#chip taylor reader insert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidgraygubler · 4 years ago

Text

out of the ordinary (chip taylor/reader)

Title: Out Of The Ordinary

Request: no

Couple: Chip Taylor/Fem!Reader

Category: smut/angst

Content Warning: SEXUAL CONTENT (penetrative sex, fingering, oral (fem), sex while someone is injured, breeding kink, groping, praise kink, multiple orgasms, hair pulling), swearing, blood and other bodily fluids, graphic descriptions of violence(!!!!), mentions of sexual acts, 68 Kill Spoilers, mentions of a dead partner, mentions of drugs (unknown), guns and gun violence, talks about kids (in the very far future),

Word Count: 9,562

Summary: Reader works at a hotel where she sees a lot of things out of the ordinary… Including a man running across the parking lot wearing nothing but a small towel around his waist. If only she knew her day was about to get weirder

A/N: day three of what might have been the biggest mistake of my life. But i had fun! Idk how april does it bc i was struggling. Anyways, here is some chip smut. I didn’t edit this too super well, so please pardon any of the editing errors/grammatical issues. The next ones will/are beta’d and edited… thank you so much for sticking with me on this! Tomorrow is something i had a lot of fun writing! Here is the masterlist for 7days 7fics! And here’s my main masterlist! Thank you all for the love and support!

{***}{***}{***}

I wish that even though I lived in a small town, in the middle of butt-fucking nowhere, I would see normal things. You know? Things that happen in small towns in the middle fucking nowhere. But, because it’s in the middle of nowhere, and the highway goes right through the middle of our town, we get a lot of… interesting guests. Which makes my job a little entertaining, sometimes.

Sitting behind a window at a tiny, run-down hotel early morning to mid-afternoon was what I did for a living. 90% of the time I spent my time just sitting there, reading a book/magazine, messing around on my phone, or working on an assignment for my class. That other 10% is checking people in or out of their rooms.

My day was so close to coming to an end. 11:30… I just needed to be here for one more hour, and then I can go home and go to bed. And, surprisingly, nothing weird had happened. It was a successful day, praise the fucking Lord or whoever is watching down.

Until, I jinxed myself…I thought I had hit the one allotted out of the ordinary thing for the day. That was until, as I was finishing up this essay, and I heard something from out in the parking lot. When I looked away from my laptop to investigate. And what I saw was not what I was expecting, at all.

A tall man was running across the parking lot, coming right towards the check-in/out window. Now, you might be wondering why this was out of the ordinary. Well, you see, he was running across the parking lot wearing nothing but a face washcloth around his waist. Let’s just say it left little to nothing to the imagination.

“H-hey! Hi,” he spoke, coming right up to the counter. I was more than happy that there was a counter and window between the two of us. I’m happy he was attractive, in all sense of the words. He was very attractive. “Do… Do you have a phone… That I could borrow?” he asked, looking at me with actual worry and terror in his eyes and face. I stared at him with a raised brow.

“What happened to the one in your room?” I moved away from my laptop and leaned on the counter beside it. He looked over his shoulder at the room he stayed in. I cocked my head to my shoulder and stared at him. “What room number are you?”

“Uh, that… That doesn’t really matter? Um, I’m running late,” he cringed as he looked back at me. I blinked slowly before looking down at the clipboard with the most recent check-ins.

“Sure,” I looked right at the last name and noted the time he checked in, “Mister Delacroix?” I slowly looked back at him.

“Chip,”

“Well, listen, Chop,” I paused my words as I walked over to the door to let him in. I was just happy he didn’t correct me when I called him the wrong name. I could have corrected myself, but I was just annoyed that I’d probably have to take care of the mess in his room.

“The owner’s son texted me, telling me that the people in your room had a rager last night… So, if I have to go clean that room and see cum and piss all over the room, and a coke tray on the counters, I’m charging you double,” I looked up at him as he entered the office. He was a lot taller standing in front of me. I don’t know why I thought he was shorter. Maybe its because he was standing on lower ground and I was inside.

“I… Rager?” He stared at me with a confused crease in his brow. I stared at him before slowly nodding. “Do… Do you know who came over? Do you know who it was?”

“I… Uh, I’ll have to ask the owner’s son. But, by the sounds of it, it was a little rough. I’m surprised you’re still up and walking without a limp,” I chuckled. I slowly looked up and down his body, taking in how he looked. He was slightly muscular, and though he had abs, his tummy was slightly pudgy. Which I could get with. I could appreciate a bit of a tummy on a guy like him.

“Listen,” he started, his words showing more urgency than before. I looked up, away from his body and at his face. It was probably his urgency that got my attention because I definitely almost went a little lower than the towel. “I need to know-Do you have any clothes? This is slightly distracting,” he looked at me. I wasn’t too sure if he was talking distracting for me, or for him. But I do agree, it was very distracting.

“Uhm,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I pulled my stare off him and went to look for the lost and found box, “There’s not much in here, but I’m sure there’s something,” I glanced at him as I placed the box on the counter.

“Right, thanks,” Chip looked at me before going to dig around in the box, “Do you know who came to my room last night?”

“I think… Hold on,” I muttered before rushing to the counter, shuffling some papers to find a random sticky note with some sloppy hand writing, “Christ, I forget he doesn’t speak english,” I shook my head as I stared at the writing. “Some goth chick and her boyfriend, or whatever. Uh, yeah, he told me about it this morning before he left. Like, 6 other people I think,” I swallowed roughly and shook my head, “It sounds like they roughed the place up?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he looked away from the box for a brief moment. I watched as he pulled out a white and red t-shirt (that was left behind by a group of younger women) and a pair of sweat-shorts. “Great, now I gotta go back to that fucking gas station. Fucking fuck,” he muttered to himself as he dropped the towel to the ground. I widened my eyes and couldn’t help but stare at his ass.

“Gas station?” I asked, keeping my eyes on his body as he turned to face me. That was when I got a view of the full frontal package. I swallowed roughly.

“Are… Are you going to turn around?” he looked at me with nervousness in his eyes as he held the pants and shirt close to his body, lower towards his crotchal region. I smirked, raising an eyebrow and cocking my head to the side.

“Nope,” I looked up at him with a smile. When I noticed that he wasn’t going to move to get dressed, I dropped my shoulders before turning around.

“Which gas station are you talking about?” I asked, looking at the ground. I wasn’t entirely sure why I asked which gas station it was he was talking about. There was just one gas station in the whole town, and I knew he was in a bit of trouble.

From behind me, I could hear Chip muttering strings of profanities to himself. Part of me wondered if he needed help with anything, or if I was just a disposable person in his day. Probably the latter.

“The one down the street,” his voice was low. I wondered what he was thinking about and what his urgency was all about. “You can turn around. Can I use the phone,” he asked as I turned to face him. I looked at him and held back a laugh. Which, in turn, earned a glare from him.

“Yeah, yeah, you have to dial 1 before the number you’re calling,” I went to move the phone closer to him, nearly pushing/pulling everything off the counter.

“Thanks,” he looked over at me before picking up the phone and dialing his number. I watched as he turned away from me. He wasn’t on the phone for very long, and it didn’t sound like it was a good call.

“I… I gotta go. Can I use your car?” Chip asked as he looked out at the only car in the lot. I followed his gaze at my shitty 2001 Saturn. I furrowed my eyebrows before looking back at him.

“I can just give you a ride, you know… And, it’d probably be better if you had a partner with you. That phone call didn’t sound good… At all. And, no one will take you seriously dressed like that,” I nodded at his attire. He looked down at what he was wearing before looking back at me. “Back up just in case? No one will notice I’m gone,” I let out a dry laugh.

“It’ll be dangerous,” he looked at me with worry in his eyes. I shrugged before looking at the ground.

“I could use a little danger in my life,” I laughed before looking back at him, “I’ve been sitting in this stupid office, doing this stupid job since I was 16. The hundreds of people I’ve seen is crazy. This job is boring, I need something risky.” I explained when I noticed he needed more information.

“You could die,” he pointed out. I shrugged like it was no big deal.

“I could die just sitting here. Let me help you,” I stare at him with wide eyes. He looked at the ground and sighed. I could tell he wanted to fight with me, to get me to stay. But I could also tell he really needed help, and really needed to get out of this stupid town and state.

“Fine, you can come. But, you can’t ask any questions,” he pointed at me. I smiled before closing my laptop and grabbing for my car keys.

“Fine, let’s go,” I looked at him before pushing past him and leaving the office.

Chip was close behind me, still muttering to himself. From what I did hear, I heard the number 68,000 and then the word dollars. 68,000 dollars??? And he’s in a shit town like this?! What the fuck? What the fuck am I getting myself into? Fuck, this is a mistake… Fuck.

The ride to the gas station was quiet. Chip must have been thinking of what he was going to say or do when he got there. Let’s just hope it wasn’t Monica there. Bitch is crazy.

“Stay here, I have a feeling what I need isn’t here,” he muttered as he got out of the car. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“W-w-wait, you don’t want me to go with?” I asked as I slipped out of the car too, “Listen, I know the family that owns this gas station. They’re crazy. They’re nuts.”

“I got it. Just… just wait here,” he looked over at me one last time before going in. I stared at the door that he disappeared into before slamming the door shut. I leaned against the side of my car, patiently waiting for Chip to come back out.

I don’t even know how long he was in there for. But, it was a very long time. Worry took over as I began to overthink things. That dumb bitch probably killed him.

My worry melted away once he stepped outside with nothing but shame on his face. I raised an eyebrow, watching as he walked closer to me and my car.

“You look like you saw a ghost or something,” I chuckled as I pushed myself off my car and back around to the drivers’ side of the car.

“No, no it was much worse than a ghost,” he muttered before getting in the car himself. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked towards the doors of the gas station.

“Whatever,” I shook my head before slipping into the car, “Where to now? Monica’s trailer?” I raised an eyebrow as I glanced over at Chip. I watched as he pulled something out of his mouth and wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah, yeah,” he looked over at me before looking around my car.

“Do you have a plan? Or… Or a gun?” I asked as we got closer to the trailer park. He looked at me with a little terror in his eye. No plan or gun? Seriously? Good thing there’s a gun in my glove box. “You can’t go to these guys with just luck, Chip. That’ll get you killed,” I glanced at him as I reached over for the glove box, pulling it open and pulling out the gun.

“What the fuck! Where did that come from?” he asked, watching as I placed the gun on my lap. I glanced at him as I pressed down on the gas, speeding down the highway. “Jesus! Slow down,”

“You’re the one who fucking lost $68,000 to fucking Monica! You go in and get her money-”

“It’s not her-”

“It’s her money now, Chip. Jesus, she stole 3 of my bikes when we were little,” I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Chip looked at me again and nodded. “You’re lucky you have help,” I muttered as I kept my eyes on the road.

“You know this bitch?” Chip stared at me. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“She’s my, like, second cousin. My Dad’s niece’s kid,” I shrugged before shaking my head, “She’s a cunt. A fucking cunt,” I scoffed as I remembered my childhood with her. Chip was silent as I pulled into a driveway and parked the car.

“Oh good, looks like there’s a metal baseball bat in the yard,” I smiled at him. Chip looked at me with wide eyes, actual terror sitting in his eyes. I watched as he unbuckled his seatbelt and rested his hand on the latch to my car. He stayed still for a moment before turning to face me. I could tell that there was a moment of hesitation. I don’t blame him, do be honest. I hesitated to bring him here. Taking him here is basically signing his death warrant.

“Stay… Stay here… If I’m not out in an hour… Call the cops,” he looked at me before slipping out of the car. I watched as he walked up the driveway, picking up the metal bat, and walked towards the door. I almost got out of the car and went after him, but I didn’t. I’ll listen to him. He must have a plan worked out if he didn’t need my help yet.

I swallowed roughly, watching him knock on the door and wait for it to swing open. And when it did, a familiar looking guy stepped out of the trailer. It was obvious he was sizing Chip up, mocking him as he spoke. Chip looked over his shoulder at me, silently pleading for help of some sort. I shrugged, pretending like I didn’t understand what he was asking for.

A bell ringing came up the driveway and passed me. A familiar blonde riding a bike rode up the driveway.

“Oh, you again,” Chip spoke out loud at the blonde woman. Amy… Of course. Of course she shows up. She’s probably the one who told him where that bitch, Monica, even lived. I was just happy she didn’t even see me when she rode past me. I didn’t want to be a part of any of that bullshit.

Then he was pulled into the trailer.

“Fuck, this… This isn’t going to be good,” I muttered as I slouched down into my seat in the safety of my car. I wished there was something more that I could do to help him. Because just sitting here for an hour and waiting to call the cops won’t help me or him, specifically Chip. Fucking around with Monica and her… I don’t even know what to call the people she hands out with.

I grabbed for my gun again, pulling out the magazine and looking at how much ammo I had. Just as I put my hand on the handle to get out, a loud bang came from near the trailer, causing me to nearly jump out of my seat. I sat, frozen, paralyzed in my spot, staring at the trailer. They’ve just killed Chip. Or, Chip just killed them

“I don’t know what… What do I do…” I whispered to myself as I stared at the door from the safety of my car. I wasn’t prepared for this at all. What I should have done was follow my own advice to Chip and come up with a secondary plan… I can’t exactly go in there guns blazing… Unless, that’s exactly what I do. They won’t expect Chip to have a partner with him.

Okay, that’s it… That’s my plan… Bust into the trailer, and just go for it… But, I think… Should I wait the hour Chip told me to wait? What if he’s in trouble? Who am I kidding, he’s totally in trouble.

{***}{***}{***}

I just wish I hadn’t fallen asleep. Because, the next thing I knew it was morning and Chip was still in Monica’s trailer. Chip was still in danger.

I quickly fumbled my way out of the back seat and into the front. It was even worse as I rushed to get out of the car, my body nearly falling to the ground. When I was finally out of the car, I recollected myself, hyping myself up as I walked towards the trailer.

I had my gun tucked into the back of my pants as I walked. I didn’t want to be quick, but I also didn’t want to be slow. Chip could be in danger, and it was a little bit my fault. He’d be out of that situation if I hadn’t fallen asleep.

My fist carefully knocked on the door, hoping someone would answer sooner rather than later. When the door flew open, Monica was standing in the door frame, looking down at me with slight disgust.

“We don’t want girl scout cookies,” she looked down at me. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Good thing I’m not a girl scout, Monica,” I took a deep breath before pulling the gun out from my pants. I lifted it up and pointed it right at her chest. “Where’s Chip,”

“You want him?” Monica asked, cocking a hip as she leaned against the door frame. She wasn’t even bothered by my weapon being pointed at her chest. It was like she was used to it. “He brought you as back up? Oh that poor boy?” she looked down at the gun. I took a deep breath as I stared at her.

She knew I wasn’t going to use it. She knew me well enough to know that I just had this stupid gun for looks, and that I wasn’t going to shoot anyone. But, what she doesn’t know is that I’m not afraid of her anymore. She may have tormented me when we were kids. But I’m taking it all back now.

“Where’s Chip and the money, Monica,” I spoke, my voice low as I spoke. I slowly cocked my gun as I stared at her.

“Oh, you know about the money too?” she asked before looking into the trailer at her friends and, I’d assume, Chip. “Did you hear that? This slut knows about the money,” she spoke, looking at everyone. I swallowed roughly as she looked back at me, “Is she replacing that other slut we killed last night?”

“Just go! Get out of here!” I could hear Chip yell from somewhere in the trailer. Monica stared down at me, watching me as my hands shook with the weapon in hand.

“Too afraid to use that gun?” she mocked in a whiny tone. I blinked slowly as I moved my finger to the trigger. Everything happened so fast, when I opened my eyes, Monica was stumbling back, her hand over stomach where blood was spilling out. Blood was being coughed up as she fell against the couch, looking up at me with wide eyes. “You actually did it,” she coughed, staring at me terror in her eyes.

“I’m not scared of you anymore, Monica,” I spoke as I stepped into the trailer. I smiled as I looked down at her, cocking my gun and pointing it down at her again, “You terrorized me when we were kids… But not anymore… No,” I took a deep breath before as we made eye contact.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whimpered, looking at me, struggling to move as I got closer to her, “Listen, you can take Chip, and… and the money and go… I’ll leave you alone now…”

“Sorry just isn’t going to do it, Monica, not this time… Not ever,” I shook my head, “You can burn in hell for all I care,” I scoffed as I stared at her. Blood was dripping down the sides of her lips as she pleaded with me, but at this point I didn’t care about anything she was saying.

Chip called my name, causing me to look over at him. They really did a number on him. I wonder if they would have gotten this bad had I actually called the cops and did something last night.

My hands and shoulders dropped as I looked at him. I didn’t even bother with the others around me, I’d take care of them after.

Or, so I thought… One of Monica’s friends stood up and charged after me. I stumbled back, fumbling to cock the gun before pulling the trigger at him, getting him right in the head. He fell to the ground with a thud, a slab of meat just on the floor.

“Anyone else?” I looked at the others around me, really feeling my sudden anger and annoyance come through for everyone. The people around me backed away from me. I looked back at Chip, appreciating the way he was looking up at me. Just as I went to my knees to help him, the sound of a shotgun being cocked came from behind me. I froze as the barrel of a gun was pressed right to my head.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Sweet Heart?” a woman’s voice asked from behind me. I took a deep breath as I dropped my gun to the ground. I looked back at Chip and noted how the adoration he had in his eyes slowly turned into terror and fear. “Where’s my money, Chip?” the woman asked. There was a certain fakeness in her words that scared me a bit.

“I… I don’t have it!” Chip shouted as he struggled to stand up. I cringed as Liza pushed the barrel into my head a bit more. I swallowed roughly as I looked at Chip.

“L-liza? H-h-how did you… How did you find me?” Chip exclaimed as he looked past me and at the woman.

“I told you, Chip, I always know where you are,” her fake sweetness really struck a chord in me, pissing me off more than I was before. “Now… Where’s my money?”

Someone from the sidelines jumped to their feet and instantly charged at Liza. It was terrifying how quick Liza was to turn and shoot the gun at the man. I quickly moved away and grabbed my gun from the ground. I felt a little bad for moving behind Chip, using him as a shield from this new woman.

“You’re so quick to move on, Chippy,” Liza spoke as she looked back at me. I appreciated that Chip actually covered me instead of cowering away like I half expected him to. “First the whore from last night and now her?”

“I’m not a slut or a whore,” I stared at her. She cocked her head as she looked over at me. Yet, again another one of Monica’s people came after us, only to be stopped by a different person, their arm being sliced off in one swift motion. If you blinked you would have missed it.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” one of the three girls shouted front he couch. Liza turned to face the person behind her before saying something else.

“What… What do we do, Chip,” I whispered as I tugged gently on his shirt. He looked over his shoulder at me before lifting his finger to his lips. I stared at him for a moment, watching as he thought of a plan. The level of chaos in the building was starting to stress me out. I wasn’t expecting two terrifying people to show up at an already terrifying place.

“Go have fun with that one, Dwayne-y,” Liza pointed towards one of the girls on the couch. The guy looked over at the girl before grabbing her and pushing past Chip and I. I fell against the wall and blacked out for a moment.

When I came too, Liza was standing in front of Chip, talking to him about something. It was eerily quiet in the trailer now, other than Liza and Chip’s voice. My guess was Liza took everyone out. But, why’d she keep me alive? Chip probably bargained for my life. I’m honestly just a bystander in this whole thing, wasn’t I?

“You can let him run away… you can hunt him down, and kill him… Or… Or you can discipline him.. Teach him to heel or whatever he’s supposed to do,” Liza cocked her head as she looked at Chip. I took a deep breath, looking at the ground and noticed the gun on the ground right behind Chip. “So, Chip, what option do you want?” her tone was filled with that sickening sweetness, and it made me want to beat the shit out of her.

“Violet said there’s always another option,” Chip spoke softly as he looked at Liza. I carefully moved and grabbed the gun.

“Oh, she… She did? Well, I don’t see her here… Because she’s dead, Chip,” Liza scoffed. I took a deep and shaky breath before moving around the chair and aiming the gun right at Liza. “Oh, look who’s got the balls now,” Liza looked past Chip and at me. I stared down at her, feeling nervousness in the form of bile rise up my throat. “Are you gonna shoot me? Baby’s gonna sho-” her statement was finished short by a bullet to her head. I closed my eyes and looked down at the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Chip shouted as Liza’s body fell to the ground. I took a deep breath before looking down at him. “She’s dead!”

“She was going to fucking kill both of us, Chip!” I shouted back, looking at him with wide eyes. Chip looked up at me as he stumbled to his feet.

“Okay, okay,” Chip looked down at me, placing his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. I looked up at him with wide eyes. “$68,000… My clothes, and then we fucking ditch this fucking place,” he pointed towards the door where the creepy man from before dragged a girl. I swallowed roughly as I looked towards the door.

“Here,” I handed him my gun before nodding towards the door. Chip looked down at me, a slight glare in his eyes before he took a step forward. I followed behind him, staying close to his body. He pushed the door open and immediately fired the gun, killing the guy instantly.

“I’m never going to sleep again, holy fucking shit,” I muttered as I looked at the horrors in front of me. He fucking ripped the girl a part.

“Stay here for a minute,” Chip muttered before stepping away from me. He didn’t seem bothered by everything. I was impressed that he was able to step into the room more and move stuff around. One he found what he was looking for he came back beside me.

“Let’s fucking go,” he muttered, holding a shoe box under his arm. I looked at the box as I followed behind him. I could kill him right now, and take that 68grand. I could start a new life on my own…

“Yeah, let’s go,” I looked down at the ground, “Shouldn’t we clean up the place first? Our fingerprints and DNA is all over the place,” I looked around the trailer and at all the dead bodies. Is it bad this didn’t phase me at all?

“You’re right. Hold this,” he muttered as he shoved the box into my hands. I looked down at it with wide eyes before looking back at Chip. He had a bottle of straight whiskey in his hand and was splashing it around the room, going into the other rooms before coming back. “You think this will be enough?” he asked, looking down at me with a certain exhaustion in his eyes. I tried to look past all the injuries he had earned, but it was hard when they covered his whole face.

“Hopefully,” I shoved the box back into his arm before leaving the building. I waited just outside as he lit a lighter and tossed it to the floor, causing the whole building to be engulfed in flames.

“Where to?” Chip asked as we walked back to my car. I looked over my shoulder at the blazing trailer and shrugged.

“Somewhere away from here. But first, we should get you a first aid kit,”

{***}{***}{***}

We drove for a long time. A very long time. I think we both wanted to make sure we were away from Monica’s trailer before we rested for the night. Which also meant we had to wait a long time before Chip could get the proper care he needed. It wasn’t fair to either of us that this was the case at the moment. I wasn’t ever expecting this to be what happened to me the other day when I woke up. I was just happy that after the second day of driving, he was actually okay.

“I’ll go get a room, you stay here,” I looked over at Chip. It looked like he was asleep, which I was expecting, so when he lifted his head and looked over at me I was a little confused.

“No, no let me,” he mumbled as he fought to get his seatbelt undone.

“Chip, you look like you just got out of Fight Club… Let me go get the room,” I placed a hand on his to stop him from moving anymore. He looked up at me with a little bit of terror in his eyes, “I’ll be right back, I promise,” I kept my voice low as I spoke to him.

“Okay, you’re right,” he mumbled before moving his hand away from the buckle. Chip rested his head against the head rest before closing his eyes lightly. I sighed deeply before sliding out of the car and towards the entrance of the hotel lobby.

I kept my voice low the entire time as I spoke to the front desk manager. It was hard when I also looked like I just got out of a war and the manager kept looking at me like that was the case. When they finally handed me the room key, I let out the deepest sigh of relief and returned out to the car.

“We have a room… Two days…” I looked over at Chip as I drove to a parking spot near our room.

“Two days… Nice, nice,” he murmured and nodded. I looked over at him and watched as he slowly unbuckled.

“You go into the room, I’ll grab the food and first aid kit,” I handed him the key before we both got out. Chip nodded before leaving and going towards the room. I made sure to be quick as I grabbed the stuff from the back.

“Should I shower?”

“No, no, let me clean your wounds up first,” I nodded towards the bed. Chip looked over at the bed before going to sit on it. I was relieved when he laid back on the bed like nothing mattered in the world. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

“Are you going to play nurse with me?” he asked, looking at me with a playful smirk on his lips. I laughed and nodded as I approached the bed.

“Unfortunately, I think I’m all you got,” I laughed as I sat on the bed beside him. He sat up and moved closer to him. We were both quiet as I pulled out alcohol wipes and gauze. I looked at his face, trying to figure out where to start. Thankfully the swelling in his eyes went down, but I cracked an ice pack to help.

“This is gonna sting,” I looked at his face as I lifted the wipe to his face. He winced as I began wiping the wounds on his face.

“Are you okay?” I looked up at him as I carefully placed butterfly band-aids and regular band-aids over the wounds. He looked back at me, a certain softness in his eyes. I was happy that he’d probably just need a few band-aids on his face instead of gauze and stitches like I’d thought. We both didn’t want to go to the hospital…

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered as he tried to not move away from my touch. I frowned looking at his face. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he added. I looked down at his hands and nodded.

“Did you want to go to the hospital and tell them the truth?” I raised an eyebrow as I shifted closer to him with an alcohol pad. He cringed as I pressed it to the open wound on his hand. “Sorry,” I cringed as he flinched.

“You’re right, though… I don't think I could make up a believable lie in the hospital,” he looked at me, watching me clean the injuries..

“Was it worth it?” I asked, feeling a small smile grow on my lips. Chip shrugged a bit like he wasn’t too sure what I was talking about.

“Was… Was what worth it?” he asked, trying not to furrow his eyebrows. I laughed lightly and shrugged.

