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melisa-may-taylor72 · 3 years

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QUEEN BEFORE QUEEN

THE 1960s RECORDINGS

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PART 4:

THE OPPOSITION

JOHN DEACON WAS THE QUIETEST MEMBER OF A MIDLAND-BASED FIVE-PIECE WHOSE GREATEST AMBITION WAS TO PLAY ANOTHER GIG.

Initial research John S. Stuart. Additional research and text: Andy Davis.

John Deacon was the fourth and final member to join Queen. He became part of that regal household 25 years ago this month, enrolling as the band’s permanent bassist in February 1971. His acceptance marked the culmination of a six-year ‘career’ in music, much of which he spent in an amateur, Leicestershire covers band called the Opposition.

From 1965 until 1969, Deacon and his schoolmates ploughed a humble, local furrow in and around their Midlands hometown, reflecting the decade’s mercurial moodswing with a series of names, images and styles of music. The most remarkable fact about the Opposition was just how unremarkable the group actually was.

Collectively, they were an unambitious crew: undertaking precisely no trips down to London to woo A&R men; winning only one notable support slot for the army of chart bands who visited Leicester in the ‘60s (opening for Reperata & the Delrons in Melton Mowbray in 1968); and managing even to miss out on the option of sending a demo tape to any of the nation’s record labels. The band’s saving grace is its solé recorded legacy: a three-track acetate — although even this was done for purely private consumption, and has rarely been aired outside the confines of their inner circle.

It is perhaps indicative of the Opposition’s modest outlook that their most promising bid for stardom, a beat contest, was called off before they had the chance to play in the finals. For John Deacon and friends, it seems, merely being in a band was reward enough.

Considering of all of this, it’s easy to imagine the response to the following story, related in the ‘60s to one of the Opposition’s guitarists, Ronald Chester:...[ ]

...[ ] “There was a teacher who worked at Beauchamp School, which John attended, who told fortunes. They went to see her one Saturday and were told, ‘John Deacon is going to be world famous and very, very rich. Of course, they all fell about laughing. She was determined that this was going to happen. But they all thought it was a joke."

What particularly amused Deacon’s colleagues was the unlikeliness of this scenario, given the plain facts of his demeanour. John was born in Leicester in 1951, the product of affluent, middle-class, middle England. As a youngster, he was known to his friends as ‘Deaks’ and grew up to be quiet and reserved, what Mark Hodkinson referred to in ‘Queen — ‘The Early Years’ as “a ghost of a boy".

“He is basically shy,” confirms Richard Young, the Opposition’s first guitarist/vocalist, and later keyboardist. “I suppose he was quieter than the rest of us — but he was fairly static with Queen if you look at him on stage.”

Ron Chester agrees: “John was quiet by nature. His sister, Julie, was the same. Once he got going, though, he wasn’t any different from anybody else. But on first approach, you really had to coax him out of his shell. We’d have to pick him up. He couldn’t walk down the road to meet us."

CONFIDENT

Despite any lack of personal dynamics, Deacon was a capable teenager: “He was very confident," recalls another of the band’s guitarists, David Williams. “But in a laidback sort of way. He didn’t have a problem with anything. ‘Yeah, I can do that’, he’d say. We used to call him ‘Easy Deacon’, not because of any sexual preferences, but because he’d say something was easy without it sounding big-headed. I remember saying to him once, I’m going to have to knock off the gigs a bit to revise for my ‘A’ levels. What about you?’ ‘No’, he said, ‘I don’t need to. I’ve never failed an exam yet, and I’ve never revised for one’. Ultimately, he was just confident, with a phenomenally logical mind. If he couldn’t remember something, he could work it out. And, of course, he got stunning results.”

John’s earliest interest was electronics, which he studied into adulthood. He also went fishing, trainspotting even, with his father. Then music took over. After dispensing with a ‘Tommy Steele’ toy guitar, John used the proceeds from his paper round to buy his first proper instrument, an acoustic, when he was about twelve. An early musical collaborator was a school mate called Roger Ogden, who like Roger Taylor down in Cornwall, was nicknamed ‘Splodge’. But his best friend was the Opposition’s future drummer, Nigel Bullen.

“I’d first got to know John at Langmore Junior School in Oadby, just outside Leicester, in either 1957 or 1958,’' recalls Nigel. “We were both the quiet ones. We started playing music together at Gartree High School, when we were about thirteen. We were inspired by the Beatles — they made everybody want to be in a group. John was originally going to be the band’s electrician, as he called it. He used to build his own radios, before we had any amps, and he fathomed a way of plugging his guitar into his reel-to-reel tape recorder. He was always the electrical boffin."

The prime mover in the formation of the group was another Oadby boy they met on nearby Uplands Park, Richard Young. “Richard was at boarding school," recalls Nigel Bullen. “He was always the kid with the expensive bike. He played guitar, and what’s more had a proper electric, with an amplifier. He instigated getting the band together. Initially, we rehearsed in my garage, and then anywhere we could. John played rhythm to begin with. He was a chord man, the John Lennon of the group, if you like."

SWITCH

Despite his later switch to the bass, Deacon’s technique on the guitar also developed, as Dave Williams reveals: “Later on, I remember he could play ‘Classical Gas’ on an acoustic, which was a finger-picking execise and no mean feat. It’s a bit like ‘McArthur Park’, a fantastic piece of music, and when I heard it, I thought, ‘Bloody hell. You dark horse!’ Because he never showed off."

The Opposition’s first bassist was another school friend of John’s called Clive Castledine. In fact, the group made its debut at a party at Castledine’s ouse on 25th September, 1965 (their first public performance took place the...[ ]

...[ ] following month at Gartree’s school hall). Clive looked good and appreciated the kudos of being in a group, but he wasn’t up to even the Opposition’s schoolboy standards. “I was the least proficient, to put it mildly,” he admitted to Mark Hodkinson.“His enthusiasm was 100%,” adds Richard Young, “but his actual playing ability was null, so we had a meeting and got rid of him.” Deacon took over, initially playing on his regular guitar, using the bottom strings. “John was good,” Young continues. “It was no problem for him to switch to bass. He hit the right notes at the beginning of the bar, and we were a better band for it. Whereas Clive made us sound woolly, as anyone who just plonked away on any old note would, John was solid.”

DIARY

Young turned out to be the Opposition’s archivist, keeping a diary of each gig played, the equipment used, and the amounts of money earned (as indeed did John Deacon). Richard’s diary documented the day Deacon — now, of course, bassist in one of the world’s most famous groups — first picked up his chosen instrument. “In an entry for 2nd April, 1966,” says Young, “it reads, ‘We threw Clive out on the Saturday afternoon. Had a practice in Deaks’ kitchen, and Deaks went on bass. Played much better.’ John didn’t have a bass, so we went down to Cox’s music shop in King Street in Leicester, and bought him an EKO bass for £60. I paid for it, but I think he paid me back eventually.”

“John’s bass style with the Opposition was the same as with Queen,” reckons Nigel Bullen. “He never used to play with a plectrum, which was unusual, but with his fingers, which meant that his right hand is drooped over the top of the guitar. Also, he plays in an upward fashion, which I’d never seen before, certainly when we were in Leicester. Over the years, I’ve watched many bass players adopt that style. I’d say he has been copied a lot. I’ve mentioned this to him, but he doesn’t agree.”

Clive Castledine wasn’t the last member of the band to be dismissed. “The vocal and lead guitar side of the Opposition was changing all the while,” recalls Nigel. “Myself, John, and Richard Young were always there — as were Dave Williams and Ron Chester later on — but we had a succession of other musicians who I can hardly remember now. There was a guy called Richard Frew in the very early days, and a young lad called Carl, but he didn’t fit in. After we began playing proper gigs, Richard decided he wasn’t happy with his singing and wanted to move onto keyboards, so we brought in Pete Bart (formerly with another local band, the Rapids Rave) as a guitarist and vocalist. He was good, but again, didn’t last long.”

“Bart was a bit of a rocker, while we were all mods,” remarks Dave Williams. “We were impressed by mod bands like the Small Faces and the original Who. Bart seemed to come from a different era altogether.”

“Deaks had the Parka with the fur collar,” remembers Ron Chester. “And short hair, a crew cut. Mirrors on his scooter.” Richard Young agrees: “John was more of a mod than us. But you couldn’t really pigeonhole the band, because our music went right across the board”.

”Buying Deacon his bass was no one-off, and Richard Young is remembered as the group’s benefactor. Being older than the others, he had a steady job working for his father’s electronics company in Leicester, which brought him a regular, and by all accounts, generous wage. He rarely thought twice before splashing out on equipment for the other members.

RECEIPTS

“Richard bought me a P.A.,” recalls David Williams. “But he didn’t ask, he used to think that the group needed it. He’d buy it and then say, ‘You owe me this’. My mum used to get really annoyed. She’d was at that going- through-my-pockets stage, probably looking for contraceptives. She once found a receipt from Moore and Stanworth’s, a local music shop. It was for a Beyer microphone, which cost about £30. I was still at school, getting pocket money, and my mum said, ‘What on earth is this?!’ Receipts on the Sunday dinner table, that sort of thing. It was good, though. The group needed it.”

“I was dead serious about the band,” claims Young, who switched to organ with the arrival of Williams in July 1966. “Perhaps more so than anybody else. I could see it going nowhere if money wasn’t pumped into it.”

“Dick Young was an accomplished organ player,” adds Dave, “and he improved the group quite a lot. He always had plenty of dosh, and a car. But he was totally mad, a crazy bloke. He’d come round with an organ one week, then next week, he’d have a better one. He ended up with a Farfisa, with one keyboard on it, then one with two keyboards — one above the other. Then he had a Hammond, an L 100. which was really heavy. Then he had a ‘B’ series one. The ‘L’ was top-of-the-range and he sawed it in half to make it easier to carry!”

Dave Williams helped to improve the group as well. “He was at school with us,” says Nigel Bullen, “but in another band, who we always looked up to.” That band was the Leeds-based Outer Limits (who went on to issue several singles — without Dave — in the late ‘60s). “I joined the Opposition after they asked me to watch them and tell them what I thought,” recounts Dave. “The Outer Limits were older lads, all mods, but I was after something a bit more easy going, and the Opposition were my own age. They were okay, but I first saw them at John’s house, when they were still practising in bedrooms, and they were absolutely awful. I said, ‘Have you thought of tuning up?’ They said they had. But it sounded like they were playing in different keys — totally horrendous. It was so funny. They were so conscientious, they’d all learned their bits, but hadn't tuned up to each other. That was my first tip.”

“Our first proper gig was supporting a local band, the Rapids Rave, at Enderby Coop Hall,” recalls Nigel Bullen. “They used to play at this village hall every week. and then we ended up doing it every week for quite some time.” Richard’s diary records the Opposition’s debut taking place on 4th December 1965, and that the band’s fee was £2. Thereafter, they began to offer their Services in the local ‘Oadby & Wigston Advertiser’, which led to bookings in youth clubs and village halls in local hot-spots like Kibworth, Houghton-on- the-Hill, Thurlaston and Great Glen.

SCHOOL WORK

By spring 1966, the Opposition were playing every weekend, school work permitting. The peaks and troughs of their career are illustrated by the following memorable gigs: one at St. George’s Ballroom, Hinckley, on 23rd June 1967, when just two people turned up and the band went home after a couple of numbers; and a September appearance in a series of shows at U.S. Airforce Bases in the Midlands, at which they were required to play for four-and-half hours with just two twenty-minute breaks. It was nothing if not diverse.

“It didn’t seem to matter what you played,” says Dave. “People would clap simply because you were making music. They never said, ‘Do you do Motown, or soul stuff?’ ” The band’s repertoire initially consisted of chart sounds and the poppier end of the R&B spectrum. “Although we were inspired by the Beatles, we never did any of their songs,” claims Nigel. “But we covered the Kinks, the Yardbirds, and things like Them’s ‘Gloria’, and the Zombies’ ‘She’s Not There’.

They also altered their name slightly to the New Opposition, which they unveiled at the Enderby Coop Hall. “The name-change was decided overnight, when John moved from rhythm to bass guitar,” recounts Richard, whose diary records the date of the transition as 29th April 1966. Interestingly, though, it makes no mention of another local group also called the Opposition, long thought to have been the reason for Deacon’s crew adopting the ‘New’. The change did act as an impetus for further development, however, instigated by Dave Williams, who soon took over as the group’s lead vocalist.

“When I joined they were doing all Beach Boys stuff,” he recalls, “and I think I may have brought in a little credibility. In the Outer Limits, I’d been playing John Mayall, the Yardbirds, that sort of thing, plus that group was into really good soul like the Impressions, and fantastic vocal bands from the States. So I had a broad musical knowledge by then, whereas the Opposition had been a bit poppy.” Appropriately, the words “Tamla” and “Soul” were now added to the Opposition’s ads and calling cards.

Towards the end of 1966, the New Opposition were enhanced further by the arrival of Ron Chester, who’d previously played with Dave Williams in the Outer Limits, as well as in an earlier band, the Deerstalkers. “Ron Chester was a bit eccentric,” claims Richard Young. “He never used to go anywhere without his deerstalker. He was a really good guitarist (“stunning”, adds Dave Williams). We were probably at our best when Ron was in the band.”

On 23rd October 1966, the New Opposition entered the local Midland Beat Contest. They won their heat, landing themselves a place in the semifinals on 29th January 1967. They won this, too, and steeled themselves for the finals, which were due to be held on 3rd March 1967, when they were to be pitched against...[ ]

...[ ] an act called Keny. The stars of the show would have been the nearest the Opposition came to having a rival: an outfit called Legay. (A year later, incidentally, this band issued a now collectable single, “No One” (Fontana TF 904,£80J.) Unfortunately, for all concerned, however, the contest never took place. “That was a fiasco,'' laughs Ron. “Somehow we won those heats, but in fact, I don’t remember seeing anybody else playing. I don’t know whether we won by default or not. After that, they pulled the plug on the competition — probably because they knew we’d be playing again!”.

CASINO

“The heats took place in a club in Leicester called the Casino, which was the place to play,” adds Nigel. “The guy who ran the competition was an agent for the club. His company was called Penguin (or P.S) Promotions and he walked like a penguin too, with his feet sticking out. The final was going to be held in the De Montford Hall, which is still the main venue in Leicester. We thought, ‘Crumbs, this is it, perhaps we might make the big time.’ But the guy did a runner with all the money — people had to pay to come to the heats. So the final was called off.”

David Williams wasn’t too fussed, as he scored another prize that night: “I remember taking a girl back to Dick’s car on the strength of us winning our heat. I said, ‘Can I borrow your keys, Dick? He said, ‘What for? You can’t drive!’ “

Were the New Opposition — or the Opposition, as they dropped the ‘New’ again in early 1967 — left in limbo by the cancellation of the Beat Contest? Having achieved the most public recognition of their talents so far, were they disappointed with the loss of the chance to prove themselves further?

“No. It was almost insignificant,” reckons Ron. “We didn’t really look upon it as a stairway to stardom.” And what would John Deacon have thought? “Nothing really,” suggests Chester. “ ‘It’s cancelled. What are we doing next, then?’ That would have been about the depth of it. We were a village band, all gathering at the church hall to try and improve our abilities. The financial aspect of it wasn’t in the forefront of our minds. We were more concerned with our music, and if we could get a booking doing it as well, to pay off some of the equipment, then that was a real bonus. Three bookings a week was enough for us while we were working or still at school.” Despite any dodgy dealings, history does have the Penguin promoter to thank for the only professionally-taken photograph of the Opposition. (“We didn’t go much on photos in the band,” remembers Dave Williams.) On Tuesday, 31st January 1967, two days after winning the semi-finals, the ‘Leicester Mercury’ dispatched a staff photographer over to Richard Young’s parents’ house in Oadby. Here, the group lined-up in the front room, looking more like refugees from 1964, rather than 1967. The only indications of the actual date are perhaps Ron Chester’s deerstalker hat and the ridiculous length of David Williams’ shirt collars — seven inches, no less, from neck to nipple.

“Dave was very extrovert,” recalls Nigel. “But we all had those silk shirts with the great long collars made by our mums and grandmas for our stage gear.” Dave admits: “Our clothes were all a bit mixed up. We had silk shirts with tweed jackets — which were fashionable for a while — and bell-bottoms. Musically, we were pretty good, better than...[ ]

...[ ] most of the local bands around that time, but we had this squeaky-clean, schoolboy image which let us down. I used to get frustrated when we were billed with other bands, and they’d all play with so many wrong chords but had a better image and still the punters applauded. Were they stupid? We were still at school — we didn’t leave until we were eighteen — and weren’t allowed to grow our hair long”.

“After the mod thing,” he continues, “long hair became really important. Bands were growing their hair right down their backs. I remember getting to one gig with John and Nigel a year or so later, and the other group were already on. And when they saw us they turned round and said, ‘Look! They’ve got no hair!’. We were quite upset about that”.

“We also went through the flower-power look,” Dave adds. “And then we got into those little jumpers without any sleeves that Paul McCartney used to wear, the ones so small that half your stomach showed. And then it was grandad shirts without the collars and flares.” Ron Chester: “The flowery shirts and flared trousers were everywhere. We looked like a right shower of poofters. But so did everybody else. You stood out if you didn’t wear them.”

1967 also heralded the arrival of an additional attraction to the Opposition’s stage show: two go-go dancers. At least, it did if the existing literature on the subject is to be believed. “I vaguely remember it,” admits Richard, “but speaking to Nig, neither of us can recal who those dancers were”.

Dave Williams throws some light on the subject: “They were the jet-set girls of the sixth form, they came from the big houses. They came to a couple of gigs and just started dancing. Somebody who booked us for the following week actually advertised us ‘with go-go girls’. But they were never really part of the show.”

ART

On 16th March, 1968 for a gig at Gartree School, the Opposition changed their name once again. “We called ourselves Art,” reveals Nigel, “because Dave was arty, that is, he was training as an artist. It was as simple as that.” Dave agrees: “It was my idea, because I’d been doing art at school.” Nigel Bullen was aware of another band using that name around the same time (the pre-Spooky Tooth outfit), but assuming them to be American, reckoned they’d be no confusion. As the Leicester-based Art never made it to London, there wasn’t.

Despite wording like “A time to touch and feel, to taste and experience, to hear and understand” appearing on the group’s tickets, Richard maintains that Art was “just the same band” as before. “Nothing changed."

