#joe mazello fanfiction

[itsgonnabe-brian-may]

Thank God for New York

// Requested: no

Director!Joe Mazzello x Director!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: none

//

After the whirlwind of awards season, the amount of downtime Joe had significantly increased. He made a youtube channel for christ sake. Sure he still did auditions and table reads at least once a week, but he was itching for more. Being on such a big production as Bohemian Rhapsody with direction problems sparked his interest in directing another film even more. He had told his agent that a few months ago, but nothing really came up. Until now. 

You had been directing a biographical type of film for a couple of months and needed some help. Honestly, you needed a lot of help. It wasn't because you weren't good at your job or lacked the skillset to do it. You were deemed one of the best up and coming directors in the industry. Especially for documentaries. However this film wasn't your original idea, it was a project you picked up because a friend had asked you to take over so that they could deal with personal things. You weren't one to say no, plus you loved a challenge. The only thing was you knew nothing about growing up in New York. You had moved to New York a few years ago in order to pursue filming, and LA wasn't quite your speed. So when there was talk of a native New Yorker wanting to help out you were ecstatic. 

A few days later you connected with Joe's agent asking if he was still interested in directing. It wasn't full creative control but the second pair of eyes and hands would be greatly appreciated.

You chewed on your lip as you waited to hear back from his agent. To your luck, Joe was easy to reach and said yes immediately.  

Your phone rang in the middle of a scene, letting it go to voicemail was customary but you were desperate and picked up anyways. 

Hello? 

Hi, is this Y/N L/N

This is her. Who is this? 

Hi, I'm Joe Mazzello, you and my agent talked on the phone about the assistant director position on your documentary. 

Oh! Hi! I'm so glad you called. The position is yours if you want it, I've gotta say I'm kinda desperate here. You laughed running a hand through your hair. 

Well, I'd love to give you a hand! When do you want me? 

Honestly now, but that probably isn't possible. Why don't we meet tomorrow on location? I'll text you the address and a time? 

Sounds perfect, I'll make sure to bring my directors cap. He teased 

Oh, even better. See you tomorrow!

Yup, Bye. 

Bye. 

One the line went dead you leaned back into your chair with a happy sigh. 

"Alright, Cut!! That's a wrap for today. On location tomorrow at 8:00!" You called and the cast and crew dispersed for the night. 

Picking up your phone again you created a new contact for Joe and opened a new message. 

Hey. Here's the address: Cast and Crew call is at 8 and if you can show up a little earlier that would be perfect. Looking forward to meeting you! - Y/N 

Within a few short minutes, your phone buzzed with a response. 

Sounds good. I'll bring the coffee :) - Joe

You laughed and went to your trailer, getting ready for the next couple of nights to be spent in a hotel.

Joe arrived back at his apartment from an audition with a smile on his face. The same one that was plastered on his face when his agent called telling him that you, Y/N, wanted his help. He had seen your latest movie, on a date actually, and loved it immensely. The girl he was with didn't and it ended a few days later, but the fact that he was getting to work with you made up for his ended relationship. He packed a suitcase, making sure to pack the cheesy baseball cap with the words Director embroidered in white on the front, just to tease you. 

Both of you slept terribly. Anxiety and excitement kept you both tossing and turning. Joe got up earlier than planned but got ready and threw his suitcase in his trunk and set off. Without traffic, the drive was around 2 hours, which wasn't bad at all. He arrived just before 7:30, giving him time to pick up coffee and muffins before meeting you. 

You sat on a park table with a notebook on your lap with all of your notes. The pen in your hand tapping the page gently as you read through today's schedule. 

"Y/N?" Joe asked hesitantly looking around, only seeing you. 

You instantly looked up with a smile. 

"Joe!" you said jumping off the table and walking over to him.

The handshake turned into a hug. You both exchanged the usual "I love your work" before sitting down and talking business.  

The first few scenes Joe just watched and made small notes about your directing style. The more he watched the more he noticed it was a lot like his. You were very hands-on and instructive, but down to earth about it, you rarely yelled, unless something was going terribly wrong.

After you finished shooting the latest scene, you told Joe that its time to put that director's cap on because it was his turn. 

Joe laughed and pulled the cap from his back pocket and donned it with a smirk. You couldn't help but throw your head back with laughter. As Joe directed the next scene you noticed the exact same things he did. You came to the conclusion that you were going to work well together. 

And that's exactly what happened over the next couple of weeks. You had become quite close. Spending every spare second together, endless teasing, brainstorming, cracking jokes and just messing around. 

Joe had certainly become quite the prankster on set, becoming close with the leading man. A lot of times they messed with you. Filling your trailer with balloons, switching the nameplates, pulling out your chair from under you, or replacing your black pens with sparkly pink ones. You made sure to write all notes and criticism's for them with the pink pen. 

As the months dragged on, the weather got colder and wetter. Often times it was raining, which was helpful to get consistent scenes, but the looming thunderstorms created a threat that pushed time limits onto your shooting days. Finally, you had finished the scene perfectly. 

"That's a wrap for today!" Joe yelled out in a megaphone he insisted on having even though the cast and crew numbers never exceeded 20 people. 

"Is that really necessary Joe?" You laughed

"Of course it is" Joe proclaimed through the megaphone again, aiming it at your face. 

Your laugh bubbled past your lips as you pushed the megaphone from your face. A mischevious smirk replaced the smile. 

"Can I see that," You innocently asked. 

"Why?" He laughed into the megaphone. 

"Come on Joe," You pleaded. 

"Fine, don't break it," 

"Mhm sure," You laughed pulling it from your co-directors grip. 

As soon as it was in your possession you jumped off your chair and ran out into the street, not stopping because of the pouring rain. 

"Hey!" He called after you, jumping up to follow, but not leaving the comfort of the dry tent. 

"If you want it back you'll have to come and get it," you teased into the megaphone. 

"Nah, you can have it," Joe shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Okay, well I hope you don't mind that I spill your deepest darkest secrets over a megaphone," You teased quirking a brow at him, inviting him to play along. 

"You wouldn't dare," he said matching your facial expression. 

"Whatever you say Mr. I tell girls I'm 6ft when I'm actually 5ft 9" you smirked

"Hey! Stop it!" Joe laughed 

"Should I tell the world that you have Red Sox boxers--" 

"Nooo!" Joe said running out and trying to grab the megaphone from you. 

You laughed swinging the megaphone out of reach. 

"That's not even true!" Joe argued, trying to maintain a serious face, but failing. 

"The world doesn't know it's true," You laughed back. 

"This is no laughing matter, I could be hung for such crimes here," Joe quipped. 

"I guess I'll have to prepare something nice to say at your hanging," you teased back. 

Eventually, you both ended up laughing your asses off in the rain, tossing empty threats back and forth. A loud crack of thunder followed by a flash of lightning shut them both up. Looking up at the sky, the rain pounded on their faces.

"I guess that's our cue to get out of the rain," Y/N laughed. 

"I guess so," Joe laughed as they started walking back to their trailers. 

Their trailers were conveniently next to each other. Yet, they spent most of their time in Joes trailer together. Of course, Y/N always argued that it was because he had the best snacks. Which was definitely true, but not the only reason she hung out in his trailer, or sometimes even fell asleep on the couch. It was almost like a significant others apartment. She had her own cabinet instead of a drawer where she kept a change of clothes, makeup wipes, and a toothbrush. Though, neither of them thought about it like that. They just thought it was efficient and something friends did.

You were dragged out of your thoughts as the megaphone was ripped from your hands and Joe tried to quickly run up the steps inside his trailer. 

"Joe!" You called out after him, barging into his trailer. 

He put the megaphone on the top shelf in the kitchen where he could barely reach and you most certainly couldn't reach without moving a chair to stand on. 

"I guess I'll just take a quick nap," You fake yawned wandering over to his unmade bed, threatening to lay down in your clothes still dripping wet from the rain. 

"Ah, No you won't," Joe said grabbing onto your waist pulling you back and away from his bed. 

Your breath hitched, you hoped Joe didn't notice, but if he did, he didn't say anything. 

He pulled open a drawer and tossed a knit sweater at you and then grabbed the leggings you had left over and threw them at you too. 

"Change, then maybe it can be nap time," He laughed and pulled off his wet long sleeve and put on another sweater. He couldn't help it but his eyes lingered over your shoulders as you faced away pulling on his sweater. The second it was over your head your nose filled with the familiar scent of him. It was oddly comforting. 

After you finished changing out of your wet clothing you decided to put on a movie, one that you both hadn't seen yet and make some dinner before calling it a night. 

"I can't believe we're almost done with filming," You yawned slumping down further into the couch. 

"I know, it's gone by so fast," Joe added looking over at you with a small smile on his face. 

"I'm glad you joined, it's been such a huge help, even if you're annoying sometimes," You teased. 

Joe just laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you close to his chest. 

You inhaled his sent and sighed happily. You both stopped paying attention to the movie, your eyelids falling heavy. 

The next morning you woke up wrapped in his arms. Groaning you shifted slightly so you could look at your watch. It was 7:45. Shooting started at 8 today, meaning it was, unfortunately, time to get up. 

"Joe, come on, wake up. You don't want to be late for the last day of shooting do you?" You said gently trying to wake him. 

He groaned pushing you away slightly. 

"What time is it?" He asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

"7:45," you responded pulling yourself off the couch.

You put a pot of coffee on, knowing the smell would wake him up. As the coffee brewed you did your hair, applied a few layers of mascara, ran some neutral lipstick over your lips and pulled on a pair of jeans. Keeping Joes sweater on. 

"Okay, okay. I'm up," Joe groaned sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

"Mhmm, here, now you'll really be up," You hummed handing him a cup of coffee. 

"God you're the best," He praised with a happy smile after taking a sip. 

"I know, now get your ass in some jeans. Filming starts in 10," you laughed taking your own mug of coffee and walking out of his trailer. 

5 minutes later, a much more awake Joe joined you. 

"Nice sweater," he teased as he joined you behind the camera. 

"Agreed," you smiled into the sweater. 

Unfortunately, today there weren't many shenanigans on set. Everyone tried their hardest to get the last few scenes done, with as little retakes as possible. Sure filming was fun and all, but after 3 and a half months of filming, everyone was tired and ready to go home. Even you and Joe. 

Once the final 

"That's a wrap!" 

was called by both you and Joe, the actors got out of makeup, the whole cast made their way down to a bar downtown in celebration. There were drinks, toasts, thanks, and even a cake with the movies name written in sparkly pink frosting. Tipsy Joe found that quite funny. 

You and Joe stayed throughout the entire party, but by the end of it, you were both quite done. 

With a warm embrace, you parted ways for the first time in a while.

However, you both made sure not to lose touch.  Texting almost every day, coffee 'dates' at least once a month, movie marathons in person or over face time, and of course late night phone calls with full updates on each other's lives. You had even begun to meet each other's friends and families. Rumors of a relationship sent both of you into fits of laughter, even though secretly you both wished they were true. You guys were practically a couple, minus the fact that you didn't live together and weren't intimate. Though you were quite touchy when you saw each other.

The next time you saw everyone from the cast and crew all in one place again was at the premiere. Your guys' family and friends were there. Gwil, his fiance, Rami, Lucy, and Ben were there too.  Yet, you and Joe spent most of the evening together. Especially the red carpet. You were wearing a gorgeous light gray lace dress that Joe coordinated his tie to. Joe couldn't keep his hands to himself, or his compliments. The phrase "You look so stunning" slipped through his lips at least 10 times that night. 

Then it came time for the actual screening. You and Joe stood in the front corner holding a microphone after everyone had reached their seats. 

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming, this film has been in the making since July of last year and has taken the combined effort of all of the amazing cast and crew to make it work as well as it did. I'm thankful to have had this opportunity to share this story with the world, so I'm letting you guys see it first, because if it sucks then I don't have to release it. Remember, I know each and every one of you by name so don't go talking shit to the press." You teased in your introduction speech. 

"I'd also like to extend a thank you to the megaphone holder and resident new yorker for being such a wonderful co-director, even if you drove me crazy. Anyways, enjoy!" You proclaimed as the lights dimmed and the introduction music began rolling.

You and Joe found your way to your seats, his hand intertwined with yours. Both of you watched the movie intently as if you had never seen it before, even though you both have seen the full thing at least twice. 

"God, we did so well," Joe murmured into your ear as the last few scenes came on screen. 

"Couldn't have done it without you, Joe, seriously. Thank God for New York," You laughed quietly turning to face him. 

"Amen," He breathed his gaze catching your lips, just before he leaned in and caught your lips with his. 

At first, you were taken aback but after a second you melted into his grip, the end credit music joining in at the perfect time, it was almost as if you were in a movie of your own. 

You pulled away as the crowd went wild, standing up and facing you with their applause. Joe bowed comedically and pointed to you. You took after and copied his bow giggling.

The after party was crazy, there was even more booze, celebrities, and deserts. Most importantly there was a dance floor. And of course, you found Joe and his friendy tipsily busting a move. Usually, you would've been too shy to join, but the champagne and adrenaline pushed you to jump in the group. 

"Y/N!" Joe smiled grabbing your hands and dancing with you for a while. The music shifted from upbeat to chill a few times as the night progressed. Joe and you had stayed for most of it, currently, you were swaying to The Weeknd, Joe's hands on your hips, and yours on his shoulders. 

"Move in with me," Joe stated abruptly. 

"What?" You asked incredulously. 

"I'm serious, move in with me," He said again. 

"We're not even dating Joe," 

"Okay, be my girlfriend, and move in with me," He smiled widely. 

"Seriously Joe?" you asked.  

"Seriously Y/N," 

Instead of responding you leaned in, kissing him gently, smiling against his lips. This time it wasn't in a dark theater, but in public, your family and friends watching, hell probably the whole world too, but you didn't care. All you could think to say was Thank God for New York. 

[xtrashmammalstefx]

Hey Fam I'm Fucking Salty! 🤬

As you all know I write fanfiction. To be specific oneshots that are either smut or fluff or a mix of both at times. I posted a Queen one shot a few months ago called 'March of the Black Queen' in which I included a very clear list of warnings. Well recently, after a bit of a hiatus, I got inspired to write again so I went through my old stuff to see where I left off in my Queen Repertoire series (where said one shot was). That is when I noticed that my one shot was GONE! Out of curiosity I went through my other works and discovered another story was also removed. I'm salty because I recieved no warning or notification from the tumblr moderators that they were going to do this exact thing. I mean I get some things aren't allowed here but GOD DAMMIT THEY COULD AT LEAST HAVE THE BALLS TO TELL ME TO TAKE THE STORIES DOWN INSTEAD OF DOING IT BEHIND MY FUCKING BACK!