“The 68 grand that you risked your life for, Chip,” I laughed as I grabbed a bandage and picked it open, “Is it okay if the band-aid is pink with butterflies?” I held it up to show him the design. He swallowed roughly before nodding.

“Yeah, it was worth it,” he whispered, causing me to look back at his face. I furrowed my eyebrows when it became my turn to stare at him. “Because if I didn’t lose the $68 thousand... I probably wouldn’t have met you… And you saved my life,”

“Oh please, don’t compare me to Violet,” I laughed and shook my head. I felt a little bad for bringing up his dead friend, but I personally felt like he was comparing me to her. Just a little bit.

“I’m not,” he looked taken aback by my sudden statement. I shrugged, not entirely believing him. He knew that too. I looked at him, noting the cut and bruise across his nose. Who knows how long that was going to take to heal, but I hope it didn’t hurt him too much. “I’m being serious,”

“That makes me feel better,” I smiled as I began cleaning up the first aid kit we had bought when we pulled into a new town, “I should probably let you go your own way, come morning. I don’t want to get in the way of you while you’re trying to flee everything” I laughed as I clicked the first aid kit shut, “I’ll let you have my car,”

“Please stay,” he whispered, watching as I stood and walked across the room. I almost didn’t hear him. But I was preoccupied with my thoughts, trying to figure out how I’d get home if I had given him my car to leave. I was 2 days away from home… That’d be a long way back. “I probably would die if you didn’t come with me,” he added as I turned to face him.

“I’d be pretty useless if I came with. Is your life always like that, Chip?” I asked, placing my fists on my hips. He stayed quiet. “Because if it’s always like that, running from danger and shooting guns…”

“You’ll go back home, I get it. What happened the other day was-”

“I never said that,” I cut him off, “Yeah, what happened the other day was terrifying, Chip. But, I don’t think I’ve ever had such an eventful day in my entire life. I just don’t think I would be able to do that again. That parts gotta go,”

“Consider it gone,” Chip shook his head, watching as I slowly walked back over towards him. I looked down at him, appreciating the way he looked back up at me. “Forgotten. We can… We can buy a house in… In Iowa. Have kids, have a family. Get as far as we can from that place,” he moved his legs and allowed me to stand between them.

“Iowa?” I scoffed, wrinkling my nose at the thought of moving to Iowa. “And… You want to have kids? After everything that happened? You want to bring kids into this world?” I sighed deeply as I looked down at him. I left out the part of how we just met 4 days ago. He doesn’t even know me.

“Yeah, but if you were their mother, I think they’d be pretty safe,” Chip laughed as he reached up to grab my hand. I stared at him, feeling my heart swell in my chest.

“You don’t even know me, Chip,” I laughed lightly. He furrowed his eyebrows before shrugging. “And you already want to have kids with me?”

“I don’t think… I don’t think it matters. You saved my life,” he pointed out. I bit my lower lip as he brushed his thumb across the back of my hand.

“Yeah,” I paused, taking a deep breath as I stared at him, “You saved mine too, Chip,” I smiled at him, “I think Liza might have killed me if it wasn’t for you,” I laughed lightly out my nose. And, it was true. She probably would have killed me after she knocked me out...

“Well, good thing Dwayne was easy enough to take care of,” he returned the laughter, “Can’t believe I dated that bitch,” he sighed as he looked up at me.

“Yeah, I was about to say…” I smiled softly. Chip smiled as he carefully tugged my hand so I would fall forward slightly.

“Kiss me,” he whispered as I braced myself on his shoulder with one hand. I furrowed my eyebrows, looking down at his lips. The cut on his upper lip had thankfully stopped bleeding.

“Is that a good idea,” I pulled my hand off his shoulder and gently held his face. He wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes. “Chip, I’m serious,”

“I am too,” he begged as he looked at me, “I could di-”

“You won’t die tomorrow. You’re safe now,” I smiled softly as I looked at him.

“So, what’s stopping you from kissing me,” he asked, pointing out the fact that there was indeed nothing stopping me from kissing him.

“Why you gotta be like that?” I asked, moving my hand up his face. I carefully brushed the wound on his temple before carding my fingers through his hair.

“Be like what?” Chip asked as I pushed my hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his head.

“You’re so… nice. You’re not like other men, the ones who look at women like objects,” I laughed and shook my head, “You wouldn’t even hurt a fly.”

“You do know I killed, like, bunch of people yesterday,” he asked. I smiled and nodded. He pulled his hand from mine and rested both his hands on my hips. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at him.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair…” I sighed deeply and cocked my head, “You won’t regret it, will you?” I asked, my voice hardly a whisper.

“Regret what? Kissing you?” He asked, his thumbs playing with the hem of my shirt, just barely touching the skin of my hip. I nodded lightly. “Why would I regret kissing you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a guy regret kissing me,” I whispered as I looked away from him, “The last guy I dated… He dated me as a joke… It wasn’t till after we… Well, we did a little bit more than kissing, did he tell me that it was all a joke,” I whispered before looking down at the ground.

“Nothing about me asking for a kiss is a joke, I promise,” Chip replied, his voice causing me to look back at him. He lifted a hand and rested it on my shoulder. “We don’t even have to do anything… You don’t have to ki-”

“I do… I do want to kiss you, Chip,” I whispered softly, “I’m just scared, that’s all,” I stared down at him.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he smiled softly, running his hand down my arm before grasping my hand. I swallowed roughly before moving to straddle his legs. He took a sharp breath as I adjusted myself on his legs.

“Sorry,” I cringed as I tried to get off his legs. Chip looked at me before resting his hands on my hips, keeping me in place on his lap.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, bringing a hand back to my face. I stared at him, feeling a small smile grow on my lips.

After a moment of just staring at each other, I moved forward, closing the space between. Our lips connected, and it was the softest, gentlest kiss ever. Although my lips were still dry, his lips felt dry, drier than the sand on the beach. The blood that was on his lips dried slightly, but it didn’t bother me at all.

Chip placed his hand on my lower back, moving me closer to his body. My arms wrapped around his neck, my body willingly moving closer to him as if it couldn’t get enough of him. I could tell that he craved me too, his other hand moving hastily around my body.

“Is this a good idea?” I murmured against his lips. I was careful as I pressed my forehead to his, feeling a small smile tug on my lips. “You’re like… Seriously…” I stopped myself from saying ‘seriously injured’.

“I’m okay. I’m fine with it if… If you’re fine with it,” he whispered, his hands going back to the hem of my shirt. I closed my eyes and let a deep breath of air out my nose. A small smile grew across my lips as his hand finally slipped up my shirt and up to my bra. “Please tell me your fine with it,” his voice wavered slightly with his words. I swallowed roughly and nodded, our noses brushing together as my head moved.

“Yeah, yeah it’s… I’m fine with it…” I nodded, taking a deep breath before opening my eyes, “I’m more than fine with it,” I whispered as I looked at him.

That was when he kissed me again. It was different than before. Because, before it was gentle and soft, like he didn’t want me to melt away. But also it was soft because we both had mild- not so mild injuries, and I knew he didn’t want to hurt me. The differences between this one and that one is, fervent and passionate, it took my breath away.

Chip’s hand on my back fiddled with my bra as he tried to unclasp it. I couldn’t help but laugh as he began to struggle. It was clear he was getting frustrated with the struggle, so when I went to help him, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he fought to pull my shirt off. I laughed and shook my head.

“No, it’s okay,” I whispered before lifting my arms in the air. Chip smiled before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it somewhere behind me. I sucked in a sharp breath as the cool air hit my bare chest. Chip was careful as he pressed his lips back to mine, then on the side of my mouth, before trailing down my neck. It was gentle, and soft, but it was enough for me to notice him sucking soft spots on my skin. My hands went back to his head, carefully pulling at the hair on the back of his head.

My head tilted to the side the further down my neck he went. A small gasp fell from my mouth as he attached his lips to my breast. My fingers gently pulled his hair, causing him to hum lightly. It was hard not to react to him and his touch. I needed him more than I needed air.

“D-don’t stop,” I whispered, my words wavering with each syllable. It was so hard to concentrate on anything as he placed his lips around my nipple. A shiver went down my spine, causing me to arch my back into him more.

Chip stood up, causing me to latch on to him so I wouldn’t fall, before turning around to put me on the bed. I looked up at him, my breathing picking up slightly as he stared down at me. His lower lip was pulled between his teeth as he looked at me.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I whispered, lifting a hand to his face. He could hear the worry in my words as I spoke, letting his lower lip fall from his mouth. “Your lip is bleeding.” I left out that it was only bleeding a little bit, but it was enough to notice the red.

“It’s fine,” he whispered, bringing his hand to rest on my cheek. His thumb brushed against my lower lip. My body shivered slightly before I opened my mouth slightly. He smirked before slipping his thumb between my lips. I swirled my tongue around his thumb as I stared at him.

“Good girl,” Chip hummed, resting his other hand on the mattress by my head. I swallowed roughly before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down to my face. He moved his thumb from my mouth and looked down at me.

“Please don’t make me ask more than once,” I whispered, releasing my hand from his shirt to lift it to his face. He flinched away slightly as my hand barely touched his face. I could feel my face soften as I looked at him. “I won’t hurt you, Chip. You’re safe now,” I whispered as I moved my hand from his face.

“I know, I know,” he shook his head before lowering his face to mine, lightly pressing his lips to mine. I hummed, wrapping my arms around his neck again. “You won’t have to ask more than once,” he murmured against my lips. He looked down at me before pressing his lips to mine again, slowly kissing down my neck and chest.

Although he was quick to move down my chest, he was slow once he got to my hips.

“Hold on,” he stepped away from me, rushing to the bathroom real quick. I sat up, resting back on my hands, as I waited for him to come back.

“What… What are you doing, Chip?” I asked, my patience starting to wear thin as the seconds ticked by. I swallowed roughly as he stepped back out of the bathroom.

“Cleaning my face a little bit more,” he looked at me with a small smile on his lips. I furrowed my eyebrows as he came back to stand between my legs.

“I-I’m confused,” I looked up at him. Although, I really shouldn’t be confused. I’m the one who said ‘Please don’t make me ask more than once.’ and he obviously wanted it as badly as I did.

“You know,” he smiled as he lifted my hips a little bit before pulling my pants off my body. I suddenly couldn’t control my breathing anymore, and I was left trying to control myself. “Wouldn’t want to get blood everywhere,” he looked up at me as he dropped my pants to the ground.

I stared at him watching as he lowered to his knees between my legs. He was gentle as pressed his lips to the soft skin on my inner thigh. I took a deep breath, trying so hard to regulate my breathing. My elbows and arms gave out, causing me to lie back hard on the bed.

“So beautiful,” Chip whispered before blowing softly at my core. I gasped and pressed my head into the bed beneath me. My hands and fingers got knotted up in his hair again, slowly pulling his head closer to my body.

Chip laughed at me before peppering butterfly kisses over my pussy. I gasped, tugging lightly on his hair. He looked up at me before grasping both of my hands and holding them down on the bed.

“Ch-chip, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I whimpered pulling at his hands. He hummed before licking a stripe right up my cunt. I swear, I couldn’t even breathe. He squeezed my hands as he kept licking at me. After a moment, his lips attached around my clit, sucking softly at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” I cried out as he pulled a hand from one of mine. I didn’t even notice that he pushed a finger into me. My free hand went over my mouth as a moan fell from me. Chip obviously enjoyed that sudden reaction, causing him to moan too. The vibrations from him caused me to moan again.

“ ‘m so close. Please, Chip, so close,” I moved my hand to his hair and pulled on it a lot harder than before. It was like I couldn’t breathe, the wind being knocked from my lungs like I was punched in the gut. “Fuck, Chip,” I moaned, my hips jerking at him. He pulled his hand from mine and placed it firmly on my stomach, holding me down.

“You’re doing so good, Princess,” he murmured against my body. I cried out when he pressed his lips back on me.

My mind went fuzzy and my vision turned white. I could feel my toes curling against the rough, scratchy comforter beneath me. My hands gripped his hair and the blanket so tightly I was sure my knuckles would blanch. And the only thing I could say was his name as I came.

My chest heaved as I tried to breathe. When I opened my eyes, Chip was back over me. He smiled, clearly enjoying what had just happened.

“That was… That was good,” I laughed lightly. Chip returned the laughter before pressing his lips to mine. I hummed following after him as he pulled away from me.

“That was, like, barely the pregame,” Chip laughed as he looked down at me. I furrowed my eyebrows and smiled softly. “If at all the pregame,”

“Well are you going to get started on the actual game or just leave me alone?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow as I stared at him. Chip laughed again before standing up right to rid himself of his jeans. I quickly moved so I was lying up by the pillows.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He asked once he was back over me. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m positive. If I wasn’t… I wouldn’t have let you eat me out the way you did,” I laughed as I brought my hands to his face, “I appreciate you cleaning your face a bit before you did that though. I don’t really want the staph infection or STD,” I laughed harder than I should have. But that in turn caused Chip to glare at me.

“Well, now I don’t think I want to have sex with you,” he looked away from me before sitting up right. I stopped laughing before sitting up to look at him.

“C’mon, Chip, I was just joking.” I moved so I was closer to him, “I’d love to get a STD from you,” I bit back my laughter as I looked at him. He glared at me again.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking down at the bed. I smiled before lifting a hand to his face.

“You’re the one who wants to fuck the girl you just met 4 days ago,” I pointed out as I moved to straddle his waist. He looked at me as I sat on him. “But, to be fair, I also want to have sex with the guy I met 4 days ago so it’d be a little hypocritical of me to judge you,” I shrugged. I tried really hard not to look at his cock, but it was right there… It was obvious that he was painfully hard. “Use me, Chip,” I swallowed roughly as I looked up at his face. His eyes were scanning my face as his hands were resting on my hips. I could feel his fingers digging into my skin, and I was more than happy to let that happen.

What he did next surprised me. He lifted my hips up so I was hovering over him, before slamming me on his cock. A shout came from my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed my face into his shoulder as I tried to breathe properly after the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck,” I panted before looking up at him after a moment. My muscles clenched around him as I slowly got used to his size. Chip pressed his lips to mine before carefully thrusting up into me. My hips slowly moved, meeting him at the perfect spots. His lips hardly left mine, and when they did it was only for a few moments.

“Gonna fill you up,” Chip mumbled as he pressed his lips to my neck, “Gonna put a baby in you,”

“Please! Don’t stop, fuck,” I cried, rolling my hips against his. My mouth opened around his shoulder, my teeth carefully sinking into his skin. “God,” I whined looking back up at him, “Do it, please, do it,”

“Yeah? You like that?” Chip groaned as he brought a hand to my chest. I let out a shaky breath and nodded as he massaged my breast. “Being filled with my cum, carrying my child,” he looked up at me. I pressed my lips together and nodded, feeling myself get closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Chip, please,” I placed my hands on either side of his face and pulling him closer to my face. I pressed my lips to his as he pulled me closer to his body, my chest pressing against his.

My breathing grew raged as he picked up his pace. His hand dropped to where our bodies met, his finger encircling around my clit. I was pushed right to the edge, calling out his name as he called out mine. His hips faltered slightly as he filled me with his essence.

My head dropped to his shoulder and my arms wrapped around his chest. It took a while for either of us to move, the intensity of the moment catching up with us. Although, the last few days in general were catching up with me.

“I gotta clean you up,” Chip finally whispered after a moment. I swallowed roughly before I struggled to get off his lap.

“You really do want to have kids with me,” I laughed as we finally broke a part, “I mean, yeah I want kids too. But not for a while,”

“I told you, we gotta get to Iowa first,” Chip looked over at me as he got off the bed. When he noticed that I was a little nervous about that, he came over to my side, “We don’t have to go to Iowa,”

“No, no, I know… It’s just… The thought of leaving… And going with you. The other day was terrifying, with everything th-What if I just left?”

“I know you're nervous. You have every right to be nervous. If we leave, we can get as far from that place as possible. We can find a safe place and be safe… Together,” he knelt on the ground beside me. I looked down at him and nodded, “Besides, you had the most boring life in that stupid motel,”

“True, true,” I laughed and shook my head, “You’re not going to, like, murder me… Are you?” I looked at him as I carefully grasped his hand.

“No! I wouldn’t do that! After the shit I just said to you with my cock in you? You think I’d kill you?” Chip nearly fell back on the ground, causing me to laugh again. I smiled and nodded.

“Okay, I… I guess if the worst thing you’ll do to me is get me pregnant… Then I think I’m safe.” I looked at him with a small smile, “And that’s not even bad,” I shrugged as I looked at the bed in front of me.

“I won’t murder you if you won’t murder me,” he spoke, lifting his hand and showing me his pinkie. I looked back at him and nodded.

“Promise,” I whispered before interlocking my pinkie with his.

if you want to be a part of a taglist or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

Text

Rated R For Revenge

18+

Summary: two neighbours, both on the run with fake identities, fall in love with each other while planning a murder

Warnings: abusive husbands, rape mentions, drugging, faking own death, premeditated murder, getting revenge, torture, it's graphic so read with caution but he deserved it, strangers to lovers, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, love confessions.

word count: 6.7K

Spooky Week Masterlist

When he first met her, she was going by the name Este, and everyone in town was calling him Charlie… she moved in next-door around 3 months ago, renting the old and empty house he’s lived beside for 5 years now.

She opened all the windows, painted the walls and cleaned the yard. He watched her when he was home, not in a creepy way, but because she was so graceful. Like Cinderella, she had a way about her that made the most mundane task look glorious. She would spin around, singing along to her music as she swept the floor, opening the back screen door and letting the dust-out and sending him a nervous, press-lipped smile and a wave.

She was friendly to a point. She didn’t go out of her way to interact with people, she was polite when she had to but she mostly stayed inside. He never saw her leave the property, he wondered how she got her groceries and if she was taking care of herself half as much as she cared for the house.

“Hey, Este?” He called with a wave but she never turned around. Raking the fall leaves in her yard, he calls it again and still nothing.

“Hey!”

She turns then, “sorry, hi Charlie.”

“You can call me Chip if you want?” He smiles. “That’s my real name, the one I had before I moved here and started my new life.”

She stutters and panics, “e-excuse me?”

“You’re not used to people calling you Este yet are you? If you want to make it believable you need to answer to the name,” he keeps his voice low and eyes locked on hers. “I’m not judging, everyone needs an escape plan… but if you need any advice or help… I ran a while back.”

She swallows sharply and looks away with a sigh, “Y/N, that’s my real name.”

“It’s pretty,” he smiles again, hoping she’ll liven up a bit.

“I’m pretty sure I’m safe, but…” she looks around at their empty street and the enclosure of trees around them and she lets out a shaky breath. “I’m always on edge that he’s going to find me again. How did you do it?”

“I wasn’t running from someone,” his face fills with worry for her. “Do you want to come over later for dinner? I’m learning how to make a roast and I’d love to get to know you? The real you?”

She hesitates, looking at his house and then him, “how do I know I can trust you?”

He takes out his wallet, placing it in her hands. “I’m trusting you with all my cards and things, my roast will be done in a few hours, if you don’t spend all my money by then, you’re free to join me?”

She laughs, “how are you so trusting?”

“I’ve been where you are, I wish I had a friend when I was hiding.”

She smiles at him, trusting him finally and giving in with a nod. “I’m making a peach cobbler, I’ll see you at 6?”

He nods while walking back towards his house, “I’ll be expecting you.”

—

She digs through his wallet in her kitchen as she waits for the cobbler to finish. 4 business cards for various companies she’s seen around town, a debit card, 2 credit cards and his licence. Charles Taylor jr… and his emergency contact info. Organ donor and 40 years old, he seems like a wonderful person.

But the last man she thought was good is the reason she’s so fearful now, they can change so quickly.

Long story short, don’t marry a white politician with daddy’s money. No matter how broke you are… the physical and emotional abuse isn’t worth it.

It’s only been 3 months since she “died”. 3 months since she ran away from her old life and ended up on the other side of the country.

This small little Georgia town, equipped with a truck stop diner, the old bank that looks like it was built in the 1800s, and a small family-owned market. About 15 miles down the road there was a small high school that took in kids from the 6 surrounding towns, and the gym there was used as a town hall when needed. It was a tight-knit community, one she would have never dreamed of visiting if it wasn’t for Him.

She threw a dart at a map 6 months ago, when she started her plan to run. And she did it by literally running.

Her husband liked to abuse her in the mornings right after breakfast, it was basically a scheduled event every day. Afterwards, he would tell her to do something productive, to get out of his face because he was tired of looking at her, so she went for a jog.

She’d Jog to the middle of the forest that surrounded their secluded Seattle home, she’d sit on the same called tree trunk, and she’d cry her eyes out while she planned.

If she just never came back from a run one day, he’d go out looking for her. He would find her if he knew she was alive, he’s told her that he would find her if she ran… so she needed him to think she was dead if she was ever going to be really free.

She convinced him to let her take a job at the local library once a week, thinking she was reading books to children in preparation for when they started their own family eventually. When in reality, she was meeting the nurse in town to steal blood drawing equipment, using her free time to store enough blood to convince the police she was dead.

She spent 3 months planning, storing things like a chipmunk preparing for winter. Every time she went grocery shopping with his card, she took out $20 in cash to buy her supplies. Her husband also had a habit of leaving whatever money was in his pockets on her dresser… claiming she should buy herself something nice for being such a good girl for him. If only he knew she had saved every penny he’s left her, so she can leave him.

Now, she’s making a pie while anxiously imagining how this dinner could go. Men were unpredictable and it made her terrified for every outcome. It would be horrible if she fell in love with him and he was nice and kind and everything she wanted, because then she’s just jumping from one man to another when she is stronger than that. And on the other hand, he could just be trying to get her alone to rape and murder her. Everything her mind conjured up was terrible, but she went over anyway.

In a nice dress with a hot pie in her hands, she knocks on his door with shaky hands.

He rushes to the door, opening it with a smile. “Hey, Y/N, come on in,” he ushers her inside quickly and lets the screen door slam behind her. “Do you know how to make gravy? By any chance?”

He presses his teeth together awkwardly, desperate for help and covered in flour, she laughs. “I do, where’s the kitchen?”

He sighs and pushes his hair off his face, “thank god, this way.”

It’s surprisingly easy to talk to him. He has a calming aura that brings her peace as she enters his kitchen. “It smells amazing,” she compliments him while laying the pie on the counter.

“Thank you,” he smiles, proud of himself.

“So I just need some butter and flour,” she instructs, wrapping the apron that was on the oven handle around herself to protect her dress.

He watches over her shoulder as she does it, amazed that it was so easy when he thought it was going to take forever. “Thank you,” he says as she finishes whisking. “You’re a life saver.”

She laughs to herself, for a dead woman, that was an odd compliment.

She helps him plate everything, joining him in his living room for a candle-lit dinner. He laid out placemats and fancy glasses and wine… She took a deep breath and told herself it was going to be fine.

He notices, “do you prefer white? I have other drinks too?”

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “I just got a little triggered, I’m sure some things still get you.”

He nods too, “so no red wine.” He takes the bottle off the table and brings it into the kitchen. He comes back out with a root beer, ginger ale and a water, “take your pick?”

She takes the ginger ale with a smile and sets it on her place setting. “You’re just a little too nice.”

“So I’ve been told,” he shrugs. “It’s gotten me in a lot of trouble, being too nice and doing things for other people…”

“Is that why you’re hiding?” She didn’t expect to bring it up so quickly but it was bound to happen.

He nods, “it’s a really long story.”

“Luckily for me, my trip home is short,” she makes a joke, feeling comfortable with him. “I’m all ears.”

He tells her everything. Every gross, over-detailed moment that led to him killing a room of people and lighting it up before retreating to Georgia.

She’s barely able to eat her dinner listening to the whole story… “you killed how many people?”

“Myself? I’m not sure… I want to say, six people? But they were all about to kill me and one of them was a serial killer… and one was my ex who killed Violet— it’s not something I’m proud of. I wish I didn’t have to.”

“I can see why,” she agreed, taking a sip of her drink and avoiding his eye contact.

“What about you?”

“My husband abused me,” she whispers. “I’m technically supposed to be dead.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks. “How’d you do it?”

“Every week I saved up money, I hid things and I pretended to take jogs. I saved a little of my blood every day and spread it in the woods towards the cliffside so they’d think I was murdered and dragged… my funeral was in July.”

“Holy shit,” Chip loves it, “that’s really smart.”

She laughs, “it’s insane… I had to kill myself to get away from my husband. No one would help me, the cops said they couldn’t do anything… they said I could do a citizen's arrest if he hurt me again, no one cared until I was dead.”

“That’s the unfortunate truth, no one gives a shit about each other anymore,” Chip shrugs.

“Would you give a shit if he found me? He always said he’d find me if I ran, I’m so scared he’ll actually do it…”

“I have 2 guns if you want one?” He suggests, “I don’t need them they’re just up in my night table.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m completely serious, I mean I can try and be there for you if he comes back but I’m not here all the time, I have a job so… but I don’t want you to be unprotected.”

“I wish I was strong enough to just kill him,” she mumbles.

“We could do that?”

She stares at him like he’s lost his fucking mind, “going for lucky number 7?”

He shrugs, “any many who hurts a woman enough to fake her death and run away, deserves it.”

“Do you want to know what he did to me?” She cant look at him while she asks.

“No,” he’s honest. “If you want to tell me one day, sure. But not now, not like this.”

“Thank you, chip,” she smiles, “I haven’t met any good men in a very long time.”

He raises his drink, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

—

He was incapable of leaving her alone. He stopped by most nights to make sure she was okay, he waved to her every morning when she had tea on her porch and he left for work, and he thought about her all day long. He joined her at the grocery store on Sundays, he invited her over to watch Survivor on Wednesdays and they had dinner together at least twice a week.

She was his best friend.