“It was mutton dressed up as lamb, really,” admits Ron Chester. “We thought if we were called something different, people might come because they were curious. But it didn’t make a lot of difference. The audiences were captive at the places we played anyway. There was nowhere else to go on a Friday or Saturday night. Everyone used to roll up to see whoever was on, whether they’d heard of them or not.”

1968 was the year psychedelia caught up with many provincial British bands. The Art were no different, but their acknowledgement of what had been last year’s scene in London was via sight rather than sound. Their light shows seem to have been particularly memorable, as Dave Williams explains: “They were brilliant. We used the projectors from school, filled medicine bottles with water and oil, and projected through them to get this lovely golden, amber backdrop. As the image came out upside down, when we poured in some Fairy Liquid, it dropped straight through in a blob, but came out on the wall like a giant green mushroom cloud. It was amazing, and we had about four of them at the back, projecting over the band.”

John Deacon was party to another of Dave’s exploits. “One day,” recalls Williams, “John and I bought a 100-watt P.A. — which was pretty big for those days — and took it into the lecture theatre full of kids at Beauchamp School (which Deacon had attended since September 1966) for our version of Arthur Brown’s ‘Fire’. We cranked it up as loud as we could, put the light show on, and let off these smoke bombs, which were DDT pellets we’d got from the chemist. All the kids started choking, and then the headmaster walked in...[ ]

...[ ] with a load of governors. You could see the fury in his face. One of the governors asked what we were doing. ‘It’s a demonstration in sound and light, sir,’ I said. ‘We’re using these ink bottles turned upside down, but we’re a bit worried about these DDT pellets so we might knock the smoke on the head, but we’re still experimenting.’ And he fell for it!”.

INFLUENTIAL

Towards the end of 1968, a crop of new groups began to have a profound effect on the maturing schoolboys: Jethro Tull, the Nice, Taste, and in particular Deep Purple. Ron: “We used to buy Purple records and learn to play them. We’d seen John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers and the Downliners’ Sect in Leicester, the Nice, King Crimson. These sort of groups. We learned a lot from just watching them. They were influential. There was always a big discussion in the band as to whether we should do a particular song. Once we’d decided that, there’d be another big discussion as to how we should do it. Everybody had their say.”

Hair, too, had finally began to grow: “John grew his quite long,” recalls Ron. “We all had longish hair, but not shoulder length. We couldn’t look too unkempt for the normal side of life, but we didn’t want to be too prissy for the other end of the spectrum. That was when we started playing universities, and we went a bit heavier. The audiences were far more serious minded about music and more enthusiastic. In some of the youth clubs we’d been playing, the audience would be moving around on roller skates, or peeling bananas all over the place, things like that”.

“We felt we were making an impression towards the last year or two of the band,” he continues. But it went no further: “We were at school, some of us had jobs, and there was an element of common sense overriding what we would have liked to have done. None of us wanted to chuck in our apprenticeships or courses. If we’d had a flair for writing our own material, we might have taken off. But we just played what was popular, nothing different from most other groups. That wasn’t a basis on which to launch ourselves. So it never happened."

“We didn’t think that far ahead,” admits Richard Young. “I just thought of playing and getting repeat bookings. John was probably the least ambitious of all of us, to be honest. I think he felt that there was no mileage in what we were doing, although it was good fun. I think he had the impression that this was a hobby, a phase he was going through.”

Sometime in the Sixties, possibly 1969, but maybe earlier, Art recorded an acetate. Whatever the date, the crucial point is that John Deacon was present at the session. “We weren't asked to do it,” recalls Nigel. “We just wanted to make a disc. I think it cost us about five shillings.”

The venue was Beck’s studio, thirty miles south east of Oadby in Wellingborough, Northamptonshire. “I’d never been in a studio before and it seemed awesome, really,” recalls Dave Williams. “It was a fairly decent-sized room for acoustics. It was all nicely low-lit, with lots of screens. The guy knew what he was doing.” Richard Young was less impressed, though: I’ve been in studios all my life,” he says. “That was just another session. Nothing about it stood out.”

The “guy” Dave remembered was engineer Derek Tomkins, who informed the group that they could record three tracks in the time allotted. “We’d only gone in there with two, ‘Sunny’ and ‘Vehicle’,” says Nigel, “and we didn’t want to waste the opportunity, so Richard knocked up a little instrumental called Transit 3’ — named after our new van, the third one — right there in the studio. Although we were purely a covers band, everybody had a bash at writing, but we never did anything of our own on stage. The exception was Transit 3’, which was incorporated into the set after this session.”

“ Transit 3’ was about about the only track we ever wrote," reckons Richard Young (“Heart Full Of Soul”, as reported in ‘As It Began’, is in fact a Graham Gouldman nurnber). “I initially had the idea, but I can’t really remember anything about it. It’s very basic. It wouldn’t take a great deal of effort to write something like that.” To the objective observer, “Transit 3”, taped in mono but well recorded, is a fairly uncomplicated, organ-led scale- hopper, reminiscent of Booker T & the MGs.

“Everybody was listening to ‘Green Onions’,” confirms Nigel, “so Booker T would have been an influence there.” But for all that, it’s well- played, with memorable lead and twangy, wah-wah guitar passages courtesy of Dave Williams. And, crucially, John Deacon’s thumping bass is plainly audible throughout. On this evidence, the Opposition were clearly a tight, confident outfit. “Transit 3” could have been incorporated into any swinging ‘60s film soundtrack, and no one would have jumped up shouting, “Amateurs”!.

UNFAMILIAR

The other two tracks, covers of Bobby Hebb’s ‘Sunny' and the more obscure, soul- tinged ‘Vehicle’ (later a hit for the Ides of March), featured a vocalist, but an unfamiliar one: another of the Opposition’s fleeting frontmen. “We had a singer for a while called Alan Brown,” recalls Nigel. “He came and went fairly quickly. He was good, really good. Too good for us, I think. That wasn’t him saying that. We just knew it.”

On both songs, Brown is in deep, soulful voice, sounding not unlike a cross between Tom Jones and the early Van Morrison — if such an amalgam can be imagined. The Art’s reading of “Vehicle” is edgy and robust, dominated by Richard Young’s distinctive keyboards and Nigel Bullen’s bustling drum work. Dave Williams is again in fine form, delivering more sparkling wah-wah guitar, while on the cassette copy taped from Nigel Bullen’s acetate, at least, John’s bass is very prominent, over-recorded in fact, booming in the mix.

“Sunny” goes one better, breaking into jazzy 3/4 time halfway through, before slotting back into the more traditional 4/4. It’s an imaginative arrangement, with alternate soloing from both Dave and Richard, while the whole track is underpinned by swirls of Hammond organ and John Deacon’s pounding bass.

“We did ‘Sunny’ as part of our stage set,” says Nigel, “but I don’t recall us ever going into the jazzy bit. That’s quite interesting. We might have talked about that before we went into the studio, but I think it was just for this session. Dave had two guitars, a six-string and a twelve-string, or it could even have been twin-necked. I still quite like the wah-wah he played on that track. By this time Richard would have been onto his second or third organ — he was heavily into Hammonds and Leslies."

Operating as they did in a fairly ambition- free zone, and having prepared the listener for a mundane set of recordings with their trademark laid-back approach, Art’s acetate comes as something of a revelation. Let any bunch of today’s schoolboys loose in a studio for an afternoon and defy them to come up with something half as good!

Just two copies of the Art disc are known to have survived. John Deacon’s mother is believed to own one and Nigel Bullen has the other. “I’d forgotten all about this record,” admits Nigel. “We know that one copy was converted to an ashtray!. We stubbed out cigarettes on Richards at rehearsal one night.” Although treated with anything but respect at the time, the importance of the disc is now apparent to Nigel Bullen: “This is probably John Deacon’s first recording, apart from tracks he did in his bedroom on his reel-to-...[ ]

...[ ] reel, which are probably long gone. Although, knowing John, they’re probably not!”

The beginning of the end for Art came in June 1969, when John Deacon left Beauchamp. With a college course lined up in London, his days with the band were obviously numbered. He played his final gig with the group on 29th August at a familiar venue, Great Glen Youth and Sports Centre Club. By October, he’d moved to London to study electronics at Chelsea College of Technology, part of the University of London.

Another blow was dealt in November, when the band's lynchpin, Richard Young, left to join popular local musician Steve Fearn in Fearn’s Brass Foundry.

“They were a Blood, Sweat and Tears-type of group,” recalls Richard, “and paid better money than I’d been used to. I was out five nights a week, on about £3 per night, against an average of about £10 between us.” The previous year, Richard had played session keyboards on the Foundry’s two Decca singles: “Don’t Change It” (F 12721, January 1968, £10) and “Now I Taste The Tears” (F 12835. September 1968, £8).

SAVAGE

Ron Chester departed shortly afterwards, and gave up music: “I left in the early 70s, after John Deacon moved to London. John was replaced by a bass player was called John Savage, who unsettled me. He had different tastes and drove us a bit hard. His approach was totally different from Deaks's, and he was much more interested in the financial side of things. We’d all been mates before, we didn't just knock about for the band. It just wasn’t the same.”

Nigel, Richard and Dave pushed on into 1970 with the new bassist, changing the band’s name again, this time to Silky Way. They returned to Beck’s studio to record a cover of Free’s “Loosen Up” with another vocalist, Bill Gardener, but that was the band’s last effort. Dave left after falling into Nigel’s drumkit, drunk on stage at a private party one Christmas. “I waited for them to pick me up the next day,” he recalls sheepishly, “but they never carne.”

Richard and Nigel moved into a dinner- dance type outfit called the Lady Jane Trio — “Corny, or what!”, laughs Bullen — but Nigel left music altogether soon afterwards to concentrate on his college work. Richard turned professional, moving into cabaret with the Steve Fearn-less Brass Foundry, before forming a trio called Rio, finding regular work on the holiday camp and overseas cruise circuit. In the late ‘70s, he joined a touring version of the Love Affair.

Down in London, John Deacon caught a glimpse of his future world-beating musical partners as early as October 1970, when he saw the newly-formed Queen perform at College of Estate Management in Kensington. “They were all dressed in black, and the lights were very dim too,” he told Jim Jenkins and Jacky Gunn in ‘As It Began’, “All I could really see were four shadowy figures. They didn’t make a lasting impression on me at the time.”

While renting rooms in Queensgate, John formed a loose R&B quartet with a flatmate, guitarist Peter Stoddart, one Don Cater on drums and another guitarist remembered only as Albert. The new band was hardlv a great leap forward from Art: they wrote no originals, and when asked to perform their only gig at Chelsea College on 21st November 1970, supporting Hardin & York and the Idle Race, they hastily billed themselves — in a rare fit of self-publicity for the quiet Oadby boy — as Deacon.

A few months later in early 1971, John was introduced to Brian May and Roger Taylor by a mutual friend, Christine Farnell, at a disco at Maria Assumpta Teacher Training College. They were looking for a bassist. John auditioned at Imperial College shortly afterwards. Roger Taylor recalled Queen’s initial reaction to Deacon in ‘As It Began’: “We thought he was great. We were so used to each other, and so over the top, we thought that because he was quiet he would fit in with us without too much upheaval. He was a great bass player, too — and the fact that he was a wizard with electronics was definitely a deciding factor!”

How did the members of the Art/Opposition back in Leicester, view John’s success with Queen? “It wasn’t sudden”, says Ron Chester. “First we heard he’d got into another group. We couldn’t believe that — were they deaf? There were all these sort of jokes going along. Then we heard he’d got a recording contract and the next thing he had a record out. It was a gradual progression. No one dreamed he would end up the way he did.”

“I don’t think we expected success for any of us" admits Nigel Bullen. “Richard maybe. He was the first one to go professional. But when John left for London to go to college, he left all his kit here. I thought that was the end of it for him. He had absolutely no intention of continuing. His college course was No.1. It was only after he kept seeing adverts for bass players in the ‘Melody Maker’ that he became interested again.”

He also seemed to lose some of that ‘Easy Deacon’ touch which so impressed Dave Williams in the ‘60s. “He’d ring up these bands,” continues Nigel, “but when he found they were a name act, he bottle out. When he went to auditions for anonymous bands, where he would queue up with about thirty other bass players, he had a bit of confidence. He just wanted to play in a decent band. Once I heard what Queen had recorded at De Lane Lea, and John played me the demo of their first album, I thought they were well set.”

CABARET

By early 1973, Dave Williams had forsaken a career in animation to join Highly Likely, a cabaret outfit put together by Mike Hugg and producer Dave Hadfield on the back of their minor hit, “Whatever Happened To You (The Likely Lads Theme)”. While Dave was in the band, they recorded a follow-up single which wasn’t released, before evolving into a glam rock outfit, Razzle, which later become the Ritz, who issued a few singles. “During Queen’s early days, before they’d had any real success, John came to see us once,” recalls Dave, “and said, ‘I wish I was in a band like this which could actually play some gigs’.” Dave concludes: “I remember John coming round once around that time, saying I’ve got a demo’. ‘So have I!’, I said. So we put his on first, and the first track was ‘Keep Yourself Alive’. My mouth dropped wide open and I thought. ‘Bloody hell! What a great track’. I remember saying that the guitarist was as good as Ritchie Blackmore — who was still our hero then — and thinking ‘They’re serious about this. This is the real thing’.”

RECORD COLLECTOR Nº 198 FEBRUARY 1996

⬅PREVIOUS: SMILE

https://melisa-may-taylor72.tumblr.com/post/639672109315014656/queen-before-queen-the-1960s-recordings

➡NEXT: IBEX, WRECKAGE & SOUR MILK SEA

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy, @briianmaay, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @aslongasthereismusic, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @drivenbybrianmay @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @sailawaysweetbrimi, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @foxmonkey, @deakysgurl, @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks-deactivated2, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @autumnscenemcyt, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @frejudy, @drivenbybri, @yourlocalmusicalprostitute, @saik-ava, @omb-xx, @sassymaylor, @somekindofroger, @starlightmay, @freddiemercuryismylife, @sunshine112, @chrysochromulina, @glitteryloveravenue, @deakyislife51, @0-primejive-0, @just-a-skinny-lad, @bluewillowmom, @sassiesillie, @stesichoreanpalinode, @farrokhbulsaramercury, @tayloredofqueen, @rushingheadlong, @izzy-is-slightly-mad, @scandalacious, @0-my-fairy-queen-0 @39-volunteers-to-space@zodiacaldust, @deakytaylor, @queenband70s, @deakyeveryday, @drivenbybrimay @70smay

#Queen Before Queen #Pre-Queen Series #John Deacon #The Opposition #🎤🎵🎸👑⭐

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chil2de · 3 years

Text

gn its 3am and i got the feeling to complete this req just because i felt some cold air and i miss summer

req/imagine because i realised now and im too tired to rewrite onto another post: could i request some imagines of going on a road-trip with gojo? just straight tooth-rotting fluff🥺

this is so sweet my god i want to cry, enjoy and tysm for requesting hun!!!

- it’s the dead of the night, the scenery is flashing by in a whirr. splodges of whites and reds from the distant city are nothing but a mere blur.

- the wind combs through your hair, cool breeze kisses at your warm skin, contrasting with the humid and high temperatures outside.

- you can feel the radiance bouncing off of him, like he could be the sun itself.

- gojo’s right hand throws abnormal signs and silly hand gestures as the two of you rap along to songs on the radio, alternating between leads and beatboxing idiotic tunes and him ad-libbing

- his left hand occupies the steering wheel and there’s a pleasant aura around him. he’s bright-eyed and full of smiles.

- he’s like this because of you.

- 4am and he pulls up into a nearby gas station, fucking around in the parking lot because you stole the last packet of chewing gum that he wanted

- slushies/slurpees (whatever you call them in your region) in the middle of summer at 4am, neither of you have had any sleep at freaking all but my god you can easily live off of each other's energy

- engraving each other’s initials on the nasty toilet pit-stops along the motorway/highway

- cackling at whoever gets a text message first

- his hand rests on your knee whilst he drives

- wind in his hair

- and he looks so fucking pretty

- he notices you staring at him from the passenger seat and he lets out a low hum

- “oh? what’cha lookin’ at?”

- gives you a small smirk and chuckles at how you blush

- asks you to feed him whilst he’s driving

- like shit

- the way he’s licking the spoon off from the yogurt you’re feeding him? fuck.

- pulls over just to look at the stars because he’s a goddamn headass

- brought blankets and everything

- you fall asleep

- and you don’t know it but he shifts you so that you’re asleep on top of his chest

- he takes off his blindfold to look

- n u can feel someone combing through your hair whilst you sleep

- he plants a kiss to ur forehead

- but then he chucks u back into the car

- nah im kidding lmao

- he lays u down across the back seats n puts your seatbelt on so you can lay down for a bit

- props pillows up under ur neck so u won’t wake up sore

- readjusts his mirror so he can glance at you from time to time

- like all the time lol

- he’ll admit it to u later but you think he’s fucking around so you don’t take it seriously

- “you know, you look real good when you sleep. seriously. i took off my blindfold just to look at you.”

- seriously.

- he did.

- he meant it.

#jjk x reader #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jjk #gojo x you #gojostan #gojou satoru #gojo saturo x reader #gojo hcs #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojo x oc #gojo x y/n #gojo x male reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

Text

Sore Loser

A/N: I rewrote this twice because I deleted half of it- totally no tears here! Comment your opinions and most importantly, enjoy! <3 from moi.

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: The ending to this one shot

Tagging: @showtunesandsolangelo

Part II

Percy refused to talk to Annabeth the entire ride back to Camp. Most of his team was lighting up on the way back besides Percy and Will who were furious at Nico for overworking himself over a game. Percy would turn his head every time Annabeth spoke to him however when they got off the bus, he snatched her bag out of her hand and threw it over his shoulder. Annabeth tried to not laugh- sure, he wouldn't talk to her but he would still hold her bag for her.

“Percy, bro cmon, it was a game.” Jason slapped him on the back.

“That we got beat in!”

“That was your fault,” Calypso laughed slightly as Leo wove his hand into hers. He had forgiven her for practically yeeting him across into a creek. She still felt quite guilty when she saw the bruise across his back but he had waved it off as if it were nothing.

