From behind them, they heard the muffled sound of a child crying.

“Is that yours? Because it definitely isn’t mine,” her sister said.

“I’ll go set things straight,” Alba grumbled.

Alba downed her glass and made her way to the room most of the kids had cloistered themselves into for the night.  There were over a dozen of them in the relatively small playroom, and yes, the one crying was hers. She marched over and took his hand, ignored the chorus of kids insisting that they’d done nothing wrong, and dragged Cyrus outside. Once they were in privacy, she slapped him across the face. “You realize you’re making me look bad, right?” she said. “The people in there think I’m a joke, and you’re a big part of why. You’re lucky I even gave birth to you. Now get it together, get in there, play with your cousins, and act like a normal fucking kid for once.”

The little boy wiped away his tears. No sooner than his eyes were dry did she pull him by the arm back into the family gathering. It was too loud in there. Too many moving parts to keep track of, and too many ways he could mess up being a normal fucking kid. He snuck into a bedroom and closed the door.

Calm. Quiet. Better. He found an empty journal and thought he might as well write in it to pass the time.

My mom’s family is having a reunion today. She was very mad at me for crying and not playing with my cousins. I wonder why everyone else can just handle being around so much noise and people.

Cyrus paused and tried to figure out why that was, but he had no idea, and it was upsetting to think about. If he got upset, his mom would be mad. He focused back on writing.

Sometimes, when I’m sad, I like to think of my favourite place in the world. It’s a beautiful meadow where no one can see me. You can only get to it by a rocky path between the cliff face and the ocean off of Sunyshore beach. There’s an abandoned garage there, and that’s where my best friend lives. He prefers to stay away from others, but that’s alright. I don’t want anyone to hurt him or take him away from me, and this way I have a place that’s just my own.

---

Cyrus opened the door to the abandoned garage and threw his mom’s toolkit onto the workbench. School was out, his mom was out of town, and he had the whole day to himself. He turned to Rotom, who had followed him in after it had seen him storming through.

“Hey. Do you want something new to possess?“ Cyrus asked the little ghost. It buzzed excitedly.

“Great. Because I wanna figure out how those special motors work!”

With that, Cyrus took to the lawnmower, flipped it over so the motor was exposed, and took to unscrewing the motor. Unfortunately, he had to take the motor apart to understand it. He’d taken things apart and put them back together before, but he still wasn’t going to take the risk of depriving Rotom of its mower without also taking every precaution. After all, it was unlikely that anyone else would know how to repair it.

“Camera.”

Rotom tossed Cyrus his camera, and Cyrus took several pictures of the motor’s outside, capturing every angle.

“Screwdriver.”

Rotom tossed the tool, and Cyrus set to work dismantling the motor. He had Rotom take pictures with each stage of dismantling, and once it was reduced to parts, he followed the steps in reverse, putting it back together stage by stage. Once it was almost complete again, a question occurred to him.

“Do you think you can possess this now?” Cyrus asked. “It couldn’t function as a motor like this.”

Rotom approached the device with curiousity. It disappeared into it, and the device turned orange and gained the creature’s smile and blue eyes on its side. It shuffled towards him. It was probably the only motion such a crude form allowed him.

“Fascinating. This device... It can work as a motor, but it doesn’t have to. It’s more like a vessel for containing a soul. Which means that you can possess anything I attach one too, whether it actually uses a motor or not.” Cyrus paused to think over the implications of that. “So! What do you want to possess?”

The rotom left its vessel and jolted over to the chainsaw hanging in the corner.

Cyrus laughed. “You got it!”

It took hours to find the parts around the garage to replicate the motor, but Rotom was happy to help and Cyrus found it relaxing. Machines were amazingly simple. They acted predictably, they didn’t hurt others or judge them for stupid reasons, they didn’t get hurt easily, and if they didn’t work the way you want, you could just fix them. 

“I wish I could be fixed this easily,” Cyrus mused as he replaced the chainsaw’s motor with the new one he’d crafted. It was rather crude-looking, but it looked like it would stay together. “If I were a machine, maybe my mom could turn me into what she wants me to be. But even if she chose to throw me away instead, I wouldn’t care, then. Anyone could treat me however they wanted and it wouldn’t matter at all. It would be nice.”

Cyrus could hear the buzz of his rotom behind him. He supposed he shouldn’t say such depressing things, especially to someone who couldn’t talk to him or even touch him.

Suddenly, the chainsaw turned orange in his arms and lifted out of them. The device turned so Cyrus could see its face, and then it winked at him and revved up.

“Oh my God! It worked!” 

With that, Rotom was off. Cyrus ran after it into the woods. He wasn’t sure what it was off to do, but they would surely have a great time together. They always did.

Years passed, and they remained friends.

---

The end of day bell rang, but Cyrus stayed seated. He pulled out a book to pretend to read. He was far too anxious to actually focus on it.

His mother had wanted to pick him up that day. That probably meant he was in trouble. But for what? His grades had been impeccable lately, and his violin classes had been fine. He couldn’t recall any social behaviour that could have gotten back to her, either. He’d gotten staying out of trouble down to a science. He knew which kids were willing to let him sit near them at recess, and that he could get away with keeping to himself two days a week, both for his own preferences and because there were hazards to social behaviour. Bullying and exclusion would get back to his mother as surely as staying alone by choice. He even knew to alternate days to not make his little schedule obvious.

Some time later his mother showed up and took him outside, where a staraptor was waiting for them.

“Where are we going?” Cyrus asked.

“You’ll see,” she said. Thankfully, she didn’t sound angry.

The trip by staraptor took around forty minutes and stopped in front of a big stone building.

“This is Hearthome Boarding School,” Cyrus’ mother explained, stroking its stone wall. “I went here. So do most people in my family, once they’re old enough. Let me show you around.”

It was a long tour, with plenty of happy stories from Cyrus’ mother about the times she’d had there. It seemed like she was struggling to keep herself together at times, and Cyrus did his best to comfort her so she wouldn’t drink that night. Nonetheless, it seemed like a nice place. Everything about it was so polished and big compared to his elementary school. Teenagers in uniforms were participating in various after-school clubs. Others hung around the halls or in the well-stocked library with little to no supervision. They all seemed so calm and civilized.

When the two finally left the building, Cyrus mother broke down in tears.

“Don’t fuck up like I did, Cyrus. I gave up my family’s support so I could marry some soldier boy, and what did it get me? A sham of a marriage, two girls that barely contact me anymore, an affair partner that ditched me the second you were conceived, and, well, you.” She gave him a disdainful look. “Your personality won’t make you any friends no matter where you go, but if you get into this school, it’ll look like you’ll be useful and that I’m raising you right, and my family will accept us again. They’ll have a place for us in the business empire, and our lives will finally make sense.”

Cyrus nodded in response and kept a neutral face. Nothing could appeal to him less than the controlling approval of people he barely knew, but Hearthome Boarding School did seem like a good place for him.

“The school is grades eight to twelve, so you can start next year,” Cyrus’ mother continued. “The entrance exam is in a month. Unfortunately, we won’t have my family’s connections, so you’ll need a ninety to get in. From there, we’ll get you on an academic path to become whatever the family decides they need you to be.”

Cyrus nodded again. That sounded doable.

Unfortunately, there was too much studying and practice to be done that night for Cyrus to visit Rotom. The next day, though, Cyrus snuck off to the abandoned garage right after school and stuck his pokétch into the motor attachment he’d made. Seeing this, and his friend’s obvious excitement, Rotom rushed into the device.

Well, don’t you seem happy today, bzzt! Came the text on the pokétch.

Cyrus took the device and sat on the floor with it. “Yeah! Yesterday, mom showed me this boarding school in Hearthome. It’s nice. It has tons of cool specialty classes, I wouldn’t have to see my parents except for on weekends, and there’s like, no supervision there. And they’ll let us bring a Pokémon, so we could go there together.”

Bzzt, that’s great for you! Rotom’s smile flipped into a frown. But how many people are there, bzzt? Will they want to turn me into an experiment?

“Well... a lot, but they wouldn’t, I don’t think. And I wouldn’t let anyone take you.” Cyrus paused, waiting for Rotom to respond. It didn’t. “You’ll have a few months to decide. You don’t have to come. We’ll still be friends, even if I can’t see you as often anymore. And my mom said that if I get in, I’ll get to go on a Pokémon journey. You and me, three weeks, seeing the sights of Sinnoh together.”

Now we’re talking! Bzzt! I wanna see super contests, and the Snowpoint Temple, and meet all the ghosts in the Eterna forest!

Cyrus chuckled. “It’ll be a wonderful time.” He unzipped his backpack. “Maybe you could come to school with me with me tomorrow and practice being around people? I know that people are largely unpleasant and unpredictable, but always hiding here must be getting old for you.”

Bzzt. Maybe in another day. I have plans with the other ghosts in the forest tonight. Wanna join us?

“Sure. For a bit. I need to go home and study soon.”

---

Cyrus’ father was home from deployment. That meant his parents would fight, and that his mother would be drinking and taking out her hurt on whoever was nearest. He didn’t want to be around when that happened. He gathered his books along with enough money to buy dinner and snuck out the window.

When Cyrus got to the abandoned garage, Rotom was absent. That wasn’t surprising- Rotom had his own ghostly little friends to hang out with. It wasn’t terribly disappointing, either, since Cyrus had to study, anyway.

A few days passed with rotom being nowhere to be seen. This was a bit worrying. Rotom rarely left for this long, and never without telling Cyrus first. Six days into its disappearance, the worry became too great. Maybe Rotom had left for good, either intentionally or because someone else had come along and done something to it. Cyrus tried to push the thought away and concentrate, but he could barely read through a paragraph without drifting back to it. He tossed the book aside and got up. He needed to look for his friend.

A thorough look around the garage told Cyrus that nothing valuable had been moved or stolen. He counted the special motors and found that they were untouched as well, including the one tiny that he’d put onto his toy robot like a backpack.

That was especially disturbing. Rotom loved that form. It was the only one that allowed them to touch. The last time Rotom had left- years ago now- he had taken the robot with him. Had he been forced to leave somehow?

Or does he just no longer care for that form, or anything else I’ve made for him?

Cyrus gathered up the robot and a few motors in his backback. Years ago, he’d thrown them out in a fit of emotion after Rotom had gone missing, and when he changed his mind and went to search for them, Rotom had been waiting for him. Hopefully, the same would occur this time. He scattered the motors at the edge of the junkyard and hoped for the best.

The next day, Cyrus went to the junkyard. Nothing. The motors and robot were untouched. Cyrus checked it every day after that point, as well as looking for Rotom in the wooded areas surrounding the garage. It was a good thing that his dad was home to distract his mom, so he could manage his own studying. Truthfully, he was not doing a good job of that as the entry exam crept up. Aside from the time he spent searching for his friend, his mind was too full for him to concentrate even when he did crack open a book.

Did someone hurt him? he wondered, Can a ghost die?

Or...did he leave because he wanted to?

The older I get, the more we work on machines and the less we run around together. Did he not like that? Was I selfish? And I’m away to study more than I used to be, too. Maybe he was bored and wanted to find a younger companion.

Did I really mean so little to him that he would leave without a word like this?

Maybe he felt pressured to come to boarding school with me, and that was the last straw...

He seemed so excited to go on a journey with me...

The entrance exam came and went. Cyrus went through it in numb acceptance that he wouldn’t make the grade. Two days later he got the test results: a 79%. Scared to face his mother, he ended up going back to the abandoned garage. It no longer surprised him that Rotom wasn’t there. He sat down at the workbench to tinker and be alone with his thoughts.

Cyrus’ friendships were typically short-lived. He’d found a few different kids he’d gotten along with over the years, but in a few weeks or months they always found someone else, and then Cyrus was forgotten. The only person who’d kept a consistent liking for him was his paternal grandfather. Perhaps it was foolish to expect Rotom to be any different. Friendlessness would probably be a constant in his life. And now that he’d missed his chance to get into boarding school, nothing was likely to get better for him for years.

As Cyrus got up to retrieve a tool, he caught eye of an open history textbook he’d been studying from. On it were the dignified portraits and short descriptions of several Galaxy Team members, including his ancestor, Captain Cyllene.

A renowned warrior, Captain Cyllene served in the Hoennian wars as young as fourteen. Under her commanding officer Kamado, she served a vital role in defending their people from invaders. When the village was razed by a gyarados who had been attracted by the frequent conflicts, Kamado decided that his best course of action would be to move on to a nation less scarred by war. Cyllene was amongst the first to join him in settling Hisui and served as the Captain of the Galaxy Team’s Survey Corps. Her immediate willingness to leave home and create a peaceful land for Hoennian immigrants did not surprise Kamado. As he put it, “Cyllene has always been a master of putting her feelings aside and doing what has to be done.”

Cyrus put down the book, gathered his things, and started home. He had been named after Cyllene, and many had compared him to her for his seriousness, solitary nature and tendency to use big, formal words. He had her hair and eyes and was growing into her facial structure. If she could survive a warzone, he could survive his own problems.

It was dark by the time Cyrus got home. He rang the doorbell and his mother opened it.

“Where were you?” She demanded. “It’s late.”

Cyrus handed her the test results and watched her face twist in disapproval.

“Well, you’re definitely not going on a Pokémon journey now. And I’m never letting you manage your own studying again.”

“I don’t care.” Cyrus kept his face even, as Cyllene would have.

“Listen to me, Cyrus. No one will ever love you unless you make yourself useful.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, you should. Life without love is miserable. Go to your room. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

Cyrus obeyed her. He could hear her uncorking a wine bottle before he even got to his room. He was in for a long night. He didn’t care. He shut himself in his room, took out his journal, and began to write.

I realized quite some time ago that life would be easier if I were a machine. But recently I’ve realized that this does not apply only to me. If my mother were a machine, she would have no need for her family’s approval. If her family were rational, they wouldn’t have abandoned her for trivial reasons. If my father’s pride didn’t prevent him from caring about me, he would care how she treats me. And Rotom would have at least told me he was leaving for good if he hadn’t been so cowardly.

Further, if the government were run by machines, we would not suffer their greed, bigotry and corruption. Without anger, we would see less violent crime, and without lust, we’d see fewer broken families.

Everything would be easier if everyone acted according to logic. Alas, I only have control over myself.

I am named after Captain Cyllene and I will earn that name. I will no longer live in fear, nor care for anyone’s approval. I will get out of here as soon as possible, and I’ll be an engineer and make something that people will love. That will be worth far more than the fragile liking of irrational humans.

[doubleleoenergy]

V. Off to the Races, Lolita Series

My old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood-red jam. And he shows me, he knows me. Every inch of my tar-black soul.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of alcohol, mentions of relationship violence, rape, and murder, pet names, passionate sex,

Words: 4025 (I am SO sorry for this)

Summary: Andy takes y/n on a weekend getaway while Jacob and his friends are out of town.

Two weeks had dragged on since Andy had gotten a taste of y/n’s sweet nectar, and since then nothing. It wasn’t like they really had the chance to be alone, Jacob and the other boys weren’t going out late at night or on the weekends as they usually did. Andy had to settle for his hand every night, reminiscing on their oral escapades.

It didn’t help that Andy had been swamped with cases, court appearances, and tons of paperwork. He had spent every night of those two weeks at the office until his eyes physically couldn’t stare at the cases in front of him anymore. Andy even showed up on the weekend to fit in a little extra work, hoping it would help take care of some of the load but to no avail. He was completely and thoroughly exhausted, and he could tell that y/n was as well.

She had worked directly with him on a few late-night cases, the rest of the time being spent shadowing Neal fucking Loguidice. It was great for her internship to do so, getting new perspectives of different attorneys in the office, but it was not as good for his jealousy.

By Thursday evening the heavy load of cases and paperwork had seemed to disappear, and Andy was grateful for being able to leave the office at a decent hour. With y/n in tow, he ducked into his Audi, waiting for y/n to get comfortable in the passenger seat before roaring the vehicle to life.

“Is it just me, or have these past two weeks been exhausting?” He asked, glancing out of the corner of his eyes at y/n as he drove. Andy knew her answer before she even opened her mouth, a loud groan leaving her lips as she rested her head back against the seat.

“You’re telling me, if I have to hear Neal mention one more time about his new kickboxing class, I’m going to gouge my eyes out. He really fucking sucks.” Her words elicit a chuckle from Andy’s lips, a smile of pride seeping onto his face. It was good to know she didn’t have any interest in Neal.

“We should do something fun this weekend, just the two of us. Maybe you’ll let me finally take you on a date” He suggested, lulling his car to a stop at the next red light. Y/N raised an eyebrow in his direction, cocking her head to the side. “Andy, I already told you, I don’t do relationships.”

Andy rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat to look at her. “Yeah, you said that, but I’m in it for the long game, y/n. You have to admit there’s something between us.”

“Andy…” She sighs, watching the sun setting out the passenger window. Sure, there was definitely something between him. Was he different from all the other guys before that she had hooked up with? Yes, of course. First off, she had never been with a man his age, someone with a career, a house, and a car of his own. He even had a pension and a life insurance policy; she hadn’t hooked up with any men who had those.

The car is silent as they pull into the garage, Andy immediately shutting off the car and sitting back in his seat. Y/N looked down at her lap awkwardly, reaching for the door but Andy stopped her with a tug to her wrist, getting her to look up at him.

“You want to be an attorney, right?” The question has her furrowing her brows, looking at him as if he had said ‘You know the sky is blue, right?’

“Of course, you know that, but what does that have to do with-” Andy cuts her off by holding up his index finger, loosening his grip on her wrist. “Attorneys defend their cases in court to a judge or jury, who then ultimately decide the fate of their clients. Their job is to convince someone that their claim is right.” Andy rests one hand on the steering wheel, a smug smirk crossing his lips.

“Saturday morning we’ll leave for a weekend getaway, planned by yours truly. This will all be part of my case as to why we should be together, no more games, officially together. You as the judge will examine the weekend's evidence and conclude on whether we should be together. If you decide after the weekend that you don’t think so, I’ll leave it alone and we won’t have to discuss it ever again. But I’m hoping for it to change your mind.” Before she can protest, Andy holds his hand up. “And I’ll even get us a room with two beds, no funny business, promise. So...will you hear my case out?”

Y/N had to admit, she had never been chased by a guy so ferociously, but what was the harm in seeing the evidence and getting a free weekend vacation out of it? She stuck her hand out for him to shake, a professional gesture for their arrangement. “Alright, I will gladly hear your case out.”

Andy had arranged it all down to the last detail, including lying to Jacob and the boys about an important conference for work that they both had to attend that weekend. Of course, he didn’t suspect a thing, he went out of town for conferences all the time, and thus his plan was set.

When Saturday morning finally arrived, Andy was feeling great. He had gone for an early morning jog, took a long shower, and even trimmed his hair and beard. Andy dressed in a plain white t-shirt and dark denim jeans, packing his bag with his essentials for the evening before walking out into the kitchen. As usual, the boys were all still asleep, hungover from their late-night game of shot roulette, which left the house extremely quiet.

Andy couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face as he walked into the kitchen and saw y/n waiting at the counter, a familiar plate of breakfast and coffee next to her. “It’s a Saturday, you know that right? Thought breakfast was for workdays.” He stated, moving to sit at his usual spot beside her.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” She responded, taking a swig from her coffee mug. Andy’s eyes wandered along her body; her outfit of the day effortlessly beautiful. She wore a tight white bodysuit tucked into a pair of figure-hugging mint shorts; a pair of matching wedges slipped onto her dainty feet to complete the look.

“You’re right, it is.” Andy’s silverware moved to cut into his meal, chewing thoughtfully as he thought about the day ahead. “You’d think that by making me breakfast you were trying to plead your own case.” He teased, engulfing another bite of his food.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, moving to set her now empty coffee mug in the sink. “I’ve got nothing to plead, you on the other hand, do.” She waits with her back to the counter, playing on her phone until he finishes his meal, setting his plate in the sink behind her.

“Are you ready to go?” He questioned, grabbing his duffel bag off the floor. Y/N followed suit, grabbing her tiny black suitcase and following him out into the garage. Andy grabbed the suitcase from her, setting it with his own bag in the trunk before they both got into the car, backing slowly out of the driveway.

It was a beautiful day out, the sun was shining, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Y/N asks, crossing her legs.

“Would it matter? You’re not familiar with the state anyhow.” He retorted, pulling up the address on his GPS as they started on their journey.

“True, I just want to know what I’m getting into.” Her eyes locked on the GPS, noticing the destination was an hour away. “Rockport? What’s in Rockport?” She asked, raising a shapely brow in Andy’s direction.

“Well for starters, it’s along the ocean, which guarantees a good view. It also has great shopping, beaches, and restaurants. It’s a nice little getaway.” Andy turns on the radio as the car goes silent, y/n admiring the view as they drive.

The silence in the car was comfortable, both of them enjoying each other’s company, and before they knew it, they had arrived at their home for the weekend. They were staying at the Cove at Rockport, a beautiful inn right along the ocean. It was even more classy than the photos online, and Andy made quick working of getting them checked into their room.

Andy and y/n walked together down the long hallway to their room, room one on the first floor. Unlocking the door with the key provided, Andy pushed it open, allowing y/n to step in and take in their living arrangements.

The main room was huge, donning a cute little breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen, a living room, two separate bedrooms, and a bathroom. The decor was all beach themed, of course, shades of blues and beiges filling their sights.