The longer he knew her, the more he loved her. He knew he liked her when he first noticed her, he knew he’d have an unrequited crush for a while but now he’s concerned she likes him back. He’s concerned because it’s making her grow distant, he can tell she’s scared and it’s all because of the bastard that lied about loving her before.

It made him angry beyond belief to imagine there was someone out there who was able to love her and instead laid hands on her. They saw her beautiful face and crushed it with their hands instead of smothering her in kisses and positive affirmations and making her believe she was truly loveable.

He wanted to kill him for what he did to her, for how he made her feel and just because he could.

He waited 2 months before he finally couldn’t wait anymore, he had to find the guy and figure out how to get revenge. They were sitting together on her porch swing, blanket across their laps, drinks long gone and just the sound of the crickets to keep them company under the Georgia stars.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” she smirks.

“What was his name?”

She turns to look at him with immense fear in her eyes, “why?”

“I want to google him… I want to know what he looks like and who he is so that if I ever see his stupid face I can hit him with my car,” he’s open and honest… well as honest as he could be.

“You really want to murder him?” She whispers, “are you a serial killer? Do you enjoy it?”

He laughs, shaking his head, “no, no I don’t enjoy it. It was the scariest, most traumatizing thing I’ve ever been through but— fuck it, you know what? I really like you and it makes me sick thinking he’s happily living his life while you’re in fear every day.”

“Dustin Cuthbert,” she whispers, “he lives in Clifton Trail, near Seattle.”

“Okay,” he wraps an arm around her and holds her close. “I’m sorry… truly, I wish you never went through that.”

“Thank you,” she nudges him with her shoulders, looking up into his eyes with a soft smile. “You’re sometimes too perfect, and it scares me cause he was really amazing at first too… but you don’t feel fake, your kindness is so welcoming and warm and I feel safe and it scares me.”

“I’m never going to hurt you,” he whispers back. “You can count on that, I’m going to worship the ground you walk on as long as I know you because that’s what you deserve. No matter what he told you or what he made you think, I know you deserve all the good things in the world and I will spend forever convincing you that.”

Then she does the unimaginable— she leans in and presses her lips to his. Reaching over, he places his hand on her cheek and holds her there, breathing her in before pulling away quickly. She just smiles quickly before pulling him back in, her tongue dances along his bottom lip, begging for more as she wraps her arms around him and holds him close.

Making out on her porch swing was the last thing he thought would happen after asking her about her husband.

—

With some digging and a few friends, Chip was able to find out that her husband had a few other dead wives. One from a robbery gone wrong, another who died in the bathtub after a few too many glasses of wine… the fucking wine.

and last but not least, a wife who was murdered in the woods.

Chip laid it all out in front of her at his kitchen table, faxed to him from a friend was all the old newspaper clippings and internal reports from the Seattle police. “Don’t ask how they got it,” was the only thing he said.

“And how did he get away with this for so long?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

“He has a lot of money, ” Chip points out. “It’s easy to get the cops to look the other way when you’re a rich 50-year-old white guy… seriously how did you find him?”

“He found me,” she opens up. It’s about time he knew. “I needed to get off my best friend's couch, my parents were terrible, I have no one else and he knew that. It was easy for him to get me alone and convince me he would take care of me. He took me to events and gave me wonderful gifts and bought me so many dresses and then we got married and he hit me for the first time 14 days later.”

“I really want to kill him,” chip whispers towards her. “Who does his money go to if he’s dead?”

“His only daughter Sammy,” she explains. “He hasn’t seen her since her mother died. But I never knew how she died, I just thought it was like cancer or something?”

“Seriously?” His eyes widen, “you’d let me go kill him?”

She nods, “it would be easier if he got a call saying I was still alive and living in New Mexico, we meet him there and kill him and leave him in the desert and no one will know.”

“We?”

She nods, “ever since you said you have a gun I have been thinking about how easy it would be to just pull the trigger and never have to think about him again.”

His breathing changes then and she swears she can see his interest in her grow tenfold. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, call him.”

“No,” Chip shakes his head. “No, we need to plan. Get some paper, we’ll burn it all after. How much cash do you have on hand currently?”

“Uh… I have like 2 grand left? He might even offer you a reward?”

“We need to buy the supplies with cash, we’re going to need shovels, bleach, lighter fluid, plastic bags and tape.”

She nods along as he lists them, “I’m pretty sure I have most of that…”

“We need to plan the meeting place, how to kill him and where to bury him and when,” Chip explains.

“After we kill him, can we go back to Seattle so I can get some of my old things if he still has them? And then I can take whatever money was in the safe still and we can leave a suicide note… saying he was going to join me in the lake so they don’t go looking for him?” Y/N plans on her feet, not wanting to have it traced back to her, even if she was supposed to be dead.

“Yeah,” he nods, “that’s a really good idea. They’ll think he was clearing out before he killed himself like most people do… if you still know his bank information make some charitable donations too… spread the wealth before he kills himself.”

“We’re really doing this,” she smirks, getting up from her seat and sitting in his lap. She runs her hands up his arms and along his shoulders, cupping his jaw as she stares in his honey brown eyes, “you like me enough to plot a murder for me?”

“If it’s not too soon, I think I love you,” he whispers. “But I respect that you’re not ready.”

“Who said I’m not ready?” She teases, “you are already 10 times better than Dustin could ever pretend to be, I trust you with my life and now we’re going to take his together… it would be weird if you didn’t love me.”

“Does that mean?” His brows raise, his hands slip down her back to her butt and he gives her a squeeze.

She nods and her heart races in her chest, “a little… more than I thought I would and it’s terrifying.”

“I’m never going to hurt you,” he repeats his same promise as before.

“I’m never going to hurt you either,” she whispers back, leaning in and pressing her lips to his quickly before whispering against him again. “You also deserve better, I’m sorry you lost the person you thought finally cared, but that person is me now.”

A tear slips down his cheek, “sorry.”

She wipes it with a smile, “no, don’t because that means you’re real. You have emotions, this is a good thing. You’re not a killing machine but this fucker deserves it… they all did.”

He nods, “that's why I like you.”

“I like you, Chip,” she smiles with her lips pressed together, still smiling when Chip kisses her. Smiling more when he picks her up and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.

Even though it doesn’t go past kissing, being held by him all night was the nicest feeling in the world. He was holding her in some way or another the whole night, kissing her shoulder even in his sleep as they spooned, pulling her on top of him when he rolled over. He couldn’t get enough of her and for once, she felt truly loved.

—

They’ve planned everything.

Chip traded in his Honda for a Jeep, stealing 2 sets of plates from different cars at a local junk yard for their trip to New Mexico. He needed to be able to drive Dustin off-road, towards Y/N’s “mother’s house” which was actually an empty lot in the middle of nowhere with a pre-dug grave.

They were currently in a Motel in the town over, making a call from a number that cant be traced to them before they head to Hatch, New Mexico.

He takes a deep breath while she dials the number, handing the phone back to him with a nervous grin he stared at the paper of rehearsed notes.

“Hello?” Dustin answered, making Y/N shiver immediately.

“Hi is this Y/N’s husband?”

“Yes, uh, who may I ask is calling?” He responds, fake as fuck making chip want to beat him to a pulp more.

“I’m an old friend from school. I saw her around town last week and I thought I’d call to see if she was—“

“What do you mean you saw her?” He cuts him off. “She died. She’s dead. And if she wasn’t you wouldn’t be allowed to see her, I don’t know who you think you are—

“I talked to her,” he cuts Dustin back off. “At the grocery store here in Hatch, New Mexico… she cut her hair and it’s a different colour now but it was her.”

“You’re 100% positive?”

“Yeah,” chip’s voice gets a little high, “I mean, yes. I’m positive, I had this number from around when you got married… I thought she was here to visit her mother or something?”

“So you were having an affair with my wife?” He questions, heated just the way they wanted.

“Oh yes,” Chip smirks. “I’ve fucked her a few times… whenever I was in Clifton Trail.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

“You know what? Fuck you, I’m just going to find her on my own and keep fucking her,” Chip says, “or you can give me 10 grand and I’ll tell you where she is.”

“10 grand?” Dustin repeats, unsurprised and thinking it over quickly. “Deal.”

He looks at Y/N with wide eyes, mouthing ‘that was easy?’

“I can meet you at the Hatch Royal Motel in 2 days and take you to her mom's house?” Chip lies.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth,” Dustin asks.

“She has a birth mark on the inside of her left leg on her underwear line… I know because I give it a special kiss every time I fuck your wife.” And with that, Chip hangs up.

“Holy suck,” Y/N’s shaking, anxious and overwhelmed.

“Suck?” Chip teases her.

“I couldn’t pick between shit and fuck,” her smile builds as she looks at him. “He has no idea what’s coming.”

“He’s going to be pissed,” Chip looks at her concerned and nervous. “He’s not going to really want to get in my car without killing me too…”

“He’s 5’9 and 125 pounds. He’s mentally more abusive than he is physically... he had to drug me most nights to get me to not fight back, because I tried, I fought and I wanted to help myself,” she shrugs.

“So we have to drug him back,” Chip adds. “That means I’m going to need you with me at the motel when we pick him up because I can’t chloroform him and put him in the jeep all by myself if he gets here during the day?”

“So then we knock him out and duck tape his mouth and tie him up until the un goes down?” Y/N plans quickly. “How are we getting rid of his car?”

“I’ll drive it back to Seattle and park it in his garage, you follow in the jeep?” Chip suggested.

“Yeah, we’ll just have to clean it before we leave which won't be hard to do because I had to deep clean the Maserati once a week for him while I was there and I doubt it’s gotten very dirty in the last 6 months.”

“Seriously?” Chips face lights right up, “I’ve always wanted to drive one?”

She nods, “it’s either that or the Audi and I bet he wants to get here fast…”

—

Sure enough, Dustin pulls into the parking lot of the motel in Hatch right on time. Y/N was to open the door and lure him inside while Chip was to come up behind him and chloroform him before he could get his hands on her. Y/N looks at Chip one last time before starting the plan, “ready?”

“No matter what happens this is a bond that only we will ever share,” he whispers, “let’s kill this fucker.”

She swings the door open, smirking as she stares at Dustin, “hey, fuck head!” She gets his attention and the rage that overflows from his body is almost instant. He starts to huff, waking towards her but for once she isn’t scared. “Come get me, loser.”

He charges her, slamming the door behind himself and not even checking the room before lunging for her throat. Chip wraps his arm around him, holding him back as his other hand covers his mouth with a cloth.

He struggles for a moment before falling limp in Chip's arms and to the floor. Y/N quickly duck-taped his mouth, tied his arms and legs and then strapped him to the bed where he couldn’t move when he eventually regained consciousness.

She just stared at him, breathing heavily and as she pushed through the anxiety of being in the same room as him again, “Can I blindfold him too?”

“Why?” Chip asked.

“So when he wakes up and can’t see and can’t move and he can’t scream for help he’ll finally fucking know what it’s like to be scared,” she whispers with tears in her eyes.

“Get your revenge baby.”

She takes a deep breath, walking over to him and wrapping cloth around his eyes to blind him. And she waits. She sits beside him in complete silence as she waits for him to regain consciousness and chip just waits in the corner, watching to see what she does.

He begins to stir, trying to sit up and move his arms, realizing he can’t see or speak he starts to struggle and scream as he writhes against the mattress and she just giggles. “Not so fun is it?”

Mumbled words are masked by the tape as he tries to yell in the direction of her voice, “it’s not very ladylike to fight back now is it?”

She smirks while she watches him struggle, sitting in the wooden hair beside his bed, she watches him like it’s her new favourite tv show. And then she turns to Chip, “it’s so liberating being the one in the chair… you know he used to do this to me? Completely naked, he’d tie me to the bed and block all my sense and he’d hurt me. He said it would feel better if I wasn’t expecting it… now he has no idea what I’m going to do to him.”

“You can do whatever you want,” chip replies and Dustins head turns abruptly to his voice, struggling and screaming under the tape as if they cared about his opinions. “She’s in control now dick shit… you have 10 hours until the sun sets and we drag his body to the desert so have fun, babe.”

That really makes him squirm, shouting like a little girl behind the tape as the cloth around his eyes starts to darken with his tears. And she feels a little bad, she hates hearing him struggle but she remembers how it felt and how much she hated it and that’s what makes her feel bad, not that she’s doing it to him. She lets the trauma turn to anger as she punches him in the chest, watching the wind get knocked out of him as he groans.

“Get me a plastic bag, help me put it under him,” she asks chip and he nods in response.

Rushing for a garbage bag and opening it up, he doesn’t ask why but he thinks he knows. She holds Dustin's hips up as Chip slides the plastic between him and the bed, they didn’t plan to get any of his DNA in the motel, this wasn’t part of the original plan but he couldn’t help but feel excited as she got her revenge. As she found herself and took her pride back, he looks at her softly as she flattens the plastic and she smiles up at him.

She leans over and presses a kiss to Chips lips, holding him there as she smiles against his lips just a bit. “Thank you,” she whispered after pulling back with an audible smooch.

Between them, she unbuttons his belt as he struggles and she punches him in the nuts, “just submit and deal with it already, you’re going to be murdered it’s not changing,” she spits out at him. “I’m in charge here. Fuckin’ chill.”

His breathing is heavy but he stops, sobbing under the blindfold, chip can’t even imagine how she must have felt under the one he covered her with for all those years. And then Y/N yanks his pants down and he chokes on his sobs.

Y/N just steps back, walking around the bed and taking Chip's hand, she pulls him towards the bathroom and leaves Dustin there completely alone. Closing the door behind herself she takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around him, crying slightly as he rubs her back and shushes her. “Are you okay?”

“Super triggered,” she replies. “But I’m going back out there to hurt him and I don’t know if you want to watch that?”

“If you don’t want me to I can stay in here?” He offers instead.

She nods, “yeah that would be better, I’ll try to not make a mess…” a smile builds back on her face as she pulls away, “thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, this is your choice and your decision and I’m just the backup, this is for you and about you, not me,” chip explains. “Make him pay.”

“I’m going to leave him like that for a while first,” she whispers.

Chip takes his phone out to check the time, “you’ve got lots of time till we can get rid of him.”

And so they wait, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall in the tiny bathroom. They watch a movie on his phone, leaving Dustin exposed and tied up for 2 hours with no idea when it was going to end.

When she goes back out there, Chip knows exactly what she’s doing. He just hopes he doesn’t bleed out by the time they have to transport him, dead weight is a lot more to deal with and he wasn’t as strong as he looked.

Most men in this situation would think “man, don’t fuck with y/n” as she’s literally cutting a mans dick off in the other room, but Chips proud? He loves her, he would never hurt her to deserve such treatment and he wanted Dustin to pay for not realizing that.

—

When the sun set and all was said and done, the owner of the motel had gone home for the night, the lights were off and the town was quiet. It was time to move him. The coast was clear, they wrapped him up so he would struggle less, and so they didn’t get blood in the jeep, loading him in and taking a 45 minute drive to the middle of butt fuck no where where a pre-dug grave awaits them.

Chip holds her hand while they drive, and it comes off as one of the most normal car rides they’ve had… but they have a man who’s about to become just a body in the back. Right as they pull up to the spot with their two shovels and the grave, he brings her hand close to his mouth and kisses it gently.

She smiles, feeling the butterflies in her stomach replace the fear of being caught doing what they’re about to do, “what was that for?”

“I’m just proud of you,” he whispers back.

“Are you ready?”

He nods, “are you?”

“Absolutely.”

They drag Dustin to the hole, where she gets down and takes off his blindfold and the duck-tape on his mouth, and she smiles at him. “Ready to die?”

“You’re a fucking bitch,” he chokes out, his voice gone from the screaming behind the tape.

She fakes a frown, “boo hoo.”

When she stands, she hands the gun to Chip, “you can do the honours. I’ve done what I wanted.”

Chip takes it with a smirk, “gladly.”

He walks over to dustin who starts to yell for help before Chip kicks his hip, rolling him over and pushing him into the hole. “Any last words?”

“I’M SORRY!” He screams, “Please, don’t do this I promise we can just get a divorce and I can give you the money and—

“TOO LATE!” Chip screams back, “you had every chance to treat her right and you fucked it up. I hope you have fun in hell,” he finishes the sentence with two shots, and then there’s a silence that spreads over the desert.

She’s not expecting to feel so much, a sense of freedom, adrenaline, euphoria, her body is riding a high unlike one she’s felt before and it makes her want to jump Chip’s bones right here and now.

“Pass me a shovel,” he asks, putting the gun on safety and slipping it back into his pants.

She snaps out of it and does as he asks but he can tell somethings up, “I’ve got this if you need to sit in the jeep and be alone for a minute…”

“No,” she shakes her head, getting the courage to pick up a shovel and help, “help me fill the hole so you can fill mine.”

He laughs, “that’s a good one.” He tosses some dirt into the hole, covering Dustin’s body.

“I’m serious,” she tosses some dirt in as well. “I’m free now, I’m me again? And I want you. And I want you for me not because you want me or you think I’m hot but because I haven’t allowed myself to do what I want in a very long time and I want you.”

His eyes widen and he takes a deep breath, shaking his head, astounded, “you want me to be your first since him?”

She nods, “is that so crazy? I mean… I’m pretty sure after all this, it’s safe to say I love you for all that you’ve done for me.”

He starts to shovel the dirt over his body faster and faster, making her laugh while trying to help. Patting the dirt flat on top and covering it with some tumbleweeds and sticks, she basically jumps on him the second they’re done.

He reaches under her ass, lifting her up and holding her in his arms as he walks her to the Jeep. She wraps her legs around him, kissing him deeply with more want than ever before. He presses her back against the jeep door, breaking the kiss to move his lips over her neck, sucking on her pulse point and making her moan out in pleasure, echoing into the desert.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, desperately running her hands over his back and through his hair so she can feel all of him that she can, “please?”

“You have to know I love you first,” words mumbled against her skin as he keeps kissing her. “And I want you to be with me forever, I want to love you and cherish you and protect you, and this isn’t how I expected telling you for the first time.”

She pulls his face away from her neck so she can look into his eyes, holding his cheeks in her hands, “I love you too, and you can show me how much over and over and over again, but right now I need you to fuck my brains out and then we need to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

“Hatch,” he cheekily corrects her.

She just shakes her head before bringing out her puppy dog eyes, “Chip, please?”

“Fuck,” he groans, “anything for you my love.”

He sets her back down on the ground and unbuttons her jeans, pulling them and her panties down just enough to pull them off one leg, lifting the other to rest on his shoulder as he looks at her pussy in awe, “so beautiful.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, believing him and feeling truly safe. He looks up at her softly, “I wish I could take my time with you tonight.”

“We can later,” she reminds him while pushing his face forward and feeling his tongue start working on her folds.

She moans, leaning back against the jeep more and tugging on his hair as he licks and sucks in such a beautiful manner that she can’t keep her eyes open. Her hips buck as she rides his face, “fuck,” she groans. “I need you inside me, babe.”

He pulls back, licking his lips and standing up, she pulls him in for a kiss so she can taste herself on his tongue.

He pushed against her once more, dipping down to grab her thighs and hoist her into the air once more, Y/N laughed at how crazy this was, she’d never done this with anyone— not even just the murder part, but the outdoor sex part.

Chip lined up with her and pushed in slowly. Y/N tilted her head back against the jeep as he did so, leaving her neck free for Chip to pepper kisses to her throat. It was almost second nature for Y/N to wrap her arms around Chip’s neck and grab at the tuft of hair at the back of his head as he fuck up into her.

Over and over, he fucked into her, the two of them breathing heavily and trying to be as quiet as possible so their voices didn’t travel and bring any unwanted attention to them. Y/N smashed their mouths together, kissing him as he reached between them to rub her clit. Chip’s grip on his hips got tighter as he fucked up one final time as he came abruptly, taking her with him.

She trembled, holding him close as she came, “holy fuck,” she whispered as she came down, every emotion from the night hitting her suddenly and making her hold on to him as tight as possible.

Y/N kissed his shoulder a few times, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Chip whispered back against Y/N’s hair, “Always will.”

this is all fiction, i don't condone murder in any way so don't try this at home.

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#chip taylor #68 kill #chip taylor fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid request #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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chloelucia13 · 3 years ago

Text

MGG Characters Masterlist (discontinued)

✴ = angst︱❁ = fluff︱✿ = smut︱✂ = trigger warning (listed in warnings)

Spencer Reid

To Dream ✴ ❁ ✂

Series

The Rain Saga: Spencer Reid x reader (completed)

- Chapter 1: A Sweet Rain ❁

- Chapter 2: Made of Storms: ✴

- Chapter 3: Eye of the Hurricane ✴ ✂

- Chapter 4: Flash Flood ✴ ✂

-Chapter 5: Downpour ✴

Chip Taylor

- Night Shift ❁

#Matthew gray gubler #mgg #masterlist #Spencer reid #criminal minds #Spencer Reid x reader #chip Taylor x reader #angst #fluff #smut #68 kill #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #reader insert

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

Text

Secrets with the Secretary (Chip Fic)

Summary: Reader hired a secretary for… business reasons.

A/N: Just a short lil fic about fucking your male secretary : ) Couple: Chip Taylor/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Boss/employee, sexual harassment training, penetrative sex, protected sex, bruising Word Count: 2.3k

MASTERLIST

The worst part about the company’s annual sexual harassment training wasn’t the horrible examples, the hour long lecture, or even the sad reality that this was necessary. It was, without a doubt, the fact that I had to go through the entire thing from my seat at the front of the room that happened to be straight across from my secretary.

Chip Taylor had worked here for a little over a year. His entire work history with us was a bit… complicated. When I’d met him at a bar off the highway, he was sort of at the end of his rope. And while I’m not well known for accepting charity cases, something about him struck me. Something soft and approachable in his demeanor. He was the kind of person that you could just tell had been through hell without losing his humanity.

He was also the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life. I’d be lying if I pretended like that wasn’t the biggest reason I hired him. But hey, secretaries are known for being attractive, and he really needed a job. And I really needed something nice to look at.

But that decision was currently coming back to bite me in the ass.

Because I could see the way he was watching me instead of the presenter. His gaze was so intense that I could feel him roaming over every inch of my legs the same way I could imagine how his breath would feel against my ear. Every example given of inappropriate public displays of affection might as well have been written about us, aside from the fact that it took place behind closed office doors.

The rest of the office was well aware that Chip served more than the customers. Human Resources was the only exception, and they spared no detail in explaining the possible repercussions of an abuse of power.

Every time they used the phrase, Chip’s legs shifted. The notepad on his lap was carefully placed in the center of his lap, hiding evidence of his need.

But I knew, and I wanted it. I wanted to feel him come undone under my hands so badly. To hear him whimper as I finally relieved the tension he felt. The rest of the hour went exactly like that. By the time it was over, I could barely see straight. Everything was shrouded in a lustful haze that I had to rid myself of.

The good news was that I knew exactly how to accomplish that.

“Chip, will you come here for a minute?”

He’d only just sat down, and I watched as he tried and failed to adjust himself in his pants before waddling over to my office.

“What’s up?” he asked, using that painfully pure and innocent voice. As if he didn’t know why I’d called him into my office in the first place.

Thankfully that little naive act was over as soon as the door clicked shut and my whole body crashed into his. Chip caught me like he always did. He was so excited for the new development that he almost missed kissing me back. It was sloppy enough that it didn’t matter, anyway. We were burning with desperation, and my hands were tearing off his tie before he spoke. But when he did, it was low and hoarse.

“Oh, thank God,” he halfway grunted, “I’ve been thinking about fucking you for hours.”

Chip practically shoved me back towards my desk, never taking his mouth off of me for more than a few seconds at a time. Once we hit it, he wasted no time. His strong hands grabbed my thighs and lifted me onto the wood. My hands left him just long enough to clear room for the activities that would follow.

“Did you pay any attention to the seminar?” I joked.

“Fuck no. It was driving me insane,” the poor thing whined back, “All that talk about sex while you were sitting there in this fucking skirt.”

Just as soon as he’d said it, his hands slipped under the unforgiving fabric. I swore I heard a seam rip in his haste to push it over my hips, but I didn’t care. I wanted him so badly, nothing would stop me from having him as quickly as humanly possible.

“Aren’t you worried about me taking advantage of you?” I hummed, the words breathy and light. His, on the other hand, were gruff and curt.

“You can do that whenever you want.”

I thought about it too. About changing my mind and forcing him on his knees while I remained perched on the desk. I thought about waiting until he was all the way inside of me before I ordered him to stay still and sing me praise until I found him worthy enough to continue.

Chip had other plans. I barely even noticed the sound of his belt coming undone, much less the rustling of fabric as he freed himself from his pants. The loud clanging of the metal buckle against the mahogany was music to my ears, just like the crinkling of the foil packet he’d pulled from my drawer. Once he’d managed to slip the condom on, I grabbed hold of his hair and forced him to look up at me. To look into my eyes and see the way my entire body burned with desire.

To my surprise, he smiled. And with that cheeky little grin came the most arrogant tone I’d heard from him yet.

“You know, right now... I don’t think you’re the one taking advantage.”

Just like that, before I could even process the words, he’d pulled my underwear to the side and forced himself to the hilt inside of me. His hand clamped over my mouth at the same time, muffling the desperate cry that immediately demanded to be heard. But that damn hand was large enough to cover half of my fucking face, and the harder I tried to make noise, the faster I drained my lungs.

Chip must have enjoyed the way it looked, watching me struggle for air while my legs clung to him. He forced my heels higher up his back, granting him the freedom to pull back farther with each thrust.

Eventually, he showed the mercy I knew him capable of and removed his hand. However, we both knew granting me complete freedom to use my voice would not be enjoyable for either of us. I had a tendency to get loud when it came to him. So he moved his hand to my hair, knotting through it and pulling me closer until my lips were pressed against his neck. Of course, he couldn’t put me there if he didn’t expect me to sink my teeth into the sensitive skin.