“I did warn you that we were going to win,” Annabeth repeated. “ C’mon Perce, it was just a game!”

“Hmph!” Percy shook his head away from Annabeth even though he was holding her hand and her stuff. It was by far one of the funniest things Annabeth had ever seen him do.He clearly did not see the irony.

“Do you understand what you did? It was a game Nico, a game! Do you understand what those words mean?” Will answered his question before Nico could. “ It means you don’t overexert yourself and have fun. Have you ever heard of fun before!?”

Nico was trying to keep a poker face and not laugh at Will. He watched as the blond teenager continued freaking out, throwing his hands about and lecturing him. Nico was sitting down on his bed in the infirmary, supporting his weight with both his arms. Yes, Nico injured himself so often that he had an actual bed assigned to him in the infirmary.

“What are you smiling at!” Will turned on him.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“It was you and your little freak outs. Happy now?” Nico raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Will seemed significantly quiet as he attempted to fight the rising blush on his cheeks.

“Nerd.”

“Says you.” Will retorted as he sat next to Nico, shuffling so he could get comfortable. Nico shuffled a bit so he could lay his head on Will’s chest who in turn rested his chin on Nico’s head.. Will felt warm, safe and his heart had steady thumps- something that calmed Nico as his eyes closed and he gently drifted into a sleep. The last thing he felt was a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Anyone seen Will and Nico?” Piper asked as she took a seat.

“Infirmary,” Reyna confirmed as she decided to take a seat by Frank and Hazel. Just as Annabeth was going to take a seat by Piper instead of Percy, she felt a hand grab her wrist. She let Percy drag her to his lap- he was still frowning. His eyes weren’t cloudy like they were when he was truly angry, instead they were his regular sea green hue. His hair was messy form the game and some of the ends had splashes of yellow paint dired to the ends. There were even some splodges on his face and bruises on his arms but despite all of that, Annabeth still thought he looked as handsome as ever.

“So you’re still going to interact with me but you won’t talk to me?”

“He’s stubborn,” Leo called out.

“Grudges really aren’t your thing Percy, leave that to Nico,” Hazel admitted, her legs resting on Frank’s lap.

“She exploited the trust we had so she could win,” Percy huffed out the few words. Piper literally cackled. Percy was probably the one of the best soldiers in battle but he really wasn’t very good at losing.

“Percy,” she wheezed. “It was a game. You should have seen it coming.”

“Seaweed brain, I said I’m sorry but come on, you have to admit it was funny!” Annabeth pleaded. She watched as Percy struggled to keep his face under control. The corners of his lips twitched upwards and at the same time, the dimples on his cheeks appeared momentarily before disappearing. His eyebrows creased together in a dramatic fashion, clearly trying to prevent a smile from spreading across his face.

“Percyyy please!”

“Percy, you realise no one is on your side right?” Reyna reminded.

“I’m going to my cabin, in case you traitors wanted to continue anymore of your protesting,” Percu huffed as he got up and stormed away in a dramatic fashion. The rest of the group remained in their seats, trying to resist snorting.

A knock resonated from the door. Percy was considering if he should answer or not. The chances it was a quest or someone in need of his help (he really was close to screaming fuck all the gods except Hestia) and the chance it was Annabeth were both a fair 50/50. The knocking was persistent and finally Percy sighed before getting up and in a violent manner, pulled open the door.

To his surprise, Annabeth stood there with a plate of blue cookies (that looked like one or two had been burnt), blue nachos (with some famous 7 layer dip which Annabeth had to iris-call Sally to learn the recipe) and a bottle of blue soda which stood by her foot.

“Sorry?” Annabeth offered, her arms a bit full. Percy didn’t know how to react. On instinct, he helped Annabeth, taking the nachos out of her hands and propping the door to his cabin open so she could walk in. As Annabeth walked in, he stuck his head out the door, to make sure Chiron wasn’t watching.

“So..” Annabeth trailed off, looking at her feet.

Percy sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “So…”

“I made cookies,” she smiled weakly.

“I saw. How many did you burn?”

Annabeth gasped in mock offense. Her hand flew to mouth dramatically as she struggled to hide a giggle.

“What! There was no way that Leo didn’t help you with those. He’s the only one who can actually make food here,” Percy laughed slightly. Annabeth, caught red handed, let out a nervous bubble of laughter as she sat herself on one of the chairs in Percy’s cabin.

“So… have you forgiven me?” Annabeths eyes looked shiny and hopeful.

Percy had forgotten that he had meant to be mad around Annabeth- when the girl you’re in love with walks into your cabin with blue food and cookie ingredients across her face, you kinda have to stop thinking grrrr. In Percy’s eyes Annabeth looked so adorable- she had flour on her face and hair, her clothes were clearly in a food dye accident and her hands were stained blue.

“Maybe… I will have to give everything a thorough taste test to determine it though.”

“Oh of course, we can’t have anything not up to your standard,” Annabeth joined in on Percy’s mucking about. Percy took a bite out of the blue cookie that lay on top- expecting the worse however, he was pleasantly surprised when it tasted pretty good.

“Wow, this is way better than I thought it would be.” The words flew out of Percy’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Glad to see you believe in my baking skills,” Annabeth drawled sarcastically but her lips were still smiling. Annabeth also took a cookie and was shocked at how good it tasted.

“Wow, these are pretty good.”

“Well you see, I have this super competitive but awesome girlfriend who cannot cook or bake but she has really good battle strategies that seem to also work when coming to blackmailing her friends to make food.”

Percy wrapped his arm around Annabeth's waist, pressing a kiss to her forehead just as she gave him a playful punch, causing him to pout and rub his arm. They set out the food and argued about what movie to watch.

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pandoraswrld · 3 years

Text

IN THE NIGHT

— in which sera finds something new to entertain her

characters / sera park, ahn insung, mentions of the black rose girls, johnny suh and kim jongin

words / 4.1k

warnings / sexual content, they fuck in his car basically, smoking cigarettes, smoking weed, crying, small mention of blood — if i missed anything please let me know!

Sera knows exactly why her feet dragged her to the club on this particular night. It was a Thursday and as far as she knew Insung would be outside on the steps, chatting up random girls and finding unsuspecting club-goers to become his customers. It would only be her fourth time coming there and her third seeing him, she’d grown rather fond of both during her visits.

She lied to her group mates when she said she was going out to get some fresh air and she lied to herself when she said she was going to the club only to find a good time. Sera could go inside, drink something overpriced and get hit on by several guys but she’s already decided she was going to bother Insung if she caught him.

The familiar dark blue neon lights came into view as she rounded the street corner to find the hidden club. She liked that she had to look for the place, it was far away from everything else, just enough that she could escape to it whenever she wanted. And just as she suspected there was Insung sitting at the foot of the metal staircase looking out onto the road as if he were waiting for someone.

They quickly caught each other’s eyes, the older man standing up to greet Sera. His black hair shined blue under the light of the club doors and his hands were adorned with shiny silver rings on almost every finger. He was far from ugly and that’s one of the first things that grabbed her attention when she had first met him.

“Princess, it’s nice to see you here again.” His words are not without a simple smirk, one that typically graced his face.

Sera rolled her eyes, she knows by now not to take his compliments and nicknames seriously. If she had a dollar for everytime she’d heard him say that to every other girl who came to him, she’d be rich.

“What brings you here on a night like this?”

It hadn’t been a particularly interesting week, having been off schedule for weeks now ever since the accident, the dorms had been tense and she was sick of hearing the same fight between Hyebin and Jangmi every night. Sera was simply bored with her life right now, she needed stimulation and of course she knew where to get it.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. She knows he’s definitely not one to fall for flattery but Sera also knew how to work it on him, it was like she was his soft spot. Even if she wasn’t, she wanted to be and was more than determined to make him like her just a little bit more than his other clients.

“You’re bullshitting me.” It was his turn to roll his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning ever so slightly over her.

“How could you know that?” She chose to smile at him coyly.

“Well darling, come have a smoke with me, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” There it is, she’s got him.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She followed him across the street and far down the empty road towards his car. He always parked his car far away from the club, she figured there was a reason behind it but she never felt like pressing him for answers.

The car itself was something she enjoyed, despite this being her first ever time inside it. Something felt different on the inside, it was a space only the two of them shared, the real world only a couple of centimetres away behind the darkened glass of his windows.

Sera made sure to roll the windows down before lighting up, he told her he doesn’t care about the smell but she still does it anyway. She prefers seeing the clouds of smoke from the cigarettes waft out into the air rather than having it dissipate weakly within the confines of the car.

Few words are exchanged between them, she and Insung don’t really have much to say to each other. They only shared a couple things in common, those things being the club and drugs. She reckons that’s not really enough to hold on to, not that she would ever admit to wanting more from Insung, she just hates that once the cigarette burns out they’ll go back to being practically strangers again.

She wanted – no – needed him to like her. It’s simple to her really, all love has an expiry date on it so why not make the most out of it with whoever you can, he just happened to be the physically closest person to her right now. She doesn’t need him to fall in love with her, she’s not asking much from him.

Her father always told her never to care about other people’s opinions on her, he always wanted her to grow up strong and independent. Sera thinks about his old sayings whenever she was in a position of desperation, it’s a shame she never really grew into the girl he wanted her to be. She missed him, she’ll probably call him when she gets back to the dorms, after all it is only eight in the morning back home.

“Insung.” Sera turned to the man sitting in the driver’s seat beside her.

“Yes, princess.” He still had some of his cigarette left, only a little, their time together was almost up.

Sera had finished hers first, flicking it into his makeshift water bottle ashtray a couple minutes before. “Why do you call me princess?”

Insung was silent for a moment, inhaling another breath of smoke before turning to Sera. The corners of his mouth twisted up, a genuine smile from the man, that’s something she never thought she’d see.

“Because you are one,” he chuckled, “I don’t treat all my customers the same if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She smiled at the thought, she was cracking him, slowly but surely.

Sera rolled her window back up, it was just them now. Her eyes surveyed Insung, looking at him up and down as though she were searching for something. She leaned forward and with her hand resting delicately on the wheel she kissed him.

He didn’t taste sweet, not like Jongin used to, no he didn’t taste of anything. All that she could sense off of him was the smell of nicotine hanging off of his lips and hands.

“Hmm that’s how you wanna play, what do you want here Sera? Low prices, a free hit?” She couldn’t read him, he was smiling at her but his tone was more neutral than anything else.

She looked down to his lips and then back into his eyes, that always worked, “I want you.”

He kissed her this time, smashing their lips together at a pace a lot faster than she had expected from him. His hand fell over her nape to pull her closer to him, “Then show me.”

Sera gave him a devilish grin, getting closer to what she wanted. She threw her leg over his body and dragged herself from her seat to sit lightly on top of his thighs.

His kisses were either chaste and quick or wet and slippery, she doesn’t know which one she prefers but it’s nice to have someone on her lips again. The feeling of his hands gripping at her thighs and hips could send her to heaven, the cold metal of his rings clashing against her hot skin. Sera hoped that when she woke up in the morning it would leave pretty bruising for her to stare at in the mirror, a little memory that someone felt something for her.

She grabbed at her t-shirt and lifted it away from her jeans, unbuttoning the denim for Insung to access. She was quick to undo his too and it didn’t look like he showed any signs of wanting her to stop, a near moan leaving his lips when her hands brushed up against his groin.

Sera rushed to pull his cock out of his pants and push it inside of her, she wanted this moment to go by quickly and it would with her in control of the situation. As far as she’s concerned this is for him, her benefits would come after and it always felt good being so physically close to someone.

The position was awkward, Sera’s head had hit the car ceiling at least three times by now and her back was this close to sounding out the horn every time she leaned the tiniest bit backwards. In terms of sex, this was nowhere near reaching the top of her list, Insung wasn’t doing anything particularly show-stopping and he had barely been able to keep eye contact with her at all despite having his literal dick buried inside her.

She couldn’t find a way to sweeten the moment, make it feel like it meant something big to the both of them. Insung layed there in his seat watching Sera do all the work and doing nothing but biting his lip and hanging onto her hips for dear life. She figures that after the first time and in a more comfortable setting he might do more for her, or at least she hopes so, she was already planning on hooking up with him a few more times and it would be better if he attempted to put more effort into her pleasure.

She tried to look into his eyes again, placing her hands around his cheeks and holding them in place. Insung, however, firmly avoided her gaze, turning his head away from the grasp of her palm and choosing to settle his eyes on the road behind her shoulders.

Sera rolled her eyes, still bouncing up and down until she felt him tense underneath her. The sounds he let out of his mouth were obscene, dark groans escaping his lips as he pulled himself out of Sera. He came soon after, thick splodges of cum painting Sera’s abdomen and the edge of her t-shirt, dripping down onto Insung’s jeans.

She felt gross, the feeling of his sticky cum all over her made her want to throw up. She removed her legs from the tight straddle and flipped over into the passenger seat, quickly pulling her jeans back up and tucking her t-shirt in in a poor effort to clean up the mess he had left.

Her mind drew blank, barely a thought processing behind her eyes. It’s not an entirely new feeling, she remembers the nights she spent with Johnny and how each one ended with her creeping out in the dead of night, not a single emotion playing on her face. It was all the same, none of these hookups were anything special and she chose not to think too much about the repercussions of them. That was a can of worms she would rather not open, ever.

The thick smell of sex brought her back to reality, barely covering the stale cigarette smoke in the car. Her fingers lifted up over her face to wipe off the taste of Insung, chewing against the soft skin on her knuckle and resting over her nose as if to hide from the man beside her.

“You want anything?” Insung’s voice cut through the silence, coupled with the sounds of his belt and the button metal clashing as he hastily zipped his pants back up.

Sera didn’t turn to look at him, too focused on the black cat outside striding past the car. He probably meant in terms of something to eat or drink but she supposed she could at least try and enjoy the time she’d spent in this car, “Have you got any weed?”

Insung chuckles, muttering something to himself. Sera dives into her bag to find the couple hundred won she had lying around just for moments like this.

“Don’t.” He places the little bag into her hand, pushing away the notes, “We’ll share it, don’t worry about it today.”

Sera gives him a small smile, “Will you roll it for me then?”

Insung is much faster at rolling than she is, having made the perfect blunt within a minute, hers always turned out a little empty and lopsided. He grabbed her chin roughly, placing it in between her pursed lips and lighting it up. “Good girl.” He uttered out after the blunt was lit.

She swallowed thickly before inhaling the weed into her lungs. He probably got off on manhandling her like that so she let him, she’ll think about it again in a day or two and pretend it was hot.

Shared between the two of them the blunt doesn’t last long, Sera’s too anxious to go without something in her hands or on her lips and Insung always had steel lungs, one of the faster smokers she’d ever hung around. The high had quickly settled within her chest, feeling a little lightheaded as she sinks into the passenger seat.

“You okay princess?”

He cares about her, is all she can think, why else would he have done everything he did tonight. She believes she’s worn him down, just enough for him to feel used to her. That’s all she needed.

“Yes.” She hummed. Her hand creeped up to Insung’s empty one that laid beside her, surprised when he didn't drag his away.

“Look at us,” Sera chuckled, “Hayoung and Insung.” She wasn’t feeling up to thinking before speaking, simply letting the words roll off her tongue, the easiest feeling in the world.

“Hayoung...I like that.” Something strikes her upon hearing the name leave his lips, it was strange, it didn’t hurt the way she thought it would. That had to mean something, right?

Her thumbs rub against the rough skin on Insung’s palm. It was hardly believable that she had gotten this far without being hastily thrown out or that he was letting her be this affectionate to him, some part of her believes that maybe he wanted this too. If she thinks a little bit too hard she starts to suspect that he needed this just as badly as she did.

Maybe they were made for each other, who knows?

Insung was different from all the other people that she’d been with. She’d always been the heart breaker, the girl you had to watch out for because she’s gonna shit all over you, but with Insung she was weak, almost his equal if you excluded the money he made off of her.

Jongin was a whole story she still wasn’t dealing with, seeing his face around the halls of the SM building didn’t make any of their meetings hurt less. It’s her fault that they broke up, she would never admit it but she knows she did something wrong. Despite that, in their most vulnerable moments they would always find each other and Sera can’t tell if it’s some kind of fucked up star-crossed lover thing or if it’s just sad that they still pretend like nothing ever happened the morning after. To be honest, the fact that he keeps on letting her back into his bed is his deal, Sera just likes that she’s still got a hook in him.

Johnny was probably the closest she’d gotten to a real relationship since 2015. He was sweet and honestly cared for her, the last time she’d been with him just a little after his debut, she fucked that one up big time.

But with Insung she couldn’t fuck up, not romantically, it was all about giving each other something that the other wanted. Sera got the attention she craved and Insung found himself a warm hole for whenever he needed to get his dick wet. Insung’s probably got his own unsavoury opinions about her brewing in his mind but she’s trying her best not to give a fuck about what he thinks, and in her defence the last time she got called a slut she thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Let me drive you home.”

Sera doesn’t think that’s the greatest idea, let a drug dealer know her home location? Let a man she’d only known for a couple weeks drive her anywhere? It wouldn’t be the safest choice she had made tonight but she was too fucked to care, that was something she could worry about tomorrow, preferably with a bottle of something strong to help ease her thoughts.

“Thank you.” She squeezed his thumb with a small smile. Her fingers just barely made out the dorm address into his sat nav, gliding all over the screen until it’s set and he can start to drive.

They remained silent for the ride home, sitting comfortably as the car twisted through several roads to reach the dorms. Sera glanced over at Insung, catching a concentrated expression on his face, he smiled when he caught her looking.

She could get used to this, fucking Insung and then letting him treat her, it sure is the life her father always dreamed for her. At least it would give her something to do whilst SM tries to figure out what the fuck Lyra and Jangmi have going on, god knows she’d go insane if she had to stay in that dorm any longer, constantly having to walk on eggshells around everyone. This was fun, about as much fun as it can get for her right now.

The car comes to a stop, parked just outside her apartment building. This can’t last forever, Sera knows that much, it wouldn’t bode well for her in the long run knowing what kind of person he was.

There’s not much interaction as Sera exits the car, her hand leaves his empty and there’s no goodbye kiss or even a hug, “See you around.”

“See you around, princess.”

And then he drove off. The light wind starting to pick up reminded her that it was far too late for her to be out as she watched the car disappear down the road.