“This definitely deserves a point towards your case.” Y/N admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. It was honestly the nicest place she’d ever stayed at, more luxurious than what she had expected. Walking further into the space, y/n pushed open the sliding door, the sound of waves hitting the shore bursting through her ears as she took in the view. It truly was gorgeous, much different from shitty life in Ohio.

“So, I did alright with my first piece of evidence?” He chortled, leaning back against the cool wall. Y/N continues to take in the view outside, a light breeze picking up and blowing her hair off her shoulders.

“I’d say so.” She shuts the sliding doors and walks back to investigate the sleeping spaces, setting her bags in the room with a large picture of a beach umbrella over the bed, the smaller of the two. “Well, what else do you have planned for your case? Because if this is it, I can come to a decision right away.”

Andy moved his own bag into the opposite room before walking into y/n’s and sitting down on the plush comforter. “I wanted to start the trip with a walk downtown, explore some of the shops before we get ready for our dinner reservations at six.”

Ah, he even sprung for reservations, what a smart man. “Sounds good, let’s explore.” Y/N got up from the bed, grabbing her purse before Andy followed her out, walking out of their room towards the lobby.

Downtown was only about a five-minute walk from the inn, an enjoyable stroll filled with laughter from a group of teens on the sidewalk, birds chirping in the trees, and the smell of fresh muffins wafting from the window of a bakery on the street. “Well, where should we look first?” He asked, turning to look at y/n for guidance on where she’d like to go.

They had spent about two full hours downtown, walking in and out of all the little shops, picking up a blueberry donut to share from one of the bakeries, and taking photos of each other along the Rockport streets. Most of the photos Andy took of y/n were very Instagram appropriate photos, staring down the camera and moving from angle to angle. On a few photos though, Andy would say something to make her laugh, snapping away at her genuine reaction.

Before long they were walking back into the room to get ready for their dinner reservations. Andy was pulling out all the stops, dressing up in one of his nicest black suits, a matching black tie situated atop a crisp white button down. He spritzed on some of his favorite Versace Eros cologne, adjusting the laces of his dress shoes before walking out into the living room. Andy had ordered a dozen red roses to be delivered to the suite, arriving shortly after he had finished getting ready, sitting on the couch with the flowers and waiting for y/n to walk out. God, he hoped this wasn’t too cheesy.

After about five minutes of waiting anxiously, the door to y/n’s room opened, noticing her delicate silver peep toe heels first. His eyes roamed up her toned and tanned legs, settling on her baby blue dress, off the shoulder with slightly puffy sleeves, a tie in the front revealing just a bit of cleavage. The ruffles on the hem swayed as she moved, her eyes taking in the sight of him as well with the flowers.

Suddenly Andy stood up, holding out the flowers to her. “You look incredible, Lolita.” There went the pet name again, though it was always so fitting for her. “Shall we go?” Y/N silently thanked him for the flowers, taking a whiff of their sweet aroma before setting them down on the counter near the door. She followed Andy to his car, waving him off when he tried to open her door for her. Her expression stayed on Andy the entire drive, inhaling his intoxicating cologne, licking her lips. Y/N had to admit, he always looked great in a suit.

The restaurant was only a ten-minute drive from the inn, a little classy seafood restaurant along the ocean coast. It was packed with people, a quartet playing Sinatra’s finest hits off in the far-right corner of the room. Some people were dancing, some were sitting along the bar against the left wall, while most were diners enjoying their meals at their table.

Y/N and Andy were led to a table near the back wall facing the ocean view. Andy started off by ordering a bottle of chardonnay for the table, taking in the sight of y/n lit up by the candlelight provided.

“This is beautiful, Andy.” She exclaimed, her eyes scanning the room and all the happy couples around them. Andy smiled before opening his menu, mulling over what to order. “I told you, I’m great at pleading my case. And as you know, I almost always win.” Y/N rolled her eyes, opening her own menu. “Key word, almost.”

After deciding on what to eat, Andy getting the seafood gnocchi and y/n ordering the lobster bisque, Andy poured them each a glass of wine, holding his up towards hers. “Cheers to an unforgettable night.” He exclaimed, clinking their glasses together before they each took a sip of their respective glasses.

As they wait for their food, Andy and y/n sit and talk more about their likes and dislikes, what they want in the future, and the day they had downtown. Their food arrives during the conversation and they continue to talk while they indulge in their meals, all the food just as incredible as the atmosphere.

About thirty minutes later Andy and y/n take in their last bites of food, sitting back and enjoying the liveliness around them. As they waited for their check to arrive, the sound of Sinatra’s hit ‘It Had to Be You’ started drifting from the quartet. Andy smiles, holding out his hand towards y/n as he stares down at her. “Dance with me?” He asks, taking in her surprised expression before she scoots herself out of her seat, grabbing his hand as he led her over to where the other couples were dancing. Andy places his hands on the small of her back, y/n wrapping her own around his neck as they sway to the tune.

“This is definitely not as good as dancing together at the club.” She joked, making Andy laugh. “Well, technically I wouldn’t call that dancing. More like...gyrating, or maybe dry humping? Definitely not the same.” Her smile brightened; his eyes locked on her as they moved. It was as if they were the only people there, like the whole world stopped to see them dance.

“For nobody else gave me a thrill. With all your faults, I love you still. It had to be you...Wonderful you...It had to be you…” The quartet crooned, the song ending and a few of the couples clapping in response. Andy’s eyes bore into y/n’s, licking his lips before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, holding it for a moment before y/n pulled away, clearing her throat and letting go of his neck.

“M’sure the bill is on the table.” She stated, walking back towards their chairs. Andy let out a huff of disappointment, following her over to the table and paying for their meal before they walked in silence back to their car.

The car ride felt riddled with tension, the tension continuing to build as they got back to the room. “We need to talk, y/n.” He admitted as the door of their suite shut behind them, crossing his arms against his broad chest. Y/N leaned her weight against the wall between their bedrooms, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Andy…” She started, becoming silent again and chewing on her bottom lip. Andy’s stance becomes more tense, taking a step closer to her. “I want you, y/n. And not because of how mind-blowingly attractive you are. You are intelligent, thoughtful, and selfless. You’re not stuck up or fussy about material items. You make me feel like I’m in my twenties again, you make me feel like I’ve never felt with another woman.”

He takes another step closer to her, hovering above her due to his height. She puts her hands on his chest to stop him from moving, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“I’m terrified of this, Andy. How do I know you won’t turn out just like my piece of shit father, huh?” She leans her body weight against the wall, peering up at him.

“Look, I know how you feel, alright?” He moves away from her again, his back turned towards her as his hand ruffles through his hair. “I know firsthand, my father...he’s also in prison. He went to prison when I was young for raping and murdering a 19-year old woman. I vowed to myself to never ever treat a woman without kindness and respect. Though my marriage with Laurie wasn’t perfect, I’m sure she’d say that I was nothing like my father, and nothing like yours for that matter.”

He turns back to look at her, arms outstretched. “I promise I will never hurt you; you can trust me. I’m all in, y/n. And I meant everything I said.”

She processes his story of his father, realizing they had a lot more in common than she once thought. Her heart is beating so fast she thought it might splatter in her chest, closing the distance between the two quickly. Her hand came up to grip his jaw, leaning up and kissing him lovingly. They continue to kiss, y/n parting her lips to allow Andy’s tongue to slip inside, exploring her mouth and causing her to moan. After a moment they both pull away breathless, her hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay...I’m all in too, with you.” Her words are all Andy had been wanting to hear, gripping her waist and kissing her lustfully this time, pushing them backwards until they both hit the wall again with a groan. His lips trailed a line of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone, shrugging off his suit jacket and making quick work at the buttons on his shirt, practically ripping the buttons off completely.

Y/N is tilting her head back against the wall, helping to push off his now open shirt to expose his God-like torso. This was her first time seeing his chest, running her cool fingers against his abs as he kissed back up her neck and into her mouth.

He plays with the fabric on sleeves of her dress, pushing them down so that she can fully shimmy out of the pale blue fabric. Her breasts are on full display, no bra to pull down, and Andy growled at the sight of them. They were just as perky as they had been while peeking through her outfits.

He nudged her body in the direction of his bed, hands making quick work of his belt and pulling down his trousers, kicking them into a pile as he walked into the bedroom after her in only his Calvin Klein briefs. Andy moved forward to kiss her again, knocking them both over onto the bed, a breathy laugh escaping her throat. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, my little Lolia.” He purred, his hands coming up between them to knead over her delectable breasts. Y/N cried out from the touch, grinding her hips up into Andy’s to evoke a similar noise from him. “Andy, need you…” She whined, her back arching off the bed, her panties rolling against his clearly clothed hard cock.

He slipped his hands lower, teasing his fingertips along her folds, already slick with her desire. “Need what, Lolita? Need you to tell me exactly what you want.” Her hands rub his cock through the thin fabric, a whine of impatience leaving her lips. 

“Need you inside me, Andy. Please, fuck my pussy.” Her words ignite an animalistic groan from his lips, pulling off her and scooting her up further onto the bed until her head touched the pillows. He quickly tugged off his boxers, stepping out of them before shimmying her out of her panties, tossing them aside.

His eyes grew dark as he took in her naked form in front of him, stroking his cock. She really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, and she was all his. Andy moved onto the bed, hovering over y/n with his cock dragging against her glistening folds. He was bigger than the guys she’d been with before, and the thought alone excited and terrified her. Her fingers land on the skin of his shoulder blades, pressing in lightly as she locks eyes with him.

“Andy, please.” She begs again. Andy keeps his eyes on hers as he pushes in slowly, giving her time to adjust as he moves inch by inch into her cunt. Her nails dig a bit deeper into his skin, mewling as he continues to press into her until he finally bottoms out, holding himself in place. 

“God, my little Lolita, you’re so fucking tight...you’re milking my cock and I haven’t even moved yet. Do you want me to move?” He leant down and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips, waiting for her mumbled ‘mhm’ against him before he rolled his hips into hers.

The pace started slowly, building up speed with every little noise y/n’s mouth made, coming undone underneath him with each thrust. They continued to share soft kisses, moaning into each other’s mouths, y/n’s hands locking around his neck.

“Andy.” She breathed, her walls tightening and releasing around him. “Wanna cum for you.”

Andy quickened his pace, kissing along her pulse point on her neck. “Cum for me, Lolita. Want to feel you cum on my cock.” It doesn’t take her long after his sentence before she’s tightening her walls again, crying out as her orgasm rips through her. Her eyesight is full of stars, and it takes a second for her to regain her vision, focusing on Andy’s face once she does.

“M’gonna cum in this pretty cunt, fill you up to the brim.” He states, thrusting a few more times before coating her walls with his release. He stills inside of her for a moment before pulling out slowly and plopping down with his back on the bed next to her.

They both lie in silence, staring up at the ceiling, panting. The sex was incredible, better than they both could’ve imagined. Andy’s arm wraps loosely around y/n’s shoulder, tugging her into his chest and pressing a loving kiss to her forehead.

“You’re mine now, it’s official.” He looked down at her with a lazy smile, watching as her fingers began to trail up and down his chest. “Guess you could say I won yet another case.”

“Shut up, Andy.”

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @my-divine-death @blackwiddows @sokovianheadtilt @fuckandfluff @rattlemyb0nes @rootcrop @turtoix @sylvielaufeydottirr @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @ccmarvelxx @rebelemilu @tenaciousperfectionunknown @agentofbarnes @serendipityrogers

[kickerofelves]

Deaner had been keeping the story of using Carlos Santana’s guitar and gear to himself for over a decade, yet finally felt it was time to share the incredible tale. Check out what the guitarist wrote:

I think enough time has passed where I can finally tell my favorite Ween story of all-time. The businesses and the people involved have long since closed their doors and moved on for good and hopefully the people involved (and Carlos himself, if it comes to that) will have a good sense of humor about this story.

In 2003 Ween released our album Quebec on Sanctuary Records. We worked on the album for two years in our beach house in Holgate, NJ, a rented house in the Pocono Mountains of PA, the garage behind Aaron’s house in Pt. Pleasant, PA, my upstairs guest room, and finally Andrew Weiss’s living room in NJ. We also worked at Water Music in Hoboken, NJ and Graphic Sound Studios in Ringoes, NJ. It was not a great period in our personal lives, Aaron was going through a divorce and I was partying way too hard myself — it was some dark shit. The record is one of my favorites, but it is a depressing album lyrically. It was not an easy record to make either, as evidenced by the amount of places we worked, trying to find the right environment. There are demos available online that I posted where you can hear the process at work, we racked up our normal batch of like 6 dozen songs or more before whittling it down to what was finally released, 15 tunes.

I am a huge fan of Carlos Santana. He is one of my favorite guitarists of all-time. He is playing better these days than ever before in my opinion. His music is more radio friendly, for sure, but as a guitarist he has aged like a fine wine. Only Neil Young, Prince, and a small handful of others can make that claim as they become members of the AARP.

We were working in Andrew’s living room on the song “Transdermal Celebration,” our drummer Claude Coleman had just gotten into a horrific car crash and left us without a drummer for the recording and ensuing tour. Eventually it worked itself out where the record took so long to complete that Claude made enough of a recovery to do the world tour with us supporting Quebec. In the meantime though, even though Claude had played on some of the demos, drumming on the album was left up to me, Josh Freese, and Sim Cain.

“Transdermal Celebration” had been recorded three times by this point, with a drum machine, with Claude playing drums, and the final take on the album which features Josh Freese. It was the eventual single from the album. So, we’re in the middle of this session and I get a phone call from my roadie (nameless) who also worked for a backline company (nameless) that supplied amps, drums, lights, etc. to bands touring in the Northeast. My roadie told me that Carlos Santana’s equipment (including his guitars) had arrived via a trucking company that night at their depot. Carlos was recording an appearance on “Good Morning America” the next morning and his equipment was to be delivered to the set in NYC in a few hours.

What needed to be done was immediately clear to me, I had an opportunity to play the solo on “Transdermal Celebration” through Carlos Santana’s amplifier and guitar. I had one shot at it, it meant taking a hard disk recorder to a storage space where all of Carlos’ stuff was sitting in transit. I arrived at 2 a.m. We (very carefully) unpacked his equipment and set up his stage gear and in one take I recorded the guitar solo for “Transdermal Celebration” (the one that appears on the album, playing through Carlos Santana’s guitar, pedalboard and amplifier. The whole thing took 10 minutes and we were terrified we were going to get caught. A lot of people would have lost their jobs. We got the fuck outta there really fast after that. So the solo on “Transdermal Celebration” was played through all of Santana’s shit in what resembled an early morning bank heist or something…

Of course a story like this requires visual proof, so here it is. Don’t tell anyone about these please.

-Dean Ween 6/14 [link]

[dubersbutt]

4 Times Leon Joined You and Connor

+ 1 Time He Stayed

Summary: How you, Leon and Connor became a thing

Warnings: smut (oral (female receiving, male receiving, penetrative sex), mlm sex (blowjobs)), sexuality crises (sexuality procrastination)

1) The “Accidents”

Leon gets your text message a second too late. The notification with your name and “DON'T OPEN MY SNAP” hanging above the picture of your scantily clad torso, matching royal purple set, the deep colour complimenting your tan skin. Leon is torn between wanting to be respectful and wanting to keep the picture open until he can get himself off. But, he’s a good dude so he does not do the latter. Instead, he closes the snap and texts you back

Leon: Whoops. I didn’t get your message until after I opened it

You: Ugh. I’m sorry, your name is right under Connor’s and my finger slipped.

Leon: Aren’t you supposed to be at school.

You: Stats are boring. I was trying to bother my boyfriend.

Leon: Pay attention in class, (Y/N).

You: 🙄

You: You can keep the picture btw. I know I look good

You: No face, no case

Leon doesn’t keep it but, his finger hovers over the replay button for far too long.

~~~

Leon’s furnace craps out on him halfway into the season, and Alberta winters without heaters isn’t very enjoyable so he temporarily moves in with Connor, the day of the charity gala. Leon has a good time for the most part. Except -

He can’t get that fucking picture out of his head. And your dress hugs you in all the right places and he really hopes that neither you or Connor notice that how often he looks over at you. Connor has to rub elbows with the rich donor more than Leon does, so he keeps you company in between rounds. The two of you keep yourselves entertained by comping up with potential conversations for the other people in the room.

“Leon wait,” you say, clutching his arm and Leon feels his heart skip a beat, “That girl is his daughter, not his sugar baby.”

“No,” Leon was convinced, they were sitting way too close if that were true, “How do you know?”

You point to an older lady that’s approaching the table. She leans down to give the man a quick kiss and Leon’s about to propose a potential mistress until he realizes the girl looks like a younger version of the older woman.

“Shit,” he says and you look at him with wide eyes, “We’re going to hell.”

“We totally deserve it too.”

An hour later, Leon is excusing himself from a conversation with Klefbom and an older lady. She hardly notices, her attention has been focused on Oscar the whole time. Oscar tries to get him to stay but Leon thinks her not-so-subtle flirtation is hilarious.

He laughs when he gets the “I’m gonna fucking kill you” text from Oscar on the way to the bathroom.

Leon: I don’t like being the third wheel

Leon: Make sure she’s not married, klef. You’d be a terrible mistress

Oscar: I would be the best mistress in the history of mistresses.

When Leon opens the door to the bathroom he’s met with the sound of moans. He supposes he should have shut the door right then and there but he opens it all the way without realizing. He’s met with the sight of Connor fucking you on the sink. Your nails are digging into his back as Connor fucks you. He’s frozen for a moment, can’t remember how to move his limbs until you meet his eyes. He’s fairly certain you smile at him but he’s also convinced he imagined it. He replays your moans and tiny whimpers in his head.

He’s not even surprised when he wakes up the next morning and the girl next to him looks a little like you when he squints.

~~~

A week later he’s coming home from a run, the weather had warmed up enough for a short 15 minute jog before he had to pack for the California road trip. He lets himself in through Connor’s garage door, taking off his snowy boots in the mudroom. He takes his earbuds out, pocketing them when he hears -

“I - fuck, don’t tease me.”

Not again.

Now, Leon is kind of annoyed. He texted Connor that he was on his way home, had given him ample time to move to his bedroom. And Leon has to pass the living room to get to the guest room.

“You’re such a brat,” he hears Connor say and the next thing that comes out of his mouth is a loud groan.

Leon has to start packing, they need to be at the airport in an hour. He tries to make his appearance quick and minimal but he meets Connor’s eyes. He mouths, sorry as he picks up the pace, but Connor doesn’t seem to mind. His face is flushed, and his chest is rising and falling quickly. Connor winks at him. Winks.

When he finally makes it to his room he slumps against the walk, leaving the door open a crack so he can hear Connor’s moans. He can’t help it anymore, he pulls the waistband of his pants down, gripping his dick. He has to bite down on his hand to keep his moans at bay. He cums in unison with Connor, using his moans to guide him to finish.

He stands there for a moment, hands sticky with cum listening to Connor praise you through the crack in the door.

~~~

Leon doesn’t make a habit of picking up men during the season. You can never know who's secretly a hockey fan wanting to sell Leon’s bisexuality to the tabloids. Hell, only like 4 people on the team knew. But Anaheim doesn’t have a huge hockey presence so he takes a chance. He gets out of team movie night under the guise of an upset stomach.

Instead, he Ubers to the nearest gay bar. The place is pretty packed when he gets there. He orders a drink and notices a floppy haired blond guy across from him. He’s a little too scrawny to pass as Connor, but Leon’s not asking for perfection. He asks the bartender to send over another of whatever he’s having before he makes his way over to him. Not-Connor’s name is Josh, and they hit off right away.

Soon, Leon’s pushing not-Connor up against the bathroom wall, grinding against him. Not-Connor gets down on his knees and sucks Leon off. It doesn’t take long until Leon’s shooting down his throat with a hand in his thick hair. He starts to get down so he can reciprocate, his jaw is gonna kill him tomorrow but he’s not an asshole, when not-Connor stops him.

“If you want, we can go to mine and you can fuck me,” he says, biting his lip.

Leon’s already forgotten his name, but he says yes anyway.

Not Connor is really fucking flexible, letting Leon hook his legs over his shoulders when he fucks him in missionary. They stop for a quick snack in the kitchen before Leon bends him over the counter and fucks him until tears form in the corner of his eyes.

Leon’s half an hour late for curfew, but no one says anything to him.

2) The Vacation

Don’t get him wrong, Leon is always honoured to be invited to All-Star weekend. However, if he had the choice of being interviewed for two days straight or sitting on a beach in california for a week, he probably wouldn’t put too much though into his decision.

But, he still had 4 days of vacation in Palm Springs with the team before he and Connor had to leave early. Connor had asked him if he wanted to split the cost of the penthouse suite, and because Leon’s room was on the other side of suite as yours and Connor’s room, he said yes.

They left for California as soon as their last game ended, leaving them too tired to party the first night, choosing to order room service instead. Leon gets a plate of honey garlic chicken wings, 12 of them to himself, spaghetti, and a slice of cheesecake because, fuck it, he’s on vacation.

When it arrives, he snatches the plate of wings before Connor could take one, he had a bad habit of saying he didn’t want stuff and then asking for a few bites. Normally, Leon doesn’t care but he’s been craving wings for weeks. Why did he choose the career with the strict diet regimen?

“You’re really not gonna share?” Connor asks, eyebrow raised.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ and sinking his teeth into his second one.

“You have 12!”

“No one was stopping you from ordering your own.”

Leon feels your eyes on him. He assumes it's because he’s foregone any and all manners. The sticky sauce on the wings coat his fingers, he can feel it in his beard but he does not care because they’re so good. He doesn’t care that he’s gone full barbarian-

“Leon do you want to have a threesome with us?” you ask and Leon chokes on a piece of chicken.

“What?” He nearly drops his wing, “Right now?”

Connor’s groans and runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, “This is not how we said we would ask him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t explain it,” you giggle and gesture at how he’s hunched over his wings, “but this is doing it for me?”

“Really?” Leon asks incredulously and Connor looks at you in disbelief.

“I wish I could say it didn’t.”

Leon squints at you and Connor, “You’re serious about this?”

“Yeah,” You both respond.

“We’ve been discussing adding a third,” Connor asks, “We were going to ask when you weren’t beasting a plate of wings - I admire your ability to eat during a conversation, by the way - but someone can’t keep it in their pants.”

You shrug, taking a bite from your burger.

Leon contemplates it, eating his 8th wing in the meantime.

“Sure,” he says, starting his 9th, “But not tonight. I don’t feel sexy after I eat spaghetti.”

You laugh, “Leon, if you had to choose between only sex or only food which would it be?”

“Food,” he says with no hesitation, or regrets.