Anyway since tumblr decided to pull this bullshit I have decided to change things up a bit. Since fluff is still okay I will continue to post those here. The smut, however, will from now on be posted on my AO3 account: silent_writer_stef. I will link the Queen Repertoire series once I've posted them there and will let you know as soon as they are up.

Thank you for be awesome my fellow readers and writers. If it weren't for you I wouldn't be fighting this bullshit fight.

Love u all,

xtrashmammalstefx

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door IX (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part Eight Here

A/N: Surprise! I’m briefly back from a year-long Hiatus and I have one chapter for TCND, one for ATU AND a George Harrison one-shot I’m just gonna drop and then probably disappear again for another few months. I’m also finding it even more difficult to write for Roger seeing as I’ve kinda been listening to nothing but The Beatles for the last fifteen months and I really only hear Queen at work, so that’s gotta change. But I am very sorry about the LONG wait. I really do appreciate you guys, and I think you’ve all waited quite long enough to find out what happens next...

Summary: Roger and Y/N spend the morning taking care of Bobby; they talk a little more about the future and come to the conclusion they both want the same thing.

(Let your imagination run free, bc this can be either Canon or Borhap!Roger)

WARNINGS: Swearing is probably a given at this point, self-doubt, mentions/ suggestions of sex (advise you to avoid if you’re under 18), and I usually revise when I’m stoned so there’s probably some typos in here too, sorry.

Rated T for Teen-- (I feel like a video game rating smh)

Bobby was crying again.

Granted, it was about seven in the morning, and he did sleep for the rest of the night.

Roger was the last of the both of you to wake up; not because of the crying-- he didn't even hear the crying-- but he was wrapped up in the blankets with you, and you were trying to remove yourself from his grasp.

"Don't leave," Roger grumbled as he pulled you tightly against his chest, eyes remaining closed as you whispered back to him.

"But I have to go. Baby's cryin'."

Roger loosened his grip on you, much to his dismay, and you slipped from his embrace, leaving him cold, and alone.

"Come back, Baby..." He really hoped his gravelly plea would entice you to return from the nursery after tending to Bobby, and although you were probably against having sex in your friends' bed, he figured there was no harm in testing the waters.

"That's not how that works when you have a baby, Rog. The day starts now."

Roger groaned in protest, but as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, he revealed to himself that you were no longer in the room, and the baby's cries settled when he heard your voice float down the hall from the nursery room.

Roger, as much as he didn't want to, tossed the comforter off of his body, and after rising to his feet and combing his fingers through his hair, he shuffled out of the bedroom and made a beeline to the stairs.

He was glad he was familiar with John's kitchen; because he was certain you had no idea where anything was, meaning he would be the one preparing breakfast that morning, and the one following it, most likely.

Fuck it, he would (try to) cook you up seven different meals a day if you asked him.

Anything for you.

He put the kettle on, and moved to the pantry in search for John's teabags, yawning lightly as he pulled the door open.

Nothing in the pantry really stuck out to him as being a good breakfast that morning, so Roger ended up migrating to the fridge after retrieving the tea, where his eyes fell on the carton of eggs on the bottom shelf.

He settled on making French Toast for breakfast seeing as he, according to you, made the best French Toast in England.

So he got to work whipping up some eggs and pulling four slices of bread from the bread box on the counter-- but not before he got one of Bobby's bottles out for you, warmed it, and placed it on the kitchen table.

Roger was frying the French Toast in no time, and he hummed gently as he busied himself with focusing on the now whistling kettle, and when the right time to flip the toast would be.

"... I thought you were still in bed," your words were sudden, and it made Roger jump a little. But when he realized it was only you, Bobby in your arms, his mouth contorted into a dopey smile.

"Nah," Roger turned the pan's burner down a little, and after he flipped the French Toast, he set his spatula on the counter, turning to face you.

"I was gonna let you sleep in, since you were so reluctant on waking up," you explained with a yawn. "But here you are awake, and making breakfast before me."

"Well it wouldn't be fair then, would it? Me sleeping in while you've all this work to do?"

"I don't know, would it?"

"I really don't think so, Dove."

He felt pride swell in his chest when pink dusted your cheeks at the sound of your new nickname, and he took this chance to swoon you further by pulling you in gently by the elbows, and he enveloped both you and Bobby in his embrace.

"Beautiful..." Roger's voice was barely a whisper as he touched his lips to your jawline, and you responded with a soft exhale.

"Even when you've just woken up," Roger mumbled against the skin of your neck, lips curling into a smile, "you are the prettiest goddamned thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"Mmm, down, boy," you purred back jokingly, taking a small step back. "Baby still needs to eat."

"Well yours is coming right up," he teased, "and Bobby's is already at the table." Roger pointed to the bottle on the other side of the room before tapping your rear. "Take a seat, and I'll bring your food over."

You didn't have to be told twice. You took a seat at the table, and although Bobby was growing a little agitated, it was short lived when you put the bottle of milk in his possession.

Roger, not five minutes after you sat down, joined you at the table with your French Toast and your mug of tea, made just the way you liked it, of course.

"'S the right tea, yeah?"

You took a quick look at the label hanging from the mug.

"Yep." Your eyes squinted after letting the label fall where the string tied to it would let it. "Y'know, you've been making my tea right for months, you don't have to check to make sure you're right."

"You know I'm always gonna make sure it's to your liking."

"And I love you for it."

"Hopefully for other things too. I'm not just good at being your barista."

"Oh, don't you worry. I'm not overlooking your other good traits," you smiled as you brought your mug to your lips and having the first sip of tea of the day.

As Roger sat down next to you with his own plate of food and mug of tea, he decided to wait on Bobby to finish so he could eat with you.

So, naturally, he took the time to evaluate again what kind of situation he was in.

There was nothing like watching you care for Bobby. Roger had known you for years, and not once in his life did he ever think he would be sitting next to you at breakfast while feeding a baby, whether or not the child was his own, or yours.

The whole scene looked too good to be true, though like the previous night, Roger just drank in the sight of you putting all your love and care into a child at breakfast with him.

How did you think you weren't cut out for being a mother?

This was in your nature.

The domesticity of the situation made Roger a little emotional. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to experiencing a breakfast with a family he'd built, and he spent every passing second filling his mind and heart with the beautiful sight before him.

"Y/n, you would make a wonderful mother." Roger's words left his mouth faster than his brain could register what he'd said.

You looked to Roger from Bobby, cheeks and tips of your ears darkening, and Roger was talking again before he could realize it and catch himself.

"Any man would be so damn lucky to have you. I honestly can't believe you stick around me still."

Your face was feeling real hot, now. Roger's head was still lagging behind his words, and clearly, he wasn't done talking.

"You could be out building a beautiful family right now, but instead you're babysitting with your best friend who you also occasionally sleep with. I just... I don't understand."

It took you a second to respond, but Roger didn't blame you. Honestly, he didn't even know what he would have said if he were asked the same question.

"... Well, I love you, Roger."

Your words were simple, and Roger knew your statement was nothing but platonic, but that didn't stop his heart from pounding against his ribcage.

You'd said those exact three words to him minutes earlier, but the context of the conversations contrasted their meanings.

"But we promised each other at the beginning of all of this that we'd be fine giving up pursuing family life if that means living with one another..."

"... You sound unsure, now."

The atmosphere felt heavy, and it was almost as if Bobby had known making noise wasn't in his best interest. He decided to finish eating at the right time.

"... It's not that I'm unsure. It's just..."

Roger waited patiently for you to answer, but you had noticed Bobby finished his milk, and you took the bottle from him.

You burped him, and placed a pacifier you pulled from your pocket in Bobby's mouth. You must have gotten it from upstairs before you came down.

"Let me," Roger offered his arms out for the baby, and you let him take Bobby. You'd stood up and moved to the sink to wash the bottle.

Meanwhile, Roger, who'd also gotten to his feet, was slowly walking around the kitchen. He was praising Bobby for finishing all his breakfast, insisting he was so proud of him, his smile wide and gaze adoring as he evaluated the child in his arms.

"It's just that. There. The way you're behaving with him," you turn to face Roger, finger pointed at him. "The way you're treating him as your own."

Roger's mouth opened and closed a few times, but after shutting his jaw for the third time, he decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to keep quiet.

"You'd make the most wonderful father, Roger. The way you behave with Bobby, god, the way you behaved with Raymond the other day," you sounded frustrated, and all Roger could do was watch you pace the kitchen, his sheepish face now a deep red.

"It's just that I would want the father of my kids to be just like you. I wouldn't settle for anything less."

Roger opened his mouth again to speak. He felt like his chest was on fire. Your thoughts were becoming painstakingly parallel to his, Roger had noticed. He couldn't get any words out before you started speaking again.

"Like you said last night, this job is giving us a chance to experience what it'd be like to have a family... and maybe I'm upset I did throw the chance to have all of that away."

You looked like you were on the verge of tears, and all Roger could do was watch you and listen to what you had to say.

"Roger, I hope you know you will always have a special place in my heart. You're my family, you have been for the last five years of my life, and there's no doubt about it. But being able to have a child..."

Your hands ghosted over the robe's fabric covering your definitely unpregnant belly. "... I think I want to have children."

"... Y/n I hope you know I feel exactly the same way."

And then everything was clear.

Roger understood where his band was coming from.

Getting married to you would solve all your problems.

He knew what the both of you were thinking in this new moment of silence, but there was absolutely no way Roger was going to fall to one knee and propose to you right now when he wasn't even romantically involved with you.

And he just felt it would be very inappropriate if he took this moment to spontaneously ask you on a romantic date with the intentions of courting you.

"Listen, Y/n," Roger finally built up enough courage to break the silence. Bobby cut him off with a short cry, and Roger immediately started swaying the baby in his arms. Sure enough, Bobby's agitation ceased, and Roger could continue, keeping the movement going.

"Just because we're living together without families now doesn't mean we won't be able to have families, say, five to ten years down the road."

At this point, although it was necessary, Roger didn't really want to mention the discomfort he felt when imagining you falling for someone who wasn't him.

Your eyes were big and sad, lip pouted as you considered Roger's words. "... are you sure?"

The idea of you and him having to move out of the condo Roger risked the both of your love lives for didn't sit well with him.

You'd be gone making sweet love to some lucky asshole who probably didn't deserve to be in your presence, while Roger goes on a bender, gets ahold of some weed and coke, and sleeps with enough girls to distract him from realizing he'd thrown the best thing in his life away-- you.

He didn't want you to think he thought you were selfish. The last thing he needed right now was to feel guilty for making you feel guilty.

So he just nodded. "No house isn't forever anyways." When you didn't respond to his little joke, he sighed.

"Y/n, we're still so young. You don't have to commit yourself to anything like that just yet. Enjoy being able to go out drinking with me every weekend, and sleeping in on our days off. Your chance to start a family will come when the time is right."

You let out a shaky breath. Roger was actually a little surprised with how well you were keeping yourself together.

But his actions put the both of you here, and to see that this conversation nearly reduced you to tears had Roger drowning in guilt, even without the help of mentioning any of his inner conflict to you.

"I just hope you're right." Your voice was broken and your fingers were tangled stressfully in your hair.

"Hey," Roger's voice had gone soft again, his rocking slowing to a halt, and you looked up to find him with an open arm, awaiting your touch.

You slowly unravelled your fingers from your hair, and you gave into the hug not moments later. Roger pulled you to his chest tightly, his free arm occupied by the baby.

"Y'know... I made you French Toast to start the day off good." When you didn't say anything in response, Roger pulled away from you just enough to look you in the face.

He was giving you that same look he did at the Garrison's again; that unreadable gaze he'd achieved with those big blue eyes that seemingly bored holes into your very soul.

His free hand slipped up from your back to your neck, and he leaned in to just touch his lips to the corner of your mouth.

So close, yet so far away.

It wasn't before long that he pulled away from you, but Roger just couldn't keep his eyes off you.

"You come sit down and enjoy your French Toast, Dove. I've got Bobby."

"But--"

"Please?"

Roger knew he'd convinced you as soon as he said that magic word. Though you took a moment to look from the bundle in his arms to the breakfast you really were dying to dig into, you eventually sighed out a gentle "thank you," before taking your seat again at the table.

He came around and kissed the top of your head. "Enjoy, Honey." Roger took a seat next to you, Bobby still in his one arm, and the both of you ate your French Toast in relative silence for the first few seconds.

"... God, you really do make good French Toast, Blondie." Roger was smiling now. At least you were talking again.

"I only improved my cooking skills for you, y'know," he admitted with a mouthful of his food, though he didn't sound ashamed of it.

"And thank God for that. Cooking every other night sure beats cooking every night."

"You can say that again," Roger mumbled before shoving the last of his breakfast into his mouth. You still slowly ate away at your meal, and Roger was making funny faces at Bobby in between taking sips of his tea.

The telephone in the living room started ringing, and you stood up to go get it, but Roger immediately dropped his fork and grabbed your wrist.

"Nuh-uh. I just finished eating. You still have a little bit to go. Take Bobby and I'll get it." You scooped the baby up without another word, smiling when he opened his eyes.

"Can you at least bring back his rattle from his play pen?"

"Can do, Princess," he called over his shoulder as he approached the phone.

"H'lo?"

"Roger?"

"Oh, hey, John!" Roger tucked the phone's handset under his chin, carrying the telephone in his left hand so he could get Bobby's rattle.

"Isn't it a little early to be up?" Roger glanced at the clock, which read that it was quarter after seven.

"Biological clocks. Just wanting to checking in. Is Bobby okay? Has he been any trouble?"

"No, of course not! He's doing fine, John." Roger tucked the rattle in his back pocket when he found it, and returned to the writing desk where the phone was meant to stay.

That was something he loved about you. You always bought him pyjamas with pockets. The concept was cool, and being able to use them was even cooler.

"Y/n's got him in the kitchen right now," he explained, taking the handset again with his now free hand. "We're all just finishing up breakfast, actually."

"Oh good. How is she?" John paused for a second, his voice dropping a little lower. "... How are you guys?"

Roger made sure his voice was a little quiet, as well. "John, this may have been your guys' best idea ever. I don't know why I was against this in the beginning."

"Really?! What's happened already?!" John, everyone would have guessed to be one to avoid certain kinds of gossip, though when it came to Roger's business with you, he liked checking up on that.

"I told her about all that family stuff."

"And?"

"And, well..." Roger set the phone back onto the desk and scratched the back of his neck. "... She may or may not be having the same problem," he mumbled.

"So... so you both want a family?" John tried clarifying.

"Yes."