His moans, while plentiful, were far more reserved. He breathed them directly into my ear, forcing me to feel the heat of his breath before he nipped the cartilage.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said the words like a beg, his hips crashing into mine with enough force to knock the cup of pencils off my desk.

I was coming apart in a similar manner.

“Oh, fuck. Yes,” I whined into his neck now damp from my kisses, “Fuck!”

I had to make my mouth busy before I alerted everyone in the goddamn building to our little tryst, and the fluttery pounding of his pulse in his neck was just so inviting. I closed my lips around it, taking care to lavish it with my tongue before suckling in tandem with the rhythm.

Chip gave a quiet, high pitched yelp in response to the feeling, and I couldn’t help but feel proud at how pathetic he could be when shown the tiniest shred of attention. So I pulled harder at his skin while simultaneously pressing my heels hard against his back.

It had the desired effect, forcing Chip to all but collapse on top of me as his thrusts became sloppy and borderline painful in their insistence to get as deep within me as possible.

But I would gladly take the pain. Because as I pulled back, I watched his eyes roll back in his head and felt his nails digging into my skin. He pulled me as close as possible and held me there while he emptied himself into the condom. Watching him lose himself in me was, by far, the most rewarding aspect of our relationship. As much as I loved watching him crawl on all fours and kiss my feet, I craved moments like these.

Moments where he takes, takes, takes. Where he is selfish and gluttonous. Where he indulges in me with no regard for anything else. Where he trusts me to know his body and be able to give it exactly what it needs.

Before he caught his breath, I grabbed hold of his chin and brought our lips together more softly than before. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, warping the patch of red and purple I’d left in my wake.

I almost warned him about it. As he unceremoniously pulled out and away from me, I opened my mouth to apologize. It never came out.

“By the way, your dad is coming by later,” he said… after he fucked me on my desk.

“Ugh. You tell me this after you mess up my hair and make-up?!”

He saw the rage immediately flash across my features, but he just kept smiling. That snarky little smirk remaining front and center in my field of vision as he quickly managed to fix his clothing.

Then the thought of the torn seam occurred to me, and I glanced down to see the slit of my skirt slightly higher and dangling with a broken thread.

“Seriously, Chip?” I deadpanned, not wanting to grant him the enjoyment he was clearly already getting out of this situation.

“Like I said,” he chuckled, “I was taking advantage.”

It was just cute enough to work... barely.

“Come here,” I laughed, ushering him closer and fixing the horribly disturbed tie around his neck.

I still hadn’t gotten used to the image of him in such formal wear. It felt like a lifetime ago when I met him, covered in bruises and sporting two black eyes. Even then, though, I knew that there was something good inside of him. The wounds had all healed, leaving behind a few scars that I made a point to kiss better when we had more privacy. But for now, just a small peck on the lips would have to be enough.

“Get your ass back to work,” I giggled when he tried to kiss me again, “What do I even pay you for?”

“I don’t think the salary is for the phones,” he muttered against my lips when he finally succeeded.

“Yeah, probably not.”

It was the soft moments like that, after the lust had faded and left us a happy bunch of endorphins and a need to be closer, that I remembered just how badly I had fallen for him. Enough that I would carefully rearrange his hair, ensuring that he didn’t look like a total disaster when he resumed his job.

But not enough to save him from the humiliation that I knew would come. The embarrassment that I saw rolling in like storm clouds over the horizon. The terror that I carefully planned to watch from a front row seat.

The second I heard the door buzz open, I perched myself on the closest possible desk, giving a cursory greeting to the poor employee seated there. They were already familiar with my antics, though, so they just rambled about some nonsense they knew I was barely listening to so I could have my excuse to watch the showdown.

“Hey Chip, how’s it going?” I heard my father ask across the way, and I was already quickly losing my composure. Chip’s voice shook the same as it always did when faced with powerful men in suits.

“Hello, sir. It’s going well.”

“I can tell.”

I bit down on my tongue, glancing over to see the way Chip’s ears turned bright red. Even that wasn’t nearly as cute as the awkward laugh that followed.

“What’s that?”

“You should tell your lady friend you bruise easy,” my dad joked back.

“W-What?”

With a simple gesture to his neck, my father managed to ruin Chip’s entire day. Quite possibly his whole year. His hand flew to cover the brand new bruise that he’d only just gotten. I’m sure in that adorably empty head, he was probably convinced that our newest arrival would somehow know it was from me, because all he could answer was a sad and defeated, “Oh.”

But my father was none the wiser, and in fact drew a great amount of entertainment out of the poor thing’s struggle.

“Don’t worry about it. At least it shows you’re getting something.”

Putting aside how disturbing that thought was, I continued to enjoy the way Chip’s entire face had now darkened to match the hickey underneath his shaking palm.

“R-Right,” he stuttered, refusing to move even the slightest, but also trying to glance at me in his peripherals.

“Be careful though, or HR will be up your ass,” my father continued, much to Chip’s extreme displeasure, “I swear they expect us to be asexual.”

“I’ll be careful in the future!” he basically shouted, trying and failing to end the conversation as fast as possible.

Of course, in doing so, he sped up the inevitable. With a firm hand on his shoulder, my father cheered, “Attaboy, Chip.

As soon as he left, my petrified boytoy finally broke from his paralysis to look over at me. I managed to look away just in time, turning back to the employee who was chastising me for taking pleasure out of hurting their favorite secretary.

But even with the distance, I heard Chip’s soft laughter as he realized what I’d done.

Overall, he was okay with it. We both knew I’d make it up to him later, anyway.

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

#chip taylor #chip taylor fanfic #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor x you #chip taylor self insert #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg fanfiction #mgg fanfic #mgg x reader #mgg x y/n #68 kill #68 kill fanfic #68 kill fanfiction #68 kill smut #chip taylor smut

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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MGG Characters Masterlist

This is my Masterlist for characters that Matthew Gray Gubler portrays. They are sorted by fluff, angst and smut and from first posted to last. Requests are open for this actor. Upcoming fics are on my main Masterlist. ♥️=Author’s Favorite⚠️=Major trigger warning Main Masterlist

Spencer Reid x Reader

SERIES (2+ chapters):

Chronological series:

The Five Stages of Grief : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer going through the stages of grief after the death of the Reader. (ANGST) ♥️⚠️ —completed—

- Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader meets a mysterious man at the library during book club. ♥️ -in progress- -prompt/request—fic swap— (18+)

Unlinked series:

Spencer Reid & Letters: Group of fics exploring how Spencer and different types of Readers correspond through letters and their relationships.(Fluff- may contain angst & smut in the future) -in progress-

Fluff:

Oneshots:

- Ghost Story : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer tells Reader a ghost story before the power goes out.—request—

- Curl Recovery : Post Prison Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Curly Hair Reader: Spencer’s hair took a beating in prison along with the rest of his being. Reader helps Spencer gain a little back of what he lost. ♥️-Hurt/Comfort-

- 9 o’clock : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Barista Reader: Reader is an owner of a coffee shop and learns the identity of her late night regular as well as the reason why he likes so much sugar in his coffee.

- Dahlias :Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer over analyzing what type of flowers to get for Reader for their first date ♥️-fic swap-

- Happy Coincidences : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: You keep running into Spencer before work will you ever get his number? -request-

- The Best Time To Wear a Striped Sweater: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Where does Spencer’s striped sweater go after the first episode?—1000 follower celebration—

- My Knight in Shiny Armor: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Reader is a fantasy novelist and writes Spencer into their story. ♥️ —fic swap—

- The Melody Lives On: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

- Cinematic Coincidences: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer can’t bring himself to go on another date that’s been set up for him- so he stands his date up. Spence seemingly can’t catch a break and runs into the date he stood up. -30 fics in 30 days-

- Origins: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Reader is from a specific geographical location): Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them. -30 fics in 30 days-

- Question and Answer: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Garcia gets Reader to answer some questions about their feelings for Spencer. -30 fics in 30 days-

- Shining Bright Above You: Spencer Reid x Male Reader: Spencer finally gets to go out with his boyfriend after getting out of prison and gets to see the light despite the overwhelming darkness. ♥️-30 fics in 30 days-

- Unwinding in the Vines: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Reader can’t get enough of cuddling Spencer. -30 fics in 30 days-

- Manicured: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer finally lets Reader paint his nails. -30 fics in 30 days-

Blurbs/Ficlets:

- Lactose Intolerant: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader : Spencer loves dairy despite his allergy, it comes back to bite him and reader takes care of him. ♥️

- Spooked: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Reader really wishes Spencer hadn’t picked a haunted house as a team bonding exercise.

- Four More Months & No More Months Spencer Reid x Pregnant Female Reader: Spencer talking to their baby while Reader pretends to sleep.-1000 follower celebration-1250 follower celebration-request-

Angst:

Oneshots:

- Jinxed : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader : Reader is deeply affected by a case and is comforted by Spencer, at the end of the case Reader gets injured. (ENDS HAPPY)

- Too little Too Late : Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer isn’t sure what he’s fighting for anymore and feels abandoned by Y/N and his team. Set post Revelations. Major Trigger Warnings ⚠️ (SAD ENDING)

- A Greek Tragedy: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Masc. coded) :Spencer and Reader’s lives now resemble a Greek tragedy after Spencer returns from his kidnapping. ♥️⚠️(Hurt Comfort) (Light at the first of a tunnel sad ending)-prompt/request-

- Off the Table: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Based off the Ariana Grande song off the table. Reader wants to ask Spencer- I’d love off the table? ♥️⚠️ —1000 follower celebration— —request-

- Converging Parallels: Spencer Reid x Female Single Mom Reader: Spencer goes to a support group Penelope suggested after the death of Maeve. He quickly connects with a single mom who’s experiences have been similar to Spencer’s. -30 fics in 30 days-

- Tiny Vessels: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer is done lying to himself about his true feelings for reader, but isn’t done lying to them. ♥️-30 fics in 30 days-

Smutty (not full on smut, smut is further down):

Oneshots:

- Yeah: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: When Reader’s favorite song comes on while they’re out at a bar with the team, Reader can’t resist wanting to dance with Spencer even if it outs their secret relationship. -request-

- Training Wheels: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Years ago Spencer taught Reader to drive despite the fact that he hates driving. When they become good at driving enough to learn how to ride a motorcycle they get Spencer to come along for a ride.

Smut:

Oneshots:

Sub!Spencer Reid x Reader:

x Gender Neutral Reader:

- Georgia Peach: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: Spencer sees reader eating a peach and goes a little crazy. ♥️ -request-

- Helping hands: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader: After a bad case Spencer needs help shaving after getting injured, he gets help from the least likely person to help in his life. ♥️ (Enemies to lovers) -prompt/request-

- Slapped: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader x Elle Greenaway: impromptu little fic that @sparklinspence and I ended up writing quickly in the reblogs about Spencer getting his cock slapped while away on a case. ♥️

x Female Reader:

- Surprise Pretty Boy :Sub!Spencer : Spencer Reid x Female Reader : Reader hasn’t had any sex in what feels like forever, so she seduces Spencer. When they get to Reader’s apartment she has a surprise waiting for him.

- Solaris: Sub!Spencer : Spencer Reid x Female Reader : Spencer and Reader finally get a vacation, so they go and see a Russian film called Solaris. Reader coxes Spencer into getting freaky in the theatre.

- Painted Nails: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer’s dom paints his nails for date night and she goes crazy at the sight of them.—-request—-

- Plot twist: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader buys a new pair of heels but they aren’t for her. ♥️ —750 follower celebration—

- Keep Reading: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader brings a surprise for Spencer at their picnic date. -♥️—750 follower celebration— —prompt/request-

- Braided Brat: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer lets Reader braid his hair, he can’t help but tease her. —750 follower celebration—

- Pleasent Surprise: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader asks Spencer if she can try to be more dominant in the bedroom. —750 follower celebration—

- Guest Lecturer: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: gets Spencer riled up during class while he’s guest lecturing. ♥️—750 follower celebration—

-Taking care: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer needs Reader to help him relax after some people were unkind to him —750 follower celebration—-request-

- Good in Red: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer really likes the color of your lipstick. ♥️ —1000 follower celebration—

- Green with Envy: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer gets mad over something reader can’t control and a fight ensues- plus heavy makeup sex after the fight.

- Soured Nostalgia: Sub!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: When Reader moves their stuff in to Spencer’s apartment they find photos that he kept over the years. One photo of the past springs up memories of Spencer’s precious relationship with Elle. ♥️-30 fics in 30 days-

-Erotica Explained: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer finds Reader’s erotica writing. ♥️-30 fics in 30 days-

Dom!Spencer Reid x Reader:

- Star Trek vs. Star Wars: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader Smut: Spencer and reader get into a heated argument over which is better Star Trek or Star Wars, Reader in turn breaks some of Spencer’s rules. —fic swap—

- The Case of the Missing Coffee: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader Smut: Spencer gets on Reader’s nerves just a little too much one day.—fic swap—

-Occupied: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer and Reader get caught in a bar bathroom by one of their coworkers after Reader couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. -500 follower celebration- -prompt/request-

- Birthday Spankings: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: A normally shy reader decides to tease Spencer on his birthday thinking she could get away with it —request—

- Poker Face: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader thought she could get away with speaking her desires out loud as long as they were in a different language. Turns out, someone could understand her. ♥️

- April Fools: Dom!Spencer (not as harsh as others): Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer needs to one up Reader just as he’s about to loose a prank war. —30 fics in 30 days-

- Dressed in Crimson: Dom!Spencer: Spencer Reid x Female Reader:(Royalty AU)Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open. ♥️ -30 fics in 30 days-

Non specific dom Spencer Reid x Reader:

- Russian Roulette: Non specific dom: Spencer Reid x Female Unsub Reader: Reader and Spencer formed a relationship during an investigation, turns out she was the unsub they were looking for. Spencer finds the Readers hiding place cornering her, but he can’t let her go yet. Major Trigger Warnings ♥️⚠️ (SAD ENDING)

- Mismatched: Non specific dom: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader is Spencer’s roommate and they have been pining after each other for a while. One morning they finally get to act on their feelings.

- The Big Bluff: Non specific dom: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Spencer goes up against a professional poker player. ♥️-500 follower celebration-

- Any Iteration: Non specific dom: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: Reader is nervous that this new iteration of her won’t be something Spencer will like. ♥️

Blurbs:

- A Snowy Morning After: Part One, Part Two: Non specific dom: Spencer Reid x Female Reader: After being snowed in after a one night stand, Spencer wants to go for a round two. -1000 follower celebration—30 fics in 30 days-

Chip Taylor x Reader (MGG character from 68 kill)

Fluff:

Oneshots:

- Chipped: Chip Taylor x Gender Neutral Reader: Chip Taylor watching Beauty and the beast for the first time with Reader. -500 follower celebration- -prompt/request-

Angst:

Smut:

Oneshots:

Sub!Chip Taylor x Reader:

- Party Play: Sub!Chip: Chip Taylor x Female Reader: After Reader gets Chip to voice one of his deepest desires Reader takes him to a play party Reader’s friend hosts. ♥️-30 fics in 30 days-

Raymond Wadsworth x Reader (MGG character from Suburban Gothic)

Fluff:

Oneshots:

- Unsolved: Raymond Wadsworth x Gender Neutral Reader: Raymond runs into the buzzfeed unsolved duo investigating the same place he is, plus their cute camera operator. -500 follower celebration- -prompt/request-

Smut:

Oneshots:

Sub!Raymond Wadsworth:

- Spooks: Sub!Raymond: Raymond Wadsworth x Female Reader: Raymond starts sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong at the next haunting he’s investigating. ♥️ -30 fics in 30 days-

Angst:

Oneshots:

Blurbs:

- Birthday Blues: Raymond Wadsworth x Gender Neutral Reader: Raymond wants his partner to come back from the dead.

Franklin x Reader (MGG character from Beginner’s luck)

Fluff:

Oneshots:

- Bowling Ball Baby Franklin x Pregnant Female Reader: Franklin and Reader get into a fight about him not being there for Reader’s pregnancy. He has a unique way of apologizing.♥️-Hurt/Comfort-

- Gutter Balls Franklin x Male Reader: While meeting up for a friendly game of bowling with Franklin’s team some very rude people try to insert their opinion on yours and Franklin’s relationship. (Has some angst but is v happy). —request—

- Chili Cheese Fries: Franklin x Gender Neutral Reader: Franklin tries to make bowling alley food taste better during a first date. ♥️ -30 fics in 30 days-

Angst:

Smut:

Oneshots:

- The Owner’s Office: Dom!Franklin: Franklin x Female Reader: Franklin won’t stop pestering the owner of the alley about getting a discount. —1000 follower celebration— —prompt/request— ♥️

Lesley Smith-Juniment x Reader (MGG in Hot Air)

Fluff:

- Unintentionally Unrequited: Lesley Smith-Juniment x Gender Neutral Reader: Reader holds in their love for Lesley after his broken engagement. -30 fics in 30 days-

Angst:

Smut:

-Will be adding more characters in the future-

#Masterlist #y/n #self insert #spencer reid x reader #franklin x reader #raymond wadsworth #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor #Spencer Reid #franklin

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httpnxtt · 4 years ago

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Soap Suds - Chip Taylor x Reader

A/N: Searching for this gif made my brain go brrr bc look at this man. Look at him. This is my second fic for the discord fic swap which I wrote for the lovely @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff !! I got to finally write our Chippy boy with a GN reader <33 thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins and @sunlight-moonrise for helping this story come together!!

Chip Taylor x GN!Reader

Category: Fluffy Smut

Warnings: Oral (Male Receiving), Blanket Consent

Word Count: 1.4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most people think of laundry day as boring or tedious. I thought that too, once. However, once I got the chance to move here, laundry days became a tad more interesting than I expected. As I make my way into the dingy room full of machines, I’m greeted with the beautifully clueless man next-door. Having my pick of machines, I walk over and set my basket atop the machine directly next to the man.

“Good morning, Chip.” I chime, beaming a smile to the man to my right. He shoots a small smirk in my direction as he measures out the detergent in his hands before tossing the liquid into the machine.

“Good morning, Y/N.” He smiles as he presses some buttons to begin his laundry cycle. He gathers his belongings into his own basket as he looks at me. I must have a dumbfounded look on my face as he cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy. “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh honey… please… you’re making me itch.” I playfully chastise him. I quickly grab the bottle of fabric softener from my own basket, stopping his machine to add the liquid to the mixture. “At least use fabric softener.” I whisper, mere inches from the man’s face. I see him deeply inhale, eyes wide before I turn back to my own laundry.

“But… what does it do?” He asks bright-eyed, almost child-like. I grab my own basket and start my own cycle. Grabbing the softener to add, pour some in my own load before giving the bottle to Chip.

“Because, it makes your clothes soft. And it smells wonderful. See?” I ask, holding the bottle to his face. He takes a whiff from the bottle and I see a slight smile play on his lips as I pull the bottle away. Screwing the cap on, I toss the bottle to the basket before turning to the man. I place my hand on his chest, feeling the scratchy fabric beneath my fingertips. “A sweet, sweet man like you deserves to be swaddled in the softest clothes, Chip Taylor. That way, you can smell just as good as you look.” I wink at the man, a confused smile playing on his lips.

“Listen, I uh,” He clears his throat. “I know I can be pretty dense, but you’re giving me some…pretty big signals here, and I don’t know if I’m reading them right but…I hope I’m somewhere along the right track.” I chuckle as I push on his chest, his hips hitting the machine as his hands grasp the edges. I lean towards the man, lips ghosting over his own. I feel his breath stop as he stares at me.

“Stay right here.” I whisper before pulling away from the man. I make my way to the door beside us, quickly flipping the lock. As I turn back, I see Chip’s chest rising and falling, his knees already trembling. As I get back to the man, I rest my arms around his shoulders and pull him toward me. “Is this the track you want to be on?” I ask, brushing my lips against his own.

In a split second, Chip leans forward and presses his lips against my own. His hands come to rest on my cheeks, holding me against him as our lips move against one another. I slide my head down, moving to press kisses along his jaw and neck as my hands work their way down his torso. My hands brushes down, coming to rest on the sweatpants adorning his hips. My tongue works over a spot just below his jaw as my hands moves over the bulge in his sweatpants. A whimper releases from Chip’s throat. I pull away and admire the mark along his skin before looking at the needy man in front of me. I give Chip a chaste kiss, his lips chasing my own as I pull away.

I slowly work my way down to kneel, leaving marks along his chest in my wake. My hands move from his bulge, grasping both sides of his pants, tugging them to pool around his ankles. Looking up from my spot, his cock rests against his stomach painfully hard. My hand wraps around him, a small whimper being tugged from him. Sticking my tongue out, I drag it base to tip, wrapping my lips around him as I watch his eyes screw shut. Chip bites his bottom lip to contain his moans, but I simply hollow my cheeks around him in retaliation. Pulling off him, I dig my nails into his thigh.

“You can make noise. No one will hear you over the machines, honey.” I chuckle, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. The action pulls a deep, guttural moan from the man in front of me. His hand weaves its way through my hair, subconsciously guiding my head up and down his length. I release a moan around him as his precum coats my tongue. Chip’s head falls back, his hips bucking forward as his cock hits the back of my throat. Moans tumble from his lips as he struggles to keep from bucking into my mouth.

Whimpering around him, I move my tongue along the bottom of his cock as his hips

slowly start a rhythm fucking into my mouth. My jaw goes slack as he picks up his pace. Looking up through my lashes, I see Chip slack jawed as he groans and slides further down my throat. His other hand is white-knuckled on the edge of the laundry machine as his grasp tightens further in my hair. As I lock eyes with the man, his thrusts become uneven as his breathing becomes heavier, more jagged. The room is filled with his moans and whimpers, the man unable to form even a simple sentence. He begins to slow down, his moans going up an octave as my lips wrap tightly around his tip. His hips stutter for a moment before his hand pulls at my strands, his release coating my throat. I continue to suck at his cock, swallowing every ounce of his warmth before Chip is tugging me off him. He looks down at me with a dazed look in his eyes, a dopey smile adorning his cheeks.

Taking a breath, he holds my hand in his own, helping me up from the floor. Before I could stray far, he wraps his arms around my waist pulling me in for a kiss. It was slow, but sweet. Much like the man holding me. I pull away from the man chuckling at him as his eyes sparkle with a smile.

“Did that clear it up for you, baby boy?” I ask, winking at the man before walking back to my own station. He gulps down some air as if unsure what to say. But after only a second, he looks directly at me and chuckles.

“Not at all, actually. I think we should keep going.” He suggests, biting at his bottom lip again. “You know, just to be sure,” pulling a laugh from my throat. I pull my basket from the machine, cradling it in my arms. A loud knock rings from the door, causing the man in front of me to jump five feet in the air. He scrambles to pull his pants from his ankles as I stand there staring at the sight in front of me. Walking over to him, I see a slight panic in his eye from the disturbance.

“How about this?” I ask. Reaching into my basket, I throw dryer sheets at Chip who scrambles to catch them. “You go get some dryer sheets and fabric softener. Wash your bedsheets.” I say, looking at the man through my lashes. He swallows, a confused look on his face. I lean towards him, my lips brushing his ear. “Then, I’ll come over and let you do whatever you want.” I whisper, pulling away from the man. His eyes widen, like he was just told he won the lottery. He sprints to the door, fumbling with the lock. I just laugh and ask, “Where are you going?”

“I gotta go to the store. Like. Right now.” He yells, ripping the door open. He sprints through the hall, almost shoulder-checking at least 3 other residents on his way. At least I know I’ll be having an interesting night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @reidetic @sunlight-moonrise @prettyricky187 @itslatinamagia @calm-and-doctor

#chip taylor #chip taylor fanfic #chip taylor fanfiction #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor x y/n #chip taylor x you #chip taylor self insert #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #mgg x yn #68 kill #68 kill fanfic #68 kill fanfiction #68 kill smut #chip taylor smut #mgg smut

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banquetwriter · 3 years ago

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𝐧𝐚𝐯:

↳ Masterlist

↳ Request rules

SUPPORT ME

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esote-rika · 4 months ago

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reader giving chip a blowjob as a reward after a successful robery

Lover, my darling I see you and your Chip Taylor agenda and I fully support it. Went a little off the rails, but I’m ovulating so sfjegerlk

Contents: fem!reader, mentions of burglary, blowjobs, MDNI

Here’s the thing. Neither of you expected for the plan to work. Chip certainly seemed anxious the entire time, and you would have been offended about that if you didn’t have the same, very slight hint of doubt in the back of your mind. After all, this plan to rob a rich asshole’s house could very easily blow up in your faces.

Trespassing, breaking and entering, attempted robbery. The list of crimes whirls in your head, taunting you with the promise of prison, of being away from Chip, and the very thought of separation from your boyfriend is enough to make you completely locked in. A hundred and ten percent focus.

When you leave with thousands of dollars in cash, you wait until you’re both on the highway, on your way to leave the state before you let out the loudest, happiest laugh.

He’s laughing too, forehead still sweaty from a combination of the adrenaline and the hot summer air. Skin wrinkling around his eyes from how big he’s smiling. The most beautiful burglar to ever exist. “I can’t believe we pulled that off.” he’s saying, voice high with elation.

“I told you to trust me.” You’re all cocky satisfaction as you head into the closest exit. He looks around confused, but he’s long since learned not to question you. You hold his very being in the palm of your rough, calloused hands, and it’s a fact you never take for granted. He deserves love, and care, and after tonight, the best damn head he’s ever experienced in his entire life.

You drive past empty fields, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over and palming him through his jeans.

He jerks, eyes wide as he looks at you, “God, baby—”

“You’ve been so, so good tonight, Chip.”