That’s all there was to it really, nothing special, it almost made her miss how Johnny used to beg her to stay just a little longer. However, beggars can’t be choosers, Sera thought. She got what she wanted, she can’t exactly be picky with how much affection she was asking for. Still there’s a pang in her heart once she finds herself back in the dorm, her chest starting to feel heavy yet again once she’s in the darkened living room. Sera’s at least grateful that no one was waiting behind the door to ask about her whereabouts or comment on the smell of weed she’d brought back with her.

She figures she’ll try to shower before attempting to sleep, having already decided she was going to take the sofa instead of bothering Aejung and Juliet who were likely fast asleep in their shared room. This was probably the most peace they’d get that day, no need for Sera to wake them up with her problems.

The water was cold, just barely above freezing. She shivered at the feeling but didn’t move to change it, instead lingering under the shower head and letting the stream of water run down her body. Her hair started to dampen, bright blonde strands sticking uncomfortably to her skin like glue, barely doing anything to refresh her of the high she was slowly coming down from.

Her hands ran down to her stomach, rubbing off the dried cum and letting out a choked laugh at the action. She hoped that it was the shower water she was feeling but she couldn’t mistake the hot tears leaving her eyes for anything else.

“Fuck.” She mutters to herself, leaning her body against the wall and letting the tears fall freely from her eyes.

Sera doesn’t know why she’s crying, there could be a number of reasons: maybe she was starting her period, maybe she missed her dad too much, or maybe she’s regretting her actions. All of her years she told herself never to let herself regret anything, once it’s done it’s done and yet she still can’t help but feel like she's doing it all for nothing. After a couple months they’ll drop each other and Sera can go back to searching the club in favour of finding someone new to play with, like they never existed to each other outside of their deals.

She thinks back to the car, she can still feel his touches on her body and the cold water does little to remove the feeling. It’s confusing, in the moment it felt so right, like she was finally getting what she’d been asking for but here her emotions had flipped on her so easily, preying on her and causing her to doubt everything.

It left a sickening feeling in her stomach at the thought of him calling her ‘Hayoung’. She knows now that what she was feeling when she heard it wasn’t anything different, she was just high, the weed was admittedly stronger than she was used to and it must’ve knocked the sense out of her. That’s how she rationalises it, but there was one anomaly still standing out in her mind. Why did he let her hold his hand?

Sera had only known him a little amount of time but even in those moments she had painted an awfully clear image of what he was like. Insung, he was ruthless, cocky, far too mighty for his own damn good. She’d seen the way he shamelessly flirted with just about everyone and how he’d pull out a number of threats on people who did him wrong, it would be strange for him to act so softly and yet he did?

Maybe he pitied her, she had become clingy after sex and he didn’t want to let her down so quickly so he let her act like that, spare her some of the embarrassment and then never talk to her again.

The vicious whispers of her former best friend still lived in between her ears and at the back of her head in her worst moments, poor little Hayoung has to fuck everyone just to make them love her because she knows they wouldn’t even give her a chance if it were any other way. Every so often she’d hear them spat back out in her own voice, those nights were always the worst.

It takes all of her strength to get up off the shower floor and turn it off, her fingers and toes had turned blue under the water and she knew she wasn’t going to be getting anything clean anytime soon. She’ll just shower in the morning, she thinks, she’s not in the right state to be doing much now.

It takes her even more strength not to look into the mirror as she dressed, the last time she had done that when she was feeling like this she found herself staring into cracked glass with a bloodied fist.

She had found an old t-shirt and some shorts lying around the dorm to wear, no one cleaned around here anymore, they could very well be someone else’s but it’s not like any of the others cared anymore. Sera can’t even remember the last time she saw Yewon or Hime beyond brief flashes of blonde hair or the sound of their dragging footsteps across the floorboards.

Sera ends up slumping onto the sofa, her eyes staring down at the coffee table before her. Crumpled Chinese takeout flyers were scattered all over the table along with several unwashed mugs full of tea and coffee stains and the remnants of a dying potted plant covering the rest of the surface.

Damn, if she wasn’t already feeling like pure shit then being in this apartment for longer than twenty minutes would’ve done it to her anyways.

She glanced over at the time shining on the screen of her phone, two fifty five in the morning it read. Her fingers hovered over the contact number for her dad, it was just about turning ten in California, she knew he had to get up for work and wouldn’t be bothering him. She hesitates just for a moment before scrolling through her contacts again and finding the number titled ‘Kim Jongin’.

A pathetic sigh left her mouth, pressing on his name and waiting for it to ring. Her teeth found her knuckle, biting down onto it when the phone started to ring for too long, it wasn’t until she was about to hang up that she heard his all too familiar voice call out from the phone.

He sounded tired, his voice was barely above a grumble clearly having been woken up by her call. She didn’t really care about that though, she just needed to be with him tonight, there’s no way he could deny her that.

“Hey, do you think I could come over?”

#bobakocnet #aeskocnet #sera — dev #kpop oc #kpop oc group #fake kpop idol #fake kpop group

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s-horne · 4 years

Note

What about stony quarantined with a rambunctious toddler? Or teenage Peter?

(I went for toddler!Peter and essentially just wrote about my own lockdown life... including at-home workouts and far far far too many snacks)

(also, no mention of the bad thing causing this lockdown)

***

“What in…” Tony trailed off as he surveyed the living room. It looked like every flat surface was covered with some sort of artwork. If random scribbles and brightly-coloured sponge patterns could be called artwork. “Having fun?”

“Loads of fun, Daddy! Look at this!” Peter held up a piece of printer paper covered with splotches that vaguely resembled hearts. “D’ya like it?”

All Tony could really see was the mess in his living room. There was paint on his table and a pink splodge on the floor, steadily growing larger as a stream of blue dripped down the table leg to meet it. He swallowed down his sigh to smile at his son. “I love it, baby. Going up on the fridge, for sure.”

Peter beamed and eagerly grabbed another painting. “And this one! Look at this one!”

“That one, too? Wow.” Tony smiled at Peter, heart sinking when he noticed yet another patch of paint that had somehow reached the skirting board. It was a bright yellow that seemed to glow in the sunlight. “My little artist.”

“Papa did this one,” Peter said, setting his painting down on the table. Steve swept in and picked it up when Peter put it on top of another painting, carefully moving it away from his flailing arms. “Like it?”

Tony laughed. “I love them all, baby. You and Pops are pretty talented, huh?”

“The best,” Peter agreed, nodding his head as he handed Steve his painting. When his hands were free, he grimaced down at the mess on them, holding them up to show his parents.

Steve took the painting with a smile and shook his head at the mess Peter had gotten into. As he met Tony’s gaze over Peter’s head, Steve reached for a damp towel. “Work done?”

“For now. Need to go back to it in an hour or so to finish off the last few bits. But I think it’s snacky-snack time, yeah?”

Peter’s face lit up and he yanked his hands away from the towel that Steve was rubbing over his arms. When he’d scrambled off his chair, Peter bounced over to Tony. “Snack! You want cookies?”

Tony poked Peter on the nose. “Thank you, kid. We can share a packet of cookies. Once we help Pops to clean up this room.”

Eyes wide, Peter turned to look around him. He grimaced again and leant his head against Tony’s knee. “Whoops. Lotsa mess.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said, lifting his eyebrows at Steve. “Lots of mess.”

“What’s going on here?”

Steve had walked in on some strange scenes over the years, but seeing his husband and son bunny-hopping around the room was one of the cutest.

“Bunny!” Peter cried, toppling over when he jumped a bit too enthusiastically.

Tony sighed as he stopped bouncing, breaths a little laboured as he shot Steve a tired look. “Yeah, Pops. We’re bunnies. Obviously.”

Snorting, Steve crossed the living room to deposit his bags of shopping on the kitchen table. He stepped back into the lounge to watch them, arms folded across his chest as he leant on the doorframe. “I can see that. I think. Why are you being bunnies?”

“It’s a good workout, isn’t it, Pete? I found it online.”

Peter grinned over at them for a moment, hands held up at either side of his forehead to make rabbit ears, before he turned his attention back to the television and concentrated on the next move. It looked to be some kind of jumping set to replicate frogs and it took every ounce of Steve’s self-control to not laugh at the unimpressed stare on Tony’s face.

“Come give me a hand with the groceries?”

Tony sighed in relief at the offer and ran a hand through Peter’s hair before he headed into the kitchen. As soon as he was through the door he fell into a chair. “Oh my – have you done that? It’s extreme. Never mind a workout; it’s a torture method.”

Steve chuckled, grabbing a glass to fill with water. “Here, drink this. Looks like being a bunny really took it out of you.”

Drinking the water eagerly, Tony glared at Steve over the rim of his glass. “You don’t get to mock until you’ve done that. You try doing Pikachu jumps followed by a plank and reverse lunges. And then go straight into Fireman Sam climbers.”

The longer Tony talked, the wider Steve’s smile grew. “Those are not real.”

Tony’s glare worsened. “Oh, believe me. They are.”

“Well, I think they sound like a lot of fun. Can I join?”

Tony threw a hand over his face and sank further into his chair. “You can take over. Forever.”

Tony rather thought he might live on the couch forever. It was comfortable. And the cushion over his head worked wonders for blocking out sounds. Tony could play innocent with his head buried in the proverbial sand.

“What happened?”

Someone poked at his shoulder and Tony groaned loudly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said, but there was a sharp undertone to his voice. “What happened?”

“What?” Tony rolled over enough to peer up at Steve.

“I’m sorry, have you gone deaf? Am I the only one who can hear the gates of hell opening?”

“He’s in time out,” Tony said, wincing when a particularly loud cry reached them from Peter’s bedroom.

“How long has he been–,” he cut off with a grimace when Peter cried again. “What the hell did you say to him?”

“He’s a kid,” Tony snapped. Pushing himself to sit up, he rubbed at his forehead. He hated being the bad parent, the one to dish out the punishment. “They cry. He was naughty and now he’s being punished. This hasn’t had to happen in a while – he’s forgotten how much he hates it, is all.”

Steve was silent for a moment, frown lines deep in his forehead. There was a bang and a thud and Steve shook his head. “Oh, go and get him.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not. He needs to learn.”

His answer was a lifted eyebrow and Tony groaned when Peter wailed again. “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. But when he does the exact same thing tomorrow, I absolutely reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”

Steve rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s arm soothingly, as though it were Tony who was in tears. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Times are hard enough at the moment. Go and get him.”

With a long sigh, Tony pushed himself up. He stood still for a moment to collect himself before he headed to Peter’s room. Sometimes, he really hated being the adult.

“Hey, kid.” Tony perched on the end of Peter’s bed, eyes on the boy-shaped lump beneath the blankets. Though Peter’s sobs increased in volume with his presence, Tony knew the difference between actual cries with real tears and ones made for attention. Peter’s had definitely turned into the latter. “Come on, Petey, don’t cry.”

There was a beat of silence before a tiny voice was heard. “Mean.”

“I’m not mean,” Tony said with a sigh, resting his hand on his son’s back. It showed how Peter was feeling that he didn’t throw Tony’s touch off. An apology would be easy enough to work from him and Tony would be able to orchestrate a somewhat-sensible conversation.

“Are.” Peter sniffed. “Big meany.”

“Come here, silly boy.” Tony peeled away the blankets to reveal his son and brushed his thumb over the boy’s wet cheek to dry his leftover tears. “Don’t cry, kiddo. I’m not a big meany. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Peter said, heavy breaths punctuating his words. “Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I think you did,” Tony said as he hooked his hands under Peter’s armpits and heaved him onto his lap, “but now you know what happens when you’re naughty. What do you say after you do it?”

“Said sorry,” Peter mumbled, words a little slurred with his exhaustion. He burrowed closer into Tony’s arms and Tony graciously pretended not to notice where he wiped his nose. “I did.”

“I know.” Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair and rubbed circles into his back. “Take a deep breath for me. You know you aren’t supposed to hit people. It’s not okay to do that, even if you’re really, really angry. It’s a difficult time at the moment, babe, so you need to be a bit more patient with us, okay? We can’t go outside so we have to be extra, extra nice to each other.”

“I’m nice. Miss. Danvers says I’m a good boy. I love you.”

“You are a good boy,” Tony chuckled, holding Peter closer and tickling his stomach softly. “Most of the time. And I love you, too.”

There was a long moment of quiet before Peter pulled his face away from Tony’s neck. “Snacky-snack?”

Tony gasped. “A snack? How can something as tiny as you possibly eat so much? You’re so small!” Tony stood up with Peter in his arms and lifted him high in the air. “Have you got hollow legs? Is that your secret?”

Steve laughed from across the doorway and stepped into Peter’s room. “I think he must have hollow legs. A little hollow boy.”

“No!” Peter squealed, right in Tony’s ear. “I’m not hollow!”

“You do eat a lot,” Tony said thoughtfully, dropping Peter down onto his hip. “You’ll eat us out of house and home, eventually.”

“Papa!” Peter reached out for Steve when Tony started to tickle him, desperately grabbing at the air as giggles fell from his lips, cheeks flushed with laughter instead of tears. “Tell him ‘m not hollow!”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Steve said, taking Peter with a laugh. “He’s not hollow. Now, what was this I heard about a snacky-snack?”

“No.”

Steve took a deep breath. “You can’t say no, babe. You have to do this.”

“Can’t.”

“You can.” Steve pushed the pencil back across the table to Peter. “And you can say more words than that, you silly billy. Don’t go shy on me now.”

“No.”

Peter’s glare was impressive. It was clear whose son he was, Steve mused. It caught him off guard quite often, but most of the time he loved when he noticed it. Not all times, though.

“Come on, kid. One more worksheet and we can get a snacky-snack with Daddy.”

“It’s hard.”

Sighing, Steve cursed his son’s stubborn streak. “It’s good that it’s hard, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for – I can help you with it. And then when you go back to school, you can show your teachers how clever you are. Miss. Danvers will be so impressed that you’ve worked so hard over the little break.”

“‘m clever,” Peter said, rubbing at his eye. “Like Daddy.”

“I know you are, kid,” Steve said, reaching out to pull Peter’s hand away from his face. “You’re my clever boys. So let’s do these horrible math sheets and then we can go and show Daddy how smart you are!”

Peter sniffed. Loudly. “You gon’ help me?”

“Of course I am,” Steve said, voice soft. “That’s what Papas are for, aren’t they? Now, look at this first one.”

“Is it bedtime yet?”

Steve snorted, which Tony thought was rather rude. “It’s only eight. Pete’s only been down ten minutes.”

“He’s also been up since five. It’s been a long day.”

From where he was burrowed against Steve’s chest, Tony felt more than heard Steve’s chuckle.

“That’s cause he’s your son, sweetheart. Bed is for the weak, according to you pair.”

Tony huffed. “It is. Most of the time. These are extenuating circumstances and I just want to sleep until it’s over.”

“Well,” Steve said, hand running through Tony’s hair, “I was going to open a bar from my secret chocolate box and finish off that bottle of wine we opened last night, but if you’d rather go to bed then…”

Groaning, Tony stretched his legs out on the couch and rolled until he could see Steve’s face, peeking through one eye at him. “What sort of candy have you got?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Ooh,” Tony moaned, grinning up at his husband sleepily, “the magic words. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

With a loud laugh, Steve bent down and brushed a kiss to Tony’s temple. “Red wine and Hershey’s. The Special Dark kind.”

Tony groaned theatrically and lifted his arms to twist them around Steve’s neck, holding him close. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against Steve’s lips, “you know how I like it.”

273 notes · View notes

smegdwarf · 3 years

Text

But Who Could Love Me? (Rimmer X Reader) - Chapter 4

A/N: Prepare yourself for fluff!

Warnings: None, all fluff here!

Summary: Pretty much giving Rimmer the love he deserves.

Even after a month or so dating, sneaking around to spend time alone, Rimmer still couldn’t quite accept that you had chosen him. As much as you didn’t want to hide it, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed teasing him and winding him up. The colour of his cheeks when you’d catch him staring at you, the feeling of him trying not to react when you place your hands on his shoulders or your favourite, watching him get flustered when you lean over him to reach the other side of the dashboard. The teasing and winds up however weren’t always one sided, Rimmer slowly started to play you at your own game, every now and then letting his hand graze yours as he walked past or randomly shooting you a sweet smile that he quickly began to realise you couldn’t resist.

After a tiring trip to what was thought to be a abandoned derelict but turned out to home a couple of rogue Gelfs, the crew were finally on their way back to Red Dwarf with Lister and Cat slightly ahead in blue midget. The trip was never meant to be a whole crew outing but when Lister and Cat didn’t return when they said they would you made the decision to go and find them with Rimmer and Kryten in starbug.

“I’ve switched to autopilot” You heard Rimmer speak as he walked into starbugs stern where you were working on Kryten, followed by a clang as your head hit the metal droid above you as you shot up without thinking.

“Ow!” You winced as you rolled out from under the work bench Kryten was laying on.

“Oh god are you ok? I didn’t mean to scare you?” Rimmer panicked as he crouched down next to you.

“It’s fine, I somehow forgot I was working on a solid metal Android for a moment there” You laughed as you rubbed your head, you might be hard light and practically indestructible but you could still feel pain ...something you always thought of as a disadvantage.

“What are you doing anyway?” Rimmer asked curiously as he helped you up.

“Krytes took a bit of a hit in the bazookoid fire with the Gelfs and said some of his wires might have come loose so I said I’d take a look” You explained “He kept stuttering and switching to Spanish mid sentence”

“Is he ok now?”

“Yeah I was just closing him up and about to reboot him” You smiled as a smirk started to appear on Rimmer’s face “What are you thinking of?”

“He’s on downtime right?” Rimmer smiled, his cheeks blushing at the thought of what he was about to suggest.

“Where is this going Arnie?” You raised your eyebrow at him, you liked this side of Rimmer.

“Well we don’t have to boot him up just yet?” Rimmer’s eyes darted to the side as he walked back towards starbugs cockpit.

“Well what do you want to do?” You asked as Rimmer sat down at the dashboard.

“I just want to spend time with you” Rimmer smiled sweetly.

“You know that cute and innocent act doesn’t work on me anymore, what were you thinking of?” You smiled leaning against the side of Rimmer’s chair.