~~~

The next day Leon spends baking in the sun. Everybody had decided to spend the day in the attached private pool in the suit. He chirps Connor when his skin starts to burn about an hour into the day and pokes at his red shoulder when he joins Connor under the umbrella.

By the end of the day Leon is pleasantly tipsy, saying goodbye to the team as he lounges on the couch. When the door shuts, you settle yourself in his lap. Your skin is warm from the heat.

Your sheer white swimsuit coverup has been driving Leon insane for the past two hours the team has been in the suite. Although, seeing you in your bikini, watching the water glint off your tan skin as Connor splashed you with the water, was far worse.

“Hi,” you hum, leaning in, “You still down for this?”

“Of course.”

You kiss him, letting out a groan as you do so. Leon rests his hands on your thighs, and when you don’t rebuke him he slides them up, dragging your cover up with him. His fingers toy with the band of your suit bottoms. He pulls away from your mouth, instead kissing along your jaw, scraping his beard against your skin gently. Normally, he wouldn’t be so bold, but, when you first started dating Connor, he told Leon that he started to grow his beard out because you enjoyed the scratch on your skin. He pays attention to the places that draw tiny gasps or moans from you, noting them for later.

“I should have known that the two most impatient people in my life wouldn’t wait for me,” Connor says, holding your jaw to kiss you. Leon doesn’t miss the way your body goes limp against him when Connor’s fingers tighten ever so slightly.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a sub,” Leon hums, pulling your cover up all the way over your head. “She’s not,” Connor interjects, helping Leon with his task, “She’s a brat, but she’s pretty.”

“You’re mean,” you respond, “Should we move to the bedroom?”

Connor pulls you up, off his lap. Leon thinks that he’s just going to lead you, but Connor picks you up. You pull him closer with your legs, grunting as Connor settles you and starts walking to the master bedroom. Leon has to stop himself running after you.

Leon takes two minutes to get there, stopping for a quick glass of water. Two minutes is all it takes for Connor to fuck you from behing. Leon takes a minute, scanning his eyes over the two of you. Connor looks over and winks at him and Leon gets that same pang in his heart again. He stops, and you let out a whine in protest, pushing your hips back against him.

“Take her mouth,” Connor says, nodding towards the empty spot on the bed.

“For the record, I’m not thrilled that you’re bossing me around,” he says but obliges, pulling his swim shorts off on the way there.

He gives himself a few pumps before you reach over and take over, “You can put your hand in my hair,” you say, before you wrap your lips around the tip.

Connor’s hand slides along your spine, lightly dragging his nails as you start to bob your head, taking Leon deeper each time.

“Should we link arms in true Eiffel Towel fashion?”

~~~

Leon thought it was going to be a one-time thing, but the next morning he wakes up with your throat on his dick, and he can hear the shower running. By the time Connor’s back in the room, you’re cuming on Leon’s cock as he spills into the condom.

“You asshats,” Connor says, water dripping down abs, “I leave for five minutes.”

“You take the longest showers known to man, Con,” you tease, accepting his kiss.

That day the team planned on going to go sightseeing, but Leon makes the excuse of finding a girl at the hotel bar last night. Connor says that the two of you are going to take advantage of the empty penthouse. And you do. The next day, during the team hike, the three of you lag behind the rest, too exhausted to keep up.

~~~

Leon thinks that when they land in San Jose for the All Star game, that it’s the end, and he’s almost sad about it. But at the end, Connor and him get the same snap. You lifting up your McDavid jersey to reveal a lacey, navy blue bodysuit. The V dips tantalizingly low, Leon wants to lick the exposed skin and feel your body squirm against his as he teases you. He and Connor change faster than Leon thought was possible, and soon he’s upstairs in yours and Connors room. Connor fucks you first, not giving you quite enough to cum as he finishes, filling you. As Leon’s rolling on the condom, Connor’s whispering in his ear - don’t let her cum.

So Leon fucks you  slowly. Holding both of your hands in one of his palms, he takes his time. His thrusts are rhythmic, as he grinds into you, watching your face contort. He rubs your clit, feeling the way you clench around him. He pushes you to the edge and waits  before pulling out entirely. He rests his dick on your stomach, pulling off the condom as he cums on your stomach.

3) The Dinner

Connor gets sick from the WEM signing in February. (Whoever decided to have the Oiler’s star player do a fan signing with a thousand people in the middle of flu season needs to be fired but that’s besides the point.) Because of this, he can’t go to the Nuge’s team bonding dinner but he insists that you still come, the other girls would miss you.

So you go, and you press up against Leon every once in a while during drinks. At dinner, you sit next to him, keeping a hand on his thigh at all times. Your hand moves onto his inseam as you spoon risotto into your mouth. While Nuge and Bre are handing out deserts, you lead him down a hallway.

“Hold on...aha!” you push open a door, leading to a guest room. The bed is made, and there’s a picture of Nuge’s dog on the bedside table. You turn the picture down, “I don’t want Sophie to see what we’re about to do.”

“(Y/N), What about Connor?” he asks. Leon has spent the night with you and Connor multiple times since coming home, and he’s fucked you many times but Connor’s always been there.

“Connor doesn’t care,” you say, pushing him down on the bed, “He said it was fine. We can FaceTime him if you want.”

Leon doesn’t think you’re lying, but he does enjoy watching Connor bite his lip as he watches Leon fuck you from behind. He’s got a terrible angle, can’t really see much but just the sounds of you and Leon make him groan into the phone. You end the cal with a quick “I love you.”

“You coming over tonight?” you ask when you and Leon finished getting dressed.

“Obviously.”

Everyone’s tipsy enough that they hadn’t noticed the two of you were gone.

When Leon comes over that night it’s the first time he gets his hands in Connor. He’s just finished fucking you - he’d quickly become the one to call the shots when he was around - and Connor was watching him pound into uou with wide eyes, fists clenched at his side like he was told.

Leon had spent a number of nights with you and Connor by now, but he figured Connor wasn’t into men so he didn’t push it. But this time it was different, he didn’t know why, but it was.

Leon knee-walks over to him, planting his legs on either side of Connor’s thighs. He doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t know if that’s too much, but he slides his hand up the length of them.

Giving a handy for the first time is always a little bit awkward, Leon actually has to pay attention to what they do and do not like, but with Connor it’s easier. It’s still a little awkward, he accidentally squeezes Connor’s base a little too hard and he crumpled against him, but it’s significantly better.

(Later that week you’d have a conversation with Connor.

“You know I don’t mind if you wanna do stuff with Leo when you’re gone right?”

“What?”

“If you want to. You don’t have to but you seemed like you really enjoyed Leo’s hands the other day. Not that I blame you for that.”)

4) The Roadie

Leon isn’t expecting anyone to knock on his hotel door. He’s surprised when it’s Connor there. He’s antsy, cracking his knuckles.

“Hey,” he says, furrowing his brows at Connor’s uneasy demeanour, “everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Connor replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Do you wanna come in?”

“Wh-oh yeah sure,” he stutters like he didn’t realize that he was still outside.

Leon lets him in, and Connor walks to the chair on the other side of the room, but doesn’t sit. Leon eyes him as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“So I talked to (Y/N),”  Connor starts.

“And…” Leon prompts.

“She said that if we wanted to mess around together on roadies then that’s fine with her,” he takes a deep breath “andivebeenthinkingaboutitandiwannatrymaybebutivenever-”

“Woah woah woah,” Leon stops him, “You’re going to have to repeat that way slower.”

“I was thinking that, if you’re down, then maybe I would be willing to try it?” he trails off at the end.

“Connor?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Maybe,” Connor takes another deep breath, “I mean I’ve never done anything with a dude before, but I kinda liked it the other day. But like, only if you want to.”

“We can fool around on roadies,” picking up is so much work, Leon would love to have a steady side piece - even though he doesn't have a main piece, “Since when were you into dudes.”

Connor rubs a hand over his face, “Don’t start with me. I’ve been having an ongoing sexuality crisis for a while. I love women, (Y/N) especially, but we’re tabling this conversation for, like a year.”

“Just one thing,” he says, finally sitting down on the bed next to him, “I don’t want you to….fuck me just yet.”

Leon wants to laugh, Connor’s so straight that it hurts, “Gay sex isn’t like straight sex, there’s a process. And, I don’t want to brag, but if I were to fuck you, you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week and you’re kind of important to the team.”

“So...you’re a bottom,” Leon teases, poking him in the shoulder.

“I think so? Obviously I won’t really know until I try it but I see the appeal….what are you?”

Leon does laugh at that, “ I usually top but I don’t mind taking it every once in a while.”

Connor nods, which Leon finds adorable. The last time Leon dealt with any kind of virginity was when he was losing his own (both times), and he’s kind of excited.

Connor leans in, kissing Leon softly. Leon pushes against them, hand coming up to card through Connor’s hair. A few moments later, he pulls away.

“What’s the verdict?” Leon asks.

“Your beard feels weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird,” Leon didn’t have a 5 step beard oil routine for it to feel bad.

“Good weird.”

Leon hums in approval. Connor leans back in, and this time Leon pushes him down on the bed and Connor lets him. He lets Leon trail kisses down his neck, chest heaving off the bed once Leon gets that spot at his jawbone that drives him crazy.

“You good?” Leon asks as he lowers himself between Connor’s spread legs. Connor nods, “If you’re uncomfortable, tell me and we stop.”

He takes Connor’s dick out of his shorts, only mildly surprised when he realizes Connor’s not wearing any underwear. He licks his lips as he starts to jack him off. Connor lets out a breathy moan as Leon drops his hound to the base of his cock a with a gentle squeeze. Leon leans forward, sucking on the head gently as he watches Connor’s face turn red. Leon bobs his head down, taking more down his throat each time. Leon digs his fingers into Connor’s hips to keep them down.

“Easy, baby,” Leon murmurs, not realizing the nickname was on the tip of his tongue until it had slipped out, “It’s been a while, you’re gonna have to give me a second before you fuck my throat.”

“ ‘M sorry,” Connor says, panting.

“It’s okay, Con,” Leon responds, reaching for Connor’s  hand and placing it in his hair.

“Fuuck, Leo,” Connor grunts when Leon starts to suck on his head.

Leon finds a good rhythm, bobbing his head low and hollowing his lips as he comes up. Connor is groaning, Leon should probably tell him to keep his voice down given that they’re surrounded by the team but he doesn’t care.

Leon drops his dick, until the very tip of his cock, and sucks. Connor grunts, thrusting up into Leon’s hands before Leon starts to slide his hand up and down quickly, bringing Connor to the edge.

“Close,” he pants, “I-close, Leo, plea-”

Leon sinks his head down one more time before Connor hits the back of his throat. He sputters a little as Connor keeps spilling into his mouth. He feels a little bit dribble out, and when he finally pulls off, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How was that?” Leon asks, tucking Connor’s soft dick under the waistband of his shorts.

Connor has a hand thrown over his face, and his only answer is a groan. Leon can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I know my head game is strong.”

(Connor tries to give Leon a blowjob, but he gets a little too ambitious and chokes a few bobs in. Connor sputters and coughs, and Leon can’t help but chuckle as Connor grips his thighs, trying to catch his breath. He wants to try again but Leon stops him.

“You’ve done a lot today, you can try again later if you want to.”

“No, no I can do it.”

Leon explains that he doesn’t want Connor to bite his dick and Connor relaxes, giving him a hanjob instead. His pressure is a little light, so Leon wraps his hand around Connor’s and guides him until Leon finishes all over his stomach.

(Connor hesitantly runs a finger through the mess, before slowly raising his finger to his lips. He scrunches his nose in disgust. “Drink some pineapple juice, ugh.” and Leon laughs)

Connor leaves shortly after, and Leon definitely doesn’t replay the moment over and over again in his head.)

+ 1) The One Time he Stayed

When Leon pulls up into Connor’s driveway, he’s expecting the usual: play with Lenny, threesome, play with Lenny, dinner, play with Lenny, maybe round two, decide if he wants to drive home at 3 am (the answer is most likely no).

However, when he shows up Connor isn’t even home, which is not normal. Lenard throws himself at Leon when he walks through the door, knocking him down on the floor.

“One of these days he’s gonna be successful in his assination attempts,” you joke from your place on the couch.

“There are worse ways to die,” he says as he gets back on his feet, this time ready for Lenny’s high energy. Eventually Lenny decides Leon is not worth his time, padding off to his bed by the fireplace, so Leon sits by you on the couch.

“Watchya reading?” he asks, poking you in the side.

“My textbook detailing the different types and phases of psychosis,” you say,  capping your highlighter.

“Hm,” Leon grunts, “Uplifting.”

“Very,” you place the book on the coffee table, “So Connor was telling me about your hook up on the roadie.”

Leon’s heart stops, “Connor said it was okay and you seduced me at Nuge’s so I assumed-”

“Leon, relax” you cut him off with a chuckle, “I’m not mad.”

Leon lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“And I did not seduce you at Nuge’s.”

“You led me down a hallway I’ve never been in just to have sex with me in their guest bedroom,” he raises an eyebrow, “that’s the definition of seducing.”

You mutter something that Leon can’t decipher under his breath which he knows means that he’s won this argument.

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat, ““Connor was gonna be here, but he had an appointment and now he’s stuck on the Henday but he’ll be here soon. We were talking and we were thinking, only if you wanted to, that maybe you could join us...as a couple.”

Leon isn’t sure he understands your proposal.

“What?”