"Then why are you two not together?!" Roger slipped away around the corner into the main hall with just the receiver so he was a little further away from the kitchen. He didn't want you hearing their conversation, or John through the receiver.

"Well I'm not asking her here!"

"Then where? And when?"

Roger knew John was just getting excited, and his questions honestly had Roger brainstorming every possibility when it came to asking you.

"... I don't know, yet," Roger said after a while of thinking. "But soon. God, it needs to be soon." He didn't quite know why he was pressuring himself to ask you sooner than later.

Maybe it was because he was scared someone much better and more deserving of you (or alternatively, a selfish prick) was going to waltz in and steal you from him just before he had you for sure.

"Do you need any help with that part? I can get Fred and Bri--"

"No no no, it's okay, John." Roger leaned up against the wall of the hallway, fingers tapping the handset absentmindedly with his eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

"You guys have already done enough, really. I... I think I'm good on my own from here."

"Well, I'm glad," John expressed to Roger. "It's not every day you need to help Roger Taylor get with a girl, y'know."

"This is different, and you know it."

"I just like to tease," John defended, and Roger could even hear a smile evident in his words.

"Anyways, Veronica and I will be home tomorrow around noon. Y/n's got our number. You two take care."

"Of course, you too," Roger was making his way back to the writing desk.

"Thanks. Oh, and Roger?" John added quickly.

"Hm?"

"If you two end up doing anything, for God's sake, please wash the sheets."

As John was speaking, you'd walked into the living room with Bobby in your arms. "We're gonna go and have some play time, now! Yes we are!"

Roger was too panicked by your presence to even realize you weren't paying any attention to the phone call, and he hoped to God you didn't hear a single thing John had said. "Yeah-yes! Laundry. Will do."

He nodded his head once, though John couldn't see him, and after saying their good byes, Roger hung up the phone.

He turned to where you were in the living room. You were looking in the play pen for something, and Roger suddenly remembered the rattle in his back pocket.

He pulled it out hurriedly and held it out to you. "Shit! I'm so sorry about that--"

"Don't swear, Roger," you took the rattle, a smile on your lips you both knew you were trying to frown away. "There's a baby here."

"What? He doesn't know what that word means."

"Well, the more you keep saying it, the more of a chance he has at that being his first word, and I do not need the Deacon Family hunting us down for teaching their kid swears." You looked from Roger down to Bobby, shaking the rattle gently and grinning when Bobby squealed happily and reached out for the toy.

You took a seat on the couch, and played around with Bobby while Roger went back to the kitchen to do the dishes.

From 7:30 AM to about 2:30, all that really happened was play-time and lunch, something Roger prepared. You offered to do the dishes, but Roger wouldn't allow it. He just suggested you put Bobby up for his nap. He'd fallen asleep in your arms during play-time, like he did with Roger the night before.

The both of you thought it was crazy Bobby would just fall asleep rather than cry, but honestly, neither of you were complaining. Quiet baby for the win!

Roger just finished putting the last plate on the drying rack on the counter as he listened above for your footsteps leaving Bobby's room. He dried his hands off with the dishtowel hanging over his shoulder after turning off the faucet.

From behind, Roger felt a pair of arms slowly circle his body, and he smiled warmly at the feeling of you pressed against his back.

"He asleep?"

"Mhm."

Roger's smile only widened as you inched your palms up his chest. He turned in your arms and pressed his hands against your hips, inching you closer as he leaned back against the kitchen sink.

"Well, what do we do, now?" Roger asked. He sounded like he was up to no good. With the sultry look in his eyes and the way the smile on his lips looked like he was repressing a naughty suggestion, he knew you knew he already had something on his mind.

"Well, I mean," your hands slipped up into Roger's long hair, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. "Anything, really."

You knew what game Roger was playing, and you loved how cute he was, thinking he was going to have you on your knees for him.

His eyes shamelessly raked over the top half of your body, and he squeezed his hands, still at your hips.

"What'll you be doing with your free time, Roger?" You took one more step closer to him, and he pulled you the rest of the way to him so your groin was flush with his.

"I'm looking right at her."

He was already strained against his jeans, and you just offered a smile, fingers tightening their grip in Roger's hair.

"Mmm... I kinda like the sound of that," you admitted lowly, half of a smile on your lips. You shifted your hips from side to side, and Roger tried to pull you even closer.

You rolled your hips against Roger again, and the cheekiness in his face fell with a look of long-awaited relief, and his head dropped to your shoulder.

One of his hands moved up to grab you by the back of your neck, and when he lifted his head to look at you again, his second hand dragged upwards from your hip to squeeze your waist.

Roger lifted the hand by your neck, and combed your hair back with his fingers. His eyes fell onto yours for a brief moment, and you could have sworn there was something he tried to tell you there.

You just couldn't read him.

But he didn't care. He pulled you in close again, and his lips were on yours.

You'd kissed Roger before. Not in public, but definitely in the bedroom. And they weren't very scarce. Honestly, if Roger's lips weren't somewhere else on your body, they'd be on yours.

But why was this feeling different from all the other times he'd kissed you?

He was being a lot less forceful and needy than he usually was.

His grip wasn't tight on you, and it wasn't like he was crushing you against him as if indicating he needed more of you, now.

He was holding you rather, and the hand at your waist circled around to press against your lower back. The hand on your neck shifted a little forward so Roger could gently slide the pad of his thumb down the column of your throat.

The both of you were holding your breath, and Roger was the first to pull away. The both of you sucked in some air, and before you could even draw in a full breath, Roger's lips were on yours again.

He pushed towards you, guiding you backwards until your back was flat against the refrigerator. His warm hands grabbed for yours and he pinned them above your head by your wrists.

Okay. This, was something you were used to. But there was nothing that could have prepared you for when Roger's hands loosened their grip on your wrists, and he was lacing his fingers between your own.

Your hands felt very small in Roger's. How had he never noticed that before? What else had he neglected to realize about you?

In that moment, he felt you pull away to breathe, and he looked down at you worriedly, fingers frozen, yet still laced with yours.

"I- uh... I-I'm sorry--"

"No no, don't be. It's okay," your response was very rushed, but you didn't skip a word.

There was about a minute of silence, your hot breaths mingling in the space between your lips, though your gazes were locked with one another, and you couldn't look away.

"Did-uh... did you want me to... to stop?" His question was gentle, almost sincere-sounding, but he still made no effort to move from his place.

"No. God, no." And as soon as you'd answered, Roger closed the space between the both of you again, his fingers unwound from yours to grab you by the jaw, and you just held his waist, pushing your body as close to him as he would let you.

He shifted around a little, and moved his leg between yours. You could feel his mouth bend into a smirk against yours, and he began to apply pressure to the apex of your legs with his knee.

Before long, as much as you wanted to resist it, you fell to Roger's submission, and as you waited for him to grab your waist and put you wherever, he hesitated for a second, and dropped his hands from yours.

You opened your eyes again to find Roger, face red, and staring at your chest. Not in an ogling way, but more of a method to avoid looking you in the eye.

He could tell you were looking at him, and he shifted his gaze to you. He itched at his hands awkwardly, mouth opening and closing as he tried to explain himself.

You just waited. You gave him time to think, and he had an answer for you sooner than either of you would have thought.

"I just... I wanna try something else. I don’t want to control you like I do every night."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but a good beginning to a demonstration.

"Will you come to bed with me, Y/n?" His offer was gentle, yet confident, despite offering a hand out hesitantly.

When you dropped your hand into his, all of the tension in Roger's being relaxed, and he quietly led you up the stairs, past the nursery, and into John and Veronica's room.

Before you could say anything he gently explained that he'd do laundry later, and then he pulled you in for another kiss he'd been waiting to give you since the last one.

Roger pulled you closer to him, hands cupping your face as his lips began to desperately chase after yours. You kissed Roger back with just as much vigor, but then he slowed the movements of his mouth, and guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Roger helped lower you down onto the bed, and he leaned over you, dipping down to kiss your lips again. He knelt between your legs, and pulled them up around his waist so he could lean in even closer.

You felt his hands squeeze your hips, and he pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth. You hummed lowly, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks as Roger pulled away ever so slightly-- just enough to pull his shirt off of him, and close the distance between your bodies again.

You tangled your hands into his hair, and he hummed in approval before pulling back just once more.

"I'm sure that's hardly fair..."

"What?"

"This," Roger tugged gently at the hem of your shirt.

"Why's yours still on?"

"... I never said it had to be."

Roger exhaled, and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head after you raised your arms to help him out a little.

He placed the palm of his hand over the smooth skin of your belly as he stared at your bare torso. And before long, he dipping down to kiss you again.

You reciprocated his actions, wrapping your arms around his neck and tightening your legs around his hips, to which he rocked himself against your core, and then---

Bam!

The headboard hit the wall, and Bobby woke up.

"Nooo..." you squeezed your eyes shut as the baby's cries began to reverberate down the hallway.

"Fuck!" Roger groaned, eyebrows knitted together helplessly as he climbed off of you. You both knew it was Roger who technically woke the baby up, and it was just silently agreed on that he went to put him back down.

"Dammit to hell, those separated headboards."

Roger opened the nursery door, and made his way to the crib in the corner of the room. Bobby's cheeks were wet with tears, and Roger's heart sank. "'M sorry, little guy. C'mere. Come see uncle Roger."

He picked the baby up and rocked him back and forth, though it wasn't exactly doing much, so Roger took a seat in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, swaying the both of them with a push of his feet.

Bobby's cries settled, and Roger felt proud of himself. Sure, he wanted to get back to what he was doing before, but instead he took his time in making sure Bobby was comfortable and not in need of anything before he drifted off to sleep again.

Bobby played around with Roger's fingers a few moments after his agitation ceased, and he couldn't believe how large his hands were in comparison to Bobby's. He was once that size.

A little while later Roger set Bobby down in his crib, and the infant was out. The drummer smiled at his accomplishment. He didn't even need your help.

With that, he left the room without a sound.

He stepped into John and Veronica's room, and closed the door quietly behind him. He was in the middle of turning on his heel when he stopped dead in his tracks.

You'd taken some of the pillows off the bed and wedged them between the wall and the headboard to keep the bed from making noise.

You were also splayed out on the bed in a lot less clothing than he remembered you in when he left.

With a teasing beckon from your finger, Roger knew three things were for certain.

1. You were the smartest woman he knew.

2. You were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

3. He, the Roger Taylor, had fallen madly, and helplessly in love with you.

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

A/A/N: Again, you’ve all been waiting long enough for the next chapter, so here you are. i hope you all enjoy, and if my response is great with this one, I’ll see if I can spit out another one soon <3

PERMENANT TAG LIST

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(Leave me a message if you wanna be added to either of my taglists)

[isitstraightvodka]

(: 13 & 22 & 28 with joe pls?

13. “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!”, 22. “Choose me.”, 28. “Make me." - really love writing for joe so i hope you love this too!

"I'm better. You know it and I know it."

"I never said you were!"

"Then why did you sleep with me? Answer me that."

Joe had you backed into a corner with that, you hated to admit it but it was the truth. This was your fault, your choice and he wasn't to blame, this was on you, it was like having a boulder on your back and you wanted it off but it wouldn't be that easy.

It was a month ago when you came running over to Joe's flat after a big spat you'd had with Ben, who was your fwb. He let you in, gave you a mug of tea and sat you down on the couch, and listened to you go on about what caused you and Ben to blow up on each other, about him coming home late more often than usual, mostly drunk with the stench of cigarettes all over him, you'd had enough and it turned into a fight. You left in a crying daze, the sound of Ben bashing his drumkit as a way to take out his anger and frustration, and you, well you kissed Joe and before you knew it, you were rolling around in the sheets into the early hours of the morning. You didn't know why you went to Joe when in retrospect, it would've been a lot better if you had gone to Lucy's aid, at least you wouldn't have woken up in her bed naked. 

"Because I was hurt. I didn't know what I was thinking!"

"Sure as hell was not sloppy seconds, not with the way you rode m-"

"Stop stop stop!" You cried, waving your hands around like some sort of crazy lady. Memories from that night flashed before your eyes, how he touched you, kissed you, moved with you, in the moment, it felt amazing but now you realised what a total idiot you were; you left one bloke to go screw another, as if that would solve anything. You weren't exclusive with Ben but if he found out, you knew he'd be crushed, that boy had a heart of gold and he treated you very well, never made you feel like a sex object, and over a stupid fight, you had ruined everything. 

Joe tucked his hands into his pockets and leant against the doorframe of his living room, his leather jacket would make any woman salivate, including the woman you'd been that night you'd come here to his flat.

"Love, we fucked, okay? You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!”

"I know it did but it shouldn't have! I wasn't in my right mind, I was upset and sad and you were so...nice and you held me and..." You got lost in your thoughts again, how Joe's arms wrapped around your shaking figure, letting you cry into his shirt, his lips on your forehead, then forehead kisses turned into cheek kisses then they turned into tongues clashing together, your mug of tea forgotten on the table as Joe carried you into his room.

"And what?"

His voice brought you back to the real world, slipping your fingers into your hair, staring at the floor, wondering why the hell you even came here again. Could it be because you slept with him for a reason? Not because you were lonely and upset, what about another reason...No, it couldn't be true. And if it was, you did not want to give in.

"Nothing. I have to go. I'm sorry."

You made a beeline for the front door, fighting back tears, wanting to discard every thought in your head. A strong hand grabbed your elbow, you spun around to find Joe pulling you to his chest, nose just brushing yours, you hadn't been this close since the night you'd been together and it gave you shivers, the same ones you felt when his mouth had been on yours. Joe's face softened, eyes seaarching your face as his fingers ran down the edge of your jaw, taking in the softness of your skin and the brightnes of your eyes.

"Choose me."

"W-what?" You didn't register what he said to you, your judgement of reality seemed clouded, you were in that same daze and you had to get out of it before you ended up in the same situation as last time.

"Choose me. You came over for a reason. Why me? Why not Lucy, or Gwil, or your mother? You chose to come here, to me, we both know why and it took you fighting with Ben for you to realise it. You want me."

He was right. But you couldn't do this. Not to Ben.

"Joe...please let me go."

"Make me." He growled, grabbing your hip to draw you further in, closer to his body. Your hand rested on his chest as a reflex reaction, keeping space between the two of you, your fingers curled around the collar of his jacket, the leather tough to your touch. It was tempting, he was tempting but hurting Ben wasn't worth this. You'd already done it once, you couldn't do it again, even if you admitted it to yourself how bad you wanted Joe, it wasn't right. You'd already fucked up, making matters worse was not the answer.