“Yeah?” he rocks his hips up to your palm, and you can feel him growing hard beneath the rough denim.

“Yeah, baby, I think you deserve a little treat.” You remove your hand from him, trying to focus on driving.

He whines, the shameless man.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, baby.”

The sound of his zipper fills the air, and you laugh as he takes his cock, quickly working his large hand up and down its length. Slack jawed and unblinking, he strokes himself in the passenger seat, head leaning heavily on the head rest.

“That’s it, baby.” You coo, watching him out of the corner of your eye. God, he’s so pretty, soft brown curls pasted to his forehead as he jerks himself off. Finally finding a clearing that’s empty and secluded enough to your liking, you pull over and quickly unbuckle your seatbelt.

He watches you with stars in his eyes as you maneuver yourself over the console. He leans his chair back, freeing more room for you. Always so thoughtful, even when he’s near desperate.

You smile, kissing the tip of his throbbing cock, “Can’t believe we pulled that off, baby,” you say, running your tongue and letting the taste of his precum flood your mouth, “And all because you were so good and followed my directions.”

“Of - of course, baby, I did say I’ll do anything to make you happy.” His adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, hands gently threading through your hair and gathering them at the crown of your head. So fucking thoughtful. Your heart could burst.

“I know,” you whisper, wrapping your mouth around the tip and sucking. He lets out a strangled sound, and all of your original plans to tease him fly out the window. You take more of him down, carelessly letting him hit the back of your throat. It barely makes you gag anymore. After months of dating, you can easily push through his impressive girth and length. You hollow out your cheeks and suck, before pulling back.

It’s always such a thrill to give him head. He’s already gasping, making the prettiest sounds and you’ve barely even begun. A man of his height reduced to a stuttering, mindless mess all because of your mouth. It’s the best and easiest power trip you can have.

You settle on a rhythm then, bobbing your head up and down his cock, hands on his thighs to balance you. It’s a sloppy affair, your body draped across the console, ass up in the air, your knees digging into the driver’s seat.

Threads of saliva drip down your chin, making everything so much warmer and slicker as you take him deep into your throat.

You can feel his muscles tensing, fighting against the urge to thrust in, and since he’s been so good, you pull away and give him permission. “Fuck my mouth, Chip.”

“You sure?”

The breathiness of his voice has you rubbing your thighs together, but you remind yourself this is his turn. All about him. So instead, you look at him, eyes peeking up sweetly from beneath your lashes, “Yeah, baby, you’ve earned it.”

He lets out a strangled sound, and the force with which he thrusts does have you gagging. You hadn’t expected so much force, but god, it’s the hottest thing ever. So rarely does he take, always so eager to give, to make you feel good, that when the roles are reversed, it always takes you by surprise. He has a hidden strength that he tempers in order to be gentle with you, but at this moment, it’s all forgotten. He’s fucking up into your warm mouth like there’s no tomorrow, your throat swelling from how deeply he’s buried himself into you.

“Fuck,” he whines. Fingers tightly gripping your hair, he holds your head in place as he ruts. You barely manage to hold back the choked sounds, knowing that if he hears them, he’ll slow down. You don’t want him to slow down, you want him to take and be selfish after such a job well down. “Baby—gonna—oh god!”

He’s babbling, though you probably wouldn’t be able to make out his words anyway, what with how focused you are in taking his thick cock in your mouth. Your nails dig into his thighs as he moves your head to meet his thrusts, a vain attempt to anchor yourself to something.

“Just a little more, baby,” he gasps, and you wish you could see him clearly, immortalizing the look of pleasure on his face. But your eyes are blurry from tears, and his hold on your hair is so tight you couldn’t angle your head up to look at him if you tried.

He pumps once, twice, and then he’s crying out and you feel ropes of his release overflowing your mouth. You swallow what you can, but strings of his cum and your saliva still trickle from your lips and over your chin. He pulls you up gingerly, brown eyes half open.

“God, baby, that was—are you okay?”

You laugh, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. “I’m perfect, baby, are you?”

“Of course I am,” he says breathlessly, pulling you up his lap and tucking your head beneath his chin, “That was amazing. I can’t believe I get to have you.” he’s more quiet now, lips grazing the crown of your head. You hum, smiling as you imagine what the future holds with the stolen money, and your sweet, perfect boyfriend by your side.

#chip taylor 68 kill #chip taylor smut #chip taylor x reader #chip taylor #chip taylor 68 kill fan fiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg #chip taylor x you #chip taylor x self insert #chip taylor x y/n #erika after midnight #chip taylor x reader smut #68 kill

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notmrskennedy · 5 years ago

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Whatever You Need

(Chip x Fem!Reader)

A/N - am I little in love with Chip? Yes, but who isn’t? So please enjoy my hot take on our lovely Mr. Chip Taylor

Summary - a university professor meets a very adorable maintenance guy ...

Warnings - a pinch of swearing and two teaspoons of mentioning gross things

Word Count - 3k

-------

There’s a thin line, she realises as she rushes into the lecture hall, between anthropological research and grave robbing. When you’re on loan to the federal government and a water pipe bursts at a cemetery, there isn’t much to do other than say, ‘yes sir Mr. FBI agent, I will gladly slop through three feet of mud and water, digging through graves!’

She’s ten minutes late to her lecture. Ten minutes long enough that the TA’s are snickering. Ten minutes long enough that the entire class looks horrified that their Anthropology 101 professor is covered head to toe in dried mud, grass, and whatever else could be found in destroyed 19th century coffins.

She sets her bag down heavily on the desk and startles everyone in the room. Sans the maintenance guy. He’s tinkering with vent at the foot of door. He’s mostly a faded ball cap and a distressed jean jacket, one arm shoved up the vent. She can’t imagine why someone would have their arm up a vent, but god only knows why the university would ask someone to.

A moment passes where she unabashedly stares. How did she miss him? Was she in that much of a hurry that she nearly tripped on the guy and didn’t look back? And what the hell is in that vent?

The TA’s snicker behind her back, sobering up when she shoots them a half deadly look. She’s covered in mud, not lenience. She half hopes Maintenance Guy will turn around—she has a desperate, yet beguiling feeling he’s hot. But what she’s really curious for is what’s stuck up that vent.

And he doesn’t turn around—his complete disregard of her is a 180 from the rapt attention she’s receiving from her students—until she’s frustratedly brushing dirt off her face. Pulling grass from her hair.

“Let me just start with,” she begins, pulling an earth worm out of her sleeve, “if the federal government asks you to sort through bodies in a flooded cemetery, tell them no. And despite how much fun grave digging can be, there’s a thin line and that line is punctuated by whether they’re arresting me or not.”

Maintenance Guy snorts, head turned to beam up at her. She’s almost taken aback by how bright he seems. How his grin puts the sun in its place. He looks honest, grease stains and all.

There’s something to be said about the fact she’s studying his bone structure instead of his fleshy bits. She can’t tell you what colour his eyes are, but his zygomatic bones are killer.

“Professor?” a TA prompts, ineffectively holding back their own knowing smiles.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she replies, digging through her bag to hand out a stack of student essays. “Pass these back, please?”

Tick one for the professor.

“And as per usual,” she announces, leaning back against the white board, “let’s do our daily recap. And as you know, these questions can be used to aid in exams.”

She sneaks a glance at Maintenance Guy, pulling his arm out from the vent. He grumbles, digs through his toolbox, and grabs a screwdriver. Whatever is in that vent is stuck.

Once the rustling stops, she says, “Okay, question one: if your professor—that would be me for those of us who are new—were to be one of, say, five wives with one husband, it’s called—?”

“Polygamy!” a student shouts from the front row.

“You’re right, but you aren’t correct,” she says, standing up straight. “Polygamy is the practice of having more than one spouse. Polygyny—with an ’n’—is multiple wives to one husband. Examples of the culture are Kenya’s Logoli and other Abalulya sub ethnic groups.”

She writes it on the board for spelling, and glances over to see Maintenance Guy paused in his excavation of the vent. He’s paying better attention than her students. It’s sort of sweet and she stifles her soft giggle at the thought.

He’s ridiculously tall and she takes a moment to appreciate just how long his femurs have to be.

“Question two!” she announces and finds even the most hungover kids forcing their attention on her. “If your professor were to marry five men all at once, that’s called—?”

“Polyandry,” a student pipes up from the back. “A lot of times it’s fraternal marriage.”

“Examples of a culture that practices—”

Pop!

Maintenance Guy rolls back with the force. His knees are still bent from where they’d been used as leverage against the vent, a wall of debris bursting into his face. In one gloved hand was a dead raccoon, while the other desperately brushed bits of the vent’s clog—a raccoon’s nest—from his eyes.

“Oh Jesus,” she mutters, jumping into action. She picks up a garbage bag from his toolbox and nets the dead animal from his hand. It’s a pretty tame find, though she’s used to human remains which tended to be—gooier.

With the animal tucked up, she hauls Maintenance Guy to a sitting position, frantically cleaning the odds and ends of the nest out of his eyes. She steals his ball cap as she whispers kind words to him, further trying to shake the bits of insulation out of his shaggy hair.

The class is in a terrible chatter behind them. Not that it matters. Not with Maintenance Guy’s eyes opened and his hands gently clutching onto her wrists as she brushes the last bits of insulation off his cheeks. His eyes are definitely hazel up this close.

“Thanks,” he croaks, still gently latched onto her hands.

“It’s no problem,” she smiles back, absently studying the rest of his face. He’s got the kind of skull she’d love to see on her table—well, maybe once he’s died of his own accord because he seems rather sweet. Confused and concerned, but…sweet. “Don’t worry. I’ve had much worse flung all over me. You don’t much get used to it.”

He smiles, barely chuckling. Coughs up a bit of insulation.

“You might want to see a doctor. Insulation in the lungs is…what gets you a one way ticket to my lab.” She grins at her own terrible joke. His eyes are too close and she can’t help but wish for a skeleton to be looking back at her. She understands those. People are too…gooey.

“I’m Chip,” he offers, silently asking her for help to his feet. She does, offering her own name in return. He mulls over it, like it’s a fine wine sitting on his tongue. “Professor Y/N. Thanks again.”

She shrugs, mouth suddenly too dry. Heart beating too fast. Jesus, human interaction was going to kill her. There was no job to distract her from Chip’s strong hands. There were no bodies to keep Chip’s genuine gaze off of her. There wasn’t anything to distract from seeing Chip as so pleasantly human.

“Want the raccoon as a consolation prize?” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with a newly de-gloved hand. There’s something satisfying about answering questions that aren’t meant as questions. Especially ones that showed just how weird she really was. The questions that were relationship testers—like can we be friends if I tell you that I keep carrion beetles as pets?

“Actually, sure.” Chip’s jaw drops just slightly open. He has cute teeth. “Dissection is a key part of the anthropological process, forensic or not. Let’s see just what this raccoon was up to. Eh, class?”

Every single one a deer in the headlights, the class goes eerily silent. She winks at Chip and announces again. “Don’t you guys want to see what I do for a living? I mean human remains are much cooler but I think we can settle for a mostly solid raccoon carcass.”

A TA clutches at her stomach. “Professor, never say that again.”

The professor just laughs, absentmindedly taking a soft grip on Chip’s shoulder. “Don’t worry everyone, Chip’s going to keep the raccoon. At least I’m not making the final a practical examination. I do have access to laboratory rats—“

The entire class clambered forward, hoping to dispel the idea and the evil smirk off their professor’s lips. She just beamed back at Chip, dropping her hand. She expected the same horrified expression of her students, but he seemed, dare she say, impressed.

That wide eyed shock creeps onto her face. Because who would risk being impressed by a professor covered in dirt from grave digging who offered to dissect a raccoon at 10 AM on a Tuesday?

Apparently, it’s this guy. Must have a thing for crazy women.

Chip shakes his head, bites his lip, and turns to stoop for his raccoon trophy. “I’ll, uh, have them send someone for the nest. I—I guess I have to do something with the raccoon, if you’re sure you don’t want it?”

She just shakes her head, failing miserably at keeping her cherry red tint to herself. “No, no. Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” he repeats, rather sadly, to himself. Though, as he turns to leave, it feels more like a promise.

The worst part about knowing Chip is that she seems to see him everywhere. Rushing between lecture halls? There he is, doing his best to fix a fountain. Getting escorted away by federal agents? There he is, sympathetically waving as he walks across the quad. Leading a group of students outside to lecture on the green? There’s Chip, fixing a sprinkler.

She’s had exactly three times in the last six months to talk to him. All under three minutes.

But today, today she’s running late from court. Grand jury testimony had gone fine, until Agent—God, she’ll never learn his name—WhatsHisFace tried to ask her out again. Because what a turn on talking about the mutilation of a hacked up college girl was.

It also didn’t help that, outside of the court room half an hour before, she was doodling what she thought Chip’s skull would look like.

So she can’t help but storm into her postage stamp of a classroom, dropping her package on the desk with a gentle, yet annoyed huff. Her 12 students, all seniors in the Anthropology department, raised their eyebrows at her. At her court getup.

She’d missed those formative lessons at 13 on how to be a proper lady. And even if she had had them, it probably wouldn’t have stuck. Besides, what she wore into the field had to be more than acceptable for the university’s standards. The heels and pink blouse of today were extremely rare and uncomfortable.

“Whoa, Professor Y/N!” Reese Rosebeck calls out, dramatically twitching in his chair, “Is that really you? You look hot!”

“Ha, ha. That’s a very coherent thought for the kid who wrote the worst paper I’ve ever read,” she deadpans. She relents when she sees his dramatic puppy dog pout. “Though, I do have to say I enjoyed you’re use of colloquial slang. Accentuated your point very cleverly.”

“As long as I impress the hottest professor on campus, I’m alright.”

There was a quiet laugh from the back of the room, and she found her eyes snapping to the hunched over back of none other than, Maintenance Guy Chip Taylor. He’s just quietly listening—as always—tinkering with the radiator pipes in the back of the room. She’s half thankful. It is starting to get cold.

“Hey, Chip!” she chirps and the poor thing bangs his head on the pipes. He waves her off in a flash, hand extended wildly above the other desks in the room. Reese chuckles to himself, dragging Lionel with him.

She kicks her heels off behind her desk, straightening herself once she’s back on stable ground. She’s about three apples short of a pie to wear heels for more than six consecutive minutes. The female students give her rather sympathetic looks as she begins to roll her feet and open her package.

She pauses halfway in. Jeez, she forgot about—“Hey, Chip?”

Like a meerkat, he pops up with a dazzling soft grin.

“Are you going to call the cops on me?”

“Excuse me?”

Her students’ eyes bounce back and forth between the pair, following the invisible tennis match. The professor settles on a rather tired, “Are you going to call the cops? The last person who attended lecture that didn’t know me, called the cops because of a demonstration. So, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head and she wonders if he’s a little too trusting. He’s honest as he leans back down to continue futzing with the pipes. He’s genuine in every interaction they have. Does she really deserve the kind of trust he’s offering? To a crazy woman who’s asked if he’ll call the cops on her?

She shakes the thought away. These 12 students—tangible students—need her focus. At least for the next few minutes. She pulls six human skulls from her package, all neatly wrapped up in protective glass cases. She places those on the table along with a box of gloves.

“Two people to a skull,” she announces and runs through the rest of the directions. “Don’t forget your gloves. You too, Ms. Figg.”

Jamie Figg’s fierce blush is long forgotten once they are all set to work. Tactile learning is the best way to learn in her opinion, expressly in advanced classes like these. It also gives her a moment to rest her brain—even if it’s a few minutes before the onslaught of necessary questions.

She settles into an unused section of chairs and desks, smiling absently at the way all of the kids have squeezed themselves around the one table. She misses the days when she was young and new, ready to find her own legs to stand on.

Chip’s not quiet and she watches him with too much adoration as he sits down next to her. It’s not all too unexpected nor uninvited. He smells like grease and good cologne up close, mixed up with that dangerous combination of hazel eyes and delicious bone structure.

Chip smirks, drawing her out of her smidge of staring. “See anything good?”

“You have excellent bones,” she mutters, tracing a finger against her own cheek instead of his. “Prominent zygomatic bones and well balanced supraorbital margins. But the, um, the rest of you is—is nice too.”

Oh great one, Y/N. Perfect. You’re such a fucking creep.

Chip just smiles. The kind of soft upturn of the lips and dip of the head that means he took it like the compliment it was meant as. He runs a rather shakey hand through his hair, bringing his gaze back up to do his own staring. She wonders what he sees about her. She’s sure he doesn’t see bone structure like she does, but does her flesh give away something she doesn’t know about?

Chip wrings his hand down behind his neck and she sees it. That little bit of something that brews between his bones and his epidermis. The fuzzy sort of thing that sits behind his eyes. The one she’s seen in war veterans, cops, and now the university’s maintenance man.

And as if he’s just a skull on her table, she states ever so eloquently, “You look like the kind of guy who’s seen some shit, Chip.”

And as if she’s accepted his offer for the raccoon all over again, he beams. He further turns away from her, shaking his head, and she follows his eye line to the students not so subtly glancing over at the pair every three seconds. The dozen are still chattering on, examining the skulls in their hands with rapt fascination.

Chip, despite all the non-threatening, sensitive, idiot boy vibes, looks over the skulls with more recognition than she cares to admit she sees. Most people don’t look at skulls like they’re familiar. Like the idea of them being formerly attached to a living person doesn’t bother them.

Again, looks like he’s seen some shit.

“Are they real?”

She nods, taking a tiny chance and pressing their shoulders together. She’s not upset to say that Chip carries very warm skin on his lovely skeletal structure. She wipes the blush off her cheeks and answers, “From the university’s collection. I’ve done a lot of travelling, lots of excavations, lots of grave robbing—sometimes the university doesn’t miss the skulls of the not-so-recently deceased.”

“You’re very—“

“Creepy? Weird?”

She hopes that Chip is too stupid to hear the insecurity bleed through. That he’s too stupid to look at her the way he is. Instead, he squints as if he can’t risk choosing the wrong adjective, so the words inch through his brain. All carefully refined into his choice of, “…Intelligent.”

His takes her hand in his to accentuate his point. She nearly stops breathing.

“You’ve forgotten more this morning than I’ll ever know,” he whispers. She doesn’t know how to look at him without letting him see the hearts in her eyes. Her fingers tighten against his. “I’d never call you creepy.”

She swallows, fighting against the rock in her throat. It wasn’t often people paid her any compliments, especially after she’d let her mouth run for more than five minutes in a one-on-one conversation.

And as if she isn’t already trying to desperately clutch onto her frayed nerves, he confidently pulls a slightly creased business card from his shirt pocket. Offers it to her irritatedly hesitant fingers.

“I do home visits, you know,” he says, putting more weight into where their skin touches. “So, if you’re dishwasher breaks or something, give me—give me a call.”

Chip squeezes her fingers one more time, double checks she’s holding onto the business card, and walks back for his toolbox. Only when the classroom door is closing behind him does Reese shout out, “Oh-ho-ho! Professor’s getting some!”

“Get back to your skull before I use yours as a soup bowl,” she snaps, though she can’t hide the cherries in her cheeks as she thumbs over the business card. Chip Taylor. Whatever you need.

#chip #chip taylor #68 kill #spencer reid #chip x reader #mgg #mgg fluff #reader insert #fem reader

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honklore · 4 years ago

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hello! i just found ur blog and omfg i’m in love with your writing style! may i pls have some soulmate au hc’s for a reader who’s an artist? (i’m indecisive so you can choose who the hcs are with!) so like (insert cc u write for here) has got paint stains on his hands and like assorted sketches and stuff on his skin all the time from his soulmate. ty so much!! :]

masterpiece | quackity

(gn reader, quackity is the loml, reader is so talented but v messy, chat teases q to no end, quackity is the biggest softie in the world but refuses to acknowledge it, plantain slander)

listen to: rainbow connection (cover) by sleeping at last

sweet quackity :((

it starts when he’s eighteen, and it happens like almost immediately

he got these splotches of purple on his hands and his mom was like ?? are u getting into fights ?? are you okay???

and q rlly doesn’t mind aside from the weird questions when the colors are a little too close to red or purple

but!! nowadays mostly you just sketch w a pen

it’s during your classes usually,,, ur an art history major and you need something to occupy your hands (which is actually why you started drawing in the first place)

so during the day quackity will acquire lil sketches of famous paintings,,, or sometimes originals,,, but they’re always washed off before the day is done

sometimes random art facts/theories/studies but he has no idea why someone would write him about van gogh’s use of color

*cue u aggressively scrubbing your skin in the shower bc you always forget how permanent the ink is*

quackity is sort of... hesitant when it comes to writing on his skin. esp with streaming, he’s scared that fans will react badly ,, that negative thought keeps him at bay most days

but sometimes he writes lil notes on his legs,,, where chat won’t see anything ,,,, and they’re always either rlly sweet or rlly weird

(hope ur having a good day)

(hey bestie :P )

(soulmate my beloved)

(will u be the howie mandel to my dr. phil)

that last one made you genuinely worried for your future

badly drawn picture of a duck holding a briefcase (this is me)

which confuses you but as he draws more, you begin to associate him with ducks, and sometimes the duck wears a tie, and sometimes a beanie, and one time he had a giant blue axe which kind of concerned you

but you digress

when you get stressed u finger paint

and it’s just a way to create chaos and feel the cold paint on your skin like idk it’s relaxing yknow :)

quackity is streaming

and he doesn’t realize what’s happening. he’s reacting to attaway general,, and he’s kind of invested

it’s only when he pauses it to make a point that he notices

and he tries to hide it but chat notices right away

panicked!quackity

it’s not that he doesn’t trust chat he just knows things can get negative quickly and he wants his space to be free of that

but someone donates “artist q?”

and quackity lets the joke run

he stands up and pulls the mic super close to his mouth

“i’m in my artist arc chat! nihachu watch out >.>”

“CHAT WE’RE POPPIN OFF I AM A PAINTER NOW I PAINT”

it’s literally so silly bc q knows that chat knows but they’re letting him do his bit

and later that night he checks twitter and artist q is trending, but quackity’s soulmate is also trending

it’s all mostly supportive, and there’s already some rlly endearing fan art of quackity with paint all over his hands

quackity private tweet: ❤️❤️❤️

and he gets a lil confidence boost after that

answers questions abt u on his alt

tells the story of his mom thinking he was getting into fights

“guys paula is still my number one and my soulmate will just have to understand that”

“we already agreed we would both reject each other for taylor swift chat it’s fine”

answers donos and doodles on his hand

which he can do now bc chat knows!!!!

(you’re so talented your honor)

(have you ever seen attaway general?)

(charli d’amelio is in it)

(charli d’amelio is in it shit dixie sorry)

and you’re like !!! it’s on my hand !!!! it’s not hidden at all !!!

this image is so endearing to me like you’ve got paint stains all over your hands and quackity’s scrawl is filling in the empty spaces like he didn’t want to interrupt your work

duck with a beret, a mustache, and a paintbrush (this is me now)

ik he is going to share the most mundane things in a way of showing his love

(i listened to this song the other day)

(i bought a literal plantain today those things are big as shit)

(update: not good :/)

(i’m writing lore)

(i have an exam tomorrow)

just :(( sweet quackity wants u to know every little detail abt his life bc he wants u to know him

and you reply when u can

(added to my playlist!)

(i like plantain chips but i’ve never had the fruit alone)

(rip buddy :/)

(lore? like fnaf?)

quackity finds out you know extensive fnaf lore and the two of you stay up arguing about which is worse: the bite of ‘87 or the bite of ‘83

both of your legs look like newspapers that night and it takes a lot of scrubbing to get all of those off

one day you’re painting smth and quackity randomly gives you his discord

(add me and we can watch game theory together and see who is right)

the two of you end up watching it and getting in call with each other

when you hear his voice it’s like everything falls into place

he fills in all the empty spaces,,, answers all the questions you didn’t realize you had,,,, and he’s so wonderful that you find yourself missing him dearly whenever he’s not on call with you

you join him in calls on his streams sometimes like for jackbox or when he’s cooking

“CHAT MY SOULMATE IS A CHICA KINNIE”

you stop joining him on calls on his stream /s

but chat loves you and always takes ur side over q’s

you get tons of followers on your art account and you even get to sell some of your paintings!!

ur new favorite colors to use are blue and yellow i don’t make the rules

but everyone starts to catch on and they find it really sweet

you catch up on quackity lore solely for him and declare yourself a c!quackity apologist

you’ve definitely retweeted the meme that’s like “if villain bad why hot”

when u guys meet quackity kisses your forehead :((((

when you

a drawing of two ducks holding hands (this is us)

thank you for the kind words and for requesting !!!

#quackity au #quackity fluff #quackity x reader #dsmp fluff #dsmp au #dsmp x reader #mcyt au #mcyt fluff #mcyt x reader

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ineloqueent · 5 years ago

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Possessed By Love (Event)

Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader | 1974

a little note: hello @demo-wise !! i’m your partner for the possessed by love event. i’ve written this as a reader-insert, because i seem to do all right with those, haha. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🥰

a massive thank you to @yourlocalmusicalprostitute for hosting such a lovely event!!

synopsis: Roger Taylor had always been your neighbour. And your best friend. Until in 1968 he moved away to London, and the two of you fell out of touch. But 1974 will change it all.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking

word count: 17k

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

1957-1968

As far as childhoods went, you’d had a pretty normal one.

You remembered summer afternoons going down to the river to swim in whatever clothes you’d muddied when running through the woods earlier, buying ice cream from the corner shop with the loose change your mum had given you for doing the grocery shopping, making up increasingly inventive games to play on boring Sunday afternoons.

You remembered winters walking home from school in the blistering cold; shivering in the threadbare second-hand coat your dad had got you from a garage sale; sitting on Truro’s large, grassy hill to watch the cold light of the stars wheel by above you.