“I feel awkward now” Rimmer chuckled quietly “Don’t worry about it”

“I’ll go reboot Kryten then?” Before you could even think about moving Rimmer’s hands were on your waist and pulling you down onto his lap “Well I definitely wasn’t expecting that”

“So what do we do now? This is kind of as far as I got?” Rimmer mumbled a little, still feeling awkward.

“Well we could make out?” You shrugged as Rimmer’s cheeks flushed red once more.

“But this is Listers seat? We can’t do that in his seat he’ll go mad?” Rimmer rambled.

“What Lister doesn’t know won’t hurt him?!” You laughed quietly as you let your arms rest gently round his shoulders.

“And what about Space Corp directive...” And with a small shake of your head and no further hesitation you collided your lips with his, his arms not having quite found their rightful place.

“Rules are made to be broken Arnie!” You spoke quietly as you kept your eyes focused on his.

"Well normally I’d disagree but I’d break every rule for you”Rimmer smiled as he leant in to kiss you.

“Since when did you become such a sop?” You spoke softly as you returned the kiss, you would never have put Rimmer down as the soppy lovesick kind but after all for him this was the first time he had ever truly been in love.

“You’re asking me?” Rimmer chuckled as he took every second of this moment with you, his arms resting gently at the bottom of your waist, finally finding where they belong.

“How long till we’re back to Red Dwarf?” You asked gently brushing back a curl that had come loose from his face as he smiled softly leaning into your hand.

“Annoyingly not long” Rimmer sighed as a light a on the dashboard started blinking.

“Rimmer, Y/N, Krytes, you there?” Listers voice boomed through the speaker.

“Listy? Are you ok?” You asked as Rimmer froze in the seat beneath you.

“Y/N are Rimmer and Krytes with you?” Lister asked.

“What do you want Lister?” Rimmer grumbled, his grip tightening on the arm of the chair.

“Hello to you to Rimmer” Lister taunted “Cat and I just wondered if you three wanted to join us in a couple card games when we get back?”

“What kind of card games?” You asked curiously, making sure you didn’t get accidentally roped into a game of strip poker.

“I’m gonna teach Cat how to play Fish!” Lister chuckled.

“Yo bud did you say fish?” Cats voice mumbled in the background.

“Yeah count me in, what about you Arnie?” You gave Rimmer a smile you knew he couldn’t resist.

“Fine count me in too” Rimmer gave you a playful glare.

“Where’s Kryten? He hasn’t said anything?” Lister addressed the elephant in the room as you and Rimmer looked at each other in panic.

“Erm...” Rimmer stuttered as you quickly thought out an answer.

“Krytes is on downtime, I’ve just finished fixing him up” You spluttered fast enough to not invite speculation of what was really going on.

“Fixing him?” Lister replied confused.

“Yeah he took some damage in the gunfire but he’s fine now” You quickly explained as Rimmer became fidgety and anxious beneath you as you cupped his face gently in your hands before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead to calm him down.

“Brutal! ...well we’ll see you back on Red Dwarf” Lister bought and accepted your story that was some what true but not the whole truth.

“Good god” Rimmer let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Right I better get our mech friend back up and running” You smiled as Rimmer pouted “Hey don’t look at me like that”

“Damn I thought that would work” Rimmer chuckled as you stood up “Go on then, go boot up the bog bot!”

“Before I do...” You smirked as Rimmer raised his eyebrow at you confused, leaning in closer to him as your lips met his in the middle.

“Just as I planned” Rimmer laughed quietly as you walked slowly back to Kryten.

“Yeah yeah” You teased before leaving the cockpit.

Before long you were back on Red Dwarf, with Kryten fixed and rebooted and back with Lister and Cat. With freshening up and a meal out of the way the four of you sat round the table in the boys sleeping quarters ready to begin game night with Kryten enjoying making his way through a big pile of ironing.

“So Cat do you get the rules of the game now?” Lister stared Cat down from the opposite of the table.

“Yeah let’s play” Cat replied as Lister shuffled the cards before dealing them out.

“Right Y/N you can go first!” Lister smiled as you lifted your eyes from your cards to Rimmer who sat opposite you.

“Aright then ...Rimsy!” You smirked as Rimmer raised his eyebrow, caught completely off guard by the change in name “Got any 3’s”

“Go fish smeghead!” Rimmer lips too turned into a smirk as he spoke, meanwhile you pretended to strop as you took the card from the top of pile in the middle.

“Cat your turn!” You smiled as Cat too looked at Rimmer.

“Goalpost head!” Cat stared Rimmer down.

“Is this whole game just going to be you lot picking on me?” Rimmer asked with a small smile, all the while you were winding him up too he didn’t mind.

“Got any fish?” Cat asked, having not understand any of the rules of the game as Lister shook his head.

“You’re supposed to ask for a number Cat?” Lister explained again.

“Why would I want wheel-arch nostrils number?” Cat screwed up his nose.

“He meant a number card Cat” You explained softly.

“Anyway where’s the fish?” Cat furrowed his brows as everyone shook their head with a sigh “You can’t ask a cat to play this game and not give him a fish?”

“It’s the name of the game you doink!” Lister finally broke “There’s not actual fish involved”

“No fish?” Cat looked at Lister almost offended “I don’t know why I bother?”

Just as Cat went to storm out a faint noise could be heard just outside the ship.

“Can you hear that noise?” Rimmer screwed his nose up as he tried to listen.

“Yeah it’s you smeghead” Lister teased as Rimmer sighed.

“No I can hear it too” You said curiously as you walked over to the window.

“It appears to be the Gelf ship we saved Mr Cat and Mr Lister from” Kryten chimed in as Rimmer and Lister joined you by the window.

“I think we should head down to starbug now!” Rimmer’s voice was stern as he spoke, while on paper he was only second tech as far as he was concerned he was in charge.

“Wait a minute ...what’s that?” You pointed towards the distant red splodge flying over the Gelf ship.

“That’s another ship ma’am” Kryten finally joined you over at the window.

“Gelf?” You asked as Rimmer’s hand found your wrist, his grip tightening as the Gelf ship got closer and his concern for you grew bigger.

“Whatever it is we need to move!” Rimmer reminded everyone of his previous idea but before anyone could consider moving the Gelf ship went up in pieces, the blast radiating through the Dwarf and sending everyone and everything flying.

Without a second of hesitation, Rimmer arms were wrapped around you as you both fell to the floor. Not wanting you to get hurt he used his own body, wrapping himself around you to cushion your fall.

“Are you alright?” Rimmer asked trying to catch his breath as he helped you up.

“Yeah thanks to you” You smiled sweetly, for the first time Rimmer had been brave and heroic rather than the coward everyone knew him to be as your well-being and safety weighed far more than his own.

Rimmer had completely let down the high walls he’d spend his whole life building for you and only you. All Rimmer had ever wanted was to love and to be loved and with you he had everything. He was completely and hopelessly in love with you and for the first time in his entire existence he was happy.

“Hey look it’s that other ship!” Cat pointed out as the ship got closer to the dwarf.

“Oh god no” Rimmer grumbled as he realized who it was.

“It’s Ace!” Lister exclaimed as everyone except you and Rimmer scuttled off to the landing bay.

“No no nooo” Rimmer sulked as he sat on his bunk, his self esteem going from 100 to 0 in a matter of seconds.

#arnold rimmer #red dwarf #arnold j rimmer #arnold judas rimmer #rimmer #hologram #red dwarf fanfic #rimmer x reader #arnold rimmer x reader #fanfic #fluff #arnold rimmer fluff

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jaehanaworldmap · 3 years

Text

fathers day drabble ♥

sitting in amongst glitter, sequins, crayons & a whole load of pva glue, hana was beginning to question her life decisions. while jiho’s decision to make his dad a homemade card for father’s day was one of the most endearing things she had ever heard ---------- the mess surrounding them was going to be hell to clear up. jiho was old enough to make some sort of sense when it came to his card making skills... hyerim, however? not so much.

with another cloth pulled out to wipe the child safe glue that she had somehow gotten in her hair, the young mother couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘ bun? you realise it’s supposed to go on the paper, right? ’ the only response she was given was a toothy grin before pure concentration came over that little face as her tongue poked out and she focused on sticking a flower sequin to the corner of the card. ‘ hye!! mom -- !! hye is messing up the card! ’ their five year old whined in pure annoyance as he attempted to shove her arm away and peel the decoration off only for hana to scold him. ‘ yah!! this is both of yours to give your daddy ------- she needs to do some too. share, okay?! ’

a pouty jiho muttered something under his breath and hana couldn’t even be angry because he had gotten it from her. both kids had both negative and positive traits from each of their parents. but he soon got over it and like the good big brother he was, he was quick to help his little sister with trying to colour in the lines. the card consisted of all four of them as well as their dog, dal ( which was pretty much a floating cloud with four little sticks for legs ) but the meaning behind it was all that mattered. nothing was purer than a kids drawing and imagination.

as hye sprinkled a little more glitter onto a splodge of pva glue which she had placed rather messily with the little plastic spatula, hana could see jiho’s eyes twitching but he was soon distracted when he found some washi tape with little dinosaurs on. ‘ mommy, mommy! does daddy like dinosaurs?! ’ the young mother pursed her lips together, she never really spoke about them with jaehyun and he didn’t seem the type to be truly interested in that but at the same time, he surprised her on the daily. she leaned forward and brushed some of his curly locks out of his face, she was half tempted to get him a little hairband. ‘ who doesn’t like dinosaurs? the question is... what’s your favourite? ’ the little grin on her babies face when she asked him that was a picture as he thought about it for a moment, those huge doe like eyes ( reminiscent to his father’s ) full of concentration. ‘ i like the stegosaurus, it’s like godzilla! ’ hana’s eyes widened knowing that godzilla or any kaiju could be deemed as quite scary for children and how he knew about it. ‘ how do you know godzilla, bun? did somebody at school tell you? ’ but his words were quick and straight to the point as he started placing the washi tape down on the card. ‘ daddy showed me. ’

she was gonna kill him. godzilla used to terrify her when she was a child but then again, jiho had been exposed to a bit more than what she had been ( not by hana & jaehyun’s choice ) and he was a smart kid with a good head on his shoulders. he knew the difference between real life and fictional. and to be honest, he didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

as they were finishing up, hana was just placing the cookies they had made and decorated earlier into the small little box they had bought before she placed it on the table and hyerim put the card on top. ‘ don’t we need an envelope? ’ jiho questioned before hana shook her head and pointed to the glue, ‘ it’s not gonna dry in time. i’m sure daddy will understand. go and get your shoes on and i’ll call yunho to pick us up. ’ it still felt a little surreal that her baby boy was all grown up and having full conversations with her. hyerim was getting there but she still had broken sentences & didn’t understand the full meaning of certain things. yet jiho knew so much and was quite an intellectual kid.

it didn’t take long for yunho to arrive in the car that they usually used if they were picking the kids up. hana had told him not to tell jaehyun that they were on their way, which made it a little hard when he was taking that specific vehicle but the boss was in his office buried under tons of paperwork from jobs that needed to be done. issues that had arisen with other gangs so he doubted that he even noticed anyway. as she strapped hyerim into her carseat, jiho was quick to do his own and buckle himself in before hana jumped into the front of the car and smiled towards yunho. ‘ thank you for doing this! i was gonna get a cab but hye’s been a little temperamental as of late so didn’t wanna risk it. were you busy? ’ the male only chuckled before shaking his head, ‘ you’re my bosses wife... one of my jobs is to make sure you’re safe and okay. i would’ve been here even if i was swamped in work. ‘ amusement laced his tone before he started driving towards the warehouse, ‘ things have been pretty quiet today but jae’s preparing a pretty big job... ’ hana groaned at the sound of that but yunho kept going, ‘ ------- that he’s not going on himself so no need to worry. we need him back at base so he’ll be with me while i ha --------- ’ there were a lot of forbidden words when the kids were around so at hana’s side eye, he quickly changed ( hacking ) into, ‘ -- play on the computer. ’

he helped get hyerim out of the carseat as they parked up outside and hana waved to a couple of the men who were out having cigarette’s. they had long since gotten rid of all the bad apples and all of the men who worked there now absolutely adored the kids and had the utmost respect for their bosses wife. it was a much better atmosphere than when she had first started dating jaehyun. even the ones who had had their doubts seeing as she was minhwan’s sister knew that there was no way she was a spy now, especially with everything they had been through over the years. when their little girl was quick to notice cheol in amidst the men smoking, she waddled over to them ( still a tiny bit unstable on her little legs ) before crying out ‘ uncy tol !! ‘ the male was quick to throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp it out before swooping her up and out of the way so she couldn’t even be near any of the smoke clouds. ‘ hi trouble! what are you doing here? ’ he rested her on his hip and poked her nose with his index finger earning a giggle as those huge eyes reminiscent of hana’s stared at him, her bangs slightly falling over them. ‘ we made daddy a card! ’ she stated excitedly as the male strided over to yunho, hana & jiho, who was busy rummaging through his bag for a snack. like mother, like son.

he ruffled the little boys hair and then proceeded to do the same to hana who scrunched up her nose and grumbled playfully which only had him grinning that pearly white smile & his eyes forming into crescents in pure amusement. he always treated her like a little sister, minhwan had missed out on caring for her on multiple occasions so seungcheol decided to take over that role. ‘ his highness is in the office. ’ he spoke sarcastically but there was still humour lacing his tone as he gently placed hyerim back onto the concrete ground and followed them into the warehouse.

it was rare for them to bring the kids here, usually they wouldn’t but jiho had been moping all morning that they wouldn’t be able to spend father’s day with jaehyun so hana thought it would be a nice surprise for both of them. hyerim was too young to fully comprehend, so she was merely just there for the ride. most of the men weren’t that bothered and only spoke a few greetings from whatever they were doing. some of them playfully held out a high five to jiho or ruffled hyerim’s hair and hana knew that they were the safest children in the entirety of south korea having these men watching over them constantly. as cheol and yunho headed over to one of the tattered sofa’s in the corner of the warehouse where the kitchen utilities were, hana led the kids into their father’s office clearly making him jump up in the process. nobody ever just wandered in without knocking aside from them.

the young woman was very quick to notice the stress upon his features the second they walked in but the pure delight and happiness it turned into when their babies attacked him from either side, jiho sprinting around his right side of the desk and hyerim ( a little slower but picking up the pace ) waddling to his left side as they oh so graciously climbed onto his lap not caring what chaos ensued -------- ie his ( luckily ) empty coffee mug crashing to the carpet below. hana had definitely matured a lot since having the children so she merely headed to the sofa which she used to play games on all the time when they were simply dating & watched the whole thing unfold with an amused smile on her face. never a dull moment with those two.

‘ daddy!! ’ they both cried in unison, hyerim more so in her father’s face as he quickly moved the wireless keyboard away and sat her on the desk so he could see her properly and then propped jiho on his lap. the little boy was quick to pretty much shove the card in jaehyun’s face while hyerim was more interested in getting the cookies they had baked for him out of the box so she could in turn have one as well. okay, so maybe it was like mother, like daughter also. ‘ happy father’s day! we made you this! we wanted to come and see you!! ’ jiho spoke barely even taking a breath before reaching for the box from his baby sister and taking it gently so he could hand it to jaehyun’s free hand that wasn’t holding his back to keep him stable on his lap. ‘ we baked you cookies as well! i wanted to make them blue and green but hye insisted on pink... ’ he scrunched up his nose and glared at the culprit who gave her father a toothy grin and giggled, ‘ pink!! ’

jaehyun couldn’t help but laugh as he ran a hand through the loose locks which had fallen from his ponytail and read the card. jiho had actually written the message but he could tell hyerim had left her own imprint with all the sparkles and the stick fairies. if anything could make him soft, it was these two. ‘ thank you, buns... ’ he said as he ruffled jiho’s hair and scrunched his nose up towards hyerim who giggled and leaned forward, her little chunky hands pressing against his cheeks as he shook his head ever so slightly and puckered his lips. hana watched the entire scene unfold before her and she felt tears well up in her eyes. she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. keeping quiet as to not ruin the moment, she merely stayed put. ‘ what’s in there? ’ jaehyun asked before his son was quick to open the box and state the obvious. ‘ these are the cookies! you gotta try one, daddy! ’ yet a squeak from a certain little lady had the man of the house almost tipping his head back in laughter. ‘ ladies first, hm? ’ he chuckled as tiny fingers reached into the tupperware and a shrill giggle of excitement emanated mid bite while crumbs went pretty much everywhere. and as much as jiho was older and much more patient and understanding, jaehyun could see the pure hunger in his eyes as he watched his little sister tuck into the sweet treat. offering him the tub, the young boy grinned happily taking one of the cookies and eating it a little less messily.

the young father placed the tub on the desk next to hyerim before taking one and having a bite himself humming in delight since he had yet to eat lunch due to how busy they had been. a few cigarettes technically counted, right? but he certainly wouldn’t tell his wife that. ‘ how long have you guys been doing this? ’ he gestured towards the card and the cookies to which jiho replied, ‘ all morning! i had to wake hye up but she was being grumpy even after her milk... ’ another shot fired but it seemed to go right over the little girls head as she grinned towards her dad as though she had been an angel.