You sighed and your hand dropped from his chest, reaching for his hand which was still wrapped around your elbow, his grip loosened and you pushed his fingers away, as much as you wanted to pull his hand back, you knew you couldn't. Joe looked deflated, almost sad, you could sense that without even looking at him. You didn't want to look at him. By deciding not to hurt one man, you'd hurt another and it was because of you and your torn heart. Fuck emotions. You never wanted to feel anything ever again.

"I'm really sorry, Joe, I have to go."

And just like that, you turned around and slipped out his door, shutting it behind you and the man you might've had a chance with if you hadn't of let your emotions get the better of you. As you walked away, you didn't mistake the faint sound of sob inside the flat, but you kept on walking, as a single tear slid down your cheek.

prompt list

[brittabuzzkillperry]

It’s a METAPHOR Brian

[bennyboyjones]

THE GETAWAY (Ben Hardy FanFic) Prologue

A/N: Hi! So, here is the prologue to my Ben Hardy  AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad if you click on the link below, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually. 

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues. 

Word count: 1.6k

In this chapter: just some background to get us started. You probably don’t have to read this to understand what comes after, but it will help you understand the main character better. 

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

Here we go:

prologue

I brushed my thumb over the twenty year old bonds clutched between my fingers. My eyes swept over the bank tellers, my weight switching back and forth from my right to my left foot. These people were taking forever; I figured it would be slow since it was a Monday morning, but apparently this was when all of the housewives did their banking. I had been next in line for the past fifteen minutes and as time went on, my nerve was steadily draining out of me. 

Last night, after a bottle of wine, I sat on the floor of my bedroom and reached under my bed for the manilla folder that held the contents of what I would consider the best six months of my life.  The folder was worn, soft, had both coffee and wine stains, and looked way too aged for something that had only come into existence a year ago. I placed my glass next to me, on the equally stained gray carpet, and pulled out endless postcards, bookmarks, pamphlets, plane tickets, museum and park and exhibit passes, and polaroids. I sifted through them, running fingers over my best friends’ smiling faces, rereading postcards to my family I had already memorized, focusing on guides to museums in Copenhagen, Paris, and London as if studying them could magically teleport me back. Instead, I was stuck here, in Rye, a small town that I was so, so bored of. 

I had lived here my entire life, and so had my parents. We went to the same elementary school and high school, we lived a thirty-second drive and a five minute walk from where my dad grew up. Everyone I had gone to school with had parents who graduated with or around the same time as mine. I felt so suffocated by sameness, by the ordinariness, and was terrified of repeating the pattern of monotony. 

When it was time to go to college, I was sure I would end up in New York City—somewhere not too far, but far enough, different enough from everything I wanted to get away from. When I was in high school, I decided that I was made to live there. For nine months out of the year, I’m a New Yorker—but during the summer I’m always back in Rye because apparently it’s financially irresponsible to take out loans to dorm over the summer and I can’t afford an apartment on a waitress’s salary, nor do I have the time to take up a second job and go to school full time, so Rye it is.

I only ever missed New York seasonally, but I missed London all the time. 

I missed living in London. I missed walking the three blocks from Queen Mary to the Co-Op to grab mushrooms, flapjacks, and a bottle of wine. I missed sitting on the Central Line at 11:30pm drunk, with Sarah and Annie on our way to our favorite club near Tottenham Court Road. I missed walking to Rinkoff’s hungover and grabbing a cronut. I missed Brick Lane on Sunday mornings. I missed a past life. 

For the past year, I’ve been saving up to get it back. When I came home last June, I worked a waitressing job at a small restaurant on our main street, as many doubles as I could—six days a week—and I refused to spend a single dime of it. I worked part time the past two semesters and saved as much as I could, but metro cards were expensive and a girl needed to eat, and also have a social life, and instead of “throwing away” my left over aid money on spring break vacations like my friends did, I hoarded that $1,231 and pretended I wasn’t bothered by the Miami Beach pictures even though I knew I was missing out. 

London was expensive, that much was clear; the only way I survived six months on $6,000 was because my financial aid paid for my housing and tuition, traveling around Europe while living in Europe is cheap, and my mom was sending me $100 a week for groceries because she was worried that all the jokes I made about not eating so I could afford to party (or financial drinking, as it’s been called) were serious (they were, and often the money that was supposed to be meant for groceries went to more fucking around—you only go abroad like that once in your entire life and I was so not going to waste it). And still, despite the weekly allowance from my mom, I still came home with $82 left in my bank account. Towards the end of the six months I was barely hanging on financially. Basically, what I’m saying is that I knew going back was going to cost me a lot of money, especially since I knew I wouldn’t have the same kind of help that I had the last time around. 

So, I saved and refused to do the math to figure out how much I would need to go back to London for at least two weeks. Well, last night, I did the math—and, oh boy, I am not going back to London until I have at least a few thousand more dollars to my name. That crushing disappointment is what led me to that manilla folder. 

The past few months, going back to Europe was all I could think about; I was graduating in December and this was my last summer to really do whatever I wanted before I had to be a real adult. Granted, I was planning on going straight into grad school, but the statement still stands. 

I took another sip of the cheap-ass red I regretted buying before grabbing my photos from Nice. I slowly went through them, and my eyes misted at the landscapes, the crooked self portraits taken on both disposables and my barely functioning digital, the photos of food, and coffees perfectly placed next to pages of my open journal. 

It was the one place that I had gone alone, in the middle of January, for only three days. It was a trip I took out of convenience (student visa issues) and I had only chosen Nice because it was both relatively cheap and small, but it ended up being my favorite place. The place I named first when people asked where I went, the place I talked about the most, and the place that meant the most to me. 

I put the photos down and opened my laptop. I opened a tab for SkyScanner, one for AirBnb, and one for TripAdvisor and started doing the math.

Flight: $1,214 (round trip)

AirBnb: $2,056

Other Expenses: $3,000

Approx. Total: $6,270

I knew how much I had in my savings and knew I had bonds somewhere from my baptism or some other religious sacrament I was forced to endure that I could cash for some extra money. I had enough for three weeks, but didn’t have much of a financial cushion should I need it. 

I downed what was left in my glass and booked my trip. I felt my hands shaking as I took them off my keyboard to rest them on my cheeks. My face was flush from both the wine and the excitement. I wiped my feet against the carpet, the nervous sweat on their bottoms making me uncomfortable. I was never one for impulsivity; I was a planner, a control freak, a perfectionist—a full blown virgo for fuck’s sake and the longer I sat there, staring at the confirmation page before me, the more nauseous I felt. I refused to let the regret set in, the doubt, and the fear. Instead, I stood up, hopped down the stairs with my empty glass in hand, and upon refilling, announced to my mom that in three weeks time, I would be on a plane to France. 

Earlier this morning, she rifled through the safe in the back of her closet in search of the bonds. When I told her about what I had done, she didn’t have much of a reply—she simply raised her glass to me and muttered a soft, “Jesus Christ”. I knew she was slightly concerned, but also excited for me and I really couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. She was a supportive mom, always, no matter how questionable her children’s choices were (and mine and my brothers’ choices were always questionable). 

Once she found them shoved into an envelope from the ‘90s, I got in the car with my younger brother and went to the bank. 

“You need to chill out. You’re going to make everyone in there nervous if you go in there all shaky and sweaty. You’re making yourself look like a criminal,” Noah said as he put his crappy car in park. 

“I’m just nervous. I know this is a stupid idea, isn’t it? I should just keep saving and go back in, like, another year when I really have the money, don’t you think?”

He rolled his eyes, “No. I think you need to do this now. It’s all you ever fucking talk about, and honestly, visiting you last year was the best thing I’ve ever done and it was the happiest I saw you. Just stop being a dumb bitch and go in there and get your money.”

Ignoring the “bitch” comment, I pushed the car door open with a loud creaking and clutched the bonds so tight they folded in my hands. 

When it was finally (finally!) my turn to be helped, I stepped up and handed the bonds over, crumpled and slightly damp with sweat, “I’d like to cash these, please.”

[gotboredwrote]

Six Questions // TM!JFM

Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.7K Style: One-Shot (prompt: based on this amazing post by the lovely @love-me-a-good-prompt) Warnings: Angst (my first genuine attempt so go easy on me), fluff, mentions of intimate situations (in reference to art) Summary: Y/N works as a muralist at Tim’s museum, and he loves watching her work. After working up the courage to speak with her, they strike up a partnership neither one expected. After days and days of work, one extremely involved mural forces Y/N to stay late, and Tim offers to keep her company. A game of sorts ensues. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: I’m really on a Tim kick, huh? Who’s complaining, though, because it ain’t me.

Masterlist

~

What started as just a job to help kill some free time while finding a job that earned you money had become something you could genuinely say you looked forward to every single day. Originally, the offer from the museum included a grand total of zero dollars, but after completing two larger projects for them, they decided they wanted to keep you. Then the offer became something you would have to have been idiotic to refuse. Not to mention the money, the people you worked with were genuinely happy-go-lucky people, clearly in love with the work they do. It was also nice to see tons of people, big and small, young and old, light up when they saw an exhibit they particularly liked. You got to do this all from the sidelines, not having to deal with any anxiety from meeting people. One day, though, you could feel eyes peering into the back of your head. It almost felt familiar, to a degree, like the eyes had looked at you before. Except this was the first time you really felt it. You were up high on a scaffold, so you carefully turned around to see if what you were feeling was really the case. That’s when you saw him; the auburn-haired boy with a visible scar on his cheek who was destined to become your personal confidant, standing there, shy as a mouse.

~

You really were not sure what to do. One option was lower the scaffold down to get to the ground, but that would take a minute and the descent would be awkward. Not to mention, he could just walk away at any point, which would have been a waste of time to move halfway to the ground to just have to move back up. Another option was to simply return to your work and act like he was not staring at you. A third option would be to call out to him, see if he responds at all, or if he is simply just caught in thought. You have been there, so you did not have a reason to judge him for it. You decided on your third option, risking embarrassing him and yourself, but not wanting to feel the intense gaze on yourself any longer. You wanted to ask him ‘can I help you with something?’ but something in his gaze made you pity him. It was not a sad expression, but one filled with almost a yearning sensation. The seriousness of his expression changed what your brain allowed your mouth to say without even realizing it until the entire sentence had escaped your lips.

“Are you alright?”

Clearly taken aback by your sudden question, the boy blinked rapidly at you and his cheeks flushed with color. You felt terrible for making that happen, but it was not like you could take it back at this point.

“Oh… y-yeah! Sorry. I… I was just watching you work…” With every word he spoke, realizing how what he said might have come across as stalkerish, he got quieter and quieter. Something you would come to learn was a habit of his. He had an intense sense of doubt whenever he spoke to people, not thinking that his words were worth the time of anyone or anything but his own brain. “I’m not good at art, and it kind of… mesmerizes me when I see people paint. How it works. I’m no good at things that involve the use of my hands. So—” As he continued to talk, he realized the look on your face was one of pure shock and confusion. He assumed that it completely stemmed from the fact that he was rambling on and on about himself, something that you clearly have no reason to care about. Your eyes had gone wide, and your eyebrows furrowed lightly in the middle, raised up high. Your body still stiff as a board turned around, not moving once while he spoke.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I need to shut up. I’ll just go—”

“Wait, please!” You never meant to sound that desperate. “Um… it’s okay, you know.”

“What is?”

“Watching me work. Kinda makes me feel validated.” You chose your next words carefully, wanting to make sure of two things; one, you wanted to make sure you did not insinuate something that you did not mean, and two, you wanted to ensure that the boy would come back and see you again. “I wouldn’t mind having company the next time you’re free and I happen to be working. If you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, um… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y-yeah!”

Never had someone reacted the way the boy did to your work. Not even your family. They knew you were a fantastic painter, but they were not ones to really express it. When the museum offered your part-time, paid position, it was with a slight bit of enthusiasm, but nothing more. Just business. This boy… clearly different.

~

The next day, you had come to work early, to make sure you were working when the boy showed up. It is not like the two of you set a time to meet, it was not a date or anything. Heck, you did not even know his name. You just wanted to be thoroughly engrossed in what it was you were doing so you could see the admiration on his face again. You craved that validation after not getting it for years. Then you smelled it. The smell of a burger and fries from the food truck that always liked to park at the museum. It was always so good. How did it get inside, though? Then you heard him.

“I, uh, brought you some lunch, if you want to take a break.”

You whipped around on your scaffolding, him scaring you with his words, and him clearly flustered by the whole situation.

“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you! I just figured… you’ve been here for over five hours and haven’t had anything to eat, so… I hope you like that food truck. Wait. Sorry, I only know you’ve been here that long because I walked in behind you. I just didn’t say anything. God, I’m a wreck, sorry.”

Now you were smiling sweetly, holding back a small laugh that would have made the boys eyes sparkle with joy had he gotten the chance to hear it. You started to lower your scaffolding while he walked a little bit closer, not knowing where your boundaries were. Once the scaffold was all the way down, you hopped lightly to the floor, walking the small distance over to the boy. You reached out to grab your bag of food and smiled lightly at him.

“Honestly, you’re such an angel for bringing me lunch. I completely forgot to pack one today. So, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“N-nothing. My treat.”

“I can’t possibly let you get away with that. I…” You chuckled breathily. “I don’t even know your name!”

“Tim. Tim Murphy. Doctor of paleontology.”

He spoke so fast you hardly made out what he was a doctor of. But it was endearing, to say the least. He sounded bashful, even about an accomplishment as good as his.

“Well, Dr. Murphy, I really appreciate the gesture. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m no doctor. More of a dunce, really. No degree or anything, just living my dream as an artist.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Yes, it is.”

Tim could feel his heart swell. Never in his life, especially not since the incident, had he been this confident around anyone outside of his family. He never even treated the people on his dig team that way. But something about the air around you made it easier for him to breathe. Easier for him to be himself. Your presence was like an ice-cold canteen in the middle of an August day in the Sahara for him. He could not even explain why.

“Te-tell you what. I insist you don’t pay me, but how about you join me for lunch instead of eating while you work? We can go sit in my office. If you’d like, of course.”

“That’s a deal, Murphy.”

~

Ever since that second day of interacting with you, the two of you were practically inseparable when you were working at the same time. Lunches, and sometimes even dinners were spent together, just talking about nothing or simply enjoying the sounds of museum creaking away or the buzz of bugs if you ate outside. Sometimes Tim’s coworkers would see the two of you together and make some snide comments, but neither of you paid them any mind. You were too wrapped up in the way the other spoke and held themselves to really care. It was blissful, something neither of you had really experienced previously. For Tim, it was a normal day at work, so he expected the same from you. He had promised to make homemade quesadillas and bring them for the two of you to share, and he held up his end of the bargain. He made his way over to the enormous mural you had been saddled with working on and saw that you were feverously painting away as if your life depended on it.