School wasn’t an aptitude of yours, but you made it through, mostly by drinking too much coffee and studying late into the night, alongside your best friend, who did absolutely no studying at all because fortunately for him, he was just one of those people.

A best friend— you’d had one of those too.

It was as good as life got, the times you’d spent with your best friend. If ever there was a soulmate to be had, he would have been yours.

You’d lived in Truro, Cornwall for the whole of your life, but Roger and his family had first moved in when the kindly old lady next door to you had passed away, in 1957.

Like Roger, you were seven years old, so it was really only a matter of time before the two of you struck up a friendship.

When Roger had come across you that first day, you’d been shy, wide-eyed and nervous. He’d been the opposite, bold, energetic, and cheeky in his manners, though his mum was quick to reprimand him if she was anywhere nearby.

And from a young age, he’d been reckless. Hell, from the moment you’d met, he’d been reckless, because he’d spoken to you at all; your classmates had dubbed you a loner.

You’d been playing marbles at the kerbside out the front of your house when he’d first seen you, because it was one of the few games you enjoyed that could be played alone. You liked the precision the game required, to spur the little glass ball across the pavement and have it not roll too far on either side of the larger ball. You also liked the aspect of marbles that involved collecting, because the glass artefacts were pretty, and pretty things to you were what shiny things were to a crow. You supposed this came with growing up poor, though, because when money was tight, pretty things were hard to come by, and for many years of your childhood, you looked forward to the inevitable, but nonetheless exciting, gift of a marble or two on your birthday.

“Can I play?”

You’d looked up and seen a soft-shouldered, blonde-haired boy with sleepy blue eyes, peering at you by the garden gate.

You narrowed your eyes. You were protective of those marbles; they were all you had.

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” he said, rather politely. As if that would convince you.

But maybe it was actually quite convincing, because you’d never before met a boy your age with manners. All the ones at school simply pulled your hair and called you names.

“Alright,” you said slowly, watching him hawkishly as he opened the gate and crouched down beside you on the path. He reached out for a marble, but you smacked his hand away. “Do you promise?”

“Yeah, I said I promise, didn’t I?” he responded impatiently, and went to pick up the marble.

“Really, really promise?” you stopped him again.

He nodded earnestly. “Really.”

You considered a moment, then sighed and placed a marble in his palm.

He had been careful, as he’d promised.

And you’d been friends from that day on.

As you and Roger grew up, the two of you were practically attached at the hip.

Together, you mastered blowing bubblegum and building bonfires, leaping across the river using the thick rope that hung down from a tree on one side of the bank, making faces at your maths teacher without the old sod noticing, riding bicycles without holding onto the handlebars, racing down the street as your parents in vain called for you to come to tea. And one midwinter evening, your dad and Roger’s had finally given in to your mum’s pleadings to put a gate between your front garden and theirs, because you and Roger were so inseparable that you deigned to jump the fence at least twice a day anyway.

Roger taught you how to pack a punch, and you taught him how to lie with just enough truth mixed into the story to make it sound legitimate. At the age of twelve, you put Roger’s teachings to good use when you broke a boy’s nose for teasing Roger about his “girly voice.” At the age of thirteen, Roger put your teachings to good use when he lied about participating in after school events— to be fair, he did stay after school, but using the music room as a practice space for a band he’d started with a few other boys was probably not what Winifred Taylor had envisioned when her son had said “after school studying.”

Roger was there for everything in your life, both the good and the bad, as well as the utterly embarrassing. He was there the time you won fifty pounds in a writing competition run by the local newspaper, he was there for the passing of your beloved grandmother, he was there for the incident of you wearing white trousers at a time of month when you bloody well shouldn’t have worn white trousers. He snuck you champagne when you happily pocketed your fifty pounds prize money. He held you and let your tears soak his flower-patterned shirt when you cried for your grandmother. He gave you his jeans to change into and spent the rest of the day with his jacket tied around his waist in the semblance of trousers, an action for which he faced multiple detentions from multiple teachers.

To the other boys he was arrogant, to his parents he was lazy, and to the teachers he was “destructively rebellious.” To you, he was the one person who made everything seem like it would be okay, no matter how bleak the circumstance.

The summer you turned eighteen was a pivotal one. Not only was it flooring to realise that you were now a legal adult and could do exactly as you wished, but it was also terrifying to begin to understand the sheer magnitude of things that independence entailed.

You were finishing your last year of school and your final final exams, looking into what to study and where to study it, and it was all very intimidating and rather time consuming.

Roger kept telling you not to worry about it and to just enjoy the summer.

“You’ll work it out,” he’d say. “You always do.”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoffed. “You’ve already got yours worked out.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Roger said as you walked along one stuffy summer evening, scuffing his shoes on the path.

His tone was demure, and you frowned at him, shielding your eyes from the sun with one hand.

“Rog? You said you knew what you were doing, where you were going?”

He flashed you a sad little smile, not like his usual cheeky smirks, and your frown deepened. But then Roger laughed. “‘Course I’ve got it sorted, love. You know me.”

“Wanker,” you shoved him. “Making me worry.”

He only winked. Then he stopped walking. “Hungry?”

You considered a moment. “I’m starved,” you decided.

“Come on, then. Fish and chips by the river?”

You nodded, and you and he meandered down the hill in the sunshine, recalling stories of your last days as school-children.

Many days were spent like this, walking around Truro, often aimlessly, until something interesting crossed your paths or your parents called your lazy selves back home to help with the washing or the grocery shopping. The washing you would hang whilst having a conversation, because the washing lines of your houses were at about the same spot in your back gardens, so you and Roger could yell over the fence to one another.

Of course, you were seldom trusted with the washing any longer, because the last time you had been given that responsibility, Roger had tired of hanging washing and had instead attempted to sabotage your attempts to do so. The affair had ended with a scolding from your mothers, as though you were both still children, and the two of you scrubbing mud stains out of the same washing that had moments before been clean. As for the grocery shopping, it took forever because you and Roger ambled down the road to the shops, spent forever trying to find the specified items on your mothers’ shopping lists, and took a detour down to the river on the way home.

Really, you and Roger were mostly left to your own devices nowadays.

That summer, and every summer since you had been seven years old, you and Roger passed every waking hour together, even occasionally falling asleep beneath the bowing trees atop the Truro hill.

You spent a lot of time with Roger at his bandmate’s family’s holiday cottage where the band, known as The Reaction, would rehearse. In the three-piece band, which had previously been a five-piece, and even earlier on a six-piece, Roger played the drums and occasionally sang. He claimed he was no good at singing, but that, you knew, was an utter lie. Already at seventeen, he sounded professional, like he’d been taught to sing. But he hadn’t, been taught, that was. His talent was completely natural, and equally as abundant. Without even trying, his voice had that rough-edged rock ’n’ roll quality, and he had a lazy prettiness about him that completed the whole image— half-lidded eyes, languid smile, golden hair.

He was talented and beautiful.

He was meant to be seen. And you knew that, all too well. He wouldn’t hang about little Truro forever. But you preferred to push such thoughts to the back of your mind.

When you weren’t tapping your foot against the crate you were sitting on at The Reaction’s practice sessions, you were at their gigs, cheering the loudest at the end of their songs and passing your sweaty best-friend a towel or a bottle of water. If you weren’t tagging along with The Reaction, you and Roger were down by the river, or lying in the grass atop the hill.

And marbles. After all these years, the two of you still played marbles. Roger still had yet to beat you at the game.

On one particularly sweltering Sunday afternoon that broke all sorts of records in England’s weather history, you and Roger were sprawled beneath the trees of the hilltop.

You’d been groaning and complaining about the heat for the better part of an hour, and had anyone else been around, they’d have told you to just shut up, but Roger had elected to try and out-complain you.

“It’s never been this hot before,” you said.

Roger grumbled from beside you, an arm slung over his eyes. “It must be the hottest day on Earth. Hotter than the hottest day on Mercury.”

“Hotter than the hottest day on the Sun,” you countered ruefully, a whine in your tone.

Lifting his arm, Roger glanced over at you. “At least,” he said, “it’s not hotter than me.”

“Ha!” you barked. “You wish.”

“D’you wanna bet? My skin is on fucking fire.”

You blinked drowsily. “You look fine to me.”

The corner of Roger’s mouth turned up. “Thanks, darling.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to complaining.

“Is it just me or is the sun closer than normal?”

“It has to be,” Roger mumbled. “It has to be.”

“Do you want to go down to the river? We could go swimming.”

Roger scrunched up his freckled nose. “We’d have to walk there, first. And it’s way too bloody hot to move.”

You gave another sigh of anguish, shifting your legs to prevent them from sticking to the grass. “I think I’ve at this point drained all the water in my body.”

“Me too.” Roger had sat up and was fanning his face with a hand.

“Could probably die of dehydration if I don’t cool down soon.”

“Me too.” He swept the hair back from his forehead, his skin glistening with sweat.

“It’s so hot,” you whined.

“That’s it. I’m finished.”

“What—”

“Nope,” Roger shook his head, cutting you off. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Why would I laugh at you—”

“You literally always laugh at me.”

“Yeah, okay,” you conceded. “But why now, exactly?”

Roger tutted, then raised a finger warningly. “Just this once. Don’t.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion, but then Roger crossed his arms over his torso and pulled his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side.

You didn’t laugh, because why would you? How could you? You were a little busy trying not to stare at him completely open-mouthed.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before— the two of you went swimming all the time and had done since you were children— but somehow this moment flustered you, turned your cheeks even redder with heat than even the sun had been capable of, because he was so undeniably pretty, and now you could not be distracted from that by a splash of river water to the face. Windswept blonde hair with half of it matted against his forehead and cheeks, sleepy blue eyes, lightly-sunkissed skin, shoulders softened but lean from drumming, and a cute little tummy characterised by a spattering of freckles.

Gorgeous.

“You can stop staring at me now.”

You sputtered, “What? I wasn’t—”

A lazy smile curved on his lips as his eyes flicked over you. You felt suddenly short of breath, fighting the urge to shiver at his appraising— was it appraising?— glance.

“No, darling, not at all,” Roger said, lying back on the grass again. “Not at all.”

The rush of blood to your face was almost instantaneous. You considered reprimanding him, but you found that you had nothing to say. Instead, you crossed your arms and turned on your side, away from Roger. You felt suddenly as though you did not want to talk to him at all.

You heard him chuckle, and his fingers brushed your shoulder. The warmth of his touch almost tickled. What was the matter with you?

“Y/N,” he said, his fingertips grazing your shoulder again. You turned over to stop him from touching you a third time. For some reason, it was starting to turn you silly.

“What?” you snapped, willing yourself to maintain eye-contact.

Roger smiled bemusedly, now facing you, lying on his stomach and leaning his chin on his hands. “I was only joking, you know.”

You said nothing.

“About the staring,” he went on with a nod, big blue eyes fixed on your eyes.

Still, you said nothing, as though the air were not thick and his gaze did not move you. But it was and it did. Strangely.

Roger pouted childishly, tilting his head to one side. “Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “I know, you idiot.”

He smiled. “There’s my girl,” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

You didn’t manage to lean away in time, and your hair was now sticking to every part of your face.

“Rog-er!”

His smile only broadened.

Until he caught sight of your watch. A pretty thing, it was, brown leather rim, a little round watch face encased in golden metal. But Roger looked at your watch as though it personally were responsible for world hunger.

“Alright?” you said.

Roger hissed through his teeth. “Please tell me it’s not five-fucking-thirty already.”

Puzzled, you glanced at your watch. “Well, you’re out of luck, because it is indeed five-fucking-thirty…”

Roger swore violently and leapt up.

“We were supposed to be down at the hall half an hour ago,” he agonised, throwing his shirt back on, despite the fact that the material clung like plastic to a wet floor.

The Reaction were playing at the City Hall that evening, and soundcheck had started thirty minutes ago.

“Oh shit,” you remembered, sliding your sunglasses back on your head and running after Roger, who was already halfway down the hill.

“God, Roger, slow down!” you yelled as he barely looked both ways before darting across the road. “We’re not going to be any less late if you get yourself killed!”

A woman passing on the street shot you a scandalised glare, as though shouting was now a crime as well. You just stuck your tongue out at her and sprinted after Roger.

“But we might make it before the actual concert starts!” Roger yelled back.

Quite frankly out of breath, you slowed your pace, until you were walking and Roger was disappearing around the street corner.

You huffed. “Well, you won’t have a concert if your manager gets killed, will you?”

You were The Reaction’s manager.

Roger’s blonde head poked back around the corner. “Sorry, you’re right. Always right.” He sighed. “But come on.” He slipped his hand into yours and pulled you with him, still running but now keeping pace with you. He sort of had to keep pace with you, given that he was holding your hand. But that had been his choice.

Finally, the two of you were rushing up the steps to the Hall, and then you were inside.

“‘Bout bloody time!” cried Mike from the stage, throwing up his hands. “Where the hell’ve you been? We can’t play without a drummer and you know it.”

The both of you were breathless at this point, because you’d really sprinted the last stretch to the Hall, but Roger managed, “Hill. Lost track of time.”

Jim laughed, holding onto his bass guitar as though the whole thing were just too funny for him to handle. “Bet you did,” he said, with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “Pretty girl like Y/N.”

You sneered at Jim.

Roger told him, “You wouldn’t know a pretty girl if she bit you on the nose.”

“But I’ll bet that one bit you elsewhere than on the nose,” Jim chortled, nudging Mike.

“Shut up, Jim,” said Roger, seething with a rare hostility toward his bandmates.

“What’re you even on about?” you shook your head at Jim’s immaturity.

Mike smiled in amusement. “Look, we all know Jim’s an arse, but really, holding hands? This isn’t primary school. People are bound to jump to conclusions.”

You opened your mouth to repeat your previous question, until Roger dropped your hand, and you realised what Mike had been talking about.

You’d all but entirely forgotten that you were holding Roger’s hand.

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look at you.

He walked over to the stage, and Mike gave him a hand up. Roger picked up his drumsticks from where they lay atop his kit, and sat down.

“Alright?” he called to you, because you were standing motionless at the centre of the empty hall floor.

You flashed him a reassuring smile and he nodded back, but beneath your skin, you felt an unfamiliar flutter.

It’s just Roger, you reminded yourself.

But you didn’t believe you.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

You were at the front of the crowd, though the hall was filled to the brim with guests. There were mostly young people, many of whom you recognised from school, but there were also people your parents’ age, and the even elder generation too.

The buzz before the show was incredible, the anticipation almost cloying in its headiness; you felt drunk on excitement, though you’d drunk nothing at all.

Then the lights were shut off, and Quiet swept her elegant hand over the audience. All eyes were trained upon the single spotlight that flooded the darkness of the stage.

You wrung your hands. You held your breath. It was almost too much.

Then Roger’s airy voice rang out through the silence. “One, two, three, four!”

You smiled.

With a flick of his wrist, Roger began the drum fill that opened the first song, and you could see him nodding his head and mouthing the count under his breath.

The spotlight lit up Mike at the front and Jim off to one side, and The Reaction began.

They were well-liked, and tonight’s audience was energetic and appreciative, clapping and cheering and dancing about. It was a good turnout.

Roger caught your eye and winked. Somehow, at every gig, he always managed to spot you, no matter where you were standing. His attention sent a shiver through you.

The concert flew by, and before you knew it, Mike was announcing, “One for the road?”

The crowd responded with a hearty cheer.

Mike laughed. “Really for the road. This’ll be our last show as The Reaction,” he said.

Your mouth fell open. What?

The crowd responded with an equally hearty boo.

Mike clucked his tongue. “It’s been a pleasure, Truro. Thanks for being home.”

Last show? you thought. Have they had a falling out? What the fuck did I miss?

You couldn’t concentrate for the last song. You couldn’t take it all in. You felt weak-kneed, the ground beneath you prepared to open up and swallow you whole at any given moment.

You didn’t take your eyes off of Roger for the remainder of the show, wondering if it was sadness or guilt that twisted in his face. You decided it was a combination of both, because hell, he should feel guilty for having left you out of this.

You headed for the wings of the stage, and you watched the end of the concert from there, arms folded over your chest.

All the energy seemed to have gone out from you, and if you weren’t mistaken, looking at Roger, it had left him too.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

“Roger, what the hell?” you grabbed his arm as soon as he came offstage.

His expression was one of shock and— yes— guilt.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, twirling a drumstick with an absent hand.

You shook your head. “When were you going to tell me that the band was breaking up? Or were you just not going to tell me until it happened?”

Roger pressed his lips together, glancing down at his shoes. “I was going to tell you, really.”

“When?” you demanded. You could feel the heat rising in your face; you were furious.

Roger sighed, setting his drumsticks down on a crate. “Come outside.”

You obliged to follow him out the back, but you wouldn’t let him hold the door for you.

Outside, you realised that you shouldn’t have obliged, because this was where everyone was taking their smoke break. You had asthma. The promise of a coughing fit rattled your chest almost instantly.

Roger winced and pulled you away from the smokers, toward the trees around the back of the building. If you hadn’t been so angry, you would’ve appreciated his considerateness, especially because the only reason Roger had yet to take up smoking was because he knew that you, his best friend, wouldn’t have been able to be around him if he did.

Away from the haze by the back door, you squared your shoulders anew and prepared again to scold Roger for having not told you about the breaking up of The Reaction. But he spoke before you could.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

Of all the shocks you’d received thus far that day, this one threw you the most.

“Leaving?” you said. “What do you mean, leaving? After the gig, now, as in we should go home?”

Roger closed his eyes. “No, darling,” he murmured. “I’m leaving Truro. I’m moving away. For school.”

“What?” The word rang in your ears as a dizziness clouded your mind, rattling your thoughts with tremors like earthquakes.

He met your eyes softly. “I’m going to London. I’m going to study to become a dentist.”

“A dentist?” you stammered. Rock-star Roger, off to be a dentist. It just didn’t fit. He was meant for more than that, you knew he was.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

A sinking feeling took up residence in your stomach, and you were acutely aware of a numbness beginning to crawl up your sides and your neck, the wool-thickness of your throat as you tried to swallow.

As easily as pulling teeth, you forced yourself to become coherent. “When are you leaving?”

“After the summer,” Roger said quietly. “The band’s small enough as a three-piece. They can’t play as a two-piece.”

The thought of the band breaking up had barely occurred to you. Sure, The Reaction were good, but they were just... good. What worried you was losing Roger. But you didn’t dare to think about what you would do when your oldest and greatest friend was gone. You couldn’t bear to. It would take too much out of you.

“They wouldn’t last without you, no matter how many people they had,” you said, because the words felt more true to you than anything else in the world. Roger may have been only the drummer— his words— but he was the spark for The Reaction. Without him, playing a gig would be like trying to burn a fire without oxygen. He had an irreplaceable energy, an easy charm, the rock ‘n’ roll voice, and you would have replaced Ringo Starr with Roger any day. Not that you didn’t like the Beatles as they were, but you really couldn’t imagine anyone playing the drums with as much tact, as much rhythm, as much vivacity, as Roger Meddows Taylor.

“Thanks, love,” Roger breathed, sounding as tired as you suddenly felt.

You nodded distractedly. He took your hands in his.

“So what now?” you said, unwilling to articulate the uneasiness that swamped you, but nonetheless trying to convey the feeling to Roger.

Roger smiled another one of those small smiles that were uncommon to his character, and you knew that he saw right through you. He always did.

“We make the most of this summer.”

Tears pooled in your eyes without warning, and you bit your lip to stop them from falling. You stared at Roger unblinkingly, and the sappiness in your heart washed through the entirety of your being.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, and your voice wavered.

Roger closed his eyes again, almost as though in pain, before he reached out his arms and folded you against his chest.

He whispered into your hair and his words hummed along your warmed skin.

“My darling, I will miss you infinitely more.”

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

You and Roger made a list. A list of all the things you wanted to do before the summer was over. Before Roger left.

It was extensive.

You were going to get up early and go to the hill to see the sun rise, because you hadn’t done that since you were ten.

You were going to go swimming at the river by moonlight, which was a compromise to Roger’s idea of skinny dipping— you’d shut that down immediately.

Roger was going to teach you how to drum, and you were going to teach him how to draw, and he insisted on taking you to some obscure record shop just outside of town, and you insisted that he learn to cook.

You were going to build a house of cards, if Roger didn’t knock it down with his sighs of boredom.

Roger said that the two of you should try to stay awake for twenty-four hours straight, and that you should help him improve his French by learning the language too.

You planned a picnic at the top of the big tree on the Truro hill, where someone had, years ago, nailed planks of wood between the upper tree boughs.

You were going to have breakfast or lunch or dinner in every single fucking place in the centre of Truro.

You were going to develop all the film you had lying around from various years.

You were going to visit your school one last time.

You were going to eat ice cream for breakfast.

And you were going to go swimming for hours every day until Roger’s hair turned white-blonde from the sun.

Most ambitious of all the things on the list, however, was Roger’s intention to beat you at marbles. You knew he never would.

With every summer day that passed, you and Roger scrawled new items on the list, and so, even though you crossed a couple of things off the list each day, a blind man could’ve seen that you would never get to do everything. Not before Roger left.

You realised this on the day you tried to stay awake for twenty-four hours.

You’d ended up in your usual spot on Truro hill, and were both rather giggly from having got no sleep, and from Roger’s suggestion to get drunk to pass the time. Altogether a terrible idea.

“Roger,” you said, laughing for no reason as the long blades of seaglass-coloured grass tickled your skin.

Roger laughed too, tossing his blonde head to catch a brief glimpse of the swarm of fireflies that had been hovering nearby for the past few hours.

“Roger,” you said again. You didn’t laugh, because he finally looked at you, and your heart fluttered at the liquid blue of his eyes. “We’ll never do it all.”

The smile disappeared from his face, and you hated that you were the one to take it away.

“I won’t be gone forever,” he said. “And you can come visit me in London, and I’ll… I’ll come visit you wherever you are!”

“But it won’t be the same,” you murmured sadly.

Roger intertwined his fingers with yours, and he sounded suddenly sober when he spoke. “I know.”

Then, as his thumb ran softly over the back of your hand, you asked what you’d been afraid to ask for weeks. “When are you leaving, exactly?”

He stopped moving his fingers. “The first. Of September.”

You inhaled sharply. “But that’s—”

“The day after tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Roger sighed. “For the same reason I didn’t tell you I was leaving in the first place.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you.”

As it happened, Roger didn’t learn how to cook, though he did ruin your house of cards. You never made it to every restaurant, cafe, and bar in central Truro. Roger didn’t beat you at marbles.

But you did all the other things. Every single little thing. And Roger’s hair turned white-blonde, so he resembled an angel even more than he had previously, though he was anything but.

And then came September.

It was raining, the first day of the month, as though the rain had sensed your mood and had arrived in a show of solidarity.

He’d said goodbye to his sister, to his parents and yours, to every girl on the street that had ever had a crush on him. Which was all of them, really.

You went with him all the way to the train platform, because he had yet to say goodbye to you. And to let go of your hand.

You’d walked the whole way, taking the scenic route about the landmarks of the memories of where you’d grown up together.

To Roger, you pointed out all the places you’d waited for him when he’d been running late to some rendezvous or another, and to you Roger pointed out all the places he and his various bands had over the years tried (and usually failed) to book gigs.

You talked. You laughed. You tried not to think. If you let yourself think, you would only think about where the end of this walk would take you. And you knew that the end would take you much farther than memory lane, beyond it and into a bleak future. A future without your best friend.

The light was fading from the sky when the train and its cars rattled into the station, and Roger set down his suitcase. He had gone quiet over the last few minutes.

It baffled you how easily he could pack up and just leave, but nonetheless, there he stood on the platform, with his favourite velvety jacket and one tanned-leather suitcase.

He pulled you into a hug.

You buried your nose in his shoulder.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” you said.

“Every week,” he promised.

“And you won’t forget about me?”

Roger laughed softly. “How could I forget you, the girl I couldn’t beat at fucking marbles.”

You barked a laugh, but it came out as more of a sob.

“Hey, hey sweetheart,” Roger murmured, pulling you off of his shoulder to brush the hair from your eyes. “Don’t cry, love.”

“How d’you expect me not to do that?” you said, your voice sounding small and pathetic.

Roger had no smart remark, no cheeky innuendo or quick response. “I’m going to go before I start too.”

You scoffed. “The only time I’ve ever seen you cry was when you were eight and scraped your skin raw on that rock by the river.”

The rock had been slippery, and Roger had slipped. There’d been blood for days, hips and elbows and knees scraped clean, bones broken and skin badly bruised. Luckily, the water where Roger had fallen in had not been deep, and you’d managed to get him out of the river, and home as well, where you’d lied to your parents, saying that he’d fallen off his bike. They never would have let you go back to the river on your own if you’d told them the truth. But that river was your favourite place in the world, and Roger’s too. He’d always said so.

“Oh, don’t let’s talk about that,” he said with a grimace. “I’ll miss that stupid bloody river, even for all the trouble it’s got me into.”

You laughed again.

You’d miss Roger making you laugh, even when it was through tears. All the better when it was through tears; that he could do that was just one of the many reasons why you loved him.

You loved him and his smile, and his stupidly pretty hair and wide eyes, and his insolence and his childishness, and how he knew what you were thinking at any given moment. You loved how he made you feel, like you didn’t need to be anyone in particular, but just that you, and you alone, were enough.

“I love you.”

You hadn’t meant to say it, you really hadn’t. You didn’t want to be that person, giving the other something to hold onto, to hold them back. You didn’t want to be another girl in love with Roger, just one in a hundred. But you weren’t in love. You just loved him.

Or that was what you told yourself anyway.

You changed your mind when Roger’s hand came to rest on your cheek. The world around you spun slowly; it felt suspended in time.

You were in love with him.