“Would you like to join me and Connor as a third?” you ask, “If you don’t want you can leave before Connor comes home and we’ll never bring it up again.”

~~~

Later that day, when Leon is falling asleep with Connor on one side of him using his chest as a pillow and you’re on his other side tucked against him, he’ll think about what a strange road it was to get here. Connor’s already asleep, listening to Leon’s heartbeat as his head rises and falls on with Leon’s breath.

“So was this always the plan?” Leon asks when he feels you tracing something on his skin.

“Hm?” you question.

“Was this all an elaborate ploy to get me to join you and Connor?” he clarifies, “Because if so, kudos because I never expected.”

“No,” Connor mumbles against Leon’s chest, turns out he wasn’t asleep, “We didn’t expect to ask you to join us more than once in California but you’re too damn cute.”

“I never thought we would because I didn’t think Davo was into dudes,” you say, “We get any closer to an answer on the sexuality thing, Con?”

“We’ll get there when we get there.”

[kate-likes-this]

Pedro for GQ Germany (09-10/20)

By Esma Annemon Dil • Photo by: Doug Inglish  Related: photoshoot / list of articles / Auf Deutch

It's almost eerie how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the bright sun. While Europe is groping its way into its “new normal”, here in LA even those who are not neurotic are still apprehensive. Many of them haven't met their friends for six months. The pandemic is out of control. The reactions to it, too. Inviting someone to the garden for a “distance drink” can lead to exactly the same amount of annoyance as suggesting a partner swap.

It was all the more surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. So for a drink, not to swap partners. He's one of the big climbers of the year - and if Corona hadn't put the film industry on compulsory leave, there probably wouldn't have been time for this drink. After “Game of Thrones”, the series in which his skull was suddenly crushed, the lead role in “Narcos” followed in 2015 as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the step into the big Hollywood cinema. From October 1st, the native Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". In addition, the second season of the “Star Wars” series “The Mandalorian” starts in October on Disney+ with him in the lead role - but under his helmet. And somehow we are all under a helmet in 2020. We want to meet this man who worked as a waiter in New York a few years ago, whose parents are political refugees who found asylum in Denmark, settled in Texas and whose son went to the theater company one day in high school.

Then the rejection! While we were just preparing the house and the garden for a drink with Pedro, and organizing the fashion shoot - which is not easy under the current security precautions in LA -, his management called us with an unfortunate news: Pedro had - no, no Corona - to be operated due to an accident, and now in bed with a swelling face that does not allow any conversation or photo-session. 

A few days later he was standing in front of the door, puffy, still with threads in his mouth, not been brought by a limo service, but in his own car - and a make-up artist he also picked up at home and brought with him. He helps her bringing in her work utensils - what a gentleman - and lets you know first: “Now I have time today!” At first we didn't want to ask him about how he made it onto Hollywood's A-List, but he promopts us. 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry that I messed up your plans. The operation was an absolute emergency.

GQ: Really? We wondered if the swelling wasn't the result of a secret visit to the cosmetic surgeon. They should currently not be able to save themselves from orders due to the quarantine in Hollywood.

I have to disappoint you there. I sped to the hospital a few days before our appointment with a tooth fracture and the worst pain of my life - one where the severe corona cases end up. I couldn't reach a dentist! A specialist called me back shortly before the parking garage. I'll spare you the details of the operation, truly scary. Anyway, the pain was hellish, despite the ten injections. The doctor said that I was not an isolated incident, as people grind their teeth extremely from stress at night.

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

How the government is dealing with the pandemic worries me even more than the virus itself. This lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in the country makes us all orphans - penniless left to our own devices.

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in a jogging suit in Venice Beach. I live in a back building that is in a family's garden. There are actually plenty of good take-out restaurants nearby, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket.

That doesn't exactly sound like a movie star lifestyle. How does it feel when you are slowed down from top speed to zero? 

If you look at what else is going on in the world, you should keep your own sensitivities in check. I would have to lie if I pretended not to be disappointed. The whole team put an incredible amount of heart and soul into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I would have liked to travel the world with this feeling of liveliness, and present the film.

You come from a politically active, socialist family who fled Chile from the Pinochet regime. What do you remember back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only 9 months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we moved to San Antonio, Texas, where my father worked as a doctor at the university clinic.

Texas isn't exactly known as a socialist utopia. How did you settle in there? 

San Antonio is not a cowboy city, but rather diverse, with large Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock didn't come until we later moved to Orange County, California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.

How were you received in California? 

I am still ashamed now when I think about the fact that my classmates just called me Peter and I didn't correct that. I am Pedro. Even if I didn't grow up in Chile, the country and the language are part of me. I was pretty unhappy in this environment. But at least I was able to switch to another school near Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. I found my way through the school theater there.

Were you able to visit your family's home as a child? 

Yes, when my parents landed on a list of exiles who were allowed to return without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion, then my sister and I were stayed there with relatives for a few months while my parents went back to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They got us pretty young, a lively social life, and my mother was doing a PhD in psychology.

Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wants to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?

You mean, was I a guinea pig? In any case. I still remember weird tests and sessions disguised as a game, where someone watched me react to different toys. Although I couldn't have been more than six, I was aware of the dynamic. I preferred to be asked about my dreams. It was always a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance?

Without doubt! My mother was troubled by my strong imagination, as I would rather live in my fantasy world than reality. I hated school. I ended up in the “problem child” drawer. At some point the topics got more interesting and my grades got better. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that class can be downright daunting. Why is it acceptable to be so bored in class when there are more stimulating ways to impart knowledge?

With all that is happening in the world this summer, do you think that we are now taking social change seriously enough? 

Hopefully. I went back to people for the first time after the lockdown to take the streets for “Black Lives Matter”. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police interfered and provoked serious rioting. After all, we cannot run away from the problems as we usually do and are less likely to distract ourselves. It seems as if the pressure of the pandemic has led to a new clarity: we do not want to continue like this.

The trailer for "Wonder Woman 1984" revives the optimism of the 80s. From today's perspective that is almost nostalgic.

Not without a reason. You're really happy for a full two hours. The director Patty Jenkins has made a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, DC, then in London and Spain - which sounds like I'm telling from a bygone era. 

Do you miss traveling?

It is only now becoming clear what a privilege it is to be able to pack your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you could always move freely. And that is why it is actually unimaginable in what small radius our life now takes place. In the last few years I have often withdrawn between filming because I was so much on the go and overstimulated. Friends have already complained about how comfortable I have become. We all took social exchange for granted and are only now realizing how much we depend on human closeness. In the past few weeks I have often wistfully thought of all the party and dinner invitations that I canceled earlier.

In LA, you spend more time in private spaces or in nature than in other metropolises that are more oriented towards public life. Could this city be your retreat after New York?

My real home is my friends. I lead a nomadic life from an early age and have never taken deep roots anywhere. Until recently, the physical home was a place between arrival and departure and therefore not something I wanted to complicate with the accumulation of things. On the contrary: without having read Marie Kondo's book beforehand, I have freed myself of ballast in recent years and have already lived quite reduced.

Is there nothing that you collect or that you wouldn't say goodbye to?

Books! I even have the literature I read as a teenager and in college. The other day I came across a box of old theater manuscripts and materials from my studies at New York University. I can't easily part with art, just as I can't part with lamps or old photos. On the other hand, furniture and clothes are not a problem.

Do you remember roles that the costumes really defined?

Yes, “Game of Thrones” comes to mind primarily. During this time I first understood what it means to be supported by a look as an actor. I owe that to the costume designer Michele Clapton. For my role, she developed these very feminine robes and brocade coats, which looked dressed but manly and in which I felt sexy. And of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's bleached hairstyle for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in “Wonder Woman 1984” were also very important. In terms of style, I didn't see myself in this role at first, as the cuts and colors of the 80s don't necessarily suit my body. I'm seventies by type.

Do you take inspiration like this into your private wardrobe? 

In my spare time, a cool look is now being abandoned in favor of comfort. Occasionally, I feel sorry for the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. Hard to imagine that I went to raves as a teenager in the 90s; a real club kid with insane outfits: overalls, parachute pants, soccer jerseys and a top hat, as in the children's book "The Cat In The Hat" by Dr. Seuss. Later in New York I was out and about with a clique in which it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am now only out and about in jogging pants is not really possible!

Anyone who plays in comic book adaptations actually becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten steamed chicken breasts a day. How about you?

My body wouldn't go along with that. I find it hard enough to keep in shape. From your mid-40s you have to be a lot more disciplined. Until the tooth incident, I worked in the garden with a trainer several times a week to get the quarantine body under control. 

Apart from this coach, is there any steady relationship in your life?

I am not that far yet. Maybe someday, but until then, I'll show mercy. Unfortunately, I don't even have absurd corona dating stories to offer.

What would get on your nerves the most if you had yourself as a roommate?

I can be pretty decisive. I have to scrape together all of my humanity so as not to push through my film selection every evening. If I want something, I don't approach it from behind or passively-aggressively, but in frontal mode. I also tend to tunnel vision: if I feel bad, I cannot imagine that it will eventually get better. I find it difficult to put emotions into perspective or to cast off problems. Method acting really wouldn't be for me at all. And that's why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where you support and encourage each other.

Before trying on clothes [for the photoshoot], you spoke of a lack of self-esteem. How does that go with a career like yours?

Isn't it interesting how these properties and conditions are related? Self-worth comes from within, but it is also influenced by what society values, as we often adopt critical views from outside. I lived in New York for 20 years, studied there and then, until my mid-30s, earned my living as a waiter because I couldn't keep my head above water with theater and occasional film roles. Again and again it almost worked. The disappointment of repeatedly missing a perfect role or opportunity can be weary. When should you give up and what would plan B be? These questions arise not only for most actors, but also for many others,who struggle to survive professionally - no matter how much potential they have or how close the tip seems to be within reach. We are just realizing how much our narrow definition of success is destroying society. At the same time, we also become aware that origin and skin color still determine the likelihood of being able to lead a dignified existence.

What are the positive aspects of relatively late success as a leading man?

I have the feeling that I can shape my life myself - without being under pressure of accepting projects or having to develop a certain identity on social media. That certainly has to do with the fact that I am a man. Sadly, it’s different for women, and needs to change that - regardless of age -, they have been constrained by social conventions where they either expected to play a predefined character, or go through even more struggles to get their talent and skills recognized. 

Life is always a risk management, but even more so than usual. What would you be ready to lose?

Generally speaking, if you don't risk anything, you run the risk of achieving nothing. That goes for friendship, love, work, creativity. For everything that really means something to me, I have to be ready to take risks.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

This is a request from @dashhoney25

Erik and his boo, London, make up for lost time. 😈

Warnings: LOTS of Smut, Rough sex, dirty talk. This shit...had me wet AF.

There are four levels of assassins: the novices, dilettantes, journeymen, and lastly masters. The masters, men with military or paramilitary backgrounds who travel to their contracts have few local ties that law enforcement can use. They excel at their craft, and operate quietly and without incident. In theory, the whispered meetings will be held in secret, the job will be executed with precision and grace, and no one will witness the escape. As a class one type assassin, Erik Killmonger was genetically enhanced in order to perform physical tasks much more efficiently than an average peak-human. To keep his skills in balance, Erik Killmonger practices his combat, shooting, assassination, and stealth skills whenever he is not on an assignment. He has over his life become a myth in the underworld due to his skills. Many doubt Erik Killmonger’s existence because of his skills in completing impossible assignments to the point that the FBI and CIA denies his existence…

Erik Killmonger spawned on a beach in Miami from his F470 Combat Rubber Raiding Craft at approximately 9:30 PM. He’s wearing a Roka wetsuit that provides luxurious comfort and no restrictions. The ocean waters emit a bright blue glow as the waves crashed and the tide came in because of tiny organisms called Lingulodinium polyedrum. With him, Erik Killmonger has on a pair of thermal imaging goggles resting on top of his tapered locs. Frontwards, Erik Killmonger spots two armed guards pacing in front of the architect-designed luxury beach home. Erik Killmonger tugged on the goggles, bringing them down over his onyx eyes. Both of them are carrying a GLOCK 19 and wearing crisp black suits and polished black dress shoes. One beefy man and the other looking about his weight and height. Good. 

Erik Killmonger has mastered the art of stealth, being able to terminate multiple enemies in the same area one at a time and sneak up on almost anybody and quietly neutralize them. Erik Killmonger also has an expert level understanding of the use of disguises in order to access unauthorized areas of a location. He needed the disguise of one of the guards to get inside of the home so he could grab what he needed for his Nightcall mission. Keeping low, his body hidden by the Lyme grass that sprouted from the beach, Erik Killmonger spots a pool on the left side. Moving quickly,  He walks inside the pool room and finds a tool box sitting on a surfboard table. Walking back out, he went around to the left side of the house until he saw the garage. Erik Killmonger uses the screwdriver that he picked out of the tool box to short-circuit the signal box, which will allow him to open up the garage door for access. He rounded a corner and parkour rolled, finding a good hiding spot. 

“Man, this is a bust...what exactly are we guarding?” The beefy guard with a Glasgow smile and a clean shaven head says before taking a quick puff from his cigarette. He spoke with an Australian accent from what Erik Killmonger could pick up while hiding behind a cherry-red sports car. 

“All I know is I’m getting paid,” The other guard that sounded like a Florida native says before turning to grab the cigarette from his partner's hand. He runs a hand through his jet black hair that reminded Erik of how greasers used to wear it back in the 50s. Blowing smoke towards the sky, he chokes up a bit. 

“Are these M-Marlboro golds?” He says between coughs and slight wheezes. 

“Yep, the only kind I smoke...looks like you can’t handle it though,” The beefy guard laughs tumultuously. 

“I’m more of a codeine guy,” The greaser says before handing the cigarette back to the other guard, “I prefer my prescription drugs.”

“That shit will have you on the floor, man.” 

Erik checked the time on his G-Shock Casio Camouflage watch. He didn’t bring a lot of tech with him since this job is supposed to be silent, quick, and precise. He couldn’t leave any traces of himself behind. For Erik, these types of jobs were always the hardest for him, that’s why he took another week to survey the area with his Dragon X12 U11 Drone late at night before accepting the Nightcall mission. The two guards kept talking nonsense, wasting a breath with every word when Erik Killmonger could be in the luxury beach home. He only had thirty minutes left. Since taking out both of them will bring too much attention, he decided to take them down one by one. 

“Hey...what was that?” The greaser says mid laugh. He shared a look with his partner before they both went stony-faced. He pulls out his GLOCK 19, checking the magazine for rounds before turning towards the garage, “I’ll be back, you know we aren’t really supposed to leave this post. If Alma asks, tell her I’m checking for a noise.” 

“Gotcha, just hurry back, you know that bitch will have something to say,” the beefy guard reminds him. 

With his gun pointed straight ahead with a two-handed grip and unwavering eyes, the greaser walks slowly past the cherry-red sports car, Erik Killmonger’s body no longer there. Making a left turn, heading towards the pool room, the greaser aims his gun left, right, behind, and in front of him. It was dark and anyone could be hiding behind the many shelves filled with storage bins and other miscellaneous items. Erik watched the greaser walk far enough into the pool room before stepping out from behind a cluttered storage cabinet. 

Erik Killmonger got really close behind the greaser without being detected, grabbing him around his throat by putting him in a choke hold, the crease of his arm between his bulging bicep, tricep, and flexor, squeezing with ease before he went limp in his arms. He dropped him, getting down on his knees to remove his suit and get dressed. Once he was fully clothed and looking like the other armed guards, Erik Killmonger places the GLOCK 19 in the suit jacket pocket before taking a calm yet treacherous stroll out to the other guard. 

_____________________

London’s eyelids fluttered open with a hassle around 3:18 AM, just five hours before she had to be to work. London is a Cyber Security Analyst for CSOC, a five-star rated computer security company in New York City, New York. The high and wide windows within the bedroom of her Penthouse gave her a nighttime view of the Midtown Manhattan skyline and at its feet is the whole geometry of Central Park. The high end silk bedding duvet cover set in black has perfect temperature-regulating properties that would usually help her sleep but with the absence of her man there was little to no chance for her to drift off again. London scoots over towards the edge of the left side of the upholstered platform bed in black to effectively turn on the side lamp. After rubbing her tired eyes, London grabs her phone to see if she had any missed calls or texts from him. Sure enough, the busy man himself sent her a text almost two hours ago. 

Erik: I just boarded my private jet, I’ll see you when you wake up baby girl. I’ll be right next to you. 

London and Erik have been exclusive for a little over a year. They met because Erik was a longtime client of CSOC and London would personally work for him whenever he needed it. She picked up on his flirtatious cues and the way his eyes blazed every time he looked at her. It was her round, sparkling topaz eyes with sweeping lashes; glowing honey skin; high cheekbones every time she smiled; glossy full lips; bouncy blunt cut copper hair; and trim frame with a plump backside. London didn’t expect anything to happen between them since Erik could be a bit emotionally closed off but he had a deep, and in the beginning, unexpressed admiration for London. He very rarely showed a liking towards anyone around him but for some reason, London changed that. Beneath his bad boy persona is a charming, mysterious, and intellectual man. London fell in love with him before she found out what he did for a living. Erik is an Assassin. Killing people as an occupation of course terror struck her in the beginning but she couldn’t leave him alone no matter how much her conscience tried to sway her. 

The beginning of their relationship...let’s just say it was nothing short of wild. Erik used to take London on big trips to places like Dubai, Japan, Colombia, and Saudi Arabia whenever he had work. That changed when Erik almost had a near death experience when trying to escape from a mission. He ended up hospitalized in a secret facility for trained killers like himself somewhere in Arizona. London made up for his lack of being there by working more hours which led her to a position as a Lead Cyber Security Analyst. Her pockets swelled even though she didn’t necessarily need the money since Erik could afford to take care of both of them. London grew tired from working long and hard hours and whenever she would come home to find Erik there she wouldn’t feel up to doing anything sexually. He was always on the move and she was always at work back in NYC. A strain between them both began to form. 

Erik didn’t fuss much about it, knowing how demanding his job is but whenever London felt a certain way about their situation he would let her vent to him, rubbing his baby girl’s back, kissing her gently, whispering reassurance to her; that things are going to get better; that she should leave her job and stay home. As easy as all of that sounded, London couldn’t bring herself to leave all that she worked so hard for behind her. To top it all off, London is a strong, independent woman who has done almost everything herself before Erik walked into her life. Yeah, he’s her daddy, but sitting at home waiting on his FaceTime call, his text, or to even simply hear his voice wasn’t enough. Also, she had to keep in mind that the future isn’t promised for the both of them. If things didn’t work out, London would be on her own again. The lack of sexual attention was indeed driving London crazy. Taking baths alone turned into London using her waterproof rabbit vibe or the faucet to make her cum. Other times she would mount her suction cup dildo that is an exact mold of Erik’s dick on the edge of the tub to ride. If she couldn’t have daddy’s long, thick, veiny black dick, then the toy would just have to make up for that when he’s not around. 

London snatched the silk duvet from her body before walking to the master bathroom. With the lights on, London turned to stare at her reflection through the backlit vanity mirror. London gently touched one of the taps twice, the warm water flowing out and into the single copper basin of the bathroom sink. Cupping her hands, the white iced out diamond Cuban link 10k yellow gold bracelet on her right wrist twinkling beneath the lights, London watches with drowsy eyes as the water fills in her hands. A few times, London rinses her face with the warm water to calm herself down so she can go back to sleep peacefully without tossing and turning. Lifting her face from the sink basin, eyes closed because of the water dripping from her face, London blindly grabs a folded black cotton facial towel with gold trimming. She dabs her face, taking in the clean and soft fresh linen smell. 

“Why are you up so late?”

London blanched, when Erik startled her with his large hands grabbing at her waist from the back. To this day, London still wasn’t used to Erik’s stealth. His feet are like feathers hitting the floor. London is wearing a black Sheer Marabou Romper that has a cinched waist, fluffy feathery trim, and thin straps. One thing Erik loves to see her in any chance he got was lingerie or nothing at all. Looking up into the vanity, London took in Erik’s appearance. He’s wearing his usual all black from head to toe; black cable knit long sleeve top that clung to his hulking frame and black drop crotch destroyed jeans. The layered diamond tennis chains around his neck matched the bracelet on London’s wrist and the Rolex on his left wrist with its diamond bezel didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I couldn’t sleep, it’s been that way for the past few weeks,” London rubs his strong hands with thick fingers around her waist, “How was this job?”

“Unnecessary, but I have another two million in my bank account so I can’t complain,” Erik’s thick lips circled London’s exposed neck, “You can’t sleep because of me, huh?”

“I’m used to you being next to me, yes, but I know you’re so busy,” London turns to face Erik. His hair from the dim lights of the bathroom looked almost raven, dreads messily resting against his forehead. London’s hands reach out to stroke his tapered waistline. She could feel all of the tiny raised scars beneath her manicured nails the more she lightly scratched him. 