“Lunch is served!”

He called up to you loudly, but not loud enough to disturb the museum-goers. Except that somehow, you never heard him.

“Y/N?”

Still no response, just intense painting. Tim started to almost feel like you were ignoring him, feeling his chest deflate a little bit. Afraid that after all this time, you started despising him and his ways, just like everyone else he encountered and befriended. He made his way over to where you had been propped up on the scaffolding, nowhere near as high as the first day the two of you had met. You had told him one time that you start at the top of your murals always because if paint would ever run down before you had a chance to catch it, you could always paint over it. If paint ran down onto completed work, you would have to do it all over again, and it would be an endless cycle of a waste of time and supplies. He waited until you stepped back for a breather, which took close to four minutes, and then he knocked on the metal scaffolding, as a last resort to catch your attention. When he knocked, he earned himself a startled reaction.

“Wha—! Oh, it’s just you, Tim. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been calling out to you for almost ten minutes, you know.”

“You… you have?”

“Yeah. You’ve just been really wrapped up in whatever part of the mural this is. Everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah… it’s just that… I don’t think I am going to have time to take a lunch today.” Tim felt the sinking feeling in his chest again, which had gone away when he finally got to look in your eyes. “And I know that today was quesadilla day, and I was really looking forward to it. It’s just… look, I’ll never get this project done on time if I keep taking half hour lunches with you. Believe it or not, I am on a deadline. Please don’t think I’m angry at you if my tone makes it seem that way, I’m just overwhelmed with how big this one is and I’m doing it completely on my own, and having to buy my own materials is barely being covered by what they’re paying me. I want to spend as much time with you as we have been,” and you never even noticed Tim had pushed the ‘down’ button on the scaffold to bring you to his level, “I just need this job more than I need a delicious quesadilla and—”

“Y/N.” He cut you off with the sound of your name, the sternness in his voice, and a hand on your wrist. “Now you’re the one who’s rambling.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You could feel the tears threatening to fall down your face.

“Look. You need to eat and take a break. You’re going to eat lunch with me, and then work through the night if you have to. And guess who will keep you company since they have a set of keys because they’ve stayed so late in the past that the janitors just made him a set of keys?”

“You’d do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve put up with me all this time.”

“I figured you’d be sick of watching someone paint by now. Someone who doesn’t have a bunch of cool stories from adventures they’ve been on. Sick of… me.”

Tim felt that sinking feeling return for the third time, but this time it felt different, somehow. This time it was like a pang of guilt, because he truly did not mean to give off the impression that he was sick of you. Far from it.

“I don’t understand how you could think like that. I could never get sick of seeing which part of your face is going to have the paint splatter on it each day.”

You smiled sweetly and proceeded to invite Tim onto the scaffold to eat with you, that way you could get right back to work afterwards. The two of you had lunch like it was any other day, and you could feel some of the tension leave your shoulders as you ate, Tim’s presence calming you down. Once both of you were finished, Tim lifted his hands in the air beside his head as if to say ‘okay, I did my part, you can keep working’ and you got the message. You cleaned up your plate and immediately went back to working. Once Tim had stood up and started to walk away from the scaffolding, you turned around and yelled over to him.

“Thank you for lunch! And… thanks for keeping me company. See you for dinner?”

“Of course.”

A smile was exchanged, and you moved the scaffold back up to where you had been working while Tim walked away. Despite being completely invested in your work, you could not wait for dinner to come around.

~

You completely lost yourself in your work again, failing once again to realize Tim’s presence. Heck, you did not even notice that the museum managers had locked the doors when they left, Tim informing them that the two of you would be staying late to meet some deadlines and that he could let you out when you were done. You had managed to get to a spot on the mural where you could have the scaffold at its lowest point, so anyone could take a small step upward and be on it with you. He did not want to scare you because he was afraid you would jump and then streak a color across the mural that was not intentional. So, again, he waited, this time with a bag of warm and fresh Chinese food in hand, until he knew that it would be safe to get your attention. Except that this time it took over ten minutes, and your body language gave off the indication that you were not in the mood to stop. He just stood behind you, watching the intensity on your face. It was laced with something else, though, and he could not place it right away. He moved his eyes back to the portion of the mural you were working on, and after looking at the art itself, he looked to your hand that held the brush. And he knew it was time to intervene, not just because the food was going to get cold, but because he could see the effects of exhaustion taking over. He knew them all too well. He would constantly have to be told by his dig-mates that he needed to take breaks and get some water because he would become so invested in the site he was working on that he would go hours without drinking anything. That is not something anyone should do, which is common knowledge to everyone else, but it was not easy for Tim to pry himself away. So, he knew where you were coming from in terms of loving what you do so much that you never want to stop. He quietly placed the food down next to him, and carefully took a few steps to close the space between the two of you, so as to not alert you to his presence fully. He squatted down and lightly laid his hand on your shoulder in an effort to calmly halt your movements. It worked better than he planned, so he continued his efforts to pry you away from the wall. You had not made a noise, had not turned to look at him, but you knew by the gentle nature of the movements that it was Tim behind you. You confirmed your suspicions when you saw a set of hands reach for your own, the one holding the brush. Scarred and beautiful. One of the hands reached to grab the brush, lightly squeezing the metal part situated between the bristles and the wood handle so he avoided getting paint all over his hand, and to leave room for his other hand to take hold of the one which held the brush. While placing the brush in the warm water you had laid out, his other hand gently wrapped around yours, easing the shaking. But he could still feel you trembling underneath the one hand, so he brought his other hand to clasp around yours and you could feel him start to massage the cramping muscles in your palm. Then he would take each finger one by one and work out the tension. Alternating back and forth between wide-scale massaging and focused attention on a small muscle that was clearly overworked. Eventually the shaking subsided tremendously, and Tim reverted back to wide-scale rubbing on the back of your hand and your palm. He spoke just above a whisper so as not to startle you and to let you know that it is okay to relax a bit.

“You need to take a break. You’re gonna end up breaking your hand if you keep going at this rate. Sit down with me, okay?”

Reluctantly, you let yourself start to lower to the ground, Tim not letting go of your hands once, and still massaging them. The feeling was soothing – so much so that you actually started to feel the exhaustion Tim knew you had to have been feeling. He was not trying to lull you to sleep, it was just beginning to happen naturally. He had not taken his eyes off of you, wanting to make sure that you knew he was there for you to help you through the stress and exhaustion. You were finally feeling like you could relax to the point of tears slipping down your face because you had not felt this calm in weeks. Your newly relaxed natured ushered a question out of your mouth without you even realizing it.

“Wanna play this weird game I saw on the news the other day?”

“Depends on how weird your definition of weird is.”

“Basically, I saw this thing on the news that said there is a game that can bring two people closer than a marriage of fifty years. It’s really simple… maybe, considering the state of being I am currently in, the game would not be the worst idea.”

“How do you play?”

“Well, basically, there is one rule for the game, and it’s 100% honesty. Each person gets to ask the other three questions of their choosing, and the other has to answer in their complete truth. No holding back from either party. It’s a test of someone’s willingness to be vulnerable and open with someone, even if they haven’t known them more than five minutes.”

“Would it keep you from stressing over this job?” You nodded your head slowly, making eye contact with him. “Well, then I’m game.”

The two of you move so you are sitting face to face, and still close enough together so that Tim could still massage your hand, since he can tell what effect it was having on you. The two of you both thought in silence for a moment, before you quietly spoke up, asking your first question.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you on a dig?”

“Oh… that’s easy. Hard to admit, but easy to answer.” You were still just blankly staring at him, and he was determined to get a smile on your face, even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of the most magnificent girl he had ever met. “This was… years ago. One of the first digs I ever went on as an actual PhD board-certified paleontologist, so probably about six years ago or so. I was prepared for everything, right? Like I had changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a tent. I was prepared. Then one day, in a desert that rain hardly ever touches, the sky just opened up. There were mudslides everywhere, but thankfully no equipment or things in tents were ruined. The sites were, though, and I happened to be working on one when it started pouring. And my ‘seat’ became one of those mudslides. I slid down a hill about thirty feet, completely covering my one side.”

He could see the sternness in your eyes die down a little bit, sparkling a little bit brighter than before. He knew the story was working. “So, after I managed to pull myself up from the ground when the rain finally stopped, I made my way over to the shower, honestly a little surprised that no one was using it. I stripped down behind the door, needing to feel like I wasn’t a man made of mud. I started to shower, like I normally would, and didn’t catch the noise of the door hinges moving. I had just finished getting the shampoo out of my hair when I turned around to turn the water off and then I saw her.”

The light in your eyes continued to remain, but the calmness in your face faltered a little bit at the word ‘her.’ You could not explain why, but thankfully Tim did not catch it. It was not like the two of you were dating, and this story took place years ago. You did not have anything to worry about, at least that is what you told yourself.

“One of the only girls on the dig that year had gotten herself into a pretty similar situation as me, and was so determined to wash the mud off herself that she failed to notice the water running. She swung the door open and stared just long enough so I knew who she was and she recognized me, but we both had the same idea right after; shut the door. I leaned forward, trying to grab the door, and she slammed it. Hit me right in the face, hard enough to knock me down to the ground. Had to reshower and everything. I couldn’t even bring myself to forgive her on the grounds of her looks or personality. She was not my type in the slightest.”

You were stifling back a giggle at this point at Tim’s exasperated manner of storytelling. It also had something to do with the fact that he admitted freely that she was not his type, giving you hope for something that you could not explain. He was still massaging your hand, too.

“Well, at least I got you to smile. I’d say that makes the story worth telling. Now it’s my turn. I want to know… What’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever painted and why?”

You had to think about it for a minute, because you had been painting seriously since you were about fourteen. It had been a long time since you considered yourself fully dedicated, and as commission work would come in, requests became more and more intense. Realistic. After about a minute of thinking while feeling Tim’s hands still press on yours, you realized what it was.

“It was a commission… for this guy. He had recorded himself, and he made a rather hefty request of me.”

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“How did you know this guy?” It almost seemed like Tim was feeling the same way about the word ‘guy’ as you did about the word ‘her,’ but you did not make much out of it.

“Personally, I didn’t. It was an online commission. Basically, he had recorded something and wanted me to watch it. The specific request basically said ‘watch this entire thing and I want you to paint us,’ referring to himself and the girl in the video, ‘in what you consider to be the most erotic moment in the video.’ I had a basic idea of what I was going to be watching, but when I saw that the video was over twenty minutes long, I really didn’t want to continue with the request. But, after I told him that I would be charging him extra because of the absurdity of the request and he didn’t decline the price, I was committed. One of the biggest commissions I have ever gotten to this day, actually more than the first check this museum gave me. But I guess I still have to tell you what it was, huh?” You swallowed, remembering the video more so than the rendition you did. “He… him and the girl… I assume they wanted a painting of them while actually having sex, but he told me to paint what I considered the most erotic. There was a part before they actually hooked up where she was… um… straddling his lap, and he was sitting up, head level with her chest. They were really in the moment, both still wearing their underwear though, if that matters. But at one point she held his face and he looked up at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It was one of those moments where, at least for now, all that mattered in the world was each other, and that was what I ended up painting. So… yeah.”

Tim was looking at you with such an intensity that you could feel it in your chest, how fast your heart was beating. You could not tell if the image of the painting in his head was doing that or what, but it was a look on the boy’s face that you took a mental image of for a sketch later down the road.

“Oh… wow. That’s, um… quite intriguing that you chose that part. I, uh… gosh, it got warm in here now that everyone’s gone, huh? That’s not it should… work…”

“If the idea of my painting is bothering you that much, how do you think I felt watching that video, huh, Murphy?”

That calmed him down, hearing you revert back to your normal self after talking so quietly. It was like you were not tired anymore, lighting up in the presence of the smartest and dorkiest paleontologist the museum could have thrown at you. He loved having this effect on you, because never in his life, or his wildest dreams, could he imagine doing that for someone like you. Someone perfect.

“I think it’s your turn to ask me question two.”

“Ah! Right… let me think. …I almost don’t want to ask this, but before I do, you should know why I’m asking. I think they’re incredible and tell a story unlike any other, and I think they’re beautiful.” As you spoke your preface, you reached up with the hand that has been free this whole time to stop Tim’s motions on your hands to place his in your own and lightly stroke them with your thumbs. Clearly grazing over the pale white lines on them. “What’s the worst thing someone has done to you or said to you regarding your scars?”

You were still holding his hands, and you could feel them tense and get a little sweaty. In fact, you could see that his posture had changed, like his whole body had stiffened. It was not out of fear or remembrance of painful memories. It was disgust, which meant that there was a particular instance that came to mind, and it almost made you want to retract your question. Tim spoke before you could, allowing you to hear the real answer.

“I was having a sleepover with people who I thought were my real friends, yet I woke up to a room that smelled like sharpie.” You shot him a confused look. “I got up to find that no one was in my living room with me, all of their belongings were gone, and I could see a note on the floor where their bodies should have been. It read ‘look in the mirror, freak.’ I went into my bathroom and noticed a couple of black lines on my face and neck. Then I noticed them on my collarbone, my arms, my hands, my legs, and even my feet. They had found a sharpie and marked every single scar that I had while I slept, pointing out every single flaw that I have. Every single one of my insecurities, and called me a freak to top it all off.”

You could see the tears starting to form, and you despised yourself for wanting to ask that question. You hated yourself for a number of reasons; you had made Tim remember something he clearly did not need to, you had almost made him cry, you had made him admit his biggest insecurity, all of it because you wanted to play a stupid game.

“Tim… I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean…”

“But you know why I’m okay? You know why I’m not going to cry?”

You just looked at him, tears threatening to slip from your eyes, now.

“Someone has recently taught me that people like that don’t matter. They taught me to ignore the snickers we heard at work because they’re just jealous. And that same person just told me that they think my scars… are beautiful.”

“…”

“You really think they’re beautiful?”

“Is that your second question, Murphy?”

“No, but I have to know that answer more.”

“I couldn’t lie to you if my life depended on it, so yeah, I do.”

He let a single tear slip from his eye, wiped it away quickly, and proceeded to ask his next question. No preface other than a serious expression painted onto his face.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you will never make it as an artist?”

“Every single day.” No hesitation. No pause. No stopping to think. It was a question that plagued you from the moment you got your first commission, shockingly enough. “Not a single day goes by when I wonder if the commissions will ever stop. Painting for myself is great, don’t get me wrong. But I have no other skills. No backup plan. That’s why I fought so hard to get this job. They have me booked to paint the whole museum at some point, and once the unchanging exhibits are complete, they will give me advance notice about the ones that do so I can come repaint the walls. But that’s the only stability I have. Another museum may come and scout the work and hate it, making sure that I get no other museum recommendations. Plus, not too many people send in personal requests. I have to hope that I get long term contracts, or… I’m just done. Penniless. Homeless.”