Roger leaned forward and his lovely eyelashes fluttered closed.

Your breath hitched and you fell utterly motionless.

Then, ever so gently, he pressed a kiss to your lips. Closed-mouthed and soft, it was still enough to turn your strength watery and your skin alight as his fingertips pressed along your jaw.

And that it was Roger kissing you— it thrilled you, terrified you in equal amounts.

Still, as he pulled back, you gravitated toward him. You wanted to keep his mouth on yours, make your breath his, make him melt as he had made you melt.

But when he dropped his hand, he made no acknowledgement of what he had just done.

Don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t leave don’t—

“I have to go,” he said, tenderness forgotten by all but the quietness of his tone.

You nodded mutely, squeezed his hand one last time.

Then you were wiping your tears away, alone on the platform, and hours had passed since Roger had left you standing there. But you couldn’t remember a single one of them.

All you remembered was him.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

1968-1974

It saddened you deeply, but the fact was, it hadn’t taken long to fall out of contact.

Roger had called every now and then, and had written every week, precisely as he had promised.

And you’d written back.

But it was difficult, when he was off in London, such a lively and interesting place, and you were back in ol’ Cornwall. Everything you had to say paled in comparison with what he wrote. You shouldn’t have wondered if he groaned tiredly each time he received a letter from you.

Yet he wrote back every time, about dentistry and biology and about how it all alternatingly bored or taxed him. But mostly he wrote about music, about his experimenting with guitar and drums, though he had more of an aptitude for the latter than the former.

Then one day, the tone of his letters changed. He’d met some bloke named Brian May, and it sounded like they’d struck up a friendship, and a band. They called themselves ‘Smile’.

You were there to read Roger’s letters when Smile became Queen and Farrokh Bulsara became Freddie Mercury, and when nineteen year-old John Deacon replaced Mike Grose on bass guitar.

But you’d stopped responding to the letters. And so Roger stopped calling.

He kept writing, though. For years.

In 1971, you moved out of Truro, farther south to Falmouth to study at the university there, and your family followed.

You had hoped that the move to Falmouth— to a new city, to begin anew your education, to make new friends— would replenish you. But the truth was, you’d never really been good at new. Everything in your life had always been there— Truro, a school established in 1880, old friends. Well, old friend. You’d never really got around to making more than one. Roger had been all you’d needed. Roger had felt like home.

Truro had stopped feeling like home the day he’d left.

Falmouth had never even had a chance.

By the time you’d mustered the will to respond to Roger’s letters again, the one you sent came right back to you, stamped with Return to Sender.

You’d cried that day.

You’d cried for love lost, for everything you hadn’t had the time to do, for everything you were missing that was happening in your former best friend’s life.

Even three years later, in 1971, one year since the letters had stopped, you weren’t used to living without Roger by your side. You thought of him every day.

At first he had been a voice in your head, remarking on everything you said and did. A snide remark, a tooth-achingly sweet compliment that came from out of nowhere.

It was as though you were possessed.

By 1972, everywhere you went, you thought you saw him, though of course it was never him.

By 1973, though you now thought of Roger only sometimes, little things led back to him. Bubblegum. Bicycles. Poached eggs for breakfast. Train stations, suitcases, ticket stubs and playing cards.

Or perhaps you were haunted.

It was in 1974 that everything changed again.

You saw the advertisement in the paper, and you made your decision.

It was as simple as that.

Queen were to play in Penzance, which, by way of train, was only an hour away from where you lived. So, without hope or agenda, you were going to Penzance, to see Queen play, to see Roger, and his new best friends whom you’d never met.

The allure of seeing him again was simply too great, because fuck it all, six years had gone by and you still could not shake his lopsided smile from your memory.

Having had tea at a local cafe, you arrived alone at Winter Gardens in Penzance at seven o’clock, thirty minutes before the start of the concert.

The venue was small, and yet it was already filling up. Sure, you’d heard of Queen through the occasional newspaper or magazine, and through Roger’s letters, but you weren’t aware that they had such a large following.

The support act was all right, you thought, but to be entirely honest, you had a hard time paying attention. You were distracted, wondering what the headliner would be like.

Six years would have changed the face of your friend, but you hoped you’d still recognise the boy you’d played marbles with. You wondered if he would recognise you, in the crowd, like he used to.

The opener finished their act, and they bowed and departed the scene.

Then Queen took to the stage.

The guitarist, whom you remembered to be named Brian, opened the set with a series of notes harmonised with delay, and the rest of the band entered.

The lead singer Freddie, bassist John, and guitarist Brian were all dressed in flamboyant garb, all loose sleeves and sparkly thread, with dark makeup to highlight their eyes.

But Roger.

No kohl embellished his features. They stood out as it was.

His hair had grown long in the time he’d been away, and the planes of his face had leveled out, cheekbones and jawline sharpened by the evanescence of childhood. Still, the big blue eyes and the slight pout to his mouth remained, and his beauty was staggering.

The music they played was electrifying, and Freddie certainly knew how to manage a crowd. He became the crowd, and he was a magician, the ringleader of a circus, the friend who nudged you at a concert when the band played your favourite song. He played off of the others, and they played off of him. Roger in particular seemed energised by the effervescence of Freddie Mercury, smiling and laughing between singing and playing the drums.

Roger was even better at the drums than you remembered, and you found yourself enraptured by the rhythm he kept, your pulse thrumming in time with the beat.

You were swept away. Your eyes hardly left him.

“Alright, alright, alright!” Freddie cried, and the audience responded in kind. He surveyed the people before him in a flirtatious manner. “You’re all beautiful,” he said. “Thank you for having us here tonight, we’re very pleased about this whole thing. You’ve been lovely, so how about one more?”

A cheer rose from the crowd and you joined in.

“Alright, my lovelies. I’ll let my blondie pal, who I’m sure you’re all very familiar with, probably because he’s flirted with all of you at least once—” here there came another cheer from the audience— “introduce the number. Rogerrrr!”

Roger laughed, shaking the hair out of his eyes. You smiled, remembering when you’d been the one to make him laugh like that, all glowy and soft.

“Ha ha, thanks a lot, Freddie. Anyway, this one’s called ‘Modern Times…”

Roger was looking right at you.

His lips were parted in surprise, his brow furrowed in something that looked to you like anguish.

Hello, he mouthed to you.

Hi, Rog, you mouthed back.

His face broke into a smile.

“This one’s… this one’s called ‘Modern Times Rock ‘N’ Roll’.” He raised a drumstick and pointed it in your direction. “For you.”

Fondly, you shook your head at him. He really never did stop flirting.

You saw Freddie glance back at Roger with an expression of amusement.

Then Roger hit the drums, and the guitar and bass followed, and Freddie gave a shout to start off the song.

After the final encore had been played, Freddie thanked the crowd once more, Roger waved his drumsticks, Brian raised his guitar, and John took a bow.

If it had been anyone other than those four, you would’ve said that they were being pretentious. But this wasn’t pretentious. This was Queen.

The venue slowly emptied out, but you remained where you were. When the front was clear and there was nothing between you and the low-raised stage, you went to lean against it. You needed a moment to think.

Did you go after Roger now? Or did you just go?

He’d seen you. He’d acknowledged you. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to you, catch up, no matter how much you wanted that.

You headed for the door.

“Y/N!”

You turned around, and before you could react, Roger was running forward, and he barrelled straight into you.

He threw his arms around you and held to you tightly, stepping from foot to foot and rocking you gently in his hold. You felt him bury his face in your hair, and a tingly feeling skittered down your spine as his sigh tickled your skin.

You wrapped your arms around him and breathed in his familiar smell— lemon chamomile shampoo to keep his hair bright blonde, coffee with his ridiculous one and three-sevenths sugar, soap and a prickle of sweat.

And something else.

Was it… no, it couldn’t be. Cigarettes.

“Roger, have you started smoking?”

He laughed in an endearingly bright manner, pulling back from the embrace to look at you. “I haven’t seen you for six years and that’s the first thing you say?” He shook his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a lovely smile.

“I’m sorry,” you laughed with him, and he hugged you again.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Roger said, squeezing you tightly. “How’ve you been?”

“I—”

“Who’s your friend, Rog?”

Freddie Mercury appeared by the door to the backstage, a sly smile on his lips. He’d taken off his makeup and looked quite young in the now brightly-lit room.

Roger let go of you gently as Brian and John arrived on the scene as well.

“It wouldn’t be the legendary Y/N, would it?” asked Brian.

“Legendary?” you snorted.

“Mmh,” John said, “I think it might very well be. We aren’t far from Cornwall, you know.”

Roger rolled his eyes. He gestured to you, his other arm still around your waist and his palm bleeding delightful warmth into your skin. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he said.

“Nah, I’m just another groupie,” you joked.

Freddie strode forward, extending his hand to you.

“No, you’re not, darling,” he said, shaking your hand with a regal air. “Rog doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.” Freddie winked and you found yourself blushing at his remark.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you said lamely. You elbowed Roger to ease the tension, hoping you could rely on your old best friend for a reaction. “How many have you had?”

“Hey!” Roger pouted and rubbed his side. “Six years, and you just elbow me right in the ribs.”

He really wouldn’t let go of those six years.

“Like old times,” you said.

Roger practically beamed at that, and you wondered if really he had missed you as much as you had missed him. “Oh, we’ve got so much to catch up on,” he said animatedly. “But first, meet the other two sods I work with.”

Brian and John exchanged a glance.

“Rude,” Brian sniffed. He came over to shake your hand as well. “I’m Brian.”

“I actually knew that,” you smiled, “Rog sent me letters for a while.”

“Ah, so you were the one he was writing to,” Brian quirked an eyebrow.

“You’re a bit slow on the uptake, dear,” Freddie said.

Brian sighed. “Thanks, Fred.”

“Then I suppose you know I’m John,” said he, greeting you with a friendly smile to accompany his handshake.

“Yes,” you nodded, returning the smile.

“We call him Deacy, though,” Roger, who still had his arm around you, added.

You turned your head to look at him. “I know, Rog.”

Roger smiled at you again and your skin warmed. “Yeah, I suppose I wrote that to you.” Then he said softly, “Why’d we ever stop writing?”

You’d told yourself it was the mix up of addresses, but really, it was a bit more than that, wasn’t it? After all, you might have tried getting a hold of Roger’s parents and getting his new address from them.

Freddie interrupted by clearing his throat, and you were honestly quite grateful for it, because with the way Roger had been gazing at you just then, all soft-eyed and sweet, you might have been tempted to kiss him.

“That’s a conversation for another time, darlings,” Freddie said. “We’re going to the pub for a drink. Would you like to come, Y/N?”

You tore your eyes away from Roger, only to glance at him again to see if he was okay with you tagging along. You took his smile as a yes.

“Oh, uh... Yes, I’ll come,” you said.

“Excellent!” Freddie exclaimed, and Brian and Deacy followed him out the door.

You started after them, but Roger pulled you back. “I really have missed you,” he said earnestly.

You couldn’t keep the smile from your face.

“I’ve missed you too, Rog.”

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

Roger, of course, remembered your drink order and brought it to you from the bar. He also wouldn’t let you pay for it, because he insisted his income was far more than yours, which was probably an understatement.

“So,” Brian said, “Y/N, what’re you studying at uni?”

A collective groan came from the others.

“What?” Brian asked.

“Darling, the poor girl does not want to talk about uni,” Freddie put an arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Do you really think she’s hanging out with us for boring adult-talk?”

Brian frowned.

You laughed. Brian seemed to you the kind of person who actually thoroughly enjoyed a life of research and studying; it probably hadn’t occurred to him that discussing one’s major was a staple boring-topic, one that was only brought up when there was absolutely nothing else to talk about.

“It’s fine,” you waved Freddie off. “I’m a history major. Specialising in World War Two.”

Brian tipped his glass toward you. “See, now that’s impressive. I could never remember all those people and all those dates.”

“He was a science major,” said Roger in an aside to you, leaning his shoulder against yours. You leaned into his touch.

“Astrophysics, actually,” Brian corrected him, and you saw John— Deacy— roll his eyes.

“What about you two, Freddie, Deacy?” you inquired.

“You don’t want to ask about mine?” Roger smirked.

You shrugged. “Dentistry. Switched to biology.”

He smiled slowly. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered,” you said, and if it was even possible, Roger’s eyes softened. He was still the boy you’d loved six years ago, and it was as though no time had passed at all. Your dynamic with him was exactly the same as it had been for the whole of your life. Your heart still lost its pattern when he touched your hand.

“I studied electrical engineering,” Deacy said, as Freddie gave a little ahem, and you realised that you’d just spent a good many seconds gazing at Roger.

“Oh,” you said, feeling your skin pinken slightly. “How, um, interesting.”

Deacy chuckled. “The usual response.”

“Oh no, you must get that all the time, I’m sorry,” you stammered, “I’m not entirely sure about the specifics of electrical engineering—”

“And they would bore you to death, darling,” Freddie interjected. “It’s all far too technical. But for some perspective, Deacy here built his own amp from something he found in a tip.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Did you really?”

John nodded humbly, but you could see that he was really rather pleased. Fair enough, too. His sound at the concert had been excellent.

“Freddie did art,” Roger continued. “He designed our logo, for Queen.”

“Wow,” you said.

Freddie pulled a black sketchbook from out of nowhere. He flipped it open to a specific page, which had been opened to rather often, going by the creases down the spine of the sketchbook, and pointed a carefully manicured fingernail to the paper.

“There. It’s made up of our star signs.”

Freddie proceeded to explain in detail how he’d gotten the idea for and designed the logo.

“We’re all impressive, really,” said Roger, voicing your exact thoughts.

You laughed, “Not to mention you’re rockstars.”

“We’ve definitely got something to fall back on if it all goes wrong,” Brian said, to which Freddie made a face.

“It won’t go wrong, though,” you said. “Look at how far you’ve already made it. It’s brilliant! Queen’s brilliant!”

Freddie laughed delightedly. “Oh, I like you,” he said.

“Could it be that Rog has finally improved his taste in women?” wondered Brian with a grin.

John was smiling too. “Yes, I think you should hang around us more often, Y/N. Bit of an ego boost, you know.”

“Like we need an ego boost,” Roger scoffed. “We bloody well named ourselves Queen. And besides,” he went on, hugging you to his side, “Y/N’s been around me forever. You just had the misfortune of waiting so long to meet her.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What is it you want, Roger? You’re never this nice unless you want something.”

Freddie let out a cackle, and Brian choked on his beer as Deacy laughed.

On the other side of the table, moments later, Brian was still having trouble breathing, so John ran to get a glass of water while Freddie thumped him on the back.

But Roger turned to you.

“I want you in my life again,” he said quietly.

Your heart stuttered.

You wanted that too, desperately.

But how could you be in his life again when you had your education to think of, and he had Queen? Hell, you wouldn’t even have time to properly catch up before he and the others moved onto the next concert location.

“At least for the next few days.” His voice was so wistful. “Please?”

You’d only brought with you the clothes you were wearing, the crossbody bag that hung against your hip. You’d booked a return ticket on the nighttrain. You would miss that train, waste that money. You would miss classes at uni.

But the please had done it. For all his cheek and flirtations, Roger was still the first boy who’d even been properly polite to you, without wanting anything in return.

You nodded slowly. “I can take off a few days. But you’ll have to lend me some clothes or something, because I didn’t—”

“Oh, not to worry,” he said, waving a hand. “You always wore that flower print shirt of mine far better than I did, anyway.” He had the gall to wink at you, and your stomach dropped to your toes.

Before you could pretend not to be flustered, Deacy returned with Brian’s glass of water, and Freddie gave a sigh of relief.

“Well thank goodness for you, darling,” he said to John. “I think he’s hacked his throat raw.”

Brian did look rather pink in the face, but at least he’d stopped coughing.

He sipped his water gingerly, then muttered, “I think I’d like to go home, now.”

“Can’t go home, dearie,” said Freddie. “We’re on tour!”

Roger glanced at his watch. “One o’clock. I think it’s past your bedtime, Brian,” he chuckled.

Deacy laughed. Brian looked miserable.

Freddie shook his head. “Hotel, anyone?”

Roger nodded. “Early start and all that.”

As the five of you filed out the door, you bit your lip. You had no idea as to what hotel they were staying at, and you hoped you could afford a room there.

“Where is it you’re staying?” you asked casually.

“Oh, just down the road,” said Roger.

“Only place for miles, so not much choice, y’know,” Deacy smiled.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Freddie patted Deacy’s shoulder. “He’s too used to the glamorous life. Likes making choices. No fun when he’s got none to make.”

Freddie led the way down the boulevard.

The hotel didn’t look too fancy, so you felt a little better as the four of them picked up keys to their rooms, having provided some ridiculous fake names. They then waited for you patiently at the side of the lobby, conversing with some of the roadies who had also returned back from the pub.

“Hi,” you said, approaching the front desk, “a single room for one night, please.”

The lady at the front desk winced, but in a rather apathetic manner. “Ah, sorry,” she said, not sounding in the least bit apologetic. She wrinkled her long nose as she peered at you. “No vacancies for tonight.”

Your skin felt suddenly clammy.

This was the only hotel for miles. John had said so.

You swallowed, your throat constricting. “Okay, well, thanks anyway.”

You turned away before desk-lady could pick up on your terror and revel in it. She seemed the kind of person who would enjoy turning someone away just for the feeling of authority that came with it. Or maybe that was just your spite talking.

What were you going to do? There was nowhere to go for the night. And you’d have missed that train by now, so there wasn’t even the chance of going home tonight and simply meeting up with Queen at their next rendezvous.

You felt like again like the nervous child you’d once been as you made your way over to the group.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your fingers curling around Roger’s sleeve.

“Hi gorgeous,” he smiled. “Desk lady wasn’t too mean to you, was she? She can be a bit uptight sometimes. Think all she needs a really good shag—”

“Um, Rog,” you cut him off, “there were no vacancies.”

“Oh,” Roger frowned. “Well, not to worry. You can stay with me.”

Relief rushed out of you in a breath.

“Thank you,” you murmured, feeling silly for having even worried.

Roger shrugged. “How shit of a friend would I have to be to just tell you to get lost?”

A smile found its way to your lips. You were back to being friends.

“Everything alright?” Freddie joined you and Roger.

“Perfectly. Well, more or less, anyway,” he amended. “They had no vacancies, but Y/N will just stay with me instead.”

Mischief glittered in Freddie’s eyes. “Ah,” he said. “Have fun, dears.”

He was up the stairs to the next floor before you could correct him.

Brian looked over. “Did Freddie just say ‘have fun’?”

You blushed, “Yeah, well, he didn’t, um…” You gestured between you and Roger. “I mean, we’re not—”

You looked to Roger to see if he would help you out, but he just stood there, his arms crossed and a little smile playing on his lips.

“Of course not,” said Brian, but he was grinning.

“Roger!” Deacy called.

Roger turned.

“Use protection,” John said pointedly.

Roger rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, all of you. Come on, Y/N, let’s get away from these idiots.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you simply followed Roger.

You let him guide you up the stairs and toward his room, his hand pressing softly against the small of your back.

You normally hated anyone touching your back— it felt too intimate, a violation of personal space— but growing up with Roger, the two of you had pushed and shoved each other at any given moment, into the river, off of the fence you were sitting on, down a hallway, and so Roger’s fingers on your back were familiar. Though of course his touch was now gentle in place of forceful.

Gentle.

You stiffened thinking about the weight of his palm on your skin, quite forgetting to breathe, then attempted to right your inhale-exhale without him noticing that anything was off.

But he noticed, as his hand dropped from your back so that he could unlock the hotel room door.

“Alright, love?” he said.

“Yeah, fine,” you loosed a breath carefully.

Roger smiled bemusedly, then held the door open for you. “Welcome to my humble, one-night abode,” he said.

“Thank you,” you responded courteously, and went inside.

You surveyed the room.

A shiny, new-looking television, an ample wooden wardrobe, a door that presumably led to a connecting bathroom, an armchair with bright orange upholstery, a few plastic plants, Roger’s open luggage tossed to the floor on one side of the room, the wallpaper and floor unstained, and a double bed. Not too shabby for a gig-night stop off.

A bed. As in a singular noun. One.

Roger shut the door behind you.

He caught sight of your face, the barely-concealed nervousness that skittered behind your eyes.

“Ah. Yes,” he said slowly. “One bed. Sorry about that. I’ll just take some cushions and the floor—”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” you told him. “You’ve been out all day, and what with the concert and all, you must be exhausted. You always were, back home.”

Your rambling gave way to quiet as the both of you slipped into silent reminiscence about earlier days. “Besides,” you went on, with what you hoped was an easy smile, “we used to share sleeping spaces all the time, when we were younger.”

It was true. Sleeping under the stars atop Truro hill, sleeping in hammocks by the river, sleeping with your head on Roger’s shoulder on the bus back from a school excursion.

“Oh, all the places I fell asleep,” Roger laughed, no doubt talking about his ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time at all. “Right. Do you want to take a shower?”

“Do I smell that awful?”

Roger scoffed. “‘Course not,” he said. “You always smell lovely. Like flowers.”

Once more, you didn’t know what to say to that, so you continued the other half of the conversation. You normally showered in the mornings, but the concert hall had been hot, and you were pretty sure someone had spilled beer on you at one point. You set down your bag and your jumper. “If there’s enough towels, I’ll take a shower.”

Roger nodded. “There’s more in the cupboard under the sink. You go on. I’ll go after.”

You took your shower quickly because the time was already nearing two o’clock in the morning, and Roger still had to take his. You were towel-drying your hair as you walked out of the bathroom, redressed in your day clothes, not wanting to hog the space.

Roger was rifling through his luggage, and upon hearing you re-enter the room, he straightened up and tossed you a washed-out cotton blend t-shirt.

You caught it. “Thanks.”

Roger gave a friendly smile and ruffed your hair as he passed you on his way to the bathroom.

You swapped your shirt quickly, feeling rather uncomfortable about changing in a hotel room that wasn’t your own. You walked over to the bed and pulled the covers out from where they’d been tucked in tightly. Hotels always folded the covers in so bloody tightly. You nearly fell over trying to tug them free.

You settled beneath the duvet, hesitating briefly before slipping off your denim jeans. It was ridiculous, of course— the thought of sleeping in those stiff trousers!— but your stomach roiled with nerves all the same. You’d slept beside Roger before, yes, but at least then you’d been fully dressed, or had been wearing your own pyjamas. This was something else. You could smell the faint aroma of lemon and chamomile which saturated his t-shirt.

Since you could only find one pillow on the bed, you’d taken the cushion from the orange armchair to use for the night, and as you lay your head down, you could hear the muffled sound of Roger singing in the shower.

You smiled to yourself. It was unlikely he realised how much his singing carried through the wall.

You loved his voice. You relished the times he sang in front of you unabashedly, which was rare, because he normally only felt comfortable singing when he was already onstage, drinking in the confidence of a fully fledged performance. But it was different when he sang alone, and sang without accompaniment. It was rawer, a little softer.

The water shut off, and after a few minutes, Roger returned. You felt him sink down beside you.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, probably wondering if you were already asleep. You were facing away from him, so he couldn’t tell.

You turned your head to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh,” he said, and your eyes caught on the little blonde wisps that curled about his face. He looked very young in that moment, and your heart twisted at the rush of old memories. “I was just seeing if you were already asleep.”

“Not anymore,” you joked. “You sing in the shower.”

Roger actually blushed. He never blushed.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You know you’ve got a beautiful voice, idiot.”

He smiled. “Not beautiful, but fairly alright.”

“Beautiful,” you insisted.

Roger smiled with downcast eyes, his hair falling about his face, and the warm light of the room rendering him more boyishly pretty than ever.

God, you wanted to hold him. Wrap him in your arms and hold him close and kiss the top of his head until you both drifted off to sleep.

“Right,” he said, “we’d better get some sleep. Off again tomorrow, early.”

You nodded silently.

Roger got beneath the covers and switched off the lamp.

You heard him sigh as he settled down, his muscles likely aching from the show. You’d often massaged his shoulders after The Reaction’s gigs.

The bed was quite small, and Roger practically radiated heat. It was nice, really, because it was late March and the weather was still on the cold side of things. The only problem was that you wanted to shift closer to him.

You startled as Roger’s knee bumped your thigh.

“Oops, sorry sweetheart,” he said, and you tried not to disintegrate as his breath tickled your ear.

“It’s fine,” you responded quietly.

There was silence, and then Roger murmured, “You okay? I’m not hogging the covers, am I?”

If you turned around now, you’d be nose to nose with him.

You released a shuddering breath. “No, no, it’s fine,” you repeated, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and subdue the tingling sensation that hummed along your skin.

“Cold?” Roger spoke again.

You wished he’d shut up and go to sleep so that you could stop thinking about how close he lay to you.

You gave a frustrated huff. “No, I’m fine,” you bit out.

“You’re shivering.”

You were.

“What are you going to do about it,” you said, more in exasperation than as an actual question.

“Well, feel free to kick me off the bed now, but…”

He trailed off, and you were about to ask what he was on about when, tentatively, he wrapped an arm around your waist.

You inhaled sharply.

The material of the t-shirt you wore had ridden up; there was nothing between your skin and his.

“Is that okay?” he asked softly.

You forced yourself to exhale normally, though your heart stuttered in your chest and demanded you breathe at the pace of a sprinter. “Yeah.”

He pulled you closer until your back was flush against his chest and you were close enough to hear his heartbeat.

Slowly, he nestled his nose into your hair, his face resting at the crook of your neck.

You could hardly breathe.

Forget kissing; lying this close to someone, the warmth of their skin flooding yours, the rise and fall of their chest matching your own as they breathed gently, was so intimate.

It was underrated how utterly lovely it was to just lie with someone, all close, with gentle movements and whispered words.