“I’ve been getting calls for jobs left and right. Nothing else matters when I’m with you...I miss my baby,” Erik’s hand makes its way to London’s copper hair, slicking back the pressed out strands from her face before placing some behind her ears, “Haven’t been giving you the attention you need, and then you’re wearing my favorite too, probably waiting for me to come home and properly take it off of you.” 

“Properly taking my clothes off for you is ripping them to pieces,” London giggles before lifting to her tiptoes to kiss Erik’s thick, moist lips, “Why don’t you take a shower so we can lay in bed, I want you to wrap your arms around me,” London rubs Erik’s biceps. 

“Aight, ma, let me take a quick shower and I’ll meet you in bed,” Erik traced the pout of London’s bottom lip before giving her another kiss with a little bit of tongue. 

London walked back to the bedroom, pulling the silk duvet back and climbing back into bed. She propped herself up on her side to watch Erik undress. The standing shower system they have was London’s favorite. It has a square shower head with LED, remote-controlled LED, a detachable hand shower if you wanted to use it, and a thermostatic touch panel mixer with a digital display. The Rainfall mode made London experience the pleasure of a warm summer rain in her own bathroom. Her body was so tired but she couldn’t stop staring at him as he stripped out of each piece of clothing. Erik’s sinewy physique is so defined and well-built, so much so that you can even tell through his clothing. The raised marks on his torso, arms, and back caused her pierced nipples to grow taut as if she could feel his body rubbing against hers. 

Stepping into the shower, Erik puts it on Rainfall mode before standing directly under the square shower head. As the water sprouted from the shower head it trickled over Erik’s body making lazy patterns. He grabs for his favorite peppermint and eucalyptus body wash with a soap sponge to clean himself. He must have known that London was watching him because his ridiculously big dick was swaying back and forth with each movement of his body. London hasn’t had that big black dick in her for at least a few weeks now. When she first saw that fat dick in person she was sure she wouldn’t be able to take it. All that dick you’ll end up with no walls, tangled intestines, and half a stomach. She paid close attention to the way Erik grabbed his dick at the base, bringing it up against his lower abdomen to wash his balls. That heavy nut sack on him had her drooling. It had to have been almost 5 AM now. She was going to be extremely tired at work. 

________________

London arrived to work thirty minutes late with her daily homemade green smoothie in hand. She’s wearing a charcoal grey pencil skirt with a silk black top and black So Kate pumps on her feet. Her copper hair is swept to the side and bouncing with each step she took. When London woke up Erik wasn’t on his side of the bed. After freshening up and getting dressed, London went looking for him and found him in his weapons room unloading a few rounds to test out the new artillery. She didn’t want to disturb him too much so she gave him a quick kiss before leaving him alone until she made it back home. London walks past the rounded glass top receptionist desk before pushing open the commercial double glass doors to her work area. 

Having her own office means peace and quiet now. London gave some of her coworkers tight lipped smiles before entering her work space, allowing the frosted glass door to close behind her. 888 Seventh Avenue provided magnificent views of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. London takes a seat at her modern black wood executive desk with a Mac desktop computer and other office supplies. She has two meetings to attend and one will be starting within the next hour. London checks her work email for any important information from clients while sipping her green smoothie. Time trickled by slowly and London hadn’t noticed that Erik had called her a few times. After receiving a reminder about the meeting via company email, London checks her phone. Erik sent her a voice message which was rather unlike him. London listens despite her confusion. 

“Hey what’s up, baby, how are you doing? I didn’t get a chance to really talk to you this morning since the new artillery came in, but...I’m sitting here just thinking about you and baby... I just want to see your face. Can you send me a picture or a video of yourself? I miss that pretty face….” he paused for a second, “I’m not gonna lie, ma...I’m feeling some type of way because I’m sitting here just thinking about you...thinking about tasting you...thinking about the other night when you watched me take a shower before you fell asleep…” Erik exhaled, “I miss that wet pussy, baby...I know that shit was wet last night...like goddamn...I know you’re panties had to be soaked, shit.” 

London was seated on the edge of her seat while her free hand gripped the handle of her seat. She couldn’t believe he was saying this to her in her voicemail. She instantly needed her man. 

“I’m saying...I’m not complaining at all because I love that wet ass pussy on my face and in my fucking mouth...grinding that pussy across my lips and my beard...Still tasting your pussy juices on my mustache...I wanna suck on that clit...that shit make you so goddamn wet, girl...spread them fat pussy lips and slowly guide my tongue up and down...up and down...fuck,” Erik hisses, “I miss that pussy gripping my fingers...you like that shit don’t you? Daddy’s fingers in your tight little pussy? Goddamn...fuck that I want you to take a picture of how wet your pussy is right now...yeah, I know that’s a little naughty but I know you’re my nasty little girl so you’ll do that shit anyway, right? I’ll spank that ass if you don’t send me a fucking pic, girl...I’ll spank that ass just how I do when I’m busting that pussy open from the back…”

London closed her eyes, praying to god that she would go through the rest of her day after this voicemail. She’s definitely wet alright; fucking soaked. If London pulled her panties to the side right now it would probably reveal a sticky, slimy mess. He had to be beating that fat ass dick right now. 

“Man...now you got me wanting to fuck the shit out of you, London...put my hands on your hips and start off nice and slow in that pussy...shit, we both know that pussy good...puss will have me busting a fat nut so fast...hell nah, girl…” Erik’s voice lowered over the phone to a whisper that ran down London’s spine and straight to her clit, “I just want you to know how good that pussy tastes and feels baby...pussy so fucking good...I love when you say don’t stop daddy, you know daddy ain’t stopping for nothing. Daddy got something long and thick for your ass…and I want that fat pussy in my mouth…”

The voicemail had ended two minutes ago but London was so frozen with shock that she couldn’t move enough to close her mouth. She finally removed the phone from her ear before checking to see that no one was watching. They couldn’t anyway because of the frosted glass doors but London wanted to be absolutely certain. Scooting back in her black Sterling Leather Executive Chair, London gathers the bottom of her skirt, bringing it up and around her waist. London brings her left hand down between her legs to pull the crotch of her panties to the side. She scoots to the edge of the chair so her pussy is sitting nice a plump for a perfect picture. Grabbing her cell phone, London activates her camera from her lock screen, turning it to selfie mode before aiming it as best as she could to achieve a good angle so he can see everything. London takes a few pictures, one with her lips sitting nice and fat and the other with her lips spread so that he can see how hard and poked out her clit is and how much of her creamy wetness spilled from her pussy. 

“There you go daddy,” London says before sending it off to Erik. She wasn’t happy at all that she had to leave for her meeting. London brings all the necessary material for the meeting before exiting her office for the conference room. When she entered the conference room, everyone was already in their usual spots so London quickly found hers near the front right across from the manager of CSOC, Linda Yeager. 

“Goodmorning, London, do you have the contingency plans packet for the meeting today?” 

London’s eyes swept over Linda’s appearance. Linda has her long strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a navy blue women’s suit on with a white blouse underneath. Her veneer smile is wide and similar to that of a horse and her thin lips are painted red to bring out the heavy makeup look she went for today. 

“Yes,” London opens her portfolio, handing Linda the packet that she created yesterday, “I made sure that everyone received a new one before today.” 

“Excellent,” Linda stands from her seat before making her way to a podium situated in front of the conference room, “Okay...Good Morning everyone! I know today is going to be yet another stress-filled one but we all know this is a necessity,” Linda pulls out a laser pointer, aiming it at the presentation behind her, “Today we will be discussing contingency plans that the company will implement in case of a successful attack. Since cyber attackers are constantly using new tools and strategies, cyber security analysts, such as yourself, need to stay informed about the weapons out there to mount a strong defense.”

Linda went on and on for about an hour before everyone was dismissed to assist with clients to keep intruders, attackers or hackers out of networks in order to protect digital files and information systems against unauthorized access. London made it back to her office with a bottle of Fiji water, taking her seat again. Before she started any type of work, London grabs her phone from her desk drawer because she knew Erik had a response for what she sent him. Sure enough, he left her yet another voicemail. London prepared herself for a lustful ear full. 

“Baby...fuck...I just wanna eat that pussy up...I might have to come see you for lunch today...Goddamn...mmmhhh...you know eating pussy is my shit, right? Ima tear that creamy pussy up, girl...make love to that pussy with my fucking tongue...put that whole pussy in my mouth...mmmh…damn, I wish I could eat that...Look at the lips on this pretty motherfucker.. gawd dayum! I’d slurp the hell out of them lips...call me back...call me the fuck back, London.” 

London calls Erik back with no hesitation. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat almost with the amount of anticipation running through her veins. 

“London...can daddy come eat that suckable pussy for lunch?” That was his greeting as soon as he picked up. 

“In my car? baby, you know it’s an open lot...people will see,” London says with a sultry voice. 

“London... I’m tryna eat that pussy… you gon’ make me wait?” 

“I can try to get home sooner...that way, you can eat my pussy all day if you want to.” London’s tongue dragged across her upper lip, “it’s been a while, I know you miss this pretty pussy.” 

“Yeah?” Erik says, “All day baby?”

“Uh-huh, all day...any way you like…”

“That’s a mouth full of pussy ima need a lot of time to eat that shit up,” Erik chuckles, “I guess that will be dinner then, swallow all that pussy juice and slurp up that clit, yeah?” 

London ran her pink and white ombré acrylics through her copper hair. She could feel her clit poking against the crotch of her panties and her pierced nipples stiffen behind her silk top. She wanted Erik to suck on her nipples so damn bad that she thrust her chest forward like his wet mouth was wide open and waiting. London is a B cup so she could easily go without a bra. She wished she would have now because her nipples are rubbing against the silk of her shirt. They are so damn hard. 

“Ima be face first in that ass as soon as you walk through the door, London.” 

“I know, baby,” London spoke softly while using a single finger to circle her taut left pierced nipple. 

“Yes, sit that fat pussy on my face.” 

“Daddy, I gotta go,” London’s voice didn’t match her words. 

“Aight...just Gon’ leave me drooling all over myself until you get home, huh?” 

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

London knew Erik had to be fiending since they haven’t had sex in over two weeks. He would have another job lined up soon and from his words and the harsh, uneven sound of his voice, that told London everything she needed to know. Erik needed her. Part of it made London feel guilty because there were times when he would simply watch her masturbate in the tub. He would sit on the toilet after coming home from a job, his body just as tired. London would be in the jacuzzi whirlpool tub, her waterproof rabbit vibe going to town on her clit beneath the water. She didn’t mind him watching her, he didn’t even complain about her pleasuring herself instead of letting him do it. No, Erik would simply sit there with this sexy, devilish grin on his face, his eyes all low and seductive while they peered through the soapy water to take a look at how she worked that vibrator over her clit. 

That’s it baby..make that pussy cum

Mhm, good girl...you making that fat kitty cum, baby?

Then, there were the times he walked in on her riding her dildo in the shower with it mounted to the wall. These times she hadn’t expected him to be home so soon. His sudden appearance would make her feel timid to finish but Erik would insist that she continue because he really wanted to watch her. He would stand outside of the shower, his eyes focused on the way the dildo that’s an exact mold of his dick would slide in and out of her creamy pussy. The look on her face is so beautiful while she fucked herself. She just looks so helpless and useless with each stroke. Water mixed with her creamy mess would drizzle down her inner thighs with each stroke and it made his dick chub up real fast but he didn’t intervene. He knew he wasn’t around often to take care of his baby girl, she deserved to play in her pussy. 

You’re opening that pussy up beautifully, baby

Definitely A Greedy Pussy Indeed. I Love It. 

His words made her cum in an instant. 

________________________

[ Greetings Killmonger…..]

Erik heard the alert from his personal work computer all the way from the bathroom. He walked into his master bedroom with water still trickling from his body and a towel wrapped around his hips. His office was just in the other room where his laptop was located. He walked up to the laptop, tapped a series of keys and his Oracle message popped up in green letters with a black background that reminded him of the Matrix. 

“Oracle,” Erik spoke lazily before taking a seat at his desk, “another mission?”

 [Yes...do you accept the mission? ]

“...yes,” He says while stroking his goatee, “Lay out the details.” 

[ Russia’s ambassador to Turkey named Andrey G. Karlov is supposed to be attending an art exhibit two weeks from now on Monday in Ankara, the capital of Turkey. Your assignment is to get to him and kill him before he reaches the art exhibit. We can’t have any witnesses. This job will require special gear and technology. We will provide a black Ducati sports bike and you have a suite booked at the JW Marriott Hotel Ankara. If the mission is successful, 3.5 million will be wired to your offshore bank account in Belize. ]

“Sounds legit...send me all the information I need on Karlov along with my hotel and I’ll be ready.” 

[ Excellent. Happy killing Mr. Killmonger….]

His laptop screen blacked out which meant that whatever information that was previously mentioned would be deleted without a trace. Erik has two weeks to prepare for his next job. He trained all day to keep up with his skills. It’s never a good look to take too much relaxation time. Standing from his desk chair, Erik makes his way into his master bedroom to rub his body down with cocoa butter body oil and slip on a pair of lounge pants. The body oil softened and conditioned his body perfectly. He slipped on a pair of black joggers and walked to the bathroom to finish his facial routine. Erik believes in taking care of himself, in a balanced diet, and in a rigorous exercise routine. Erik applies an herb mint facial masque which he leaves on for ten minutes while he prepares the rest of his facial routine. After rinsing the mask, Erik applies a moisturizer, some under-eye balm to help alleviate the dark circles forming, then finally, he sets it with a protective lotion. 

Back within his bedroom, staring out at Midtown through one of his wide, ceiling to floor windows, Erik realizes that London couldn’t make it home earlier like she promised. After their call ended, Erik decided to train so he could clear his head. He did his usual routine that involves jackknife crunches, crucifix push-ups, single leg burpees, jumping lunges, and other workouts. Then, Erik trained a little in combat; your fighting skills can always be improved. To end it, Erik let off a few rounds from his new Smith & Wesson pistol with a crimson trace sight. Erik walks down the modern stairs that ended within a corridor. He made his way towards the kitchen, turning on the lights and opening the fridge. Grabbing a box of leftover egg foo young, he places it within the microwave for 2 minutes. The front entrance to the penthouse opened and from the surveillance cameras in the kitchen Erik can see London removing her pumps before walking barefoot further into the penthouse. 

“Hey, baby,” her silvery voice soothed his ears, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it home earlier, today was yet another busy day...what are you heating in the microwave?” 

“It’s okay, I figured you were tied up,” Erik opens the microwave, grabbing the hot takeout container filled with shrimp egg foo young smothered in extra gravy, “Some Chinese I never ate yesterday, you wanna share?” 

“Yes,” London places her black Louis Vuitton tote bag on the galaxy storm granite countertop of their kitchen island before taking a seat on one of the stools. She finger combed her blunt cut bouncy copper hair away from her face while Erik grabbed two forks for them and after that two water bottles. He sat across from her before passing her a fork. London hissed from how hot the food was against her tongue before blowing it rapidly.

“Mmm...I haven’t had egg foo young in so long,” she licked her fork before going for more. 

“How was work?” Erik asks between chewing his food.

“It was alright, I’m exhausted,” London rubs her neck with her free hand, “How was your day?”

“Productive, did some training most of the time. I got an alert from my Oracle for a new job.” 

“...oh, yeah?” London swallows her food, hoping that her eyes didn’t read disappointment, “I figured it would be happening soon. When is it?”

“Within the next two weeks. It’s a big job so I gotta do some research over the next few days…” Erik reaches across the counter to rub London’s chin, “Hey...it’s two weeks from now. You got me for two weeks before I go away.”

London played with a piece of egg with her fork, “I know...I just get really lonely when you’re not with me, daddy.” 

“You sure about that? Still using the dildo I bought you?” Erik gave London a lopsided grin. 

“I am...but there’s nothing like daddy’s dick,” London laughs, before yawning, “I didn’t get any sleep last night.” 

“If you weren’t watching me take a shower and rub down with my body oil you would have,” Erik teased. 

“It’s your damn fault, you’re so sexy,” London strokes a single vein on Erik’s left hand with her pink and white ombré acrylic nail. 

“You know what I want, right?” Erik drags his tongue across the corner of the inside of his mouth to catch some food, causing a single dimple to form in his other cheek.

“Yes, let me shower first and I’m all yours,” London takes one final piece of egg foo young before grabbing her tote bag, walking around the kitchen counter to kiss Erik’s lips before walking away. Erik finished off the food before trashing it. He drank his water before tossing the bottle in recycling. Upstairs now, London is already out of the shower, her naked body seen walking into her walk-in closet to find something to sleep in. Erik brushes his teeth before joining her in the walk-in closet. London is wearing a sheer babydoll with berry-red trimming. 

“I got you something,” Erik says while walking up behind her. He picked it up in Miami for her. Reaching inside one of London’s many drawers, he pulls out a Cartier box. Erik presses his crotch against London’s curvy backside while leaning over her shoulder. London watches him open the box to reveal a stunning 18k white gold necklace with 264 brilliant cut diamonds. London’s topaz eyes locked with Erik’s onyx ones. They twinkled and it made him smile. He grabs the necklace, opening the clasp before placing it around her neck. London touches it with her delicate fingers. Erik’s thick lips lightly kiss the baby-soft skin of her cheek. 

“You look good in diamonds, girl,” He whispers to her before kissing along her neck, “icy just like your daddy.” 

“Thank you, daddy,” London fought for oxygen when Erik’s hands began to lift the bottom of her baby doll up. 

“Come sit on daddy’s face,” His nose was in her hair smelling the strands. Erik strolled back to the bedroom, laying back on the bed. London follows him, crawling onto the bed between his wide legs before climbing onto his lap to straddle him reverse cowgirl. Erik lifts the bottom of the baby doll completely up and around her waist to reveal her dangling fat pussy from behind. He takes his thumb to rub her protruding clit and labia that sat stunningly between her fat pussy lips. Lifting his thumb away, a slimy string of her fluids connected with it. Erik sucks it off before grabbing London by her thighs, roughly scooting her back towards him so that her pussy hovered over his lips. 

“Mmm, I miss this fat pussy,” Erik brings his lips to her pussy. He starts off by placing soft, lingering kisses that caused her to let out little gasps. Erik continues kissing her outer lips until her hips start oscillating back and forth. 

“Calm down, girl, daddy got you,” Erik spreads her pussy lips to reveal her cotton candy pink center, “had me wishing I could eat this pussy all day and I finally got it in my face,” Erik’s tongue poked out and he delivered stiff licks around her protruding clit. Erik could see her pussy contract with each lick and a single stream of slippery lubrication drip down to her labia. Erik dragged his thick bottom lip up to catch the fluid before sucking her labia into his mouth. His eyes closed one at a time after he got a taste of what he hadn’t tasted in two weeks. That sweet puss. 

“Yes, daddy,” London’s toes curled, “Fuck, baybeee.” 

Her drippy pussy was evidence that it missed his tongue among other things. 

“Sweet, tasty, pussy...sit on my face, London...THAT'S it…yeah, baby,” he groans, “Yummy pussy,” He sounded out longingly with a deep, alluring voice.

Erik loved spreading London’s lips with his tongue and tasting the warm sweet juices from her pussy. He loves when she puts her pussy on his face and rides his tongue. The loud smacking sounds from his slurping and licking mixed with London’s quickening breaths were sounds unheard of in two weeks. The way she was dripping in his mouth she was ready for his big black dick but all Erik wanted to do was eat. Both holes honestly. Erik wets a finger with his spit before sticking it in London’s tight, virgin booty hole. He was gonna get in that tight ass one day but for now he simply pushed his thick finger inside. It was so tight that it sucked his finger in. 

“Oooh, shit,” Erik says while watching his finger stroke London’s booty hole, “That ass is tighter than a motherfucker...you gon’ let me get in that ass?”

“I don’t know, daddy...fuck,” London looks back at Erik while he finger fucked her booty hole, “Damn, daddy, oh, my God…”

“I said, you gon’ let me get in that ass with this fat fucking dick?”

“Daddy it’s too big-

“If you’re used to this you’ll be used to my dick in no time, baby...taking that shit beautifully,” He wraps his lips around her clit and starts sucking. 

“Oh my God, daddy, that’s my spot,” London started speaking in tongues, “Yes, baby, suck on my pussy…”

Erik brings a finger from his other hand to slip inside of London’s pussy. The soft, fleshy ridges of her walls massaged his finger. He found her G spot and started massaging it with the pad of his finger. Erik started loudly sucking on London’s pussy and licking it sloppy with a lot of spit in between. Each time he licked London could feel his tongue print still lingering. 

“I’m gonna cum,” London says when she could feel her entire body spasm, “Daddy I’m cumming.” 

Erik continued sucking her clit, fingering her creamy pussy, and fingering her tight ass. He was working the hell out of her pussy that London almost collapsed. 

“You’re making my pussy cum,” Her voice grew louder, “Oh my God!!!!!” London started throwing her ass back, fucking Erik’s fingers before she started leaking all over his face. Her milky white orgasm covered his facial hair and lips. 

“Yes, daddy,” London became overstimulated and lifted her body from Erik’s. She fell back on the bed beside him, stroking her hair from her sweaty face. 

“I’m not finished...you said I could have it all I want, right?” Erik spreads London’s thighs before leaning over her body with a hankering desire. His tongue wiggles all over her pussy with exhilarating speed that strokes her clit in the right spot. London’s hips began to lift off of the bed but Erik held her in place. After licking it a few more times he went right back to slurping her up but this time he did it with fervor. Each suck came with a deep grunt. He was enjoying the hell out of her pussy on his mouth. He had London screaming his name. Erik was telling her through every suck and lick that this was his pussy and that she better cum in his fucking mouth. 

“Unnffttt!!!!!” London moaned out repeatedly. She yanked Erik’s tapered dreads, “eat this fucking pussy,” London rolled her hips, driving her pussy in Erik’s mouth, “yesssss ima cum in your mouth so fucking hard keep doing that.” 

Erik started sucking on London’s clit while swiveling his head back and forth. He was loving that pussy. 

“Suck on my pussy...suck on my pussy...sucking on my pussy…” London’s mouth unhinges, “Oh, yes, right there, ooooohh, DON'T stop...Yep...right there, daddy, uh-huh...uh-huh...uh-huh...FUCK YES...you’re making your pussy cum...FUCK!”

London fisted Erik’s hair as she climaxed in his mouth. 

___________________

The next day, London awoke to the sound of her alarm at 7:00 AM. She turned it off, sitting up in bed. Blinking her tired eyes, London rubbed her inner thighs together, feeling her pussy juices gathering in a puddle. She’s still wet from the repeated head she received from Erik last night. He ate her pussy three times before she fell asleep next to him then he woke her up at 2:00 AM with her clit in his mouth again. Spreading her thighs, London could see that her clit is still stiff and her inner folds are still engorged with arousal. The bed shifted behind her and London turned to find Erik stretching his built arms above his head. He blinked at her with low eyes before giving her a lazy smile.

“Good morning, baby,” Erik spoke before yawning, “You’re leaving me again, Princess?” 

“Duty calls,” London stood from the bed giving Erik a tantalizing view of her slim-thick frame. She leaned over the bed to kiss Erik nice and gentle, “I’ll miss you.” 

“Stay home,” Erik looked up at her through his long lashes, “We got some making up to do, girl...I ain’t have that puss in two weeks...we got some making up to do.” 

“I know, I know,” London was pulled down into the bed with Erik, “Daddy-

“Hush, Princess,” Erik’s hand made its way between her thighs, “That fat puss is still wet.” 

“Umph,” London shielded her face in Erik’s neck. 