‘ is this true, bun? have you been grumpy? ’ he couldn’t even say it with a straight face as she shook her head, her long bob swaying with her over exaggerated movements. ‘ i’m good girl, ’ which was said with a mouth full of biscuit only for jiho to glare at her. ‘ nuh uh, you wouldn’t even drink from the bottle. ’ if the two were ever arrested for any kind of crime, it was clear that he would rat out his sister any day. ‘ you kept crying for mommy! ’ but hyerim was having none of it and hana was staying far away from the little domestic their children were having as she played some random game on her phone but the smirk on her features suggested that she was enjoying their hilarious little conversation thoroughly. ‘ didn’t! ’ hyerim yelped but she was too happy to see her father so there was no chance of getting grumpy now. yet as jaehyun looked at her again with a raised eyebrow, he chuckled. ‘ bun... did you have mommy’s milk this morning? or were you a good girl and had the bottle? ’ they had been trying to ween her off for weeks now onto formula but what hyerim wanted, hyerim got. she held out her arms clearly feeling like jiho was getting all of the attention as jaehyun pulled her onto his lap just as jiho wriggled off to go and sit with hana ( in other words, steal her phone so he could play the game instead ). he reached for the phone and continued the level his mother was doing making her look back over to the father and daughter just as the little one said she was a ‘ good girl, ’ once more.

jaehyun could tell from the look on his wife’s face, the grin on hyerim’s and the pure level of frustration in jiho’s tone that she was indeed lying as he chuckled and tickled her earning a shrill shriek as she wiggled on his lap, pure giggles escaping her. ‘ i think somebodies telling me fibs. ’ he swooped her up and held her up high for a second before resting her on his hip and striding over to the rest of his little family on the sofa. ‘ and what has mommy got to say about all of this? ’ he spoke in amusement as he raised an eyebrow and looked down at her before long legs squatted down in front of the young woman. hyerim looked at her mom and then back to her dad with a cheeky grin. ‘ that i’m good girl... ’ jaehyun snorted as hana leaned in and brushed some hair out of their babies eyes. ‘ not this morning. you take after your father. ’ a knowing look was sent her husbands way before he grinned cheekily. ‘ hey, i drink from the bottle sometimes... ’ at what he was insinuating had hana almost choke on her own saliva as her eyes widened and she gave him a stern expression. it completely went over the kids heads thankfully, so no awkward questions asked but much to her dismay, he was trying his luck. ‘ do i get another cookie later if i don’t get the milk? ’ she glared at him but was trying not to laugh even though her face went beet red. ‘ stop it. ’ she spoke through gritted teeth but there was a hint of a smile.

with that he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss against hana’s head before standing up to his full height and swooping jiho under his other arm with ease ( it helped being extremely strong and the leader of a powerful gang ) before heading towards the door. the kids giggling at their father’s antics and hana’s phone ( luckily ) dropped onto the sofa. he opened the door with a bit of a struggle before shouting for cheol and explaining for him to shut his computer down and lock up behind him... he was the only person he trusted with such things before heading out of the warehouse. a couple of men asked their boss where he was headed but he simply replied with ‘ home. ’ & he didn’t need anymore reasoning than that.

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good-things-do-happen-dean · 4 years

Text

uhhhhhh.......... @sweatercas who said to me not two and a half hours ago “YOU MIGHT WANT TO IMAGINE DEAN SHAVING BENNY AND CAS OKAY”.............. please enjoy

you’re the one who wanted to play barber shop

Cas is growing a beard.

He’s human now, with human hair and human follicles, so it makes sense that he’s got a beard coming in. But Dean only discovers that this is happening one morning because Cas rolls over and burrows his face into Dean’s neck when Benny gets out of bed at exactly way-too-fucking-early o’clock. Normally, Dean would just burrow right back into the soft mess that is Cas’s early morning bedhead, but there’s something scratchy on his neck. Cas is buried in his neck. There’s something scratchy on Cas. It’s way too fucking early for this. What - oh.

“Cas,” Dean says.

No response.

“Scratchy.”

“Mmph.”

“I think - beard,” Dean says.

There’s a low rumble of laughter from somewhere nearby. Dean cracks one eye open to see Benny grinning fondly down at the pair of them in the soft lamplight. “Is that meant to be a conversation, cher?”

Dean screws his eyes shut again. “Early.”

“Mmph,” Cas agrees, burying his face further into Dean’s neck.

“Cas,” Dean says again because there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep like this. “Just. Shoulder - or something.”

In the process of Cas shimmying further down, which is apparently fucking hilarious because Benny’s laughing again, Cas throws an arm and a leg over Dean and lets out an altogether too dramatic, affected sigh for someone who can’t function until after mid-morning and one and a half cups of coffee. Dean can still feel it a little through his thin shirt, but sleeps anyway.

***

An hour or so later, Benny’s settled in the armchair on Dean’s side of the bed, knitting. Dean’s awake now, and mildly less bleary-eyed. There’s the click-clack of his needles and the slow in-quick out of Cas’s breath huffing warm against Dean’s chest. He looks over to see that Benny’s started something new in a soft-looking gray. “What’re you making?”

Benny pauses, leans over to kiss the top of Dean’s head as a morning greeting. “Scarf for Cas, since you’re gonna make him shave.”

“I’m not,” Dean says, which is true. Probably.

That gets him an eyeroll from Benny, who turns the beginnings of the scarf to start a new row.

“It’s just - new.” Dean lifts one hand to rest on Cas’s cheek and stretches the other out to Benny’s knee.

“New for him, too,” Benny says, lifting his gaze from his lap, needles still clicking away at what Dean can now recognize as knit, purl, knit, purl.

“Yeah.” Dean rubs small circles into Cas’s cheek with his thumb and the stubble there doesn’t feel quite so scratchy like that.

***

Much later, Dean’s reading the paper at the kitchen table while Benny makes a new pot of coffee for Cas, who is munching on peanut butter toast and full-on tearing into a tomato like it’s an apple. Gross. Cas steps up behind Benny, hooks his chin over Benny’s shoulder, wraps his arms around Benny’s middle. “Should I shave?” he asks.

Benny leans his head against Cas’s as he pours a steaming mug of fresh coffee. “If you want, sweetheart. It’s your face.”

Cas is quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he says. “It is. Will you teach me?”

And, yeah, Dean mentally translates “teach me” to “help me” to “do it for me” in rapid succession, and that’s how Dean ends up nestled between Cas’s knees where he’s perched on the counter. This time anyway.

Dean’s just rubbing foam onto Cas’s cheeks when Benny joins them after washing up from breakfast and starting a load of laundry. Benny settles in behind them on the edge of the tub, grinning at Dean in the mirror. It’s domestic as all hell. It’s perfect.

Except Cas will not stop squirming.

“Cas,” Dean says, pulling the razor away for the who-knows-how-many-th time. “Cas, come on, you gotta - stay still.”

“It tickles, Dean,” Cas says. “I changed my mind.”

“No - Cas, seriously, I’ve already done one side. I’m not sending you out into the world with half your face shaved.” Dean cranes around to look at Benny, who’s shaking with barely-contained laughter. “Help me out here.”

“You’re the one who wanted to play barber shop.”

Cas furrows his brow. “Benny bear,” he starts and Dean groans. Now he’ll definitely be sending Cas out into the world with half his face shaved.

And, yeah, there it goes, that soft little smile reserved for Cas. Dean rolls his eyes at Benny in the mirror.

“Benny bear,” Cas repeats, narrowing his eyes at Dean and looking adorable when he should be looking absolutely ridiculous with half his face still covered in shaving foam. “It tickles.”

So Dean sprays a blob of shaving cream onto Cas’s nose. Because he’s a mature and rational adult and loving partner.

Cas narrows his eyes as far as they can go without closing and stares Dean full in the face as he scoops a handful of foam from his cheek and splodges it into Dean’s hair.

All three of them end up having to shower, and Cas says they can the other half of his face again. Later. Dean stays behind to wipe up the counter and floor and mirror and sink and - “Put shaving cream on the grocery list,” he calls out.

“Sure,” Sam says from the hallway, and then pokes his head in through the open door. “Uh? Dude, what happened?”

#i...........blacked out and made this #dcb have a foam fight in the shower room bc...why not #mine.fic #deancasbenny

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reds-self-ships · 3 years

Text

🔎 The Adventure of the Detection Club

Chapter 8: The Dance of Deduction – RE-EXAMINE

Table of Contents & Trigger Warnings

⚠ CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNING: Combustion, mild nudity

DEDUCTIVE EXAMINATION ~ Hold it, Mr. Sholmes! ~

DEDUCTION #1: Why is this man here? CONCLUSION #1: Attempting to conceal incriminating evidence.

“Mr. Conan Doyle,” repeated Sholmes, “there is a clear reason why you have entered this crime scene, despite the very high level of a police presence…”

Redford was flicking through his notebook. “Er, sorry for the interruption, Mr. Sholmes, but I think you’ve said that alre—”

With a snap of his fingers, all focus was back on the self-proclaimed great detective once again as Sholmes did his best to ignore him.

“The incriminating proof is…that red splodge over on the desk. Because that’s where you killed the victim before moving him over to the ceremonial table in order to frame Mr. Ninate over here!”

As was the case before, the confused expression remained on Arthur Conan Doyle’s face.

“That’s clearly where Mr. Sholmes’s reasoning is faulty, but why exactly is it faulty?” asked Redford.

“That is the question,” said Ryunosuke, resting his hand on his chin. “There’s always something that he says about it…er…what is it he always says, Susato?”

“He always says that the person’s line of sight and body language always tends to give away any particular lies or anything they’d want to focus on. The same way that a mother might look for their child if someone shouted ‘fire!’, or perhaps to a hidden safe.”

“Well thankfully we got the fire-proof model installed in here…”

“Maybe we should try checking the contents of the desk!” said Susato, as Ryunosuke crouched over the desk and carefully examined the surface of the desk, running a finger along the stain.

Clearly it had dried into the wood long before. And there was nothing new about the typewriter on the desk either, besides the fact that Mr. Sholmes had taken the liberty to sit and write “All work and no play makes Herlock a dull detective” several times over and over again.

But as he looked into the front drawer of the desk, it was then that the logic finally snapped into place.

He yelled “TAKE THAT!” triumphantly as he spun into the centre of the room himself, flicked a finger against his forehead and pointed with a snap of his fingers at a manuscript that had been stained with a large dark red splodge and a half-empty jar of ink.

“The thing that Mr. Conan Doyle wanted to do whenever he entered the scene of the crime,” said Ryunosuke, “was to retrieve this manuscript, which has been stained with ink across the front page.”

“That’s precisely what I was going to say,” lied Sholmes, who was already beginning to flick his way through it. “‘The Adventures of Professor Challenger’? I don’t think that’s likely to take off. Perhaps stories about a great detective would sell much better…”

“We can review Arthur’s work at a later date,” said Redford. “More importantly, that’s my bottle of ink!”

“Oh! Er…I can…er…explain…”

“You can explain whenever you pay me back in full for the cost of a new one.”

“Oh no…” said Conan Doyle. “I was only borrowing it for a little bit. And anyway, all I was going to do was try some new fairy magic in order to try and remove the ink from the front page and get it put straight back in the bottle.”

“(Poor Arthur Conan Doyle…)” said Ryunosuke “Er, anyway! This almost certainly proves that he had no intent on attempting to mess around with the scene of the crime. Instead, he was attempting to retrieve his manuscript!”

DEDUCTION #1: Why is this man here? CONCLUSION #1: Attempting to conceal incriminating evidence.Attempting to retrieve manuscript.

[SOLVED]

DEDUCTION #2: Conan Doyle’s Means CONCLUSION #2: Used a cricket ball to beat the victim to death.

Mr. Sholmes snapped his fingers again as he resumed his line of thought. “A-Anyway!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Conan Doyle was the true culprit all this time, as shown by the content of his back pocket. The reason being…his means for killing the victim were to savagely beat him to death with the cricket ball in his pocket!”

Once again, Conan Doyle’s confused look remained on his face. Though at this point, Ryunosuke was beginning to think that such an expression might just be Conan Doyle’s natural expression.

“Mr. Naruhodo,” said Susato, “going by the autopsy photograph of the victim earlier, I’d say it’s unlikely that he got injured so violently as a result of being hit in the face of a cricket ball.”

“That’s what you think, Susato. A few months ago, whilst I was returning from doing some errands on Mr. Sholmes’s behalf, I was hit in the face by a football after some school children accidentally kicked it too hard.

“Not only did I have to walk home empty-handed after all of Mr. Sholmes’s groceries fell into a puddle, but I ended up having to make a trip to the dentist afterwards for a filling after they made me chip my front tooth whenever I fell down…” Ryunosuke shuddered. “I still can’t get over the thought of that anaesthetic injection…”

“I’ve had that before, only they ended up flattening my hat when it landed on my head…” said Redford, holding his pork pie hat in his hand. “This used to be a top hat, you know…”

Ryunosuke slowly paced Conan Doyle, trying desperately to try and get the resulting mental image out of his head as he walked past the front- and back-facing sides. But as he looked, he could clearly see the cricket ball in his back pocket.

That, as well as…

Ryunosuke yelled triumphantly once again: “TAKE THAT!” as he pointed towards Conan Doyle’s back pocket with a snap of his fingers.

“Conan Doyle’s means wasn’t a cricket ball,” he said. “Instead, his means is contained within this match box!”

“Within a match bo—what the hell’re you talking about?!” exclaimed Athelney Jones, giving up his search having been somewhat unsuccessful. “I saw the corpse myself, he was beaten to death, not burned to death!”

“Detective Jones, I wasn’t talking about a means as-in a murder weapon. I was talking about a means for entering this room instead. For contained within the match box—as you can see it bends the lining of it a little bit—is this…!”

Ryunosuke slowly slid the box open and removed the item in question from the box.

“That’s…a key?”

“Not only that, Susato, but it’s a key that looks very familiar. Hang on a second…” Redford took his key ring out of his hat and quickly checked each key. “…Yes, all present and accounted for on my end, so it’s definitely not one of mine.”

“So in that case,” said Sholmes, spinning his way into the centre of the room again and bringing all attention back to him again as he snapped his fingers. “We must ask ourselves who this particular key belongs to, and what lock does it open.”

“Nghah!” croaked Conan Doyle with a start, realising his fatal mistake as Ryunosuke snapped his fingers.

“Oh dear, Mr. Conan Doyle; It seems as though you’ve just given us our answer, even if you didn’t intend to.”

“Whatever do you mean, laddie?”

“Because, like almost all suspicious people, you’ve given away the answer with your eyes and your line of sight. As soon as Mr. Sholmes asked ‘what lock does this key open?’, your eyes immediately moved towards the front door.” Ryunosuke pointed an accusatory finger at Conan Doyle. “I’m sure if we try this key out on the front door’s lock, it’ll tell us everything that we need to know!”

“Nghah!” Conan Doyle croaked again. “Come now, laddie, there’s no need for that, it’s just my front door key, that’s all, now if I could have it back and get my manuscript, I’ll just be on my way…”

Athelney Jones then spoke: “Well if it really is your front door key, Mr. Conan Doyle, I’m sure you won’t mind Mr. Narudobo—”

“—Naruhodo—”

“—verifying this particular fact, wouldn’t you say?” He gave Ryunosuke a nod of approval.

Ryunosuke took Conan Doyle’s key and inserted it in the lock of the front door. “It fits the lock anyway. Now it’s just a matter of checking…”

He rotated the key in the lock and a three-pronged bolt shot out from the side, sticking into the air where it would’ve rested in the latch of the doorframe.

“It’s a perfect fit!” Redford exclaimed.

“So Mr. Conan Doyle, what do you have to say to that?” said Ryunosuke, pointing at the tutu-wearing author.

Conan Doyle shook violently with nerves, his enormous hands looking as though he was about to crush the magic wand in his hands. “Er…I…er…I…”

It was then that smoke began to pour out of the backside of his costume.

“I…er…I…er…oh dear…is it hot in here or is it just…?”

His outfit combusted and he screamed: “MEEEEEEEEAOW OW OW OW OW HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT OWW HOT HOT HOOOOOOT!”

The flames died down and the smouldering remains of the outfit disintegrated onto a pile on the floor around him, leaving him standing naked in the middle of the room.

Everyone in the room covered their eyes or turned to look away from the poor man.

Ryunosuke cried: “*私の目、それは燃える！チュチュは何もしません！” as he covered both eyes with his hands.

DEDUCTION #2: Conan Doyle’s Means CONCLUSION #2: Used a cricket ball to beat the victim to death. Used a spare key to enter the room.

[SOLVED]

DEDUCTION COMPLETE!

~It's elementary!~

Author’s Note:

*Translation: “My eyes, it burns! The tutu does nothing!”

FUN FACT: This alludes to a particular incident which actually did involve Arthur Conan Doyle, a cricket ball, and a box of matches.

#combustion tw #fire tw #mild nudity tw #the adventure of the detection club #OTP: Red Dragon #self insert #fic #story #self shipping

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trentaafcsblog · 4 years

Text

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Dominic Calvert-Lewin

This is absolutely filthy and I apologise in advance, @dominiccalvertlewinfc you’re welcome ;)

“You have no fucking clue how annoying you are?” he spits as he steps towards you, his hands flying around in all directions, completely losing it after you literally asked for a cuddle, not really understanding where all of this had come from when normally he’d jump at the opportunity to have his body close to yours.

“No, do you know what’s annoying? Having a boyfriend that doesn’t appreciate when I try and do nice things for him, that’s annoying! You moan if I don’t show any love to you and you moan if I do! I can’t fucking win, you’re a joke!” you shout back, a petty comment being taken way out of proportion as you throw insults around like there’s no tomorrow, neither of you meaning anything you said but that didn’t stop you trying to have the last word.

“You have no idea how clingy you are though! I get that you wanna cuddle me and that’s fine, but don’t do it when I’m in the middle of something! All of the lads think you’re a brat as well, interrupting my Fifa match so you can ‘fEeL mY hEaRtBeAt’, what a load of shit!” he’s snapping back, pushing his face right in front of yours as he carries on yelling, something about his dominance in that moment making you lose the ability to fight back, his breath hot against your face as it sends fire surging through your body, your pussy dampening in some sort of attempt to stop the flames, clamping your thighs together as you feel it trickle down your skin.

His eyes meeting yours for a split second but it was enough to set him alight too, his lips crashing onto yours as he pushes you back against the kitchen counter. His hand finding your throat as he squeezes it slightly, your breath hitching at the contact before a smirk starts to creep across your face.

“Don’t fucking smirk at me” he growls, your pussy clenching uncontrollably at his words as your eyes find his again - full of anger and hatred - a side to him you’d never seen before but it was one that was having an obvious effect on you. His hands groping your ass before he’s ripping your panties off and chucking them across the room, watching them as they land on the table before you’re being thrown backwards onto the island. The cold marble seeming to tone down the flames inside you before your core is being relit by Dom’s spit, watching as it hits your clit perfectly and sends a rippling sensation through your body. His tongue tracing the slit in your folds before he’s teasing your clit with it, running it over the sensitive nub as you start writhing around, your legs already shaking from the pleasure.

His eyes meeting yours once again as he slips two fingers inside your pussy, your back arching as you feel him stretch you out. Instantly getting to work on your g-spot as they pump in and out of you, your moans only encouraging him to go even faster, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes this time as your hands make their way into his curls. His lips attaching themselves to your clit as he starts sucking away, feeling your pussy throb with each lick, sensing you were approaching your orgasm as he quickly pulls away, his top lip and the tip of his nose glistening with your arousal as he watches your face screw up with frustration.