And here you lay with Roger.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

The morning came swiftly, because in Roger’s arms, you’d fallen asleep quickly.

The sun crept into the morning sky, seeming almost timid in how its light seeped back into England’s little corner of the world, slowly, as though afraid to wake you.

You turned over carefully, but there were no arms to shift from around you.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you realised that the curtains were open. Roger was nowhere to be seen, but his suitcase now stood by the door, packed but not closed, and folded clothes lay on the armchair across from the bed.

You sat up slowly, wondering how he could have got up, packed his suitcase, and left the room without you noticing. You must have been very deeply asleep.

You slipped out of bed, touching your toes to the floor with a hiss at the cold of the wood. Crossing the room, you found that a note bearing your name rested atop the clothes on the armchair. Moving the note, you picked up the shirt that lay atop the folded stack. It was orange. Printed with flowers. Roger’s hippie shirt.

You pulled off the shirt you’d slept in and picked up the other.

Just as the door to the room swung open.

You were standing in only your bra and knickers. You gave a cry of alarm.

“Ah,” Roger said, “sorry, sweetheart.”

“Fuck’s sake, Roger!’

“Oh, ‘s alright,” Roger shut the door behind him, “we’ve known each other forever, hey? Not like I haven’t seen you in your bathers before.”

You threw on Roger’s orange shirt hurriedly, fingers fumbling to button the thing up. “I’m not in my bathers, Rog.”

Your back was to him, but you saw him shrug in your peripheral vision, folding his arms as he leaned back against the door. “Same cut, really. No less skin. Besides, it’s not like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about.”

You’d finally finished with the bloody buttons and were now pulling your jeans back on. “Excuse me?” you said.

“Well, you’re beautiful.”

He said it so simply, like it was a fact, common knowledge, indisputable.

“Beautiful?” you murmured, creases settling between your eyes.

“I guess beautiful is a relative term,” he elaborated, “what with all that ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ stuff, but to me, I mean. To me, you’re beautiful.”

You gaped at him.

You couldn’t believe that you were having this conversation. At the break of dawn on a Sunday morning. And with Roger no less.

“Roger,” you said, because he wasn’t looking at you. He glanced up, eyes wide and questioning, as though it were not out of place to say such things as those which he had said, as though he were not being bold, reckless.

“Why?” you asked, because you couldn’t voice the full thought. Why say this now? Why say it at all?

Roger only pressed his lips together. “You can put your jumper in my suitcase. Take one of my jackets instead. It’s supposed to be colder in Taunton.”

You frowned.

“Just close it when you’re finished. It’s on the heavy side, so I’ll take it down.”

He was gone from the room before you could say another word.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

The road to Taunton was three hours long, but Freddie insisted it would pass in a flash.

“We’ve got Scrabble,” he’d said smilingly.

“Scrabble?” you’d asked. “How much time can we really pass with Scrabble?”

Brian had shaken his head at you as he’d got on the bus. “You underestimate the power of wooden lettered tiles in times of need.”

“And you underestimate Freddie’s ability to make up words,” Deacy had added, taking a bite out of what appeared to be a cheese toastie— weird breakfast choice, but okay. You had other things to worry about. Like the fact that Roger couldn’t seem to decide whether the two of you were best friends or arch-nemeses.

You’d begun playing Scrabble with the boys before the bus had even started moving, but unfortunately, Scrabble was a four-person game, so this had required two of you to become a partnership. Roger had volunteered for you and him to be partners, and you’d mutely agreed.

Freddie sat by the window on one side of the bus’ little dining booth, flanked by Deacy. Brian sat across from John and next to Roger, whose side was flush against yours where you inhabited the other window seat.

When he leaned forward to reach for tiles or lay down a word, you felt the shift of his muscles, and before your turns, he’d lean toward you and talk softly in conspiratorial tones. It was difficult to concentrate when he did this, because his breath feathered across your face and his eyes were intent on yours, and the way he murmured his words made your insides flutter.

Really, Freddie was right; the bus rolled into Taunton before hardly any time had passed.

The afternoon was taken up by soundcheck, and when evening came and Queen stood in the wings, ready to go onstage to the already raging cheers, you stood with them.

It was surreal, not only the thought of the size of the crowd that awaited your friend’s band, but how similar it all was to the days when you’d waited in the wings with The Reaction.

The final preparations for showtime were the same. The combination of nerves and excitement that rushed through you was the same. The electricity that seemed to hum beneath each word, every movement, was the same. It was all the same.

An aching sort of nostalgia clawed at your chest, and you turned to your right to see Roger tapping his drumsticks absently against his leg.

He caught your eye and smiled. “Just like old times,” he said.

With his bright blonde hair and wide eyes framed by long lashes, you were again shocked by how young he still looked.

It was all the same.

At least on the surface.

You and Roger were not the people you had once been. The days of hands sticky with melted ice cream, of running about town pretending to be Clint Eastwood in some forgotten Western movie, were long past. No matter how much the thought may have saddened you.

This was real life.

The cheering out beyond the wings reached a crescendo, and Freddie’s face broke into a smile. He winked at you and disappeared into the darkness of the unlit stage.

With a deep breath and a smile exchanged with Brian, Deacy followed Freddie, and Brian followed Deacy.

Roger remained.

“Go,” you told him. “Your subjects await.”

He laughed. “Alright then. Give us a good luck kiss.”

He angled his cheek toward you, and you considered taking his face in your hands and turning his lips toward you, to kiss him properly, at first out of spite, and then find out how many of your sentiments he really shared.

But you didn’t. You had that much self-control, at least.

You pecked his skin gently, and perhaps it was your imagination, but you thought he leaned into your touch.

“See you after the show,” he said, and he was so close to you that you could see freckles beneath his eyes, across the bridge of his nose.

He followed his bandmates into the dark.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

Roger

She’d always been with me.

It’d always been the two of us against the rest of the world, and I hoped it would always be.

Still, six years had taken their toll; her eyes were older than when I had last seen her, and by many years more than the time I’d spent apart from her.

Everything had changed.

And yet nothing had at all.

She’d always come to the gigs, no matter what band I happened to be playing in. And I’d always felt about her how I felt about her now.

She was like a ghost, standing in the wings every night, and I was possessed by her. By my love for her.

But who wouldn’t be?

I was as much a fool as anybody else.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

The after-show buzz was as strong as the pre-show buzz, and in watching Queen play again, you’d almost forgotten the world around you. You’d been enraptured by the way Freddie’s fingers danced across the piano keys, and how the voices of him, Brian, John, and Roger had melded together, as though they couldn’t have sung off-key had they tried.

Drunk on the lateness of the night, you’d swayed to the music in the wings, and wondered how life might have been different if you had been just another groupie, or if you and Roger had met later in life, under other circumstances.

It was extravagant and strange to be back in his company after so long, so much so that you almost questioned whether you were really there at all, or if you were simply lost in the throes some feverish dream. You wondered what it would be like in a few days, when you returned to the world of going to university and paying rent and cooking your own dinner, draped in the consequences of sleep-deprivation and stripped of the glory you felt in this moment, watching Roger’s hair catch the light like spun gold as he sang with half-lidded eyes. You wondered what you would tell him when he inevitably asked what you’d thought of the performance tonight, because you wouldn’t remember anything but him; you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

They came off of the stage, all glistening with sweat and brilliant smiles. The rush of performing was something felt even by those who simply watched, and so you could only imagine the adrenaline felt by those who actually performed.

“That was a great one!” Brian was saying animatedly.

Deacy grinned, handing off his bass to a roadie. “You didn’t hear me mess up then?”

Brian blinked at him. “You messed up?”

“Fantastic, darlings!” Freddie cried, hugging Roger to his side, to which Roger laughed. “Would anyone have a glass of water for me?”

“Right here,” you passed Freddie a glass, because it’d been filled and was waiting for him.

“Ah, thank you, dear.” He let go of Roger, took the glass from you, and swallowed the water in a single gulp.

“Hi Roger,” said a sultry voice from your right, and you turned to find a long-legged brunette winking at him.

“Hello Janey,” Roger responded, his tone velvety. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You’d think I came to these shows for you,” said Janey, toying with the hem of her skirt.

You could have gagged.

What kind of name was Janey, anyway? What was wrong with good old Jane?

Why was Roger even interested in her? Anyone with two eyes could see that she’d turn out to be a double-crossing, press-whispering, inarticulate, brainless little—

“Y/N?” Brian was at your shoulder. “Alright?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. Nothing.”

“If you say so,” said Deacy. He glanced between you and Roger, then turned away and walked toward the back door where a roadie was ushering both band and crew out.

You followed the others, trying not to think about Roger still talking with Janey behind you.

But then he called, “Y/N, wait up, will you?” and you heard him jog to catch you.

“Thought you were busy talking to Janey,” you drawled the name in the same tone he’d spoken it.

“Time to go, though, isn’t it?” he asked. He slung an arm around your shoulders as you walked, and leaned his head against yours. You didn’t object. “So... how were we?” he asked.

You hadn’t expected the question so soon, but here it was, and you hadn’t anything to say.

You tipped your head against his and told him the truth. “I’d say you were wonderful, but I’m honestly not quite sure. It felt like a dream.”

Roger laughed. “Hear that, Fred? She says it felt like a dream.”

Freddie smiled at you over his shoulder. “You’ve yet to wake up, it seems.”

“Losing sleep, are we?” Roger ruffled your hair with gentle fingers. “That’d have to be my fault, then.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you sleep on the floor,” you said, and he scoffed.

“Maybe I should, tonight.”

“Don’t,” you murmured.

He stopped walking. A frown creased his pretty mouth as he took your hands in his.

“Sweetheart? What’s the matter?”

His gaze was almost mournful.

You had to tell him how you felt sometime. Why not now? What had you left to lose?

You swallowed, glanced down at your feet.

“Roger, I’m—”

“ROGER!”

You both turned toward the sound, and before you could register what was happening, you were swarmed by a pack of teenage girls.

You swore under your breath, but Roger slipped into an easy smile, squeezed your hand before dropping it.

There were about fifteen girls, and they were all baying for his attention, for an autograph, for a single glance at him, and each was more aggressive than the next. You were elbowed in the ribs more than once.

“Hello, girls,” Roger purred. “Has anyone got a pen? Otherwise signing things might be hard.” He gave a chuckle and practically every one of them swooned.

You didn’t blame them.

As they each fumbled to be the first to hand him a pen, Roger’s fingers encircled your wrist.

His lips brushed your ear as he murmured, “Go back to the hotel with the others before the press get here too. I’ll see you later.”

Your skin prickled at his touch, but you managed to nod. You slipped away from the crowd before it could swallow you anymore wholly than it already had.

Back at the hotel, you sat around in Freddie’s hotel suite as he, Brian, John, and a handful of roadies drank and played the day’s final game of Death Scrabble to unwind from the show.

You kept glancing at the clock, but eventually, at a quarter to one, when Roger still had not made a reappearance, you said goodnight to Freddie, Deacy, and Brian, and headed to your— Roger’s— hotel room.

It hadn’t even occurred to you to book a second room, and now the lobby was closed for the night, so you opened Roger’s suitcase, pulled on the t-shirt he had lent you the previous night, and crawled under the covers to the sound of rain lashing against the window.

Despite the late hour, you couldn’t sleep.

Where was Roger? What was taking him so long?

Probably off with some groupie, your mind offered unhelpfully.

But then you heard the door unlock, and light spilled briefly into the room before the door was shut once more.

You must have been closer to unconsciousness than you’d thought, because your eyes felt heavy with sleep when you opened them to find Roger silhouetted in the darkness.

Now that he was actually here, you didn’t feel up to talking to him. You opted to pretend that you were already asleep.

Still, you didn’t push him away as you felt his arms settle around you, his lips ghost the skin of your neck. You shifted closer, because this was Roger. He was the closest you’d ever get to feeling you were home again, back in the sun-saturated summers of your childhood where the sky was wide and forever, and the future was unwritten.

And where you didn’t have to miss him when he was gone.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

Again, you awoke to an empty bed.

But this time, his suitcase wasn’t even there. Just a folded set of clothes remained, your name written on a note in Roger’s elegant scroll.

You crumpled up the note and dressed in a huff.

Downstairs, you found Freddie and Roger having coffee in the hotel dining room.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Freddie said pleasantly.

“Morning, Freddie.”

Roger smiled and got up from his chair, walking toward you as though to embrace you. As though he had any right. “Good morning, sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that when you don’t mean it,” you ducked out of his grasp, made for the coffee pot on the table on the opposite side of the room.

Roger’s brow furrowed as he followed you. “What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

The coffee pot was empty. Just what you needed right now.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’d call any random girl who asked for your autograph the same thing without a second thought.”

You saw Freddie’s eyes widen— you’d spoken loud enough for the whole world to hear— and he sipped his coffee, trying to give the impression of being oblivious to your conversation with Roger. He wasn’t at all convincing.

“I’ve never called any one of them sweetheart,” Roger said, his voice surprisingly level in response to your anger. In your peripheral vision, Freddie glanced up from his coffee as though to gauge your reaction.

You reached for the teapot, and found that that was empty as well. Your frustration brimmed and flooded into your words.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “Love, darling, dear, babe, sweetheart—”

“No,” said Roger firmly. He touched your hand, his fingers skimming your pulse. “Never sweetheart. That’s yours.”

Your anger was momentarily stilled by the look in his eyes, the earnesty he exuded.

Just yesterday, on the bus, between rounds of Scrabble, you and Roger had talked and laughed about the old days, as Roger called it, recalling afternoons by the river, nights on the hill, mornings traipsing home through empty streets before the rest of the world had awoken.

They felt like another life, those memories, sometimes so much that you wondered whether you’d lived them at all.

You needed Roger to ground you.

But you couldn’t figure him out.

Spending the nights with his arms wrapped around you, leaving wordlessly in the morning. Kissing your cheek before shows, flirting with groupies afterward. None of it made any sense.

“Let go of me,” you said quietly, because Brian and John had entered the room and were openly staring at your exchange with Roger. You saw Freddie trying to make them pretend like nothing was happening, but he only ended up confusing them more, to the point where Brian asked what in the world was going on, and Freddie fell back in his chair exasperatedly.

Roger let go of you.

You brushed yourself off as though you’d taken a fall.

You had, in a way. But that hadn’t been now. You’d fallen ages ago. For someone you couldn’t have.

And yet, everything about him possessed you.

You felt dizzy. You needed to get out of this room.

“I’ll be on the bus.”

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

“Home,” Deacy had said happily as the bus entered the outskirts of London. The others had nodded in agreement.

Even Roger.

No, you fought the urge to shout, Cornwall is your home. Don’t you remember?

Home had never felt so far away.

Freddie was overly nice to you, as though he sensed you wilting beneath the weight of your inner turmoil. He even went as far as to offer to take you shopping, right before soundcheck.

But Queen were performing at the Rainbow tonight, and as much as you would’ve liked to go shopping with someone as glamorous as Freddie, it would’ve been selfish to say yes and risk him running late to— or god forbid, missing— soundcheck.

You paced around and about the stage as lighting and sound gear were strung up for the show, while Freddie and John bickered with Brian about some song or another. Roger paid them no attention, having dropped out of the conversation at least ten minutes ago, and was instead tapping and twirling his drumsticks idly, across the toms, the cymbals, through the air.

You stopped pacing to watch him, because there was something otherworldly in the way he moved, fluidly but with tact, becoming a part of the rhythm he played.

His eyes were closed, as they often were when he sang, and you could vaguely hear him humming to himself as he tested out a beat.

You folded your arms where you stood, felt a soft smile touch your lips.

Then Roger caught you looking at him.

He winked.

You glanced down, but the smile didn’t fade from your face.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

By that evening, you weren’t sure that you could stand to be in Roger’s company for very much longer.

John and Brian were tuning their guitars while Roger sat around, flicking through Polaroids and trying to decide what to wear. You sat beside him, taking the Polaroids he tossed aside, making him laugh by poking fun at the various facial expressions he wore in each of the pictures, and occasionally handing him back a Polaroid in which you liked the outfit and thought he should reconsider wearing it.

His hair fell over his shoulders in messy waves, and he was biting his lower lip as he went through the pictures. He sat so close that you could see every detail of his face, every freckle and each of the tiny little creases at the corners of his eyes. In reaching for a dropped Polaroid, his fingertips trailed your hip, and he murmured an apology that you barely heard because you were too focused on remembering to breathe.

And presently, dressing room air seemed thicker than the layer of eyeliner presently being applied to Freddie’s eyelids.

“Darling,” Freddie said to Roger as the makeup artist finished her work, “you’re being positively irresponsible. There’s barely ten minutes until showtime. Have you decided what to wear?”

Roger squinted down at two Polaroids he’d narrowed his outfit selection down to. He chose a chocolate from the box that Freddie was passing around, handing the assortment to you without a second thought.

“I mean,” Freddie continued, taking the box from you once you’d finished, sticking two chocolates in his mouth at once, “we’ve all coordinated our outfits, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find something to match.”

Roger held one Polaroid up to the light. But you shook your head.

“No,” you said, curling your fingers lightly around his wrist. “That one.”

“This one?” he asked.

“Mm-hm. Very pretty on you.”

It was. The top was black velvet, but in no world was it plain, because it sparkled with an outrageous dash of gold, and it was paired with similar velvet trousers dotted with little gemstones, like stars.

Roger turned his gaze to you. “You think I’m pretty?” he said softly.

Shivers glanced off of your sides as you met his eyes. “Roger, I’d have to be blind not to.”

And even then, you’d have to lose your hearing as well, because his voice lilted beautifully, like the quiet rush of the ocean in the nighttime.

His lips parted as though he intended to say something, but then he said nothing, only turned his hand, so that his palm settled against yours, and your fingers intertwined with his.

“Roger!” Brian cried. “For god’s sake, get dressed. We’ve got five fucking minutes!”

Roger glared at Brian, but Deacy proceeded to haul him to his feet.

“For once,” said John with a laboured sigh, “I agree. Get dressed.”

“Alright alright, I’ll get dressed,” Roger said, but there was no bite to the supposedly irritated remark. He got up from the sofa the two of you were sharing, letting his fingertips trail along the underside of your wrist before he left you where you were sitting.

Your eyes followed him as he disappeared through the door to the next room.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

Queen performed spectacularly, as usual, the fullness of the sound reverberating through the massive speakers positioned on the stage. Out of the three nights you’d seen Queen so far, this was by far their best performance.

And if you hadn’t known Roger so well, you might not have known that anything was wrong.

Queen were as elegant and dramatic as ever, but the camera crew was invasive, the type to sacrifice anything for a perfectly-angled shot, even if they risked disturbing the performers as they did.

But saying they were disruptive was probably an understatement.

They were at Freddie’s side constantly, leaning over Roger’s drums and getting in Brian’s face, blocking Deacy from the audience.

Freddie was talkative this night, trying to keep in touch with the audience by calling out to them and having a mostly one-way conversation, punctuated by cheers and shouts. John hovered close by Freddie, because it appeared that the camera crew were less inclined to obstruct two people at once.

But the interaction was forced. Heat rose to your face in angry waves as you watched the spectacle go on.

Roger’s jaw tightened each time the camera crew took a step closer than the last, and he was hitting his drums more forcefully as the show went on.

And then, Brian snapped a string.

There was a general mass of swearing and exclamations from the crew as Brian ran for the wings, and a second guitar exchanged several hands before reaching him.

Brian hurried back onstage, just as Roger shot a particularly intense glare at a cameraman.

“What’s the matter now?” a roadie was saying to your left.

“Drums are out of tune,” a second roadie winced.

Toward the end of the concert, it was absolute havoc.

Roger was furious. That much was obvious.

You saw him swear violently in the direction away from the microphone. He’d just missed a cue, a cameraman getting between him and Freddie when Freddie had glanced back at him in signal.

“This is a shitshow,” Brian’s guitar tech muttered, pressing a hand over his mouth as though he felt physically ill. He looked a bit pale, to be quite truthful.

“They still sound great,” you assured him, because they did. Even slightly out of tune, Queen were still miles better than any band you’d ever heard before.

But your voice was tight, words spoken through gritted teeth. How was this allowed to happen? The camera crew were completely out of line.

The tech laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “Please tell them that, when they come off stage and start shouting their heads off.”

“You think they will?”

“Judging by the look on Roger’s face, maybe.”

He really did look rather angry, but then you would’ve been too. Presently, just watching the camera crew, you were infuriated. Really, they had a nerve, the way they were carrying on.

A cacophonous crash echoed through the concert hall, and you blinked against the intensity of the stage lights to find Roger throwing a cymbal off the drum risers, kicking in another drum, Brian dashing out of the way and Freddie throwing a protective arm over Deacy when part of the kit sailed toward him.

“What the hell’s got into him?!” someone cried as the lot of you looked on in horror.

“Pullin’ a Keith Moon, ‘e is.”

“What?”

“Drummer for The Who. Don’t you listen to anything other than Led Zeppelin, James?”

The lights were dimmed and Freddie came storming off.

“I want that bloody camera crew out of here, now!” he cried, his voice strained.

“Oye, careful Fred, don’t lose your voice. You’ve still got an encore to go.”

“Damn the encore,” said Brian. “I can’t hear myself play with those tossers going about, and I can usually hear myself play even when Freddie’s shouting in my ear.”

Deacy appeared next. “Roger!” he exclaimed, rather viciously. “You’ll kill me one of these days, and by god, no one’ll thank you for that.” He turned to his tech, “Christ but I nearly lost the lead there. One of those ruddy cameramen tripped over it!”

Roger arrived last, gripping his drumsticks tightly, breathing hard, wisps of his light hair curling over his bright eyes and his flushed cheeks.

He scanned the wings as though looking for something, stopping when he saw you.

“Roger,” you said, “what the hell was that?”

His drumsticks clattered to the ground as he let go of them.

You frowned, but then Roger strode toward you.

“I didn’t mean you,” you backtracked, “I mean the camera crew. Completely unprofessional and just so disruptive and—”

Suddenly, he had his arms around you, and he was kissing you like you were air and he couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t care if you breathed.

You parted your lips against his, and your fingers tangled in his hair the way you’d always done when you were younger, when he was weary or feeling down, only this time you were pulling him closer, closer, breathlessly drinking in the years you’d missed him for, as though you could make up for time by memorising the way he touched you now, fingertips ghosting your sides and trailing shivers down your sides though his hands were warm.

He pulled away but lingered with his forehead against yours, heat prickling from his skin and seeping into your own.

“What—” you stammered, hardly daring to think of how the others around you might have been staring, “what was that for?”

Roger’s breathing was still laboured and rough, but he held you gently, his grip as soft as his mouth had been.

He brushed his nose against yours, his eyelashes fluttering, and you might have sunken to the floor had his arms not been around you; he’d kissed you quite senseless.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “Everything. Just needed you.”

“Me?” you whispered, unable to say anything more.

“You, sweetheart.”

Warmth spread through your chest, butterflies beating restless wings in your stomach.

You thought to say something, but you couldn’t think of any words at all, and a smile had broken across your face.

Roger’s eyes flicked to yours, and your smile broadened.

He laughed softly, his hand coming up to caress your cheek affectionately.

“Roger,” Freddie interjected mildly, “we’ve still got a bit of show to do.”

Roger glanced over at Freddie, who, to his credit, looked apologetic.

“Right,” said Roger, and you found Brian and Deacy grinning at you. “Encore, then. Lead the way, Fred.”

Freddie sidled past you with a wink, and John and Brian followed after.

Roger was once again the last to leave, but you thought he had a pretty reasonable excuse, just this once.

Tenderly, he kissed the corner of your mouth, cupping your face in his hands as your eyes slid shut and you pressed closer to him.

“Ah,” he hummed against your lips, “afterwards. You’ll get me all flustered, like this.”

You laughed. “Me, make you flustered? My, I feel powerful.”

“You are,” he said.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

The night was old, but the morning was young, for the previous day had just slipped into the next while the team packed up around you and you sat on the rim of the stage, your legs over the edge as Roger lay with his head in your lap.

He had a hand over his eyes, and his countenance was exhausted, but still you combed the hair from his face, trying to ease the tiredness from his being with the delicateness of your touch.

He’d been quiet for a while, but now he wound his fingers around yours, bringing your hand to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles.

He’d kissed you many times in the past hour— on your lips, below your eyes, along your jaw, on your nose, on your forehead, across your fingers— but still, something like sparks rushed through you each time.

He reached up to touch your cheek, and you leaned into his palm as he ran his thumb across your skin. His gaze was sleepy-eyed but irrevocably pure, such that you might have described it as adoration, and you gazed back at him with equal temperament, enamoured by the feeling of his eyes on yours.

“I never want to go six years without seeing you again,” he said.

A sadness pierced your heart from the inside, a betrayal of logical thought from within your own mind.

“How can we be sure that doesn’t happen?” you asked quietly, knowing full well how his path diverged from yours.

Roger sat up slowly, taking your face in his hands.

You stared into those big blue eyes, and hoped he had the answers that you did not. Six years was too long, and nor were you willing to risk such a separation again.

“I don’t know, my love,” he whispered. “But we’ll figure it out together. We’ve always done, haven’t we?”

It was true. You’d always been together, and you’d made do with less hope on your side than this, when money was tight or when school was rough or when thoughts about it all kept you sleepless on endless-seeming summer nights.

So you believed him, and you believed yourself when you told him,

“We always will.”

He held you tightly and you lay your head on his shoulder with a placid sigh.

Somewhere, Freddie was laughing at a joke made by John, and the quiet strums of Brian’s acoustic guitar reached your ears.

There was a ceiling and a roof above you, but here, in this moment, in Roger’s arms, the sky was wide and forever. The future was unwritten.

And you were home.

⋆⋅✦⋅⋆

#tina's writing #possessed by love event #ylmp event #ple #queen #event #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #fic

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