“Nah, look at what I’m doing...London,” Erik yanked her hair, forcing her to focus on him, “LOOK.” 

Her eyes widened at his barbaric tone. The rough edge made her shiver. London’s eyes watched as Erik used two fingers to rub her clit side to side. 

“Mhm, I got that puss,” He bites her jaw, causing her to squeal, “Damn, that clit stiff...you going to work and leaving daddy home to take care of this fat ass dick by himself? Hmm?”

“Erik,” She could feel herself leaking all over his hand, “Daddy stop...I gotta go to work...fuck,” Erik pushed three fingers inside of her, “Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.” 

“Princess, I plan on hitting this pussy from every angle imaginable,” Erik whispered to her before giving her sloppy kisses on her neck, “cum on my fingers, girl, you know you want to.” 

“Umph, Yes-

“I see you girl…FUCK,” Erik aggressively bites his bottom lip while he watched London cream his fingers, “Thats a good pussy, baby...such a good girl,” Erik’s fingers slip out to smack her pussy. London jumps from his lap while squeezing her thighs tight. 

“I’m gonna go take a sh-shower,” London lets out an unsteady breath while watching Erik suck her juices from his fingers. 

“Go ahead, Princess, I’ll see you in there.” 

London grabs her silk bonnet and shower cap before walking into the master bathroom. With her out of the room now, Erik grabs his cell to call London’s job. On the third ring, the receptionist picks up. 

“Thanks for calling, CSOC, this is Taylor Bianchi, how can I direct you?” 

“Hi, can I speak to Linda Yeager, please? This is Erik Stevens, a long time client of CSOC.” His eyes fall on London lathering up her soap sponge with her body wash. 

“Okay, I’ll transfer your call.”

The line clicks over and there is a brief pause before Erik could hear the phone being picked up and Linda clearing her throat. 

“Erik! How are you? Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, everything is fine...I’m calling about London...listen, I’m requesting that she has a few days off. She’s exhausted and London needs to rest her mind and her body. With her being Lead Analyst now it’s taken a heavy load on her.”

“I understand,” Linda sighs, “I wish she would have told me she needs time off, it’s never a problem. Of course, London can take however long she needs.” 

“Thank you, Linda, I’ll let her know her vacation starts today.” Erik hangs up his cell before tossing the silk duvet back. He takes off his black joggers before walking naked to the bathroom. London has just finished washing herself a second time and now she is rinsing off. Erik opens the glass shower door, stepping inside the steamy shower, “Finished without me?” 

“Sorry, baby, I have to go to work, I’m already gonna be late.”

“Nah,” Erik closes the shower door, “I called your job, you won’t be going to work for the rest of the week.” 

“Huh?” London says with a perplexed expression.

“I requested for you to be off. Linda said it was okay.” 

“Babe…” London blushes, “You did that for me?”

“You know I got you, Princess. We can use all this time to fuck as much as we want...and I’m gonna fuck you good,” Erik approaches her with a gait that had her week in the knees.

“Okay...it’s been a minute…” London was backed into a corner, “All I’ve known is my vibe and dildo…”

“Aww, I know,” Erik takes his thumbs to twirl her pierced nipples, “That’s why I gotta remind you how daddy does it...dig that pussy out.” 

Erik snatches London’s bonnet and shower cap from her head before picking her up, walking with her until their bodies are beneath the squared shower head. Erik’s long dick began to thicken up beneath her pussy. He stuck his tongue down her throat, kissing her roughly while gripping her ass. London braced herself by wrapping her arms around Erik’s shoulders. From her lips, Erik’s kisses were on her neck now right along with his teeth leaving marks. He was so hungry for her, not even a grizzly bear could stop him from getting all of London. 

“You want daddy to fuck you in this shower?” Erik sucked on her bottom lip. 

“Please, daddy, can you fuck me in the shower?”

“You know how to ask daddy for what you want...good girl,” Erik used a little force to push London’s back against the shower wall. She sucked in a sharp breath, before raising a single brow at him. He was being rough with her. 

“Being rough with me, daddy?” She questioned sweetly because she knew that drove him crazy, “It’s okay…I know you need this pussy.” 

“You’re fucking right,” Erik growled before his mouth made its way to her erect pierced nipples, “This pussy hasn’t stained my dick in two fucking weeks...that’s way too long for me, girl...you know daddy gotta have this pussy any fucking chance I get,” With one hand, Erik places it around London’s neck, “those eyes are so sexy, baby...you better look at me just like that when I fuck this pussy,” Erik grinds his dick up against London’s pussy, “and when I cum on that pretty face.” 

“Anything, daddy, just fuck me,” London tried grabbing his dick but Erik’s hand around her neck grew tighter.

“Is that how you ask for this fucking dick? Try again,” Erik spoke through clenched teeth. 

“Can daddy fuck my little pussy, please?” London asked with a pout of her lips. 

Erik smiles devilishly, “Yeah...daddy can fuck that little Princess pussy.” 

With short, heated gasps, London watched Erik grab hold of his dick with the hand that was around her neck, rubbing it back and forth over her clit. It didn’t matter how much water covered their bodies from head to toe, London’s pussy is still drenched with her slickness. Erik strokes his dick against London’s entrance before pushing in just the tip, purposely stopping so he could watch the helpless expression on her face. 

“Yeah,” he spoke smugly, “And that’s just the tip, baby,” Erik pushes in some more with just his hips, “Damn...clenching up already? You know how this dick can be,” Erik continues without stopping this time before licking away a single tear from her face, “you know daddy gets in there, ma...this shit ain’t new.” 

“Damn,” London hisses, “You got my pussy opened up, daddy.”

“And you got my dick tickling your cervix,” Erik pulls all the way to his wide tip before pushing back inside deeply, “Like how I pull it all the way out? Huh?”

London could only nod her head.

“I asked you a fucking question, Princess,” Erik does it again. His thick, long, curved dick pushed back inside. London’s pussy is so warm and wet that it made his ass cheeks clench. 

“What the fuck did I say?” He barked out.

“If I like the way you pull it all the way out,” London’s lower lip trembled between moans. 

“Pull what out?” He asked her with narrow eyes.

“This big ass dick,” London’s head extended back, “This shit is hitting the bottom of my pussy.”

“Mhm,” Erik angles London’s hips with both of his strong hands, “That’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” He picks up speed, London’s hips loudly smacking against his, “This what you kept from me?” 

“Yes!!” London’s eyes never left his, “God...you’re stretching me.”

Their tongues flicked wildly before Erik pressed his forehead against hers. He was still watching her, his hands moving her hips in a circle while he stroked her pussy long dick style. 

“Unfff, if you keep doing that- daddy, shit,” London pouts, “Daddy it’s deep.” 

Erik wasn’t listening, he was too busy moving her hips in a multitude of angels just so his dick could reach every single part of her pussy from her walls, to her cervix, to her G spot, and then her A spot. Warm, liquid leaked from her pussy and it made Erik smile handsomely at her. 

“I got this fat pussy squirting,” Erik starts banging London’s pussy out harder, “Ima make you do that shit again...UH-HUH…nut on this fucking dick.” 

With a silent scream and her feet nudging against Erik’s back from his forceful thrusts, London gave him exactly what he wanted. Erik’s dick left her pussy and he put her down. London has to brace the wall because her knees are wobbling.

“Get down on your knees and clean this daddy dick off.” 

London was on her knees, grabbing Erik’s balls with one hand while wrapping her plump lips around the tip of his dick with just the power of her jaw muscles. 

“You better suck it good too or I’ma tear that throat up,” Erik bites his bottom lip down at London. He runs his fingers through her loose curly strands, “feeding my pretty baby some dick...see? You needed that, right?”

“Mhm,” London hums whole slurping on Erik’s dick. She had to work extra hard since his dick hadn’t been in her mouth for two weeks. She worked her jaws overtime and her head moved in a circular motion. 

“You’re such a good girl,” Erik licks his lips before leaning over, spitting on his dick. He watched London lick and suck his saliva into her mouth. 

“You sucking this dick, girl, mm,” Erik shakes his head, “You want me to unload down your throat?”

London responded with puppy dog eyes and a harder suck. Erik thrusts his hips forward suddenly, causing London to gag. She removed her mouth from his dick to take a breath but Erik grabs a fist full of her wet hair, making her look at him, “Did I tell you to stop?! You know this dick is long, girl,” Erik slapped his dick against her cheek, “Open your fucking mouth, Princess.”

London opens wide and Erik didn’t waste anytime getting back inside. His head went back while he uses London’s mouth like a pussy and started fucking her throat. London’s nails clawed his thighs. 

“Told you I had something for little ass girls like you who keep running from dick...don’t stop eating that dick up, Princess.” 

“Mmm...mmmhmm,” London blinked away her growing tears, striving to finish until his cum was down her throat. 

“I need it nice and sloppy like this. Make a mess like the good girl you are. You look so sexy when you get nasty,” Erik says between London’s sucking, “Yes baby...mmmh...fuuuckkk...make it nasty, baby, that’s it,” Erik’s face fixed into a mug, “Ughhhhhh fuuuckkkkkk, don’t ever stop sucking baby girl, make daddy bust a nut...ughhhhhhh…yes, empty me...mmmm...here it comes baby... getting the job done just drain your daddy and you never have to worry about anything...FUCK YES,” Erik’s entire body spasmed out of control. He gripped the back of London’s head before erupting deep down her throat. London welcomes her gift graciously with a flickering tongue. It was a lot of cum, definitely overdue. 

“Good girl,” Erik says between ragged gasps. 

___________________

After their shower, London and Erik had a nice breakfast that Erik prepared. Veggie omelette, turkey sausage, and a side of shrimp with cheesy grits. London did a bit of yoga, something she hadn’t done in a long while. Erik cleaned up before joining London in their personal gym for a morning workout. Erik couldn’t keep his eyes off of London stretching her body. After taking yet another long shower, London and Erik lounged around well into the early afternoon in complete nudity. Erik was supposed to start his research for his new mission but that wasn’t going to happen with the way London’s nude body was calling him. They were sitting in the living room, laid back on their luxury leather sectional sofa, music playing from the installed surround sound system. 

London couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s dick sitting heavy between his toned thighs. Unable to control the urge to slurp his thick pipe into her mouth, London leans over Erik’s lap, grabbing his dick in her hand, slapping it against her tongue, and then all in one motion, his dick was back in her mouth. London arched her back, her ass sitting high in the air now for Erik to reach over and slap whenever he felt like it. She massaged his nut sack while swallowing her man’s fat dick. He loved to see her with a mouth full of his meat. All he could do was simply shake his head at her. Before he needed to remind her, London’s topaz eyes connected with his and that’s when his dick swelled to cum inspiring proportions in her throat and unloaded a fat nut that she worked for. 

“There you go,” Erik studied the way his balls tightened, “Got my nuts tight, girl, get up here.” 

London climbed into Erik’s lap, squatting over him while bracing herself on the back of the couch. 

“Nah, fuck that, grab daddy’s dick and put it in that sweet little pussy so I can fuck the shit out of you.” 

London reaches between her legs, grabs Erik’s dick, and lines it up with her snug entrance. She gyrated her hips over him before lowering herself onto his third leg. 

“Mmmm,” She locked eyes with him, “Big-ass-dick.” She tells him, even though he already knew that. 

“Tight-ass-pussy,” Erik’s thick lips practically swallowed London's, the more he devoured her with his kisses. His saliva laden tongue battled for dominance in her mouth the more he kissed. London was like putty in his arms. London didn’t see it coming when Erik’s hips elevated from the couch to fuck her. His balls slapped her on the ass with each heavy, gut-filling stroke. Her thighs shook and her toes were beginning to sweat from the hot leather. 

“Oh, shit,” Her lower abdomen clenched, “It’s deep…”

“Move your hands,” Erik ordered when London’s hands came down to press against his thighs to try and slow him up, “Move your fucking hands, London.”

“Daddy, nooooo,” She whimpered.

“Shut that shit up,” He wrenched her hands away from his thighs, “grip my shoulders...that’s it, girl,” Erik went back to fucking the shit out of her wet pussy, “I got this pussy gushing all over me and you want me to stop? You better take this big black dick...all I wanna hear is you moaning and saying how much you love daddy’s big dick, nothing else,” Erik tore his eyes away for a second so he could watch her cream his dick, “I’m beating this pussy up...shut that crying up, London.” 

“Yessssss,” London chokes up, “Daddy, pleaseeee-

“Please? Please what?” Erik wrapped his arms around London’s body, holding her in place so he could work her pussy some more, “Please what? Huh?!”

“YES!!” London buried her face in the crook of Erik’s neck. She could feel a warm sensation overpower her body and then she froze. Erik’s dick was covered in her cream all the way down to his balls. 

“Just making a mess on me, huh?” Erik sucks on London’s neck, “Daddy likes that shit...come here,” Erik lifts her from his lap. He stood up with his dick dripping cum, turning London over and arching her back. 

“Mm-mm, keep that arch,” Erik strokes his messy pipe, “Push them shoulders down...good girl,” Erik slaps London’s clit a few times before he enters her with a long exhale, “Good fucking pussy...pass me my phone.” Erik barked out. London grabs Erik’s phone from her left before passing it to Erik, “You remember how we used to do it?” Erik opens up his camera, aiming it at London’s ass, “Bring that ass up, London, I’m not gonna tell you again.”

London was holding off on purpose because she knew how deep he can get in this position. 

“How is daddy supposed to beat this pussy the fuck up if you don’t listen?” Erik pumped London’s pussy full of his fat dick with just his hips while holding the phone steady so he can capture it perfectly, “Wait until you see this shit, ummmmm, baby...widen your legs London,” Erik pushes himself in all the way, causing London to cry out, “It’s okay, Princess, here,” He did it again, “beat this pussy up…look at me.”

London looks back at Erik through her messy hair. She wished she hadn’t. Just one look at him had her squirting on his dick.

“You make that shit look so damn good...I’m spreading that pussy, baby?” 

“Uh-huh-

“What else is daddy doing?” Erik smiles.

“Making my pussy feel good,” London smiles back before her face frowned with ecstasy. 

“That’s the face I like to see...you got my dick pulsating in this pussy...got this good dick up in you all you can do is cum...I like that...too big, baby?” 

She couldn’t respond but HELL YEAH. His dick damn near pushed her stomach out of her mouth in this position. 

“Daddy…” London said so low. 

“What?!” Erik asked while hammering London’s pussy. He angled the phone so that the length of his defined body could be in view while he stroked her. London’s cheeks clapped loudly and her moans damn near blew out the speakers of his phone, “this is mine and ima remind you any and everywhere,” London gripped his dick with her walls, “yeahhhhh, make daddy bust a nut!!!”

“Fuck me!!” London grabbed the back of the couch, “beat it up, daddy!!”

“Fuck,” Erik had to drop the phone. He was about to cream all in London’s sweet, tight pussy, “Look at this arch, girl, damn...you want me to really get in this puss.” 

Erik’s mouth unhinges and his eyelids flutter. He gave London two deep, long, and filling thrusts before cumming deep inside of her. Erik slapped her ass hard a few times before pulling his dick from her pussy. 

“Come suck this big dick up,” Erik said between heavy breathing. London was on her knees in a flash, grabbing Erik’s dick up in her hand before licking their mess off. Erik twirled London’s pierced nipple with one hand. He was thickening up again and all he wanted to do was bury himself back inside her tight, creamy pussy some more. 

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty-deactivated20200 @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark  @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @munteanhore @xo-goldengirl @tiava143 @33kiara @honeytoffee @asiasblackworld727 @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta @seyven89 @lahuttor @janelledarling @shewritestheblues @fanfangal @kreolemami @thoughtsoftheantagonist @luvwitoutlimit1 @mygirlrenee @hippiesandpeacesigns @alittlejd @jaysaidhi @thewaysheis--awkward @walkrightuptothesun @shawnstacksss @theesotericqueen @mareethequeen @browngirldominion @ceeverse @therealmrsrhodes @sensitivelegend @teheeboo @yomiloo @msreshel-blog @bbygirrll05 @fahi0nanart @afteracouplepuffss @shaelyn102 @yaminax-kuss-a @lackbbaby @amyhennessyhouse @thattruckinwitch @dameshaemonique  @glittermakesmesmile @justgetitoverwith0  @notavintagecliche @pariahcolored @cydneyrenee4 @ajjiiaaahhhh @naeelyniecee @ambthegamer @efonteno @mikesteel20 @wisenerdcreator @draggingstxns @eevolsidog @xoxomyaah @asweet-serendipity​ @therealmrsmbjordan @ajspencer1892​ @queengodiva619 @niqui87​ @quietpoeticheart​ @itsjustyazz​ @dasia21​ @woah-express​ @bbgiirrll​ @backandbetter2​ @megabriahall @forbeautyandlife​ @queenflaws​ @cecereads209​ @queenbetter​ @yomiloo​ @daddys-baby-girl-t​ @lovinthemelanin​ @ladymac82​ @ambitionwood @t3mporaa​ @toniilaney​ @iv0rysoap​ @sinfully-dope​ @lovehatecritique​ @chocolategirl605​ @naysianaee​ @nyleveeee​ @erlebnissebliss​ @melinaasap1​ @woahthatshitfat​ @that-chick212​ @scarypumkin23​ @sambuckyslayallday​ @vikki240401​ @kuaua98 @enigmadivine​ @gingerylimonte​ @counterfeit-recherche​ @unholyxcumbucket​ @xdezaraex​ @missgigglesmoultrie​ @imrootingforeveryoneblack @dashhoney25​

[maria-scribbles]

cocoa

sick of hearing his parents fight day after day, reggie goes to the one person who knows exactly what he's going through: the pretty violinist who lives next door.

fandom: julie and the phantoms

ship: alive!reggie x reader

word count: 1.5k+

featuring: swearing (as always), fighting, allusion to an abusive relationship, general sadness, mention of a family member’s death

a/n: day 2 of my holiday challenge: hot chocolate! this is kind of depressing and i'm sorry, sad!reggie was stuck in my head and he wouldn't leave until i wrote this but it has kind of a hopeful ending tho so i guess that counts for something? this is also my first time writing for this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. as usual, unbetaed so all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1994

They were fighting again. It was the same old story: his dad being an ass on purpose, his mom taking the bait, wash, rinse, repeat. Their shouts rang harshly throughout the house, gloomy and miserable despite the cheerful decorations strung up in every room and the massive Christmas tree downstairs, dressed in its festive best and looking like it came straight out of a seasonal catalog.

Reggie had gone to them at the beginning of the month, begging them not to fight, please; his everyday life was already ruined by their screaming matches and the only thing he wanted for Christmas was some peace, quiet and civility to celebrate his favorite holiday. His father had pretended not to hear his son's pleas, ignoring him completely like he always did while his mother offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll try, honey." She'd said and he knew it was a lie. His mother always lied, his father always threw a plate at her head, Reggie always wished he had the courage to run away for good, like Luke did. But he wasn't Luke, he never would be, and he just didn't have it in him to leave them, even though he was the one who came out worse for wear after each fight.

The distant shatter of ceramic drifting up the stairs was his cue to go until things cooled down again -he never stuck around after the first dish got thrown, not anymore, the scar on his arm the perfect reminder why- and so he jimmied open the window of his room and climbed down the trellis into the salty air, the crashing waves of the Pacific covering his escape like a blanket.

(He could've stormed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him and his parents still wouldn't have noticed he left but something about sneaking out and risking a broken bone made him feel alive, the same rush he felt when he was on stage, bass humming in his hands, performing alongside his bandmates and knowing they felt it, too.)

Even outside, the echoes of his parents' angry voices still rang in his ears, haunting him all the way to the house next door, its sparkling lights shining brightly and guiding him through the darkening night like a beacon. The driveway sat empty, sans for one lone bicycle haphazardly lying on its side in front of the garage and he carefully propped it up on its kickstand before climbing the stairs to the front porch.

The faint sound of a slow, somber violin came to a stop as he knocked on the door, followed by a quiet, familiar voice Reggie knew like the back of his hand.

"It's open."

He found Y/N alone on the couch, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the strings of the violin on her lap and she glanced up at the tap of his boots on the hardwood floor, face brightening the slightest bit at the sight of her friend rounding the corner into the living room. 

The girl didn't speak as she gently placed the instrument aside and stood, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck to draw him into a crushing hug. His own arms wrapped around her waist and held her just as tightly, his head resting on her shoulder, and the warm vanilla scent of her soft hair tickling his nose helped calm the storm in his heart.

"I'm sorry, Reg." Her voice was low and soothing in his ear and he didn't know how he could possibly hold her any tighter than he already was but he managed as he replied, "I'm sorry, too."

While his parents fought like wildfire, explosive and loud and raging with the wrong type of passion, hers were like a deep freeze, icy and cold and desolate in the worst possible way. Too many times Y/N was left to her own devices, all alone in an empty house with her thoughts and a violin her only company (at least they had given her that, the gift of music and a beautiful, expensive instrument to prove their love was real, albeit superficial).

It was some time later before she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye and brushed a wayward strand of his dark hair back from his forehead with one calloused finger. "Okay, pity party's over. It's almost Christmas and we're not spending it being sad about shitty parents. Deal?"

She held out her pinky with one eyebrow raised expectantly and grinned when he nodded and hooked his pinky around hers. Reggie loved really liked that about her, the way she could just make all the heartache and pain and disappointment vanish from his mind like magic and replace them with thoughts of her and her sunny smile, her big heart, her touch that made the very blood in his veins spark like lightning. Y/N was his bright spot, his safe haven, and while Luke, Alex, and Bobby knew what he was going through, they just didn't understand like she did (they had their own problems to deal with, anyway, so he couldn't blame them).

"Good, now come on," She wrapped the rest of her fingers around his hand and started tugging him down the hall to the kitchen. "You're helping me make hot chocolate."

"Peppermint?" He asked, smiling when she glanced up at him with an offended look on her face.

"Duh. Only a heathen would make it without peppermint, Reginald."

Another thing he liked about her: she never did anything halfway; half-assing things, taking the easy way out, cutting corners just wasn't her style. It even applied to hot chocolate apparently, as he watched her flutter around the kitchen with practiced ease -heating milk and cream on the stove, measuring sugar and chocolate, slowly adding drops of peppermint oil- and despite her saying he was going to help, the only thing he got to do was crush some candy canes. Not that he minded, though, because while his hands could play bass like no one's business, they were a total disaster when it came to cooking and he knew Y/N was well aware of that fact, considering it took a week for the burnt popcorn smell to fade from her microwave the last time he tried. 

The violinist smiled and proudly handed him the finished drink, whipped cream piled high and candy cane bits almost overflowing from the edge of a red mug. "This is my grandma's recipe," She said, one hand holding a purple mug for herself and the other reaching to grab onto his wrist and pull him out the front door. "She'd always make it when she came to visit for the holidays and we'd sit out on the porch and watch the ocean, each and every year." 

"She was the best," Reggie said as the two sat together on the porch swing, his right side flush against her left. "I still have dreams about her cookies and wake up drooling."

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Y/N's hair and carried her laugh off down the beach. "She loved you, you know that? She was always talking about 'that nice boy next door.' Pretty sure she wanted us to get married."

"I loved her, too." He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to hide the blush that was taking over his entire face. "And we still have time for the whole marriage thing."

"I'm still waiting for my ring." She laughed again before looking down at the mug in her hands, voice becoming quiet as she replied, "I really miss her. She was the only person in my family who actually cared about me 'cause my parents sure as hell don't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he knew it'd be a lie and he never did that, refusing to become a pathological liar like his mother, so instead he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Hey, no more talk about shitty parents, remember?"

"Sorry, I know," She took a long sip of her cocoa, then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I just feel alone sometimes when you're not around. I mean, you have your band and I always had my grandma to talk to but now she's gone and I'm kind of...lost."

"You have the band, too, Y/N! Alex and Luke love you and Bobby, well, he's Bobby. No one really knows what goes on in that guy's head but I know he thinks you're cool. We all do, especially me, and you should know you're never alone 'cause you'll always have us."

The girl abruptly sat up and grabbed the mug from Reggie's hand before he could blink and placed it alongside her own on the floor, then threw her arms around his neck in another one of her fierce hugs.

"Has anyone told you how fucking amazing you are?" 