Tim was looking at you with a melancholy expression. He had something in his heart he wanted to say, but it was not like the two of you were together. His offer would even be weird for people who had been dating for over a year. He held back, as hard as it was.

“Is my answer okay?”

“Oh… yeah! I mean… in the sense that you told the truth. Clearly. But… can I tell you something? It might be weird.”

“I’m the one that suggested this weird game, so obviously go ahead.”

“If the museum ever lets you go, and no commissions are coming in, and your strapped in more ways than one, come… stay with me. I have enough space. I can help you. The offer will stand, even if you marry someone and have kids with him. My home will always be open to you, okay?”

If the tears were not threatening to spill earlier, they sure were now. All you could do to hold back a choked sob was grab onto his hands and squeeze. A way of saying thank you without having to actually say it. He completely understood. Then it was time to move onto the final question for each of you, and both of you had known what you were going to ask when you first agreed to the game. They were both loaded questions, but for completely different reasons. Based on his reaction to the previous one you asked, you mentally braced yourself for the worst with this third one. He was doing the same.

“Tim… I want you to tell me about Jurassic Park.”

And he did. He told you about the giant t-rex that ate a guy in a latrine. He told you about the fact that his parents were going through a divorce and that was the only reason him and Lex were there. He told you about being constantly rejected in the beginning by a man he looked up to. He told you about Lex’s screams and how they kept him up at night. He told you about being stuck in a functionless car while a t-rex was stomping around it and knocking it around. He told you about falling many feet in a metal car, to be suspended for God knows how long with no help. He told you about how he threw up. He told you about falling through the tree and almost being crushed by the car. He told you about being trapped in a kitchen with velociraptors that were four times his size and eight times his weight. He told you about being electrocuted by a fence and falling almost ten feet. He told you about the rain.

He was sobbing. Hyperventilating. You regretted it completely. You wished you could have taken it back, but there was no turning back. There was no erasing the memories for Tim. Nothing could ever take the trauma away from him. But there was one thing you could do; be there for him in this moment. You reached over and attached your hands to his face, forcing him to look at you. To make him aware that you were there and he was not back there. There were no more living dinosaurs. That he was alive and breathing. That he had you there to help him. You used your thumbs to wipe the streams of tears rolling down his now red cheeks. It was like he had opened a faucet, and he was having trouble breathing. Once he realized that you were wiping his tears, his breathing slowed, and so did the tears. You kept wiping them away, somewhat uselessly since you did not dry your hands off in between. Then your hands stilled, the two of you just watching each other. And you noticed a stray, single tear. The last one. You did not wipe it with your hand, but instead leaned over to him to kiss it away. You tasted the tang of the salt within it, but did not mind one bit because all that mattered was making Tim feel better. To take him away from the place you forced him into. You kept your face pressed against his so he could feel the warmth of your lips and face, but you could feel him pull away from you a little bit. Just enough so he could look you in the eyes. He manages to steal a glance into them, and he realizes that you are crying just as much as he is, you are just a lot better at being quiet about it. It causes more tears to slip from his own eyes, but he could not care less. All he cared about was taking care of the desperation he felt regarding the human contact and love that he had been deprived from for years. In a very unlike Tim move, he crashed his mouth into yours and kissing you with such a fervor that you started to feel lightheaded. Once the two of you pulled away from each other, he could see that he had made your lips swell lightly, making them redder than before, and he could also see the shocked expression adorning your face. He thought you hated him now. He was an emotional nightmare and felt that the right thing to do was kiss you? He could not imagine how this scenario played out well for him. He started to inch his body away from yours more, starting to relentlessly apologize for making you uncomfortable. Except that was not how you felt. Not at all. You wanted him to keep going.

“Please… don’t pull away from me.”

With the speed of a bolt of lightning, his mouth had found yours again, kissing you like there was no tomorrow and these were his last moments with you. While his kiss was passionate, it was safe. Just lips. You wanted more. With all the effort you could muster in that moment, you tried nibbling at his lower lip, wanting his lips to look just like yours by the end of it all. Pulling apart because there was no air left between you two, he pulled his head far enough back where he could look at your entire face, and tilted his head gently to the side like a curious puppy. And it was time for him to ask the final question of the game.

“Do you think you could ever fall in love with someone like me? Someone broken?”

You looked back at him, completely sure of your answer instantly. You just had to be brave and say it.

“I think I already am.”

After having let out all the pent-up emotions and putting on a show for the security guard’s cameras, you went back to working, no longer worried about the deadline, no longer trembling. You stayed seated on the scaffold, working at the bottom of the mural. Tim nestled himself into your side, resting his head in the space of your criss-crossed legs, feeling completely at ease. He leaned the back of his head against your stomach, and felt the muscles in your torso move with your arm as you painted. Eventually, you saw the warm, yellow glow of the sun through the high-up window to your right, and you looked down to see that Tim had fallen asleep, head now facing your stomach, nose pressed right above the hem of your pants. You could feel both of his arms lazily around you, an effort to make himself comfortable since he wanted to make sure his head stayed right where it was. You had stayed up all night, not panicked at all, working on some of the smaller detailing that took longer. You placed your small brush in the water for a moment, though, to look down at the sweet boy in your lap. You did not have the heart to wake him up, considering the museum employees still were not scheduled to arrive for an hour. So, you decided to gently run your hand through his hair, but not hard enough to wake him up, earning yourself a small groan from the boy in his sleep, who then nuzzled his nose more into your stomach. A feeling you could get used to.

Permanent Taglist: n/a

Tim Murphy Taglist: @gardnerlangway @drtimmurphy

// If you want to be added to either taglist mentioned above, or the one for another character I’ve written for, send me an ask here! //

[vampirethatcarlislegotbittenby]

yeah my mind is super focused. super focused on roger taylor 

[mightyfineblog]

Because I’m Mighty and all fluff is nothing if I don’t finish it with a hot smut scene (or a few) I’m writing something different today:

A smut version of ‘November Cabin’ (Joe x a reader)

Here’s the fluff version.

Smut Version

Because,

No matter how much I love fluff and pure feelings....

It feels half finished without some actual hot scenes ☝🏻

[vampybb]

If I’m gonna write smut, who’s gonna stop me?? Who? No one, bitch.

[zwiezraczek]

Blurb prompts [Queen/Borhap cast mostly]

I'd love to do something like this, sounds really fun!

RULES: Through ask...

- Pick up one number

- Your gender

- The person you want/pairs you'd like to see (Ben Hary’s characters: Four from 6Underground, Warren from X-Men // Joe Mazzello’s character: Tim Murphy from Jurassic Parc // Harry Style’s character: Alew from Dunkirk // Zendaya’s character // Borhap Queen.. Ask me if you have another idea!!)

- A situation (something to guide me a bit would be nice ~)

- I'm not super into smut, but I can try to built up an ""atmosphere""

1. "You don't need nobody else, but me."

2. "I can dim the lights..."

3. "Excuse me but... Why are you blushing?"

4. "Let's see what I got... I got a hell of a lot..."

5. "Look at me love, please."

6. "I like good things in life, darling."

7. "No please, love, don't do that!"

8. "... Why are you doing this to me?"

9. "You are definitely drunk."

10. "I'd like to kiss you... Joking... Unless?"

11. "You're driving me crazy, you know that?"

12. "Please, don't do that ever again."

13. "Should I turn off the lights?"

14. "You need a hug: I shall provide."

15. "Smile for me, please."

16. "This wasn't planned at all."

17. "You remembered? I love you so much!"

18. "Don't cry, I'm here. With you."

19. "I spent all my years praying for this moment to come!"

20. "I think I just found somebody to love."

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door VIII (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part Seven Here

A/N: Honestly, I never expected this fic to get to 8 chapters, but here we are!

Summary: Roger and Y/n babysit for John and Veronica

(You can imagine the canon or Hardy!Roger; whatever bohemians your rhapsody)

WARNINGS: Self-doubt, swearing maybe(?), mentions of sex (like... once)

This chapter will be rated as a T. Enjoy!

"If you need anything, literally anything, please call us. We know where everything is, and--" 

 "John, I promise I'll call if we need to. Roger and I will be fine," you tried to assure the bassist, giving his shoulder a pat as he took a breath. 

 "Okay, okay." He smiled, though it was a sad-looking one. You knew being away from Bobby was going to be difficult for him, and you tried your best to keep him calm, and ensure him not to worry a bit. 

 "Y/n is very responsible," Roger, who was standing next to you, reminded John. He knew John was aware of that, but Roger didn't like seeing John emotionally distraught. He saw John cry once so far in his life, and it was so heartbreaking that he decided he never wanted to see him cry ever again. 

 Veronica walked through the door into the nursery with Bobby in her arms. 

"Let's say goodbye to Daddy," she cooed as she handed him over to John, who repeatedly kissed the infant's head over and over again, whispering to him how much he loves him, and how he was gonna be right back. 

 You watched with sad eyes and a pouty lip as John and his son interacted, Bobby reaching up to grab John's finger with his tiny hands. Roger gauged your reaction, taking quick mental notes of how John was acting so he could mimic his behaviour with Bobby later. 

 Veronica eventually had to tell John that they were going to be stuck in traffic if they spent any longer at home, so John placed Bobby in your embrace before blowing him a kiss. 

 "Uncle Roger will take good care of you, Bub. I love you," he whispered once more before thanking you again, and leaving the three of you in the nursery, though Roger followed them out and locked the door behind them. 

 You moved into the living room with Bobby in your arms, taking a seat on the sofa. Roger watched John and Veronica leave the driveway through the window, and you were saying inaudible, silly things to Bobby as he happily smiled at the faces you were also making.

 Roger looked over his shoulder to you, and your eyes flitted to him. "Rog, d'ja think you could get me a bottle from the refrigerator, please?" 

 He nodded quickly, and rushed out of the room, returning only moments later with a bottle. 

"Thanks, Love," you took the bottle from him, completely missing the look of pride sporting his face, but it didn't matter. You flipped the bottle, and Bobby, on instinct, reached out for it. You helped him hold it up, cooing about how hungry he was as he sucked the bottle non-stop. 

Roger watched you intently from the other side of the coffee-table, biting the nail of his thumb as he took note on how to feed Bobby. Or... how you were feeding him. 

 Your eyes moved up to him again, catching notice of his intense stare. "... D'ja wanna feed him?" You asked Roger gently. 

 He froze up for a moment, pointing to himself in silent questioning. You nodded, and Roger's cheeks darkened a few shades. 

 "Come over. He won't bite," you teased, tilting your head in the direction of the empty cushion next to you, which Roger occupied not moments later. 

 He reached out to balance the bottle for Bobby now, and you let go of it. Roger grinned airily when he realized he was doing it. You smiled warmly at how proud Roger looked. 

 "Here," you reached one of your hands out to grab the wrist of his free hand. You pulled his arm over, and Roger watched you closely as you slowly put Bobby in his grasp. You adjusted his posture a little bit, putting a hand over your heart. 

 "You're both adorable," you sighed, rising to your feet and slipping into the kitchen for a moment. Roger looked down at Bobby, smiling a little as the baby stared at him with his big round eyes as he continued to suck the milk from his bottle. 

 "Auntie Y/n was right, wasn't she? You are very hungry," Roger let a chuckle pass his lips as he watched this kid in astonishment. He was so small. How could someone so small eat seemingly so much? 

 When you returned, Bobby was nearly done with his bottle. "What a good boy! You ate all your food! Good job!" Bobby smiled at your praise, and Roger's expression matched. 

 "I can take him now, if you'd like. I know he may be a little heavy, and your arm'll fall asleep at some point." Roger kept silent until Bobby was completely done the bottle, who'd pulled away from it entirely. 

 You scooped Bobby up and burped him, to which you responded "ooh, big burp," and you took this moment to eye the clock on the wall. 

 "Nine o'clock?! You still have a whole hour to be up, Honey Bear," you gasped, earning a happy squeal from the baby. "Maybe some Play Time would be good to tucker you out, huh?" 

 "Play Time?" Roger asked rather excitedly. You laughed at his enthuisasm, nodding at his question. 

 "Can I play with him?" 

 "Well what are you gonna play?" 

 "Peek-a-Boo, probably," he admitted lamely. You just shook your head with a smile, shifting to sit cross-legged and facing Roger. You set Bobby on your lap so he was also facing him. 

 Roger's smile widened so much he could barely keep his eyes open. He also sat cross-legged, facing you and Bobby. 

 He put Bobby's empty bottle on the coffee table, rubbing his hands together in an epic preparation to play the most intense game of Peek-a-Boo known to man... 

 He pressed his hands over his face, and you gasped playfully. "Bobby! Oh my goodness! Uncle Roger's Gone!" 

 "Peek-a-Boo!" Roger exclaimed as he parted his hands from his face, Bobby's eyes widening, as well as his toothless grin. He giggled, though it was short-lived, for when Roger put his hands over his face again, Bobby fell silent. That is, until-- 

 "Peek-a-Boo!" 

 The child's laughs were contagious. Your head was thrown back as you laughed uncontrollably at the high giggles, and Roger took this time to just drink in how you looked when you weren't paying any mind to your surroundings. 

 The more of this situation he let himself become aware of, the easier it was for him to imagine the both of you in a place like this in the future, near or far. He was finally understanding why John loved being home so much. 

 Roger wouldn't admit it then, but he would give anything to be able to come home from work to this: a baby, and you. 

 You tilted your head back down, and before you could catch Roger staring right through you, he hid himself behind his hands again. 

 Peek-a-Boo lasted a little bit longer, but you and Roger eventually brought Bobby upstairs after he'd nearly fallen asleep in your lap. 

How a baby could have fallen asleep during Peek-A-Boo, you didn’t know. 

You set him down in his cradle, and rocked it slowly as Bobby drifted off to bed. You couldn't believe how well-behaved and quiet Bobby was, but you were not complaining; No, Sir. 

 Roger watched the both of you from the dresser, thumbnail between his teeth like earlier. 

 When you were sure Bobby was asleep, you caressed his soft pale cheeks with the back of your index finger before standing and tiptoeing away from the cradle. Roger got the door for you, and the both of you watched through the crack in the door for a moment or two before closing it completely. 

 "What now?" Roger asked gently. You shrugged before whispering, "Anything you want, really. Think of this time as a break." Roger nodded slowly, but made no move to leave his spot in front of the door. 