“That’s not fai-” you’re whining before he’s pulling you off the countertop, shutting you up completely with his actions as he turns you around and bends you over so your pussy was at the right angle for him to tease you even more. His hard-on gently tickling your folds as your hands try and grip onto anything they could.

“Fucking slut” he mutters to himself as you turn your head to watch him stood behind you. Pumping his hand up and down his cock, the tip throbbing and red as his precum starts leaking down the rest of his length, almost moaning at the sight, your pussy tingling as you watch him running his thumb over the head. Looking up to see you watching him as he steps forward and pulls your hair back into a makeshift ponytail, harshly turning your head away from him so you couldn’t see what he was up to, the anticipation killing you as you clamp your thighs together, Dom watching your every move as he almost cums as the sight of your dripping pussy trapped between your legs. Letting go of your hair as his hands move down to your thighs, ripping them apart from each other as he slams into you, feeling every single inch of his cock as he pushes himself as deep as he can. Your eyes rolling back into your head when brushes over your g-spot, the sensation making your legs feel like jelly as you cling onto the sides of the countertop for some sort of stability.

His fingers digging into your hips as he picks up the pace, the sound of his balls slapping against your swollen pussy echoing throughout the room as he drills into you at an unbelievable pace. Feeling his cock twitch as he nears his orgasm, one hand coming around and fiddling with your clit, gently pinching it and rubbing figure of eights over the top as you start screaming his name. Your clenching pussy driving him to chase his high, four warm spurts of cum coating your walls as he stills himself inside you, his fingers still encircling your clit as dark splodges start to take over your vision, releasing yourself around his cock as you listen to the sound of your juices splattering onto the floor.

Letting you catch your breath for a few seconds before he’s helping you up off the countertop, your legs almost giving way beneath you as he launches forward to stop you from falling, insisting you wrap them around his waist as his hands find a secure grip on your ass. His cum dribbling out of you as it runs down his abs, gently moaning at the feeling of his warm seed leaving your pussy as you lean down and press a gentle kiss onto his lips, all of the tension melting away as you feel him start to relax under your touch.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that” he’s whispering, his voice genuine as his gaze meets yours again, finding yourself getting lost in those giant gentle orbs that you were so used to seeing, a small smile growing on your face as his apology touches your heart, knowing he didn’t mean a single word of what he said.

“It’s okay, actions speak louder than words anyway” you’re winking as he giggles into your neck, knowing there was only one real way to solve an argument, and it seemed to prove successful again.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin blurb #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin smut

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lesbian-deadpool · 4 years

Text

A Fresh Start

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,074

Warnings: Endgame (dw tho)... crying, sarcasm, swearing... the usual really lol.

Request: For @mythsandfiction for donating to the Australia bushfires. You asked for fluffy moving in... I made this. I really hope you like it :)

Summary: You deserve this.

A/N: Set after Endgame (no one died, bc I said so). I know you wanted fluff, and there is fluff, but there’s also some “soft-angst”. Not proofread. I don’t consider this to be my best work, just an FYI.

(Not my GIF)

***

The war was over.

You won.

You really won.

It was kinda hard to believe. Considering how many times you had run through the battle at Wakanda, during the past five years. Tony, his Spider-Kid, and the wizard guy in space, with the Guardians, that you were yet to meet. The ones you never thought you would. Hell, you were yet to meet the kid or the wizard. Still. That didn’t stop you from feeling the loss for them.

The loss for half of your team, if not more.

Sam.

Bucky.

Wanda.

T’Challa.

Shuri.

They all vanished. Turned to dust- Ash. Right in front of your eyes.

And it was all because of that purple fucking giant, Thanos.

You were there that day.

That day, you were finally there. And that's what you got for it. Watching, from your place, beside Natasha, literally rooted to the ground, as he snapped his fat fingers, and the world around you disappeared.

You hadn’t been there for when Ultron had risen.

Nor for the so-called Civil War.

But for this. This, you were able to see. Only helping to solidify your assumptions that the world liked to fuck with you.

The next five years passed as slow as they had when you were a child.

Steve left. As did Bruce, Tony, Thor, and Clint was nowhere to be found.

I mean, you couldn’t really blame them for leaving. There were times that you wish you could just up and leave, to start anew. But you never did. You stayed at the compound with Natasha. There wasn’t a chance in hell, or high water, that you would leave her. You couldn’t even bare the thought of Natasha being left all alone in the large compound, with the only thing left to keep her company being her thoughts.

So you stayed.

You stayed by her side for five painfully long years.

However, along the way, you and Natasha got closer.

You weren’t really all that close before, I mean you we’re friendly sure, but you never sought each other out, the way you did with the other Avengers.

Natasha preferring to spend her time with Clint, Steve, Wanda, and now and again Tony.

And you, choosing to hang out with Tony, and Thor, more so than anyone else.

Most of the time, you wanted to kick yourself for not seeking Natasha out more than you did before- Or at all. You liked spending time with her. She was fun, even in her depressed and overworked state, so it was only left to your imagination to what she was like before Thanos.

It had been a whole year since the battle at Wakanda when everything changed.

You had walked in on Natasha in her office, which was really just the dining room, that she had commandeered for her workspace, with a bottle of strong liquor in hand. She had been crying before you entered, you could tell that much by her red and puffy eyes.

Giving her a tight-lipped smile, you started to drink the remainder of the day away. You might have had a bit too much to drink... okay, you had a lot too much to drink. Because the next morning you woke up to a blinding headache and a naked Natasha beside you in bed. It didn't take a detective to figure out what had happened the night before.

Your relationship progressed over the next four years. From a friends-with-benefits type of situation. To spending every night with each other, not even having sex. Natasha had told you she had fallen in love with you, a little over two years after the snap, as the media liked to call it. You, of course, were surprised but had returned her confession. Who wouldn’t have fallen for the red-head? By the time of the ‘Time Heist’, you were in a long-term committed relationship.

There had been some trial and errors throughout the heist.

Losing the Tesseract. Steve kicking his own ass. Having to re-work a part of the plan, and travelling to the 1970s. Thor having a crisis. Nebula having her memories stolen. Natasha...

When you found about Natasha, you had no reaction. Everyone around you was crying, sobbing. They at least had a tear in their eye. But you? There was nothing. Pulling yourself from Clint's grip, and walking away.

No one knew where you had gone, as they were left to reverse the snap on their own. Only coming back to fight against Thanos for the final time.

You definitely didn’t leave to go drink and cry over the ring you had bought.

Yeah, that's exactly what you did.

The battle was the first thing that had moved fast for the past five years. It was over in no time. This time Thanos had vanished before your eyes, along with his army.

You were in Tony’s lab with him, after his “funeral”, talking about the prosthetic arm he was making for himself when it happened.

Peter -the Spider-Kid- had burst through the doors, gasping for air and pointing behind himself.

“Jesus kid, you almost gave us a heart attack,” Tony said, holding a hand against his chest, “What’s up? What’s got you so bent outta shape?”

“Mr Rogers... he... stones... back... old...” he said panting, “Miss... Romanoff-”

“Natasha? What about her?” You jumped up, as you felt the anxiety flowing through you like tidal waves at this point. Patiently waiting for Peter to finish what he was saying, with bated breath. But, he never got the chance. As the moment he opened his mouth, to continue speaking, he was interrupted, once again.

“Y/N?!” A voice you would recognise anywhere, called down from the top of the stairs.

“Natasha?!”

You rushed over to where you could see her, with tears trailing down her face, yours falling to match.

One second you were peering up at Natasha from the base of the stairs, and then suddenly you were enveloping her in a tight hug. One that she returned ten-fold, crying into your shoulder, as your own tears dropped into her soft hair.

“Marry me,” you said in a tearful voice.

“What?”

“Marry me? Please?” You reached for the chain hanging around your neck, tugging it harshly, causing the clasp to snap. Letting the chain fall to the ground, you offered Natasha the diamond ring.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes.”

Her lips tasted of salt. Yours were probably the same. But it was no less as sweet as the kiss you shared when you first confessed your love for one another.

Soft whimpers are what pulled you apart.

Looking to the side, you saw Tony and Peter crying beside each other. Peter, the whimpering one, dabbing at his eyes with the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“You had that hanging around your neck?” Tony asked, with tears in his eyes, as the kid bubbled beside him, now using Tony’s shirt to wipe his eyes.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’ve had it on me for months now. And I put in on the chain when...” you trailed off, not wanting to finish your sentence. But everyone understanding you anyway.

It’s true, you had charged into the final battle, with the ring hanging around your neck. Keeping it as close to your heart as it could possibly get. With it being one of the last things you had of Natasha, even if she never got so see it, hold it, wear it, say yes, thanks to the compound being destroyed. You wanted- Needed something that reminded you of her.

You had agreed later that night, that you were both going to retire, and finally, live the life you two always wanted together. You had saved the world, too many times to count. Brought everyone back. And saved the universe while you were at it. You both considered that to be enough for you to live peacefully, for the rest of your lives.

After all! If Tony Stark could do it. Why couldn’t you two?

***

“Hey, guys!” Peter called, walking onto the house, carrying two boxes stacked on top of each other, blocking his view as they towered over him. “Where do you want these?”

“Well, what do they say on them?” You asked.

“Umm... ‘bedroom’!”

“Then it goes in the kitchen, where the fuck- Ow!” Your sarcastic quip was cut off thanks to Natasha punching you in your arm.

You rubbed your throbbing arm as you watched Natasha walk up to Peter and taking a box from him so that he was able to see where he was going.

“Come on, I’ll show you where it is,” she said, leading him out of the room, “Then you can pick out your room.”

“I get a room?”

“Of course you get a room.”

“Thank for helping up, Petie!” you yelled to him.

“Welcome!”

“Oh yeah, he gets a thank you, but what do I get?” Tony muttered entering your house, a box in his own arms.

“Well, I was about to thank you, too. But now that you’ve said that. I won't.”

Tony whined at you as you walked away, to start fixing up some lunch for everyone. Making you smile at his childish antics.

***

“I still can’t believe the way you proposed to me,” Natasha spoke from the other side of the room, that you were both busy painting.

“Well, give me the ring back, and I’ll do it again differently.” You beamed over to her, noticing the yellow paint smudged against her face and arms. Yellow wasn’t yours or Natasha’s style, but it was for the guest bedroom, and you both wanted that to be a bright place. So, yellow it was.

“No,” Natasha said hastily, pulling her left hand up to her chest, and covering it with her other hand.

You let out a small laugh. “See. I knew you loved the way I asked you to marry me.”

“I’d love any way you’d propose to me because it’s you doing it.”

“Soft.”

“Shut up.” She smiled, picking up her discarded paintbrush again, and throwing it at you.

A large splodge of thick yellow paint spread across the upper part of your t-shirt. Spots flecking across your neck, jaw and shoulder.

A gobsmacked look overtook your face. Slowly, you turned to peer at your red-headed fiance.

“Oh, you wanna play that game, do you?”

“Yes.” Natasha nodded. “Because I know I’d win.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

***

“See, told you I was right,” Natasha smirked over at you in the shower.

“That’s ‘cause you fight dirty.”

And she did.

Once the paint had run out, and the room was covered in the stuff, and not just the walls like you needed. The majority of the paint had coated the floors, luckily, you still had to put down the white carpet. Natasha ran out of the room, in search for more ammunition. Flour, shaving foam, whipped cream, water, and even milk, covered you. Before you and Natasha hopped into the shower together.

“It’s not dirty if you win,” Natasha replied, as she scrubbed her hair.

“No. It is dirty. But you still won.”

“That is the perfect description of me,” Natasha joked, causing you to burst out laughing, at the accuracy of it.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You’re right there.”

***

The first night in your new house sure was something. Nothing “spectacular” happened. It was nothing but calm.

After your shared shower, you cooked dinner together. Well, mainly you, because Natasha couldn't cook for shit. As the red-head kept you company and occasionally stirred the pot of pasta.

It was later that night, when you were laying in bed, Natasha curled up by your side, with her head upon your chest, as the tv played in the background when Natasha spoke.

“We needed this.”

“What?” you asked rubbing your hand along her arm, “An early night?”

“Early?” Natasha asked in return, leaning up to look at you like you had grown another head. She was right, it was currently one A.M.. Fixing up the house really was long and hard work.

“-er, than we have in the past week,” you corrected yourself, before shaking your head, then getting back on track, “But what did you mean?”

“I meant this. Retirement. A house. A fresh start.”

You smiled as Natasha got comfortable on your chest once again.

“Yeah... we did need this.”

#original work #original fanfiction #fics for australia #please donate #australia bushfires #help australia #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU #(if you think that this is actually angsty... just know that this is my soft angst... i dont think youd want the true angst lol)

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mypassionfortrash · 4 years

Text

Nothing Serious (Part Nine)

You join Roger in Montreux as Queen prepare to record their next album, and spend time exploring the city... and each other.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!reader Warnings: Filth, daddy kink, STRICTLY 18+ Notes: I forgot about this. Sorry. If you like this fic, please reblog it!

💫 CATCH UP HERE! 💫

Tags: @jennyggggrrr; @sarahgurl09; @sunshine112; @biscuit-barrel; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove; @jhoemazzellhoe; @justgivemethekeys; @qweenly; @picturepowderinabottle

You and Roger sat in the back of the car in stunned silence. You had your nosed pressed up against the glass, admiring the view of Lac Leman.

Roger admired you admiring the view.

From the snowy peaks of the alps on the French side, to the cobbled streets and cosy bars in Lausanne, Vevey and Clarens, you were positively enthralled on the journey from Geneva Airport to Montreux.

You and Roger didn’t even have to make proper, joined up conversation. All he had to do was listen to your awe struck outbursts, pointing out yet another feature he had probably seen many times before on his way to Mountain Studios. Every now and again, he’d give your fingers a supportive squeeze, letting you know that he heard you.

There was something about Montreux alone; above all the other towns you passed on your journey. Something magical. Something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. It made your fears disappear and your worries drift away; home felt like a distant memory. It soothed you with blue skies, and sprawling lake views, and mediterranean-looking buildings with pastel facades and ornate balconies.

“We’re almost there.”

You turned to Roger, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “This is more beautiful than you said.”

“We should go exploring later,” he said, brushing his fingers over your thigh. “There’s a lot of nice little bars and restaurants here. We’ll be staying a block away from the studio. Right about… here,” he said nodding towards a block of bright yellow apartments with stacks of generous balconies. To your right, they offered sprawling lake views against a backdrops of snow-tipped mountains. To your left, you had to crane your neck just to spy the top of the densely-populated hillside.

“Oh,” you sighed, admiring the building and all its exquisite views, “it’s stunning.”

“They really are. You can’t beat a bottle of wine and watching the sun set from up there.”

“It’s perfect for it,” you said, getting out of the car and opening the boot, much to your chauffeur’s dismay. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you told him, carting your luggage out and on to the pavement.

“She’s got it,” Roger laughed, taking his own suitcases. “Thank you.”

Standing at the door to the building, you and Roger exchanged excited glances and bolstering sighs, before linking your fingers together. Wandering into the lobby, the atmosphere struck you. It looked and smelled like money and excess and opulence, with shiny slate grey flooring and clean white walls. There were no chandeliers or gold trims. It was a modern kind of rich. A sickening, classy kind of rich. That you actually kind of liked.

A petite, brunette receptionist greeted you both: “Bonjour Monsieur Taylor. Et Madame.”

“Bonjour, Gaudine,” Roger said, wandering over to the desk. “Do you have my key?”

“Oui – voila!” she said, handing Roger the key. “We’ve cleaned the apartment and it’s ready for your stay. We have put champagne in your fridge and done a bit of shopping so that you have everything you need. If you need anything, just call.”

“Merci beaucoup, Gaudine,” Roger smiled, placing his hand at the small of your back and leading you towards the lift.

You pressed the button and the door slid open in a moment of slick convenience. When the pair of you got inside, you slumped against opposite sides of the compartment, swapping wild grins. You could tell from the way Roger’s eyes devoured every detail of your body that he was dreaming up everything he was going to do to you once you got to the flat.

Roger chewed his lip. His breath laboured. Pinpricks of desire seared from his chest to his cheeks, flushing him a delightful shade of pink. As the lift ascended, so did his need and his lust. And when the door finally pinged open, he grabbed your arm and hauled you down the corridor towards the flat.

Discarding your bags at the door, you pounced on him, sending his back flying against the wall.

But he was swift to take control, turning around and hiking your thighs up around his waist making you cling to him for dear life. “You didn’t put your knickers back on, did you?” he purred in your ear.

You were too busy undoing his jeans to answer him; his cock already stood at attention, thick, intimidating and ready to slip into the next available hole.

“You dirty girl.” Slipping his cock through your pink, swollen folds, Roger pushed into you.

Feverish and urgent, you ground your hips against his grasp as you gasped at being filled so deliciously again. The sharp, snappy rhythm he settled into made you clench around him.

“What are you Kitten?” Roger growled.

In the throes of delirium, you couldn’t find the words to respond to him. You could only bear to focus on his cock, pumping away at you. In deep, wet passes, he bottomed out inside you time and time again. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, and his neck, and his hair to find something to cling on to to steady yourself. But he was all the support you needed with his body pressed tight against you. He was all over you.

His chin nestled into your neck, biting down on your skin, rougher and more ravenously with each thrust. “Touch yourself for me, Kitten,” he growled in your ear. “I want to feel that tight cunt of yours milking my cock when you come.”

If those words of his were enough to shoot sparks of bliss straight between your legs, then god knows what your fingers coupling with his efforts might do to you, you thought as you mindlessly started to draw circles over your clit. An almighty whine escaped you. So loud that you prayed the walls were thick enough to stop the neighbours hearing. And then another. And another. You had to fight to stifle them on Roger’s neck as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through your aching body as you tried to stay clinging to Roger. Quiet whimpers, of “yes Daddy,” or, “right there, Daddy,” were absorbed by the collar of his shirt. And that only made his movements more purposeful as you writhed uncontrollably.

“Good girl,” he coaxed. “Come for me, Kitten. Come for Daddy.”

You frantically rubbed and rubbed until your cunt milked Roger’s cock for every drop of cum he could fill you with.

Roger had to prop you up until you caught your breath and regained some semblance of control.

“You alright, darling?” he chuckled, kissing your forehead.