"You just did." He buried his blushing face in her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist once again. "I'm serious, Y/N. You'll always have me."

"And you'll always have me, Reg. No matter what."

And as they sat there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other's arms, Reggie knew as long as he had Y/N in his life, things were gonna be okay.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“You Get Me” Pt. 3 (famous!y/n x harry)

Aka “Kissy” 🥺

honestly its really just domestic harry bahaha and I added that they have a slight age gap ?but seriously I hope y’all enjoy the third and final installment of my first ever writings -  a little miniseries if you will. I loved writing this part sm, probably my favorite part yet. I linked a spotify playlist that was some inspo (I literally listened to your summer dream on repeat for one part that I wrote, that song is so beautiful) anyways - not really proofread and I tried to break it up more so it was less big chunks to read formatting wise

here’s part 3! read: part 1 | part 2

word count: 4.0k  | warnings: makeout sesh, shirtless harry!, nothing graphic tho (I think!)

tag list : @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee, @kthemarsian, @bi-andready-tocry

playlist for the inspo✨

-

One Week Later

“Hey, Har...change of plans!” you exclaimed as you peaked through a door in Harry’s house.

You’d hung out together at your apartment once since your phone retrieval visit and the two of you had been texting constantly. You loved Harry’s company and Harry couldn’t get enough of you. Harry had called you late last night, ‘Want t’take you out tomorrow, love.’ his voice was groggy as if he was about to fall asleep. You’d instantly agreed and drove over to his house the next day. He was leaving back to London on Saturday, so it was your last day to see him for awhile.

Inside the door you had just opened, a beautiful vintage convertible sat. You had found the garage. “You are so driving this,” you turned to see the man who held your entire heart in his hands walking up beside you. Harry reluctantly agreed and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Ready?” he questioned, holding up the soft blanket he had retrieved for your coastal picnic. You nodded, proudly displaying the little picnic basket you had packed full with food. Simultaneously the two of you reach for each other’s free hands, clasping them together and walking out to the car.

“I’m on aux, you can focus on the road,” you told Harry when both of you went for the cassette device that functioned to allow you to play music from your phone despite the age of the car. Harry loved how assertive you were even if it meant he didn’t always get his way. That was one of the reasons he liked you so much, your strength, your ability to hold your own in any situation, even with him, opposite of how a lot of people treated him in the industry in bids to get in his good graces. You were his match, so similar, yet so unique.  

The pair of you started out on the road. Harry wore a white t-shirt with a blue bee slogan,  purple trousers, and some clean white vans. His rings and pearl necklace wrapped up the look. His tattooed arms starkly contrasting the crisp white of his shirt. His eyes on the road were covered by large sunglasses, but his hair flew out behind him as the wind rushed over the car. You had chosen high waisted mom jean style denim shorts and a lavender femme top with a mesh white floral overlay, it had ties on the shoulders and it complimented your skin color perfect, tanned in from your life in the golden state. You too had your rings on and a silver necklace with your first initial hidden in the pendant. Even your clothes complemented each other.  

The first song to play through the speakers was Joni Mitchell’s “California.” You looked over to see Harry smile and you two began to sing along. You didn’t talk much on the ride, staying silent other than singing along when you pleased, but you always made sure not to overpower the actual song, you didn’t like to do that if the music was there for ambiance. Harry would speak up a little when passing various things, just simply pointing them out. Then, after the first notes of “California Dreamin’” came on Harry couldn’t help buy say, “Y/N, seriously?  S’not like I don’t love these songs, but please tell me you didn’t just search up ‘California’ and are playing tha’?” All you did was shush him and tell him this was one of your favorite songs before singing along.

Then, as the Mamas and the Papas voices began to fade out, Harry started again, “This next song’s title better not be fuckin’ California or somethin’ with-” but he stopped as the light quick notes of “Golden” came through the speakers, followed by his own voice. You grinned and gave his shoulder a little push. You had just gotten on the PCH and you remembered his mention of it being the quintessential coastal drive song a couple years ago so you had queued just in time.

A grin spreads onto his features that had been in slight exasperation at your antics previously and shakes his head at you, does a little finger shake vaguely in your direction, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

You both burst out in song, practically yelling the first chorus, Harry taking little harmony parts that most wouldn’t even notice, but he notices them, he made them. You dance in your seat to the song, taking control of the background ‘da da da’s. Harry is in awe of how well your voice sounds with the track, when you sing along to the second verse, much more seriously than the first one you had screamed together. He glanced over at your moving figure that began to sway at the slowing of the song. You weren’t wearing sun glasses and you had your eyes closed, basking in the shining sun. You looked at peace, yet completely fulfilled and overjoyed. In that moment, Harry knew he wanted to keep making you feel the way you did right now every time you were together. The song ended and your playlist continued, random songs regarding California and the feeling you get with someone you care about - makes you feel sunkissed.

-

“You’re literally so corny,” Harry laughs to you when ‘California Girls’ by the Beach Boys came on. You throw side eyes at him, “What can I say, Brian Wilson knew, California girls are where it’s at,” you roll your lips into your mouth and then bite your bottom lip.

-

The drive continued with you giving a rousing rendition of ‘California Gurls’ with Harry as Katy Perry and you as Snoop Dogg as you had insisted. Harry even busted out some minimal dance moves while driving the car, honking the horn at the appropriate moment. You made Harry feel like he was 19 again.

Then, straight into ‘Canyon Moon,’ Harry really was in disbelief of the woman next to him. You got so into the “I’m goin’ home” part of the song. Harry said, “Really like tha’ one, I gather,” after it finished. It was your turn to look at him in disbelief, “It’s my favorite, Har, I remember listening to Fine Line the first time and loving it immediately. Still loved it even after everyone else barely talked about it. Deserved so much more, s’amazing.” You finished with a half smile slipping onto your face. Harry gave a quiet ‘thanks’ and returned the smile.

-

Harry was finally satisfied with where you had landed along the coast. There had been no set destination, just a plan to drive to a lookout for the picnic. Finding a small parking area, you two gathered your items and set out for the perfect spot. The California coast really is beautiful. You’d lived there your whole life, just further up north, moving down to Los Angeles when you started your music career. You ran ahead of Harry to seek out a little bluff you’d seen in the distance. “Oi!” Harry called, but didn’t run to catch up, he had taken the picnic basket and it had drinks that wouldn’t be great if they were all shaken up.

You were right, it was the perfect spot, a little ways up from the set path there was a flat surface on the edge of a cliff, it was safe, with wildflowers and tall grass around a more bare area. You layed out the large blanket, then stood and watched as Harry made his way to you. His hair was every which way due to the wind whipping through it during the car ride, you subconsciously ran your hands through your hair for that reason. He looks gorgeous, you thought.

When he arrived at your little patch, he sat down the basket and you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled yourself into him and basked in his glow, his warmth and scent. He held you and ran a hand through your hair. The pair of you could have silly fun, but you could also be extremely intimate. In these quiet moments you wished you could stop time and live here forever. To live in his arms would be a wonderful thing. “So happy right now, darling,” Harry whispered, the soft swish of grass and the distant crash of waves the only sounds he had to speak above. You said nothing, but pushed yourself even further into his body, a response in and of itself. In this moment, there was no one else, just you, Harry, and the beautiful nature you stood in. This moment was everything. And you didn’t want to set it free.

Eventually, the two of you parted and relaxed into the blanket. For once, neither of you played music, you talked and ate and listened to the ambient sounds of nature. The melodic waves carried the conversation, when neither of you felt the need to say words. After eating, you let Harry pop the bottle of champagne he had brought along, unbeknownst to you, nevertheless when you saw it you wanted to be the one to uncork it. Still, your protests fell on deaf ears. “Y’seem to be getting very used to getting everythin’ you want, huh? Already a spoiled princess after a couple months of fame,” Harry teased as he worked to open the bottle. You huffed at his teasing and your failed attempt to get the bottle from him, which had caused him to move off the blanket and have his shirt be stretched from you grabbing at the bottle and only getting fabric.

“Whatever, don’t act like you’re not a total diva sometimes, Styles.” You couldn’t deny that him calling you a ‘spoiled princess’ made you feel things, unholy things. Of course you found Harry unbelievably attractive, but this was your fourth time being with Harry and the two of you hadn’t done anything besides heavy makeout sessions. You loved the way he said your name, but you also loved his nicknames for you, but this was a new one that seemed to hold some meaning within it.

Harry liked to see you all worked up, but knew he could get the exact same way, upset when things don’t turn out the way you want them. Frustrating. Finally, he popped the cork and you both cheered for the golden bubbly liquid. You had spent almost about an hour on the road and an hour or two already on the cliff, so the sun was starting to make its farewells to this side of the earth. The sky was beginning to light up with pinks, oranges, and lavenders. You both sat back down on the blanket, this time with you sat up inside of Harry’s spread legs, reclining back onto his chest.

You continued to talk, about the view before you for a little, but then each other. Whenever you were together, the two of you gravitated to the topic of enjoying the other so much. Today was apparently Harry’s turn to share. “When we were in tha car, earlier,” he started as you twiddled your fingers on his thigh, drawing shapes. You looked up into his eyes to encourage him to continue. “Haven’t had tha’ much fun in awhile. You…” he hesitated again and averted his eyes from your stare. You whispered a little ‘yeah’. You really cared about Harry feeling comfortable with you and making him happy, so you knew encouragement was helpful when he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Y’make me feel young...tha’ sounds so dumb, but y’really do,” he finally got out as put his hand over your moving one on his thigh. The two of you didn’t talk about the fact that Harry was a bit older than you. He was famous when you were a puberty-stricken teenager. The age gap wasn’t really an issue, you were both adults, but his statement reminded you that he would be 30 soon and you were still in your early 20s.

You twisted around to sit on your knees and face Harry. You placed both of your hands on his face, cradling his jaw and cheeks on each side of his face. This forced him to look you right in the eyes. You appreciated the beauty of his piercing green eyes for a moment and then went to kiss his crows feet on the sides of his eyes, his forehead lines, his hairline, his five o’clock shadow, and his smile lines, that had cropped up as he giggled at you. You were making exaggerated kiss noises as you loved on his face. “First of all, you are young,” you finally said in audible words. You waited a beat, then you kissed his soft lips that were smiling up at you. He was still smiling when you kissed him so your lips hit a bit of a tooth and you both giggled. But, you stood strong, not pulling away to laugh. Harry kissed you back. He shifted and brought his hands up from the ground where they had been holding him up to cradle your body instead. The kiss stayed chaste, despite Harry’s protests when you pulled back.

“And second, you make me feel alive.” “Alive…” Harry echoed you slowly, “Tha’s a better way to put it. I am young,” He smirked and then winked at you. You moved your hands to sit on his upper chest and could feel his heart beating soft, but strong beneath his skin. You grabbed his arm and moved it from around you. Harry quirked a brow at you. Then you placed his hand above your left breast and below your collarbone. Now he could feel your heartbeat, too. Yours, you thought, was beating a bit faster than his, but you didn’t care. Touching like this, made you feel close to him. Like you could see inside each other.  

-

You finished off the bottle of champagne because Harry had to stop drinking to be able to drive the two of you home safely. You felt very warm from it, despite the sun setting a while ago and your bare arms and legs. Luckily, besides the slight buzz you had, it was summer in California, and the nights stayed relatively warm. You skipped to the car and bent over the convertible to put the picnic basket in the backseat. Harry was right behind you and gave your bum a light pat, you pulled yourself up and flipped around, giggling. You tugged Harry in by his shirt and demanded, “Kissy.” Harry snorted and obliged, but with an open mouthed kiss where his tongue basically slobbered over your lips, mouth, and a bit of your nose. You whined, “You’re fucking disgusting, Har.” “Ya’ love it,” he responded with a faux posh voice before giving you a quick peck to your lips and rounded the car, telling you to get in and buckle up.

The whole ride home, Harry had his hand on your thigh. With it there, you occupied yourself with twisting his rings and and dancing your hand around his fingertips. The champagne had made you quiet, but smiley. The music you played was softer on the ride back home, you knew Harry needed to focus with the dark road and you didn’t want the music to distract him.

One song that was of note was “Lavendar (Take 4)” by the Beach Boys. The recording is somewhat unpleasant, but the song is beautiful. It had reminded you of the clothes you and Harry had worn on your date, the wildflowers that had just surrounded you, and the color of the sky when the sun had set on the scene of you and Harry tenderly kissing each other. The Beach Boys are known for their California, Surf pop sounds, but this sound is soft and filled with lushious harmonies, an ode to lavender, maybe a girl named lavender, but nonetheless it was for lavender. Harry harmonized along with their voices, returning to his original state. It ended and went straight into Simon & Garfunkel’s “America.” Paul Simon’s voice passed through the speakers and whispered to us sweetly. Harry again hummed in appreciation for the song choice.

-

When you arrived at the house, you helped Harry clean up the dishes and trash in the picnic basket. Then you sat on the couch, it was around ten o’clock and Harry had offered to make a pot of tea. You looked over the back of the couch as he moved around his kitchen. He padded around, putting the kettle on, opening cupboards for mugs and tea choices. When the water was ready, he got the tea ready, choosing a loose-leaf blend he’d found at a fancy restaurant in Amsterdam. “No cream tonight,” you called, still watching him work his way around his home.

Admiration shown in your eyes as he nodded and finished up the tea, bringing it over to you at the couch. He chose your mug tonight. Different from the previous two, his and yours were a matching set with dark blue interiors with tiny cartoon sailboats. You loved his collection of fun mugs, it fit him so well. After handing it to you, he snuggled in beside you and you took a sip, then rested your head on top of his strong shoulder. You turned your head to give a light kiss to his shoulder, and then moved back to staring ahead of you.  

“Wanna stay?” Harry asked, his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Can just drive ‘ome in the mornin’,” he continued. “That’d be really nice,” you sighed. This was so comfortable, how was in possible to be like this with someone you’d known for a little over a week? It didn’t matter to either of you how quick it had happened. But it happened, and it felt right, so you went with it. This, what you and Harry had, made you happy so there couldn’t really be anything wrong with that.

-

You two chatted a bit more - about your week of tour preparations, Harry’s flight time tomorrow, various random thoughts, - and you drank your tea. At about midnight, Harry suggested that you and he get ready for bed and then watch something on his laptop. You agreed and ventured into an unknown part of his home. You’d started to snoop earlier today when you had found the garage, but had only gotten that far because you got distracted by Harry’s car.

His house was beautiful and perfectly him. It was big, but his decor and things made it specifically Harry, even if he didn’t live here full time anymore. You reached the master bedroom, located in the back of his house, with french doors, identical to those in the sitting room, opening out to the grass in his backyard. His bed. His bed. It was a California King with tasteful bedding and a beautiful wooden headboard and frame.

You ran and jumped onto it, the bed sinking beneath you and the bedding fluffing around you. You snuggled and rolled around in the sheets, “This is so much nicer than my bed in the apartment, it’s only a full…” you trailed off. Harry leaned against the doorway of the room, smiling to himself as he watched you make yourself at home among this life. “You’ll be gettin’ a new place, soon, I reckon?” Harry asked and went to grab you both some clothes to sleep in from his closet. “Yeah, maybe!” you called out to him in the little room connected to the master that housed his clothes.

When Harry returned, he was only in boxers, but was holding two large t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, and another pair of boxers. “D’ya mind if I sleep like this? I can put more clothes on if that makes you more comfortable?”

You couldn’t keep your jaw from dropping. You’d seen Harry shirtless before, everyone had, but to see him right in front of you, that was something else.

He noticed you staring at his body and smirked, but then threw a shirt and the pair of boxers your way, “Stop bein’ such a perv, love,” he teased. “Rude,” you muttered, “Was simply admiring...but if you don’t want me to look, you can sleep fully clothed,” you scratched your nose and then shrugged your shoulders.

As you worked to slide off the big bed, Harry crossed the room and trapped you on the edge, leaning over you with both his hands landing on either side of you on the bed. You scrunch your eyes and nose up as he tries to make eye contact with you. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your head and your cheek receives a kiss. He stays against your cheek, drags out your name and groans, “s’teasin’ you.” “I know, baby,” you respond and kiss his cheek now. You duck under his arm and run into his en suite bathroom, shutting the door to change. When you re-emerge, Harry’s in the bed, with the sheets pulled back, and his computer in his lap.

Harry calls out to you without looking up from his screen, “S’was thinkin’, y’know, since you’re always saying your apartment is tiny, y’could house sit ‘ere while I’m away?” You tilt you head as you approach the bed as you ponder the idea. “I mean, I guess ‘why not’? It would be a longer commute into the studio, but this place is gorgeous, and I’m gonna start traveling a lot anyway so I won’t need my apartment for much longer…” You continue to think on it as you climb back onto Harry’s bed and snuggle yourself into his body. Harry looks slightly down at you by his side, he’s put on his glasses, “Think you should, I’d also like knowin’ someone was ‘ere, keepin’ things running while I’m away.”

You nodded and move slightly to rest your head on Harry’s naked chest. His sunkissed tattooed body is mesmerizing, you reach your hand up and start tracing the various designs and running your hand along his collarbones and veins as well. Then you flattened a palm and smoothed it over his right pectoral. Harry hummed and pushed himself further down the bed. “Can we not watch anything actually, m’kinda tired,” you whisper up to Harry, your voice the only sound in the house besides the light clicking of a clock in a different room. Harry responds by closing the laptop and readjusting your position in the bed. You and Harry are a tangle of legs and bodies pressed against one another. Everything is calm and Harry says one word, “Kissy.” And you smile and let yourself pull slightly away from Harry to lean up and kiss him one more time before the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms. It’s soft and chaste, completely closed mouths, but you linger in the kiss, feeling his warm nose brushing besides yours. A hand moves up to his hair and gives it one good run through and then you pull away, “Kissy,” you finalize. The two of you giggle and snuggle even further together.

Your bodies fit so well together and again you were struck with the feeling that you never wanted this to end, even if tomorrow he was flying away, to somewhere halfway across the world. The distance didn’t matter. You knew the two of you had what it took to be there for each other, even if you couldn’t touch or feel the other. Even if laughter over the phone had to suffice for awhile. What the two of you had was greater than all of those obstacles of space and proximity. It was powerful because you were both powerful. Powerful in the way you loved, in the way you worked, in the way you simply were. You fell asleep in Harry’s arms that night filled with contentment. Harry fell asleep with you in his arms that night filled with joy that he’d found someone to share everything with. Someone who was willing to give him all of themselves. Someone who was finally able to get all of him.

-

love y’all sm 🤍🤍 hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

[jimmys-zeppelin]

ghostin'

chapter sixteen

(table of contents)

(chapter fifteen)

july 4, 1976

be my mistake

Ellie balanced a variety of liquor bottles in her arms. Some were for her to take home, others were for the party later that night. Carolyn had asked her—practically begged on her knees—to get some and shoved a shopping list in her hands.

In an attempt to look at her watch and check the time, two bottles had begun to slip. Just before one could shatter to the linoleum tiled floor, a hand rushed in and grabbed it for her. Roger's face quickly became familiar to her as her entire body relaxed. Major embarrassment had been avoided.

"Thanks, Rog." Ellie exhaled.

"I told you not to carry so many bottles. Or at least get a basket." Roger said, guiding them toward the checkout line.

"I thought I'd be able to make it," she replied simply, letting a few bottles fall onto the belt as she adjusted the others she had been holding. Roger reached out and stood the remaining bottles up as they moved down closer to the cashier stood opposite them.

"Can I see some ID, please?" The teenager asked, stopping the belt, the bottles clinking against each other as a result.

Ellie scoffed, starting to pull her wallet from the small handbag that had been slung over her shoulder. Roger stepped in instead, handing over his own ID before Ellie could even get her wallet out.

"You the guy from Queen?" the boy asked upon further inspection, handing Roger back his identification. The blond nodded curtly, not wanting to be too loud about his identity. "Rock'n'roll, man." He eyed up Ellie, who smiled at him sweetly, just waiting for the items to get scanned so they could leave.

☆

"Why didn't you let me show my ID?" Ellie asked, handing Roger the wad of cash Carolyn had given her for the drinks while they carried the two paper bags clinking with alcoholic beverages back to her car.

"Didn't want him seeing your address." he shrugged, reaching in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes after placing the bags in the backseat.

Before lighting up, he offered Ellie a cigarette, motioning the box toward her and she decidedly took one, placing it between her lips as Roger came forward with his lighter, firing up the cancer stick as she started the car.

"Very gentlemanly of you, Rog."

"Always." he chuckled, rolling the passenger window down as he exhaled the nicotine from his lungs. He looked around the vehicle as the bottles made their existence known behind them. "What kind of car is this?" he asked.

"A P1800. Volvo. My parents got it for my 18th birthday. Neat, isn't it?"

"Very," Roger replied, running his hand over the dashboard, "You talk to Jimmy recently?"

Ellie paused, "yeah. We spoke a few days ago. Not much to talk about, though, since neither of us are doing shows. We're relatively boring people." she chuckled, taking a drag and tapping the remnants of the cigarette out the window.

"Right right. Zep's newest album was great."

"Oh, you heard it?" she asked, reflecting on the fact that not even she had heard it yet. Somehow she felt guilty about it.

"Yeah, I mean, like the energy. Great great great. He produced, right?"

"Always. I like that he produces the band's records. Really keeps the integrity within the band, you know? Like it's truly their vision that's being put out."

"I thought the one song..." he paused, searching for the name, "Tea for One! It sounded a bit like their other song from a few years back. Gosh what was the name..." Roger trailed off, snapping his fingers as he racked his mind for the title. Ellie pulled into her driveway as Roger pondered, "Ah! Since I've Been Loving You."

The two exited the vehicle and tossed their cigarettes before reaching into the backseat for the various drinks they'd purchased. Ellie got her keys ready before looking back at the drummer.

"You think so? Who was on the writing credit?" she asked, unlocking the front door and letting Roger in first, "excuse the mess."

"I think the credits were to Page/Plant." Roger replied, quickly finding the kitchen and setting the paper bag down on the counter. "Are you putting these in the ice box?" he asked.

Ellie found solace in the question, taking advantage of it and using it to change the subject, "Yeah, I'll keep it in until we have to leave and I think I have a cooler in the garage that we can take with us when the car comes to pick us up."

"Awesome, do you mind if I go get it?"

"Not at all, the door's right over that way. You should be able to find it. I'm gonna take a shower and get ready, okay?"

Roger nodded, "of course, take your time."

☆