 "What will you be doing?" He asked after a moment. "Probably preparing for bed. We only have about seven hours of sleep if we're lucky, but he'll probably need to be taken care of in the middle of the night." 

You pursed your lips in thought. "Let's just head to bed, Rog, get as much sleep as we can." He only responded with a nod. You followed him down the hall, but disbanded to your separate rooms. You were taking John and Veronica's room, while Roger was occupying the bed in the spare room. 

 You turned at the threshold of the door, as did Roger. You looked at him wordlessly, as did he to you. 

 "G'night, Roger," you yawned gently into your hand. 

 "G'night, Y/n," Roger whispered back as you both inched your doors shut. 

Roger leaned up against the door as soon as it closed, and he let out a deep breath. 

 You both had to be here for two days, and not even two hours in, Roger was fuelling this domestic fantasy of his rather than fulfilling it. 

 He enjoyed every single minute of this, but with each passing second, Roger became increasingly aware of how much time was running out for the both of you to achieve this dream. 

 It stung, because Roger wasn't even sure if you wanted this. Of course you'd shown distaste for having children at this age, but even looking passed that, would you really want the father of your kids to be Roger Meddows Taylor, of all people?

The Sex Symbol, Roger Taylor? The sarcastic prick, Roger Taylor? The fuck-friend, Roger Taylor? 

Roger's chest ached as he pushed himself off the door and towards his bed. 

 Of course you wouldn't. 

 You could do so much better. 

 You sat up abruptly when you heard it. 

 Crying. 

 You tossed the comforter off your body and threw your robe on, which was lying at the end of the bed. You opened your door, making your way to the nursery, silently hoping he hadn't been crying for too long. 

 You yawned weakly into your hand before opening the door. When you stepped into the nursery, you didn't expect Roger to be there, in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, Bobby in his arms as he fed him another bottle.... 

But there he was. 

 "Needed a changin', and then he was hungry," he explained quietly. You crossed your arms over your chest, observing how Roger held Bobby comfortably, and perfectly. 

 "Thought you didn't know how to take care of children, yet here you are changing and feeding him without my help." 

 "I never said I didn't know how to care for them, I said I was iffy with them," he corrected softly, never taking his eyes off the featherlight hairs on Bobby's head.

 You raised an eyebrow, though Roger was focused on the child in his arms. 

  You couldn't even feed him on his own earlier, and now you're the Nappy Master? Yeah. Alright. 

 "That's not what you told me on the lift earlier today," you argued lightly, hands on your hips. 

 Roger sighed, crossing one leg over the other as he rocked slowly in the chair. "Maybe I wanted you to help me, alright?" You offered a sad smile, and he accepted it as a gentle apology. 

 The corners of his lips twitched upward as his eyes fell back to Bobby. "'N fact, the more I spend with this little guy, the more I wish I had a kid." He looked up to you. 

"Crazy to think, huh? Once the King of One-Night Stands wanting a family," he spoke as if the concept were a funny joke; a paradox, even. 

 It was your turn to stare from the bookshelf on the other side of the nursery. 

 "... I know we have this arrangement and everything, and this was supposed to work out because neither of us wanted families of our own," you tensed at his words, but your shoulders fell when he said, "... and don't fret, I'm not gonna leave you." 

 "... But," you started for him. 

 "But," he paused. 

"... I'm starting to understand what I'll be missing out on. Just makes me sad, is all." You pushed off the bookshelf and took a seat on the floor in front of Roger, the bright moon casting almost an ethereal glow along the side of his pale, sleepy face. 

 "What would you cherish about it if you had a family, Rog?" 

 "The fact that I'm being loved for more than my body would be a start," he said. You felt your stomach drop at that. 

 "Rich coming from a guy like me, I know," he sighed. "The idea of settling down, having constants in my life.... I'm craving that. I know I'm young, and I'm not tied down in a committed relationship, and I should be cherishing this freedom but..." 

You tilted your head a little as he tried to piece together what he was about to say next. He swallowed, eyes falling to your face. 

 You looked so pretty... 

 "... What if I don't wanna be alone anymore, Y/n?"

 You hadn't expected that, but it did explain the constant one-night stands he had with groupies: He was in search of validation; and what better way than to take a girl to bed and love on her all night? 

 "I... I have so much love to give, and no one to give it to." His voice sounded weak, and he looked helplessly at Bobby, who was still suckling away at the milk in his bottle. 

 "... What if he was right...?" You frowned a little as Roger lifted his gaze to you again. 

 "Mr. Garrison. I mean, what if having children is just as rewarding as he says it is?" You hadn't noticed you'd been crying until you could taste your salty tears on your lips. You'd been reminded of your conversation with Bethany a few weeks prior, and now you were asking yourself all the same questions. 

 "We'd be missing out on a good life," you laughed upsettingly, rubbing your eyes dry with the sleeve of your robe. 

 Roger didn't say much after that. After Bobby finished eating, Roger burped him and put him back to bed. Like before, Bobby fell right to sleep. 

 Roger rose to his feet, and then helped you up gently by your elbows. You followed him out of the room, and closed the door behind you. 

 Roger slid his arm around your back and slowly walked you down to your room. You took a step through the door, and when you felt his arm fall from your body as he began mumbling his "goodnight"s, you immediately turned back and caught him by his wrist. 

 He didn't say anything, and you rushed through your head for something to say. 

"Stay," You said after another second of silence. 

 Roger's confused look melted into one of adoration, lips parted and eyebrows lifted. 

 "... Roger, I don't wanna be alone either." 

 And that did it.

 Without another word, Roger had stepped into the room with you, and he shut the door behind him. You untied your robe, and Roger watched from where he was standing as you let it drop to the floor.

 It's not like you were wearing nothing, but a long shirt and your underwear was pretty close to nothing. 

 He scooped you up in his arms silently, catching the light switch with his elbow as he slid the both of you into bed.

 You expected him to just roll back over, but when one of his palms fell to rest at your hip, head on top of yours, you couldn't help but hold your breath. 

 At this point you and Roger'd had a fair amount of sex, but being wrapped up in his arms like that; his thumbs dragging down your bare skin in lazy, invisible patterns... it was the most intimate thing you'd done with him ever.

 You only pushed yourself closer to Roger, and as you drifted off, basking in the warmth of his body heat, and drowning in the smell of his body wash, you heard him mumble, "you're not alone anymore, Doll."

_____________________________

A/A/N: Guys, the amount of notes I’ve been getting for these fics recently are blowing me out of the water! I want to thank all of you for your support by liking, reblogging, and leaving me replies. It really means a lot to me, and inspires me to go on doing what I love most: Producing these stories for you guys! I hope you all enjoyed this one. Things are only gonna get better from here! <3

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[waymorecake4me]

Tsunami (Roger Taylor x Reader)

(a/n: Okay so this isn’t the deep grungy angst slowburn fic I talked about, but it is coming, I promise. But hopefully this angsty oneshot will hold ya over while I’m figuring the other thing out. Thank you so much @fluffyunicornofdanger for helping me edit this bc I’m stubborn and like to pretend I don’t need to edit hahaha and thank you for the encouragement to get back out there and write, I really mean it, you mean a lot to me. Okay on with the fic!)

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Car Accidents.

Word count: 3.5k

Rain in London wasn’t exactly something to be surprised about. In fact, people were more surprised when they saw the sun. Overcast days and rain was one thing, but what seemed to be a damn tsunami was a whole other battle. One no one was prepared for.

Of course, rain had never stopped anyone in the city from doing anything, or else nothing would get done, but not even the weather forecast on Y/n’s tellie predicted what could happen on the short drive home from the grocery store.

The girl gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, getting frustrated with the harsh precipitation and the effect it was having on all the other drivers. All she had wanted was to get home and have a hot cup of tea with her boyfriend. That was all she was asking for.

“This is bollocks. You know some of us have places to be!” The woman slammed her hand down on the horn. Who had taught these people to drive? Mad Max?

Each car was either speeding and weaving around the other vehicles or they were sitting completely still, nearly parked in the middle of the street. This was not a go cart rink nor a parking lot. And y/n was not having it. It was just a little storm, not the apocalypse. So, she decided to become one with the other speed demons, stepping on the gas pedal way harder than she could recall ever doing.

Her new driving technique seemed to be working just great, as she made excellent progress, getting closer and closer to the warmth of her home. She ignored all the horns that were being honked at her, she just needed to see Roger. Well, to be honest she needed to see anything.

The speed of her driving, mixed with the weather and the rubbish windshield wipers on her tiny but mighty car allowed her to see very little. As soon as the rubber wipers would get rid of the water buildup, more would pile on. It was like a waterfall was running down her windshield.

Y/n began to get distracted by sensory overload. The honking, the rain that sounded like bullets on the metal top of her car, the straining of her eyes, and all the other cars racing through, she couldn’t quite see the traffic light in front of her.

The storm had reached its peak and the wind was roaring. The shit wipers that helped her see just a tiny bit had given up the battle against mother nature and stopped completely, so the girl was sitting at this traffic light, heart pounding from the inability to see anything.

Just one stretch away from reaching her shared flat with her boyfriend snuggly inside, she had actually believed she was two blocks away.

Everything she was doing was going off of instinct. She knew the streets of London like the back of her hand but when you don’t even know where you are and are blinded by harsh lights and noises, you get a bit disoriented. So, believing she was at the light two blocks away, instead of just one, she counted down the exact seconds for how long that specific light took to turn green and when she got to one, she floored it. Pedal to the metal.

What she thought was just a flash of lightning from the storm hit her, she sighed the tiniest bit of relief, from believing she had made it across the proper street, but that went away and turned to a gasp that burned her lungs as she heard the loudest and longest honk she had heard all evening, and suddenly, her vehicle was flipped on its side 4 times, hurling the girl and the car into somebody’s front yard.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion, yet in super speed at the same time. She felt an unbearable pain in her right side and then her head smashed into her driver side window, her skull bouncing back and then falling forward to hit her steering wheel. Hard.

Screaming and honking ensued. A man wearing a baseball cap rushed out of his double-decker bus, which had taken little to no damage. But he wasn’t worried about his bus, “She came out of nowhere! I-I was just driving forward an-and then she… she-”

He had a look of horror on his face, as well as everyone else in the area. People stopped driving and stepped out of their cars, completely frozen at the sight of the wreckage. The owner of the house she had crashed into ran outside as did everyone else living on the street. When an accident happens in a neighborhood in the city of London, everyone was a rubbernecker.

“What are we all doing staring?! One of you, call a bloody ambulance!” Someone from a car shouted.

Many of the homeowners ran inside to dial 999, but some were still frozen in fear. That saying about how you can’t take your eyes off of a car wreck? It was proving itself to be true.

---

Roger had been asleep when the crash had happened, but the sound of a car tumbling, screaming, and then the blaring sirens of an ambulance in his neighborhood surely woke him up.

As everyone had been already doing, Roger joined in on the bandwagon and stood on the front porch of his and his girlfriend’s flat, to stay out of the rain.

He couldn’t quite make out what the car or the driver had gone through since the ambulance was blocking his view of anything but judging from the faces of people who were watching from the street and the fact that the police had the whole bloody road blocked off, it had to be bad.

He quietly watched with a curious eye as the unidentifiable person was hiked up into the ambulance on a gurney, they had a breathing mask over the person’s face. Thoughts of his girlfriend crossed his mind, as a couple hours had gone by since she had left for the store, but since the road was blocked off, she probably had to take some back roads and would be there any minute. He wouldn’t want her to have to see something like this anyways, it was petrifying.

The EMTs made quick work of slamming the truck doors after hopping inside, and the vehicle was speeding away in no time towards the nearest hospital.

Now Roger could kind of make out the damage that had been done to the car. It was flipped over, resting completely upside down. And… though he certainly didn’t have anything close to the best eyesight ever… he knew that car. And when he saw how bashed in the drivers side door was and the fact that the bloody thing was UPSIDE DOWN, his heart sank. Lower than humanly possible. His heart was probably 6 feet under.

No shoes, no socks, no shirt, only boxers on, Roger ran from his front porch, down the street, in the pouring rain, hoping, just hoping that somehow his eyes had been mistaken.

They weren’t. The license plate was that of his girlfriend of 4 years, Y/n.

Roger liked to keep up appearances. He liked to be known in the media as a rough, grungy, don’t take him home to mama kind of guy, but he didn’t care. He physically and mentally couldn’t care. He looked at all the damage to the car and fell to his knees, letting out a choked sob. How could she bounce back from this? How could she even survive this?

He was knelt down right next to the upside down driver side of the car, his hands reaching inside, shakily to grab at the Polaroid of the two of them that he knew was tucked inside the sun visor. One look, and he was putty. She was in god knows what physical condition on her way to probably ICU, by the looks of the car, and all he could do was look at this photograph and cry.

“Sir, we’re gonna need for you to stand up and step awa-” A police officer tapped on his shoulder but immediately had his hand swatted away by the blond on the ground.

“I’ll bloody hell get up and step away when I want,” Roger gritted his teeth, not looking at the officer, probably not even realizing it was an officer because all he could do was look back and forth between the picture and the car.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you one more time, nicely. We need to take this car to the pound.”

The officer was then met with a red face, red eyed Roger, photo in hand, “Do you see this? Do you know who that is? That’s my girlfriend and this is her car,” he gestured at the girl in the photo and then to the hunk of metal that was once called a car, “and I live FOUR doors down and I didn’t find out about this until just now.”

The police officer may have been taller than Roger, but in that moment, Roger was about as unstable and explosive as an atom bomb. To be quite honest, the large policeman was a bit intimidated by him, understandably so, “I-I’m sorry, sir-”

“Just tell me where they’ve taken her,” Roger tried to tough it out and stop crying but it was no use, “Which hospital?”

The now, very sorry man, barely had time to utter the name of the hospital to the sobbing mess before Roger rushed back to his flat, put on a pair of pants and a coat, slipped on a pair of shoes and lunged his way into his car, driving like a mad man to get to the hospital.

---

“Hello? Miss? Can you hear me?”

“She’s got lacerations on her head and torso, appears to be concussed, doctor.”

“Some sort of leg fracture, I can’t be sure.”

“Dark bruising on her head, can we get a little help here? I need a monitor, can someone please get me a heart monitor?”

All of these voices danced in and out of Y/n’s head, not quite sure if they were coming from just one person, or twenty.

She had no idea where she was, all she knew was that her head felt funny and her whole body stung and ached. She could just barely open her left eye as the other was nearly swollen completely shut.

“Doctor, she’s awake,” A nurse pointed out, frantically. Everything seemed frantic, “Miss, do you know your name or where you are?”