“Yes, Daddy–Roger! Sorry,” you sighed, smoothing down your dress and clenching your thighs together.

Roger shook his head with a smirk. “We’ll be having more of than now we’re out here. And I love it when you get all awkward on me, Kitten,” he said, fixing your hair for you. “The bathroom’s there on your right. Clean yourself up and I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”

“Yeah,” you said dreamily, sauntering through to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you and eyed yourself in the mirror with a jolt of horror. Had you really walked through Geneva airport with your hair sticking up in all directions and your mascara caked underneath your eyes? Or the buttons on your dress all askew and misaligned? And those mysterious stains at the back? You clearly hadn’t done as good a job of cleaning yourself up on the plane as you thought you had. And why didn’t Roger tell you? “Fuck,” you laughed to yourself, dragging out a tuft of tissues and bending over the sink to get a better view of your misplaced makeup.

You swiped the tissues underneath your eyes, smearing the thick black gunk off your face. And then you turned your attention towards the rest of your body. Flying had a habit of drying out your skin and making you feel like the grossest thing on two legs; you could practically feel the slurry of germs that crawled all over your body.

In the corner of the room, by the back window that looked out on to the alpine view, stood a sparkling red bath tub. It called out to you, promising that you could be clean in no time.

“Roger!” you shouted.

You heard shuffling coming from outside the bathroom door. “Yes, Kitten?”

“Can you go through my bags and get me something nice to wear and my wash bag please?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Thanks,” you said, flicking off the lock on the door. Setting about throwing off your dress and your bra, you leaned over the tub and put the tap on, sending water cascading into it. Above the tub, there were columns of black and white shelves, stocked with all the expensive looking lotions and potions anyone could ever need. You saw one interesting looking jar, like something out of a sweet shop, bearing the label, ‘pine and patchouli bath salts.’ That would do. You grabbed the bottle and dumped a capful into the boiling hot water. And then went back to eying up the rest of Roger’s accoutrements.

It turned out he was a big fan of lavender and sage, too; you grabbed the soap and the lotion, not caring if they matched your bath salts. And then the bubble bath. How could you forget that? Throwing a generous splodge into the water, you looked down, like a witch admiring her brew, as the bubbles doubled.

“I see you’ve found my spa stash,” a voice from behind you chuckled.

You turned to find Roger laying out towels and a set of pyjamas on the bench at the bathroom door.

“Sorry, I needed something after that flight. I haven’t forgotten what you told me about what Steven Tyler gets up to in that plane.”

“Those salts are fantastic when my shoulders are acting up,” he commented with a nod towards the sweetie bottle.

“Do you want to join me, Daddy?” you asked. You felt emboldened again, running your hands up Roger’s chest, making sure you squeezed his aching shoulders. They were still tense, but surely not out of sexual frustration, you thought to yourself.

“Could do with a quick dunk,” Roger shrugged. He watched as your fingers unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. His voice shook from the contact. “Why don’t I get that lovely bottle of champagne from the fridge?”

“Be quick,” you warned, giving him a pat on his bare chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Daddy.”

Roger moved faster than you had ever seen him go, taking him all of thirty seconds to pluck the bottle of champagne from the fridge and locate a couple of glasses in the kitchen, before he returned to find you already sitting comfortably in the tub, stretching out your legs under a blanket of soft, heady bubbles.

“Do you want to do the honours, Kitten?” he asked, handing you the bottle.

“Don’t mind if I do, Daddy,” you purred, taking it from his grasp. You watched with your hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle as Roger shuffled out of the rest of his clothes, sporting the beginnings of yet another hard on, and stepped into the tub in front of you. You flicked your eyes to his as you bit your lip, sending a visible shiver through him. That raging confidence you had in the beginning was back with a vengeance and nothing was going to stop you from making your time in Montreux as memorable, and as debauched, as you could. “Ready, Daddy?”

Roger woke up in a pile of white silk sheets. The sheer curtain billowed into the room in smoky swathes in time to the cool lakeside breeze, wafting wisps for freshly brewed coffee into the room. He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to take in the sight of the empty room. You were nowhere to be seen. The culprit for all of his aches and pains, bestowed upon him the night before, was gone. “Darling?” he groaned, sitting upright and scratching his chest. His head pounded and his vision hadn’t quite acclimatised to seeing daylight. “You there?”

Shuffling came from the balcony, then you peeked into the room. Only half of your body was visible to him, as you leaned against the door frame.

“Good morning, Daddy.”

Roger’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. The thoughts of everything you got up to on your first night together in Montreux raced through his brain so vividly that his hips got the message straight away. He tilted his head back and eyed you through his lashes as you stepped into the room. “Good morning, Kitten,” he purred.

Perching at the end of the bed, you dragged a hand up Roger’s leg over the sheets. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Sore,” he laughed, giving his shoulder a rub.

You pouted and pondered. “Let me get you a lovely big cup of coffee and I’ll help you work out all those aches and pains,” you said, continuing to massage Roger’s leg.

“That sounds lovely, darling, thank you.”

You wandered back through to the balcony and poured Roger some coffee. So enthralled by your surroundings, the cup almost overflowed. From the way the mid morning sun shimmered over the lake to the snowy peaks of the mountains. This was heaven. And it felt a million miles away from home – and Ibiza. You relished that feeling of giddy optimism as you carried the cup back through to the bedroom to find that Roger was missing.

“Where are you, Roggie?” you called, peering out into the hall.

“Brushing my teeth,” Roger responded through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat so he could speak more clearly. “And making myself more presentable for you, my love.”

“Don’t be too long,” you grinned, settling down among the covers.

When he arrived back at the bedroom, he hobbled towards you, clutching his aching hip, and pressing at the small of his back. His hair was mussed and messy, and he wore nothing but a short, silk, tiger print robe. And his circular glasses sat daintily perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop you from eagerly patting the space beside you and thrusting the cup of coffee into his hands to get started on the fun part of your morning.

You slunk behind him, wrapping your legs around his body and pressing your chest to his back, dragging the fine layer of material from his body. It slipped down his arms, leaving his top half completely naked under your touch.

Tension radiated from Roger’s body as he sank another mouthful of rich, black coffee to stifle his nerves.

Your fingertips pressed against either side of his back, where his shoulders met his neck and he moaned in bliss. “Sore there?” you asked.

“Mmm, I’m really showing my age, aren’t I?” he laughed.

“Lucky for you, I think there’s something about senior citizens I find particularly alluring,” you joked, working at the knots on his shoulders.

“Fat wallets?”

“Well, I mean, it helps. But fat something else,” you replied.

“God you’re filthy.”

“It’s your fault,” you said, rubbing his back extra hard to make him squeal.

Roger’s voice faltered, coming down from the bolt of pain, quickly succeeded by the loosening of one of the pressure points on his back. “Oh, why’s that?” he asked.

“I used to be an angel before I met you. And now? All I care about is private jets, champagne and getting shagged anywhere, anytime. How’s that for a change.”

Roger leaned back against you, pinning you between himself and the headboard as he looked up at you with his big tired doe eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I quite like the new you, Kitten.”

“Is that right?” you laughed, tickling your fingernails over his chest. “How’s your back feeling?”

“Much much better. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

“And what’s on our agenda for today?”

“I was hoping I could show you around,” he smiled. “We’ve got a whole day before everyone else gets here. And we won’t have a moment to ourselves afterwards.” Then his voice descended into a naughty, mischievous whisper: “So I was hoping, if you’ll let me, we could make the most of it and be absolute heathens for the rest of the day.”

You placed a long, drawn out kiss to the top of Roger’s head and squeezed him tightly. “That sounds absolutely perfect. Especially the part about us being heathens. That suits us down to a tee, don’t you think, Daddy?”

“It really does, Kitten.”

“Well, I’m going to go and get myself ready,” you explained, untying the front of Roger’s robe to reveal his cock, resting against his stomach. Hard and fully erect. “And you can take care of that.”

“Can’t you do it for me?” Roger pouted. “That mouth of yours looks awfully tempting.”

“I’ll tell you what,” you began, “why don’t I let you know when you’re allowed to take care of it? See how long you last?”

“Oh you’re cruel,” he sighed, watching you slip off the bed and wander over to the wardrobe.

Searching through your clothes to find the optimal outfit to tease Roger in, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still sitting there, looking down at his cock, wondering whether he’d risk disobeying you. “I wonder what you’re like when you’re all needy,” you pondered.

“And what happens if I get myself off anyway?”

“I don’t think you want to know, Daddy. You’re right – I can be very, very cruel.”

Dressed and ready to face the day, you and Roger stepped out into the August sunshine. Midday wasn’t far around the corner and the sun bathed the promenade in a brilliant orange glow. Arm in arm, the pair of you strolled down towards the shimmering blue lake.

You turned your head as you walked, catching the smug grin plastered on Roger’s features. Moving closer to him, you purred in his ear. “You’re looking awfully pleased with yourself there, Roggie.”

“I’m out in my favourite town with the woman of my dreams. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with myself?” His voice was hushed, but jovial.

“I think you’ve been naughty, Daddy,” you whispered, leading Roger along the promenade towards the marketplace. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked without so much as a flicker of fear or apprehension.

You chuckled, continuing to walk as your eyes darted from the revellers to the ornate facades on the lakefront buildings, letting the scenery brush against your sense of awareness, but never fully grasping it. Until, between a restaurant and a hotel, a cobbled alleyway caught your eye. You veered off your tranquil course, leading Roger towards the main road and away from the lake. “You’re going to be very sorry you disobeyed me once today’s over,” you cooed. The alleyway seemed to stretch up to the sky, spurring off into labyrinthine offshoots even darker and quieter than the next. Losing your breath about half way up the cobbled hill, you tugged Roger into an offshoot, pressing him against the wall. “You’re going to be so, so sorry, Daddy.”

Roger raised his eyebrows and scowled. “Just you try it, sweetheart.”

Palming at the bulge in Roger’s jeans with one hand, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and looked up at Roger.

He just let it happen. It was all he could do, staring up at the clear blue sky and chuckling to himself. In his mind, he had everything to be pleased about; he had earned himself a free handjob – maybe more if he played his cards right. But that was all he wanted.

The bustle of the promenade wasn’t far out of earshot and if he allowed you to allow him get too carried away, you risked being found out for the pair of perverts you really were. And he couldn’t let that happen.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. Undoing Roger’s jeans, you took his cock out; thick, hard and begging for your attention. Eyeing him up for any sign that he might be enjoying this, you pumped your hand over his length, gathering pace until you could hear each moist pass in your quiet alcove.

Roger sighed, jerking his hips into your grasp when your thumb brushed over the swollen tip. “Fuck,” he hissed, his lower lip clamped between his teeth.

“Enjoying this, Daddy?”

“Oh god, yes, Kitten. Keep going. Be quick.”

An evil flicker bolted through your eyes as you grinned up at him, relishing how worked up he became at nothing at all. “I’m gonna have to use my mouth. I know how much you love that,” you teased, sinking down on to your knees. The cobblestones were uncomfortable at best, but you’d only be in that position for a few minutes. And it’d be worth it, you thought, lapping at the underside of his shaft in lazy, wet strokes, groaning for effect. You felt the muscles in his thighs twinge when you grabbed them to steady yourself. And then his fingers, snaked their way through your hair. He wanted you to take him. To give him what he wanted there and then. But you were in control of this. Moving away from his cock with a pop of your lips and a clear thread of saliva tethering you to him, you got off your knees and wiped your chin.

Roger whined like a wounded animal. “You can’t leave me like this, Kitten!”

“Oh, but I can, Daddy. You didn’t do as you were told this morning,” you scolded, wandering back down the cobbled alleyway, leaving him scrambling to catch up.

“But,” Roger protested, shoving his engorged member back into his jeans, “it’s so fucking obvious. How am I supposed to hide this?”

“Not my problem,” you shrugged. “Where to next?”

Roger’s mouth hung open for a moment, looking around. “We could take a boat to Chateau de Chillon?”

“Is it nice?” you asked, turning to him and placing your hand over your eyes to shield them from the rays.

“It’s gorgeous,” he blustered, leaning in to your ear. “Lots of places for you to finish sucking my cock without getting caught.”

“Whether or not you get to finish is up to me today, remember?” you scolded. “Now which way to the boats?”

Roger paled at how direct you were. How easily you took control. And how you somehow managed to turn his legs to mush with even the slightest telling off. He looked left and he looked right, and then he pointed to a jetty three blocks away. “It’s this way.”

You grabbed Roger’s arm and set off towards the small jetty of tourist boats, bobbing away in the water.

Roger’s efforts to conceal his raging hard-on didn’t go unnoticed by you. He attempted to walk behind you, hoping your handbag would hide his crotch. Then he tried grasping at the hem on his shirt, tugging it down only for it to ride up again. You could tell he was getting flustered, eager to sit down and finally cover the tent in his jeans by crossing his arms protectively over his front. In fact, when you boarded the shabby boat, you swore he had never looked so relieved.

You and Roger sat in silence on opposite sides, exchanging lustful glances the whole way there. Every so often, your gaze trailed down to his crotch, which he so desperately kept covered beneath his hands. You licked your lips and bit them for effect just so you could see your boyfriend squirm in front of a boat full of tourists.

All in all, the journey only took ten minutes but in Roger’s mind, it felt like an eternity. He didn’t care where, or how you did it, all he needed was release. He mentally kicked himself for disobeying you that morning.

Stepping off the boat and on to the wooden jetty, Roger practically dragged you in the direction of the ticket booth, paying for both of your tickets.

“Where to first, Daddy?” you asked innocently.

Roger scanned the courtyard for the one entrance he knew he could count on. His eyes lit up when he found it. “I know just the place, Kitten,” he said excitedly, striding on ahead of you.

You snorted at his eagerness as he took two steep stone steps at a time, descending into the dark bowels of the castle into a deserted cellar.

Roger paused, glancing around. “Let’s go this way,” he ordered, jabbing his finger into the darkness ahead of you both.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet so you can finish me off.”

“No chance,” you jibed.

Roger stopped dead and pushed you against the wall. In the darkness you could just about make out his shoulders rising and falling. “Why don’t we play a game then, darling?” he said, running his hand over your throat so tantalisingly it went straight to your core.

“I love games,” you mocked.

“First one to come today gets a punishment,” he purred, hiking up the hem of your dress. “I wonder how long you’ll last. Oh,” he paused, palming at your slit. “No knickers and a short little dress? I think you’re really trying to tease me.”

That submissive streak inside you simmered away under the surface. “I didn’t think I’d need them,” you sighed, spreading your legs for him. “Seeing how hard you get for me just gets me so wet. I’d have soaked right through them.”

Roger chuckled, and kissed your neck, lulling you into a false sense of security.

It made you wonder when the catch would come. You always suspected Roger had a sadistic streak in him, and you always wondered what it’d be like to push the limits of his happy-go-lucky nature. Maybe today was that day?

But he was so gentle, so careful. Caressing that sweet spot between your legs with feather light touches that earned stifled, breathless moans from you. Never once did his fingers move with any kind of intent, other than to draw you out for as long as possible. And he clearly adored it.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours as he continued to tease you until his fingers were completely coated in your slick. “I think you like this, Kitten,” he whispered.

“I really do, Daddy.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll let you come if you put that mouth of yours to good use.”

“You’re going to need to try harder,” you sassed.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said in a wicked tone.

Before you could choke out another sassy retort, Roger slipped two fingers inside you, curling them up against that one spot guaranteed to make you squeal his name. Then another finger joined them, stretching you out with squelching wet strokes that cut through the dark, quiet cellar. His fingers fucked you, while his thumb circled your clit in firm motions that ratcheted up the tension in your legs with every single round. “Tell me again how I need to try harder, Kitten?”

You grasped and clawed at his shoulders for stability in the throes of pure ecstasy. “Oh god, not here Daddy!”

Roger chuckled, burying his face against your neck to get better access to all the sensitive skin to drag his teeth over. “That’s what you get for teasing me, Kitten,” he whispered, his breath falling in hot feathery wisps on your skin. “Now, you can finish me here and now, or I can make you come and give you a nice punishment when we get back to the flat tonight.”

“I swear I’ll finish you,” you panted. “Please.”

Roger smirked, removing his fingers from your cunt, leaving them saturated. He pressed them to your lips. “Suck them clean,” he commanded, popping them into your mouth before your brain could register what was going on. “Hopefully this’ll teach you not to get mouthy with me.”

You hummed, wrapping your lips around each finger as he pumped them in and out of your mouth until they were all clean, wishing they were still buried in your dripping snatch. You swore your thighs were a mess by that point. But it didn’t matter. You had to let Roger believe that he was getting exactly what he wanted from you – it was all part of the plan.

You grabbed his hand and started wandering ahead, but Roger stayed firmly rooted to the spot.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“We need to find some privacy, Roger. We can’t do that right here,” you whispered.

“Can’t we?” Roger smirked, nodding towards a short wall in the dark recesses of the cellar. “Pretty sure that’s private enough.”

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. If it beat any more violently, it might have burst right out. You walked slowly behind the wall and got to your knees for the second time that day as Roger joined you, hastily tugging down his zipper and pulling out his cock.

Roger wasn’t planning on playing nice. Grabbing the back of your hair with one hand, while the other wrapped around the base of his cock, he looked down and smirked. “Now, be a good girl and open that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

Before you knew it, he had bottomed out; the tip pushing at the back of your throat. You gagged and spluttered and fumbled for something to steady yourself. You clung to Roger’s thighs for dear life. The pace he had set for you was utterly blistering. The kind of face fucking that instantly sent mascara cascading down your cheeks, and great, long strings of saliva dripping from your chin and on to your chest. The sounds of you gagging on his cock alone were disgustingly lewd; even concealed behind the tiny wall, if a rogue tourist happened upon the cellar, they’d hear the pair of you and know straight away what you were getting up to.

“Such a good little slut, aren’t you Kitten?” he sighed, thrusting into your mouth with reckless abandon and no consideration for the state of your hair, or your makeup. “I love girls who do as they’re told.”

The words pouring from his mouth were sheer filth and it went straight to your cunt. You couldn’t resist reaching down to get yourself off.

But then, Roger tugged you off his cock. Right before any kind of pleasure registered in your brain.

“I didn’t say you could come, did I, Kitten?” he scolded.

You were still panting, trying to suck some air into your lungs, relishing