Ellie's eyes met Andrew's as she and Roger made their entrance at the rooftop of some building in association with her label. The blonde hurried over as best as she could in her high heels while the two seemed to screech in excitement.

"I see you brought Project Blondie with you."

"Stop calling him that." Ellie said, trying to be serious, but at the same time holding back a laugh. She looked back to see Roger handing over her cooler to someone in formalwear. He pulled the man aside, whispering something to him before pointing in Ellie's direction. The blonde smiled and waved at the two when they looked over at her.

Another word of communication was exchanged between them before Roger made his way over to Andrew and Ellie.

"Hey, I was just telling him that the cooler's yours and you'd need it back before you left."

"Thanks Rog." She replied, "I don't believe you've met Andrew."

The men shook hands, "I'm the one who came out to you over the phone." Andrew chuckled.

"Ah, yes. I do recall that. It's a pleasure." Roger said, turning to Ellie, "can I get you a drink?"

"Oh yes please." the blonde stated. Roger nodded, trying to hold back a laugh as he went to grab the two of them some drinks.

Andrew reached back to the table behind him and grabbed two shot glasses. From the smell, Ellie could tell it was vodka as it was shoved into her hands. "What's this for?" she asked.

"Liquid courage." the man replied as if it were obvious.

"Courage for what?"

"You're obviously trying to please him. Maybe you'll ease up a bit with some vodka in your system."

Ellie sighed, clinking the two shot glasses together before the two of them downed the alcohol that burned its way down their throats. With a dry cough she looked up at her best friend, "I'm not cheating on Jimmy. If this is your ploy to get me to sleep with Roger you'll regret the day you were born."

Andrew feigned fear, "As if you couldn't make that decision on your own. Deep down you know what you want."

"And that's to be with Jimmy." She said as Andrew collected his things and started on his way elsewhere.

"I can't hear you because I'm walking away." he replied nonchalantly as the sound of his voice floated away with each step he took.

Ellie rolled her eyes, peering over the edge of the building where she could see three men on the ground floor setting up the fireworks display that would be going off in a few hours. Things like this always excited her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a red cup blocked her view of the ground. She looked up to see Roger, looking pleased as he held the cup out to her. Ellie took it graciously before downing a quick sip.

"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?" he asked, staring out into the West Hollywood cityscape. They faintly saw an airplane touch down at LAX before turning to look at each other.

"California's a beautiful place to be. Kinda wish I could've taken you to the beach before you had to leave. Sorry I've been tied up with my studio stuff."

"Oh, it's no bother, really. I took a walk down the Santa Monica pier last week during sunrise. It was beautiful."

"Was the jet lag bad?" She asked.

"I walked down to the pier to watch the sun rise, didn't I?"

Ellie laughed in response, taking another sip of the drink in her hand, "I never really get to go down there anymore. Always doing something."

"You're up and coming, darling. It's good that you're busy." Roger replied, taking a swig of his drink. Ellie smiled at his calling her darling. It made something inside her flutter a little.

☆

Ellie placed another glass of champagne down on a random table, nearly tripping over her feet as she did so. The number of drinks she'd downed in the hour and a half since she'd arrived at the party were already immeasurable. Whoever the barista was, she'd have to thank them later.

The boom of the first firework startled her as it did many on the rooftop. Gazes shifted to the bright lights illuminating the sky and they ooh'd and ahh'd in amazement. Ellie looked over to see Roger sitting at a table on his own and couldn't help but make him revel in amazement along with her.

"Roger!" she exclaimed, making her way over to the drummer. He turned his head quickly, seeing her barreling over to her. Quick to stand up to try to hold her before she fell, Roger set his drink down and caught her hand in his. "The fireworks, look!" she marveled.

Another was set off into the sky, the high pitched whistle as it flew through the air before it burst with a crackle caught their attention. Ellie turned to Roger, with a beaming smile on her face, "I'm so drunk right now," she whispered in his ear.

"I'm aware." The blond laughed as he guided them toward the wall so Ellie could rest on it and watch the fireworks display at the same time. The continuous, loud booms kept them from being able to speak too much, but their fingers remained intertwined as they watched on.

"Y'know," Ellie started, slurring her words slightly as she leaned into his ear, "Jimmy never came over at the Fourth to watch the fireworks with me."

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that. I hope you're having a good time though."

"Yeah, I'm having fun. Good drinks...good music...good company...drinks..."

"I think you've had enough drinks for tonight, Els." Roger said, only to be interrupted again by the drunken woman.

"Jimmy....he's completely off his rocker. He's on that heroin stuff, it's completely doing him in. I can hear it...when we're on the phone he's like....completely off in space." Ellie said absently, singsonging the end of her statement.

"Oh...uhm. I hope he gets well, then." he replied awkwardly, not knowing how to respond to the personal confession.

"I know. And like—" the boom of more fireworks, "wow. I feel bad because the whole album, I mean the whole album is about him. I don't wanna," a few more explosions, "I don't wanna seem like a sellout."

"Well, people write what they know, right? This is what's affecting you at the moment, of course you'll want to write about it."

"Y'know, Rog...you're so sweet to me," Ellie said, looking right into his baby blues and rubbing the top of his hand with her thumb. Her voice hushed slightly as she leaned in closer to him the slightest bit. Roger, being too confused to do anything, stood in place, not moving. "Maybe I should...get rid of Jimmy and get with you instead." she finished as fireworks cluttered the world around them.

Roger searched Ellie's eyes for any answer as to what she was going to do next, but the drunken haze clouded her judgement. A firework hissed through the night sky and exploded with a big bang as Ellie pressed her lips to Roger's. Confusion crossed his features and he contemplated what to do before tentatively kissing her back for a brief second.

As the gunpowder dissipated in the sky, Ellie pulled away, her gaze still glassy and not totally there as she went back to watching the fireworks as if nothing had occurred. Roger stood stunned in place, watching Ellie instead of the display of fireworks for a long moment. It was only when she looked over to him again that she realized her fingers were still intertwined with his and she giggled at the predicament.

Roger looked around. It seemed no one had noticed the kiss. He was glad on that note, but his heart sank in his chest when he realized the gravity of what had happened. Maybe he should leave. Or maybe he could pretend nothing happened just as Ellie had. If they just didn't talk about it, the occurrence could get erased from history and Roger likely wouldn't get his shit rocked by Peter Grant, Led Zeppelin's gargantuan manager for being The Other Man.

He quickly let go of her hand and walked over to the bar, "Scotch, no ice, please." he said, drumming his fingers on the bar-top nervously.

---

it's ironic because I finished writing this chapter on the fourth of july...

masterlist | playlist

Taglist: @diaryofafan17 @tophats-n-lespauls @witchesdust @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 @hejustsatisfiess @salixfragilis @princesspagey @reincarnated70sbaby @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @kyunisixx if you want to be added to the list lmk!

[carnationcreation]

Breathless (JATP Reggie x male!reader)

✌🏻Masterlist Taglist, and Works in progress!

Request: (Wattpad @ Calumm_310) dont know if youll take male reader (which is fine if you dont) but can you maybe write a oneshot about Reggie and the reader dating in secret and the boys and Julie catch them being loving or like fluff? (Reader is taller than Reggie) 

Prompt/summary:  Reggie and the reader are secretly dating and trying not to get caught by their friends.

Word Count: 1,435

Authors note: I haven’t written a male reader before so please don’t bully me, but I would love constructive comments cause I really don’t like the way I wrote this one. I just don’t know how I could make it better lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Never trust someone who’s smile takes your breath away. The person that can waltz into your life and suddenly you’ve truly fallen and you don’t know what happens.

Definitely never trust someone that you want so badly but can’t have.

He saw me in the crowd at one of his concerts. When they saw my instant attraction for the bassist my friends managed to get us invited to the band’s after party.The after party was small, outside on the shore of the LA beaches.

I looked out over the ocean, I’d lost track of most of my friends an hour ago so I decided to spend my time looking out towards the setting sun daydreaming to pass the time.

I felt someone sit down beside me. 

“Listen if you want someone to drive you home I’m waiting for 3 of my friends who are probably drunk off their asses now. Taxi’s are still running.”

“I can’t just sit and talk to you?” he said. 

I looked over at the boy, his black hair was slicked back and leather jacket wrapped around him. 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I was just telling you,” I said.

He laughed before moving to take his jacket off and laying it on the towel under us.

“So, where you from?” he asked.

“Here, you?”

“Here. What made you come tonight?” he said.

“My friends said they’d find a way to get me laid tonight if I drove them home,” I chuckled.

“Do you want that to happen?” he leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him.

I scoffed, “Doubt it will.”

“You’re attractive, I doubt there isn’t a girl here who wouldn’t be excited to sneak out back with you,” he reached over to steal a strawberry off my plate.

“Not the kind of attention I’m looking for tonight,” I smacked his hand away from my plate but he triumphantly ate his loot. 

I shook my head to look back for my friends, unfortunately I realized how late it had gotten and knew it was time to go find my friends to make sure we get back before parents noticed we were gone. I turned back to the boy that had kept me company for part of the night, “Catch you later?”

“Sure,” he handed me a slip of paper, “call me.”

I smiled and led my very drunk friends to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t get to call him the next day. That was something my friends kept bugging me about.

“You’re going to regret not calling him. A hot guy gave you his number and you’re just gonna pass on it?”

“Ally, he was probably drunk. And I’m sure he’s straight.”

Ally scoffed, “You don’t know that. He was practically hanging off you when we came back over.”

“Ally you were wasted. I’m sure he was just looking for someone to take up his time and talk to.”

Ally rolled her eyes, “Whatever, you should still call him. What’s the worse that could happen?”

“Lots of things,” I laughed.

“Just do it!” she said. I rolled my eyes but I still left her house debating on if I would or not.

I ended up calling him that night after much debate with my inner thoughts. He seemed shocked when I told him we met at the after party, he assumed I wasn’t gonna call.

“We should go on a date,” he said. He sounded so confident.

“Oh?”

“Give me your address, I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We can watch a movie then go get food,” he said.

 I smiled, “Sounds like you’ve already got all of this planned out.”

“Oh I was thinking about our marriage ceremony when I saw you at the beach.”

I laughed at his bold statement, but in the back of my mind I wondered what he would look like in a tux.

“Fine Reginald, pick me up at 7 tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night was amazing, and the next night after that was too. Before I knew it we had been dating for two weeks. Two amazing, breathtaking weeks. Running around together at night but pretending we barely knew each other during the day.

He ended up taking me back to the beach we originally met at. It had cooled off some and the tide was low. The setting sun made Reggie look like some sort of Greek god in the golden light.

‘‘You’re staring.”

I turned back to the sea, “Can’t help it.”

“I know, it’s almost impossible not to stare at my beauty when you’re with me,” he smirked.

I looked over at him laughing and shoved his shoulder, “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

“What?” he said smoothing his hair back, “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

“Did I say that?” I giggled.

“Well- no but-”

“Then don’t make assumptions,” I laughed.

He laughed too. He paused after a while and stared deep into my eyes. My breath was caught in my throat. Before I could process what was happening he leaned forward and kissed me. It felt like the world stopped turning.

He pulled back and smiled at me. I smiled too. We walked home that night holding hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never got to meet his friends.

It was something I never asked about, I knew he wasn’t out yet and I respected his wishes to keep things quiet for now until he was comfortable introducing me as his boyfriend. That didn’t mean that I didn’t feel like I was only a secret and nothing else though.

“When do I get to meet your friends?” I asked one day.

“I promise you will,” he sighed.

I bit my lip, “You’re not... embarrassed of me right?”

“What?” he said, he placed his hand gently on the side of my face, “You make me feel alive. Like I can breathe. For the first time in forever I feel normal. I could never be embarrassed of you babe.”

I smiled and placed my hand over his rubbing my thumb gently over it. He grinned and kissed my forehead.

“Hey guys- woah...”

We turned to see Julie standing in the doorway of the garage.

“Oh, uh, hey Julie... didn’t think you were gonna be back this early...” Reggie said, he stood up and placed his hands in his pocket. My hands dropped into my lap as I forced a smile through the embarrassment of getting caught like that.

“Who’s this Reg?” she asked.

“Well...” Reggie said turning to me.

“I’m his frien-” I spoke but Reggie cut me off.

“This is my boyfriend, (Y/n).”

I looked at him in shock before that quickly turned into a smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Julie kept our secret. Reggie felt so much better after telling that one person, and I kept encouraging him to be comfortable and confident in himself. As time went on he did.

“We’re gonna get caught,” I giggled.

We were in the alleyway of one of the venues he was supposed to play at tonight. I trapped against him and the wall as he kissed down my neck and onto my shoulder.

He placed a kiss at the corner of my mouth, “Okay?”

I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss.

“Reggie!” Luke said as him and Alex busted out of the stage door.

We quickly pulled away from each other and stared in surprise.

“Oh, uh, we go on in five. Let’s go dude,” Luke said.

“Wait a minute,” Alex said gently, pushing Luke out of the way and holding his hand out to me, “Hi, I’m Alex. I’m sure we would’ve met sooner if Reggie bothered to tell us anything!”

Reggie threw his hands up in defense, “We were gonna tell you soon!”

I giggled as the two bickered like siblings for a few seconds.

“Guys! We gotta go!” Julie said from the door, “Oh, hey (Y/n)!”

I waved as the other boys looked at Reggie in shock.

“She knew about you two but we didn’t? So much for best friends!” Luke yelled.

“Yeah,” Alex said, “You know what? I’m taking back our friendship bracelets.”

Reggie gasped.

“Guys! Show time. Now,” Julie snapped her fingers.

 The boys finally got the idea and moved to the door. Reggie quickly turned around and stood up on his toes to give me a quick kiss, “You got your ticket?”

I patted my pocket where the ticket stub for VIP sat.

“Good, I’ll see you after the show okay?”

“Okay,” I smiled.

He gave me one last kiss that took my breath away before running off to join the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @thebookwormlife​ @talksoprettyjjx​  @coolreallyfuzzystudentuniverse​  @igotabadfeelingabouteverything​ @larrystylinson-sus​ @lovesanimals​ @aunicornmademedoit​ @thexhotmess​ @ssprayberrythings​ @peachyxdream​ @catieiscute2001​ @julieandthephantomsblogduh​ @fangirling-allday​ @ashleyleblancx​ @alltimekp​ @wcnderwoo​ @unipanda1006​ @disgustedchild​ @aberette13​ @dpaccione​ @whyworry27​ @number-0-iz​ @musicconversedance​ @owlgirl1209​ @angelxfics​ @hamdehlesmis​ @solophantoms​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @joshy-obx​ @mochamiilk​ @caitsymichelle13​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @noncannonships​ @intoanothermind​ @etherealexsistence​ @schnapp-my-neck​

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[latenightsleuth]

(Image from: https://disappearedblog.com/disappeared-episode-list/)

The Loxahatchee Horror – Could It Happen to Your Aviary?

© Howard Voren. Click here to use this content.

If everyone in your household should suddenly disappear, would anyone notice? If they did notice, would they have the initiative or the authority to break into your house to rescue your birds from starvation? In the case of Moses Lall, the well-known bird importer, the answer was no–at least not in time to save the lives of most of the approximately 1,000 birds whose cages lined the open field behind his rented house. On June 15, l994, after the continued urging of several concerned parties, local authorities entered the property. The gruesome sight that they beheld was something that should appear only in ones’ worst nightmare.

What Happened

Moses Lall and his aunt, Lila Buerattan, both natives of Guyana, South America, had lived on a rented 5-acre ranch in Loxahatchee, Florida, since December of 1992. They had moved to the rural community with the idea of starting a large bird-breeding farm. They spoke with no one in the local avicultural community, nor did they interact with anyone at any of the surrounding ranches. They lived extremely private lives, and no one, except their veterinarian, was ever permitted to see their birds. In fact, they even refused to purchase a license that would have allowed them to legally breed and sell birds within the state of Florida. When approached by Florida Fish and Game officers the previous year and urged to purchase a permit and undergo the minimal inspection procedures, they declined. They claimed that the birds were not for sale or breeding, and were being maintained for their personal pleasure. Most of us locals who knew of them never saw them, and were aware of their existence only because we all used the same feed company. In fact, it was the feed company that began sounding the alarm that something was wrong.

On June 9th, the driver for Bird Haven Feed Company arrived to deliver the weekly supply of primate biscuits, sunflower seeds and dried corn to Lall’s farm. No one was there to let him in. Finding no one at the gate to receive the feed was highly unusual. Realizing that they never purchased reserve supplies, and not wanting the birds to go hungry, he piled the feed up in front of the gates. They tried to reach Lall by phone to make sure all was well, but no one answered. Feeling uncomfortable about the situation, they returned the next day. The feed was still piled up outside the gate and had been ruined by the rain. At this point, they called several local aviculturists, as well as Lall’s veterinarian. The questions put to all of them were the same: Do you know where Moses and Lila are? Do you now them well enough to jump the fence, walk through the pack of dogs and go around to the rear of the property to see if someone has been feeding the birds? They all gave the same negative answer.

Between the 11th and the 15th of June, several concerned parties, including the seed company and the veterinarian, began calling the authorities and demanding that action be taken. As birds were starving to death, the concerned parties were sent in a circular motion from one agency to the next. The Palm Beach County Sheriffs’ Department, upon hearing the story, said that animal abuse was the jurisdiction of the Palm Beach County Animal Control. When Animal Control heard the words macaws and parrots, they explained that jurisdiction over exotic birds had been taken way from them and given to Florida Fish and Game. Florida Fish and Game explained that since the facility was not permitted by them, they had no right to enter. They added that if, in fact, birds were starving, a misdemeanor had been committed and that was the jurisdiction of the Sheriffs’ Department.

On June 15th, the feed company contacted Bob and Liz Johnson, who rescue abused, mistreated and crippled birds through a branch of their nonprofit organization, Life Awareness Inc. At that point, Liz contacted me and Dr. Susan Clubb to get a full update on what avenues had been pursued. Upon discovering that pleas for action had been thwarted by “red tape,” she called the Sheriffs’ Office and made demands. After “much insistence,” they reluctantly agreed to send out someone to investigate. The deputy immediately called the Johnsons and reported that our worst fears had been realized. The Johnsons, Dr. Clubb, I and my daughter Stacie raced to the scene to offer assistance in the feeding and care of the birds. By that time, all three of the previously contacted agencies were present.

We were totally unprepared for the sight that we encountered. It was a horror beyond belief: row after row of cages with either dead or dying green-winged and blue-and-gold macaws. Literally every pair of macaws had at least one dead member. Several had succumbed to starvation and dehydration, with their heads in their empty food bowls–a final desperate move with the hope that food would arrive before their last breath was drawn. Although the collection was made up predominately of large macaws, there were also hundreds of smaller parrots and toucans. These included Amazons, hawk heads, African greys, Jardine’s, Pionus and mini macaws. Most of these had succumbed. There were several cages with 25 to 30 birds in them that had either one or no survivors. It was a miracle that any of the birds were alive.

The feed company had told us what the farm’s approximate weekly consumption was. By taking inventory of the feed that was left in the garage, we were able to determine that the birds had not been fed in at least 10 days.

Inside the house awaited another horror. Incubators, still operating, contained dead babies that had hatched but were never fed. Aquarium brooders that were lined up against the wall all had one or two dead baby blue-and-gold macaws. All had starved to death, sitting on clean bedding, while waiting for their next meal. An open bucket of handfeeding formula was on the kitchen counter with a bowl and spoon next to it. It appeared as if someone had changed the bedding in the brooders and was ready to mix up some formula when he or she was interrupted. With our assistance, Dr. Clubb was able to tube-feed those that were too weak to eat or drink. One died in Bob Johnson’s hands while it was waiting to be tube fed. Another 60 birds that were too far gone died the following day. In all, there were only 335 birds left alive from the flock of almost 1,000. The following morning, the birds were taken to the Palm Beach Animal Control facility. Food donations, as well as volunteer labor from all the local bird clubs and organizations, began pouring in. When Lall’s family from Guyana tried to claim the birds as family property, they were presented with a bill for $130,000. The majority of this bill was Animal Control’s standard charge of $10 per animal per day for the care of confiscated animals. Ten dollars per day multiplied by 335 birds adds up very quickly. As the Lalls fought to regain the birds at a more reasonable price, the bill rose to approximately $180,000. On August 22, a judge ordered that the birds be auctioned off individually to the general public in order to raise the most money. Exactly what happened to Moses and Lila is still officially a mystery. Those who knew them said that they truly loved their birds and would never have deserted them. Moses and Lila are now considered dead. The murder investigation cannot proceed any further until their bodies are found. There were also two other people staying at the farm that were originally considered missing. They were Daljeet “Harry” Gobin, a fellow Guyanese, and Felix Eyuom, a reptile dealer from Africa. Harry Gobin is being sought for questioning.

The purpose of this article is not to try to solve an unsolved crime. It is to make everyone aware that such things can and do happen. Although this situation may be unique due to its magnitude, it is not unheard of on a smaller scale. It is not uncommon to read about animals dying from lack of care due to the undiscovered death or incapacitation of those responsible for their care.

What You Can Do

To prevent such a calamity from happening again, each and every one of you should have a plan. This plan should ensure that, should anything happen to you, it will be discovered without delay and your animals will be cared for. This can be as simple as a regularly expected phone call to a friend, a relative or someone’s answering machine. A simple statement like “I’m okay” is all that is necessary. The receiver of the regular call must be ready to notify someone who has been given written authority by you to break into your house and aviaries to care for your birds if you cannot be located. It must also be specifically stated, in a notarized document, who will hold and care for your birds until your whereabouts are discovered, or until your estate is settled. Your birds must never be allowed to be considered legally abandoned.

Lall’s birds were considered abandoned. They suffered the ultimate fate of being sold to the highest bidder without regard to the bidder’s expertise. Two thousand people converged at the auction on September 10th. Most were there to buy a cheap bird for their kids. Most bought bronco wild breeder macaws with the intention of turning them into pets.

Luckily, due to some generous monetary donations, the Johnsons were able to purchase the birds that were blind or crippled. These were purchased to be retired to the parrot sanctuary that they maintain.

All the birds were sold in small temporary holding cages with no doors and with two tiny metal cups. The idea behind no doors was to keep the public from opening the cages at the auction site after the purchase. It was explained to the buyers that the birds should be transferred to suitable housing after they were removed. Unfortunately, two weeks later buyers were still showing up at local vets with their purchases still in the temporary cages with no doors and nothing but the two tiny cups for food and water. As time went on, a large percentage of the birds were diagnosed with papilloma infections.

All proceeds from the publication of this article will go to support the parrot sanctuary run by the Johnsons. Private donations are also appreciated. Their address is Life Awareness Bird Sanctuary, P.O. Box 641032, Miami, FL 33164.