Y/n couldn’t speak. Her throat was dry and hoarse and she really didn’t know where she was or what had happened. She was in too much shock, physically, and overloaded, mentally to speak. All she could do was try to look around with her one good eye, but everything was so bright and blurry.

“We’re going to get you into a room for a physical examination before we take you back for surgery, alright?”

Surgery? Had Y/n heard this woman correctly? Her ears may have been ringing but she knew she heard the word surgery and Y/n certainly didn’t need surgery. She fought the pain with everything she could and tried to sit up, “No… no…” Only to be pushed down by the same nurse.

“Ma’am, your injuries are intense, please don’t move, it’ll only make things worse. Let us get you to a room.”

Y/n felt the sharpest of pains in her head from her little fit, realizing that the nurse was right, she gave in and laid back down, an electric shock feeling going from her right shoulder, down to her toes, “Fucking hell,” she mumbled in her hoarse voice.

The girl did her best to stay awake, although the sweet embrace of sleep was calling to her constantly.

---

Roger arrived at the hospital looking like a hot mess. Sprinting up to the front desk, with very little breath left from running there from his car, which conveniently was parked at the back of the lot, due to a full parking deck. “I need to see my girlfriend,” he panted out, “car accident, just about 20 minutes ago.”

The receptionist looked at him a bit funny, seeing as he was soaking wet, wearing pajama pants, a leather jacket with no shirt underneath, and two completely different shoes, but searched the database anyways, “Name?”

“H-her name is Y/n L/n. Look, it’s very recent, she probably was just rushed through here-” He got cut off, making him more agitated, if that was even possible.

“She is in an isolated room right now being examined, you can sit in the waiting room until she can have visitors.”

Roger didn’t like that answer. He didn’t like it one bit. You could practically see the gears in his brain turning and then lighting on fire. His ocean blue eyes rolled at the woman, “And when exactly would that be?”

“Sir, I don’t have that information yet, but I will let you know as soon as I do,” She tried to reason with him. It’s not like he’s the first loved one to freak out, she dealt with it all the time, but something told her that this might just be a new experience for her.

---

“Motherfucker!” Y/n screamed out as she was being poked and prodded by the doctor. He was only doing his job, finding out what exactly was going on inside her body. It seemed her head and her right arm had taken the hardest blows.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” He whispered as he grabbed her right arm and tried to bend it at the elbow, which only resulted in another yelp of pain, “Could you bend it on your own?”

She was definitely fully conscious now, only because of the painful, necessary, yet painful testing she was going through, “If you couldn’t bend it for me, what makes you think I can do it on my own?” She mumbled, her face scrunched up from all the pain.

The doctor chuckled at her mental vigor, “You may be concussed but you’ve got a lot of fight in you,” He then turned to a nurse, “I’m thinking we might need to do multiple x-rays.”

---

“Okay but could you at least go and check?” Roger asked the receptionist for probably the 50th time, and to say it was getting on her nerves would be putting it lightly.

She got up from her swivel chair and waved the blond man off, dismissively and clearly irritated, and walked into some hidden room, leaving Roger to sit down with his own thoughts in the waiting area.

His anger had been fueling all of this but it hadn’t hit him since his breakdown at the crash site that he was, in fact, sitting in a hospital, waiting to find out if his girlfriend was even alive. Never in a million years would he think that this could happen, and he was pretty sure that he wasn’t alone on that thought. Nobody ever thinks that something so traumatic could happen to you or someone you care about but once it does happen… it gets real.

Roger had been thinking about everything and nothing at the same time for some time now, when the woman he was about to go into fist to fist combat with returned with a hand on his shoulder, “Room 317. I’ve been informed to warn you, though, it’s not great. But she is okay.”

His head shot up and without even thinking, or thanking the woman for that matter, he walked to the elevator. He pressed the button to go up with a blank expression on his face.

What was he supposed to feel? Sure, she’s alive, but what had “it’s not great” meant? Should he feel happy? Relieved? Or devastated?

Much like the accident itself, everything was in slow motion for him. The elevator just couldn’t move fast enough. But once it had and the doors opened, he was on a mission. Roger didn’t care if she had lost all her limbs, he had to see her. He had finally found someone he could call the love of his life and she was laying in a hospital bed alone, and he would not be having any of that.

“314,” He counted out loud, heart racing as he walked, “315, 316…” He slowed down, seeing the door was already open, just cracked slightly. His nerves were making him shake uncontrollably but he grabbed the Polaroid from the car, out of his pocket and gripped it tight, in hopes that it would give him some sort of ungodly strength, “317.”

Roger grasped the door knob and knocked on the door with the other, except there was no point to the knock, seeing as he was already entering. “Y/n?” He whispered quietly.

He heard sort of a moan in return that made his knees buckle, it wasn’t the type of moan he liked to hear from her, quite the opposite. A moan of pain that he had never heard come from her in his entire 4 years of knowing the girl.

Roger slowly walked into the room, as not to scare his girlfriend, but in reality, he was probably trying not to scare himself from whatever he was going to find behind that curtain. That fucking curtain. He pulled it back slowly, finding Y/n with bruises all over, some minor cuts on her body, but one large one on her forehead, her right eye was swollen to hell, and the doctors had put her right arm in a temporary soft cast and a sling. Hair frizzy and scattered across the pillow, but she still looked like herself. Roger let out a sigh of relief. That breath had probably been held up inside of him from the moment he was in the elevator.

“Rog?” Her voice was raspy and quiet but he heard her and rushed to her side.

“Yes, love? Are you okay? Do you need anything? A pillow? Some water-” His frantic nature was justifiable, considering the night they had both had, but she seemed to have another concern.

Y/n tilted her head to the side to look at him, still only able to see with her left eye, “I think the ice cream from the store will have melted by the time we get home.”

Roger let out a relieved chuckle, “We can always get more ice cream, my sweet. All I care about is that you’re okay.” He didn’t want to move her arm to touch her so he leaned down and kissed her hand, which made her frown a tad.

“You can touch me, Rog, I’m not made of paper,” A twinge of sadness could be heard in her voice, “plus they’ve given me some A grade drugs so I feel a bit better.” She tried to giggle but ended up coughing in the end.

Albeit nervous, he grabbed her left hand and kissed her knuckles, then various kisses up her unbroken arm, and lastly he landed a kiss straight on her lips. A chaste kiss, but a sweet one, nonetheless, “I thought I was going to lose you,” he hovered above her lips, taking in the features of her face, the right side was far more beaten up than the left, but he could still see her underneath it all. For better or for worse, right? Or was that only with marriage? Not that he didn’t see it in their future, but in a hospital room after a car crash wasn’t exactly the romantic proposal he imagined.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a double-decker bus to kill me off, Taylor.”

They both laughed a much, much needed laugh. “I love you, you know that?” He had been brushing all of her y/h/c locks to the side, making her look more like herself and less like someone who had been struck by lightning.

Y/n hummed in response and leaned into his hand, “How on earth are we going to deal with this shit?” She would have gestured down to her broken body if she could’ve but instead she just looked downwards at herself.

He shushed her and continued petting her hair, lovingly, “Don’t worry about that, love, we’ll manage, I promise,” He was acting stronger than before but he couldn’t help it if a tear or two fell from his eyes, “I’m going to take care of you, okay? We’ll get a new car, I’ll help you bathe, it’ll be fine, you just need to focus on feeling better and healing.”

The girl nodded groggily and smiled faintly, “Okay. But make sure you get some more ice cream, it was quite expensive.”

He realized the drugs were kicking in and making her sleepy so he just smiled to himself and snuggled into her neck, “I’ll get you all the ice cream you want.”

He stayed like that for a while, by her side, letting her rest, but all that aside, once she was better, he was never going to let her live this drugged up ice cream fiasco down.

[rendezvousroger]

Serendipity (Part 3)

Ben Hardy x Reader (ft. Harry Styles)

Part 1 - Part 2

Summary: The reader is a famous actress who just got out of a relationship with no other than Harry Styles. She thinks she is done with love until she meets a special blonde man who changes her mind.

A/N: I’m enjoying writing this so so so much. If you would like to be tagged, let me know. I’ll check for grammar errors tomorrow! 

“Have you met the cast before?” Rami asked as you were getting closer to his table.

“Not really.” You replied, not wanting to bring up your encounter with Ben.

“They are lovely, beautiful people,” he smiled, “you will like them.”

Once you finally got to the table, all eyes turned to look at you. You were pretty used to being the center of the attention since that’s the price to pay when you are a well-known celebrity, but knowing that one of the people staring at you was the attractive blonde-haired man you’d met a few hours ago, made you get a little nervous.

“I brought a new friend here.” Rami said to everyone and smiled at you.

“Hey everyone.” You waved, making sure to stare a little longer at Ben.

“I’m going to be the first one to break the ice here,” the brunette man who was laughing with Ben a few minutes ago said, “but I’m a huge fan of you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, thank you!” You thanked him.

“I’m Joe Mazzello by the way.” He said and held his hand out to you.

“Nice to meet you Joe.” You shook his hand.

“I think everyone here is a fan of you, you’re just really amazing!” The blonde girl said sweetly at you as everyone else nodded.

“You guys are making me blush!” you laughed, “All of you were amazing on the movie, I seriously loved it.”

“Do you know who I played?” The tallest man from the table asked.

“Here’s a clue,” Joe said to you, “the one with the big hair.”

“Brian May of course!” You replied, making them laugh.

“That’s correct! I’m Gwilym Lee, nice to meet you Y/N.” The tall one greeted you.

You looked over at Ben who hadn’t said a word since Rami brought you to the table. He wouldn’t keep his eyes off you but once he saw you staring at him he instantly looked down as he took a sip from his drink.

“So what do you think of Queen?” Rami asked.

“I love them,” you said, “I’ve been listening to them ever since I was little.”

“And who’s your favorite member?” Joe joined the conversation.

You noticed Ben’s gaze come back to look at you, his attention completely focused on what you were going to say.

“I think they’re all amazing,” you said as you thought carefully of your next words, “but it’s probably Roger Taylor.”

Ben bit his lips as soon as he heard your last words and you could see his cheeks turn a rosy color. 

“That’s who our Benny played!” Gwilym cheered at Ben who just smiled shyly.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t say Freddie Mercury.” Rami shook his head in a playful way.

“He takes it personal now that he played him.” Lucy whispered at you.

You stayed talking with Lucy and Rami for a few minutes, they told you all about their experience filming the movie and about their relationship and you told them about your latest movie. 

You had known Rami from a few years ago when you met him at the Golden Globes and you were happy to see him succeed.

As much as you were enjoying talking to them, you couldn’t help but feel a little bothered by the fact that Ben hadn’t said a word to you. He kept glancing at you every now and then but remained talking to Joe and Gwilym.

It wasn’t until you saw Joe opening another bottle of champagne that you decided to excuse yourself from Rami and Lucy and head over to where Ben was, so you could get a glass of champagne.

“Mind if I join you?” You said to Joe, Gwilym and Ben.

“It’s our pleasure!” Gwilym said as you stepped between him and Ben.

“I just really want a glass of champagne.” You said, avoiding to look at Ben.

Joe immediately grabbed a glass and poured you a drink which you gladly took. 

You felt Ben’s eyes on you as he poured himself a drink as well.

“A toast to the ‘Best Actress’” That’s when he finally spoke.

You stared at him as he grinned at you, heat rushing to your cheeks.

The rest of the boys raised their glasses for you and you joined them.

“Thank you Roger Taylor.” You said to him.

Ben smiled at your words and once again, it felt as if there was no one else in the room but the two of you.

“Did you forget my name?” He asked, his piercing green eyes staring deeply at you.

“Oh my god,” You pretended to be worried as if you were deep in thought trying to remember his name, “maybe I did?”

“It’s alright, I didn’t expect you to rememb-“

“Ben Hardy.” You cut him off.

Now it was your turn to grin at him.

“You remembered.” He whispered.

“Of course I did.” You nodded.

“Wait a minute,” Joe’s voice snapped you out from the moment with Ben, “you two have already met?”

You and Ben exchanged looks and laughed, making Joe raise an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah we did.” Ben nodded.

“We met before the awards started, it was kind of funny actually.” You said and smiled at him.

Joe glanced at the two of you in confusion before sitting down next to Gwilym, leaving you and Ben alone.

You turned to look at him and noticed he was already staring at you. As soon as he met your eyes, he looked down at the floor nervously. You thought it was cute how he got shy around you.

“So do you like playing the drums?” You broke the silence.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he nodded, “I’m not that good at it, but I enjoy it.”

“I would love to learn to play the drums.” 

“I could teach you someday.” He said and instantly froze.

You smiled sweetly at him and felt your cheeks heat up once again.

“That would be great.”

“Do you play any instruments?” He cleared his throat and asked.

“Not really.” 

“Really?” He asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “why is that such a surprise?”

“I don’t know, I figured you did because your boyfriend is a musician.” Ben said as he took a sip of his drink.

Your boyfriend. Of course. Everyone pretty much knew about Harry, but not everyone knew you weren’t dating anymore. 

“Yeah he’s not my boyfriend anymore.” You took a deep breath, feeling nervous for stating it aloud for the first time.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled, “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright, not everyone knows about this.” You said.

Ben remained silent for a few seconds, not really knowing what to say. You felt as if your heart would beat out of your chest at any second. You thought about how it’s time for the world to know you’re not dating Harry, but a part of you wasn’t ready for it.

“If it helps, I know what you’re going through.” Ben broke the silence.

You raised an eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say more.

“I broke up with my ex about a year and a half ago.” He said as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You said.

“I’m alright now,” he said, “but it was rough back then, we had dated for 9 years.”

You almost spit out your drink. 9 years was a lifetime in a relationship. You and Harry had dated for 4 years and when you broke up, you felt like it was the end of the world for you.

“That’s a lot!” You exclaimed.

“I know,” Ben laughed at your surprised face, “but the last years weren’t so good.”

You were about to say something to Ben until Rami came up to you.

“Y/N my dear,” he was pretty drunk already, “we are heading over to Joe’s place after this. Join us!”

“Are you sure?” You asked him.

Going to Joe’s place would surely give you more time with Ben, and it would also help your mind get distracted from Harry’s message. 

“Of course you’re invited.” Ben said as he looked directly into your eyes, making you smile.

“Remember we are the king and queen of the night,” Rami said, “we have to celebrate!”

After all, a little party never hurt nobody. Right?

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

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PART 4

[brittabuzzkillperry]

[lovelymalekk]

happy birthday rami! 💕💕

you amaze me everyday. keep being the crackhead you are. I am so happy to be a part of this fan base. Also lmk when the date for our wedding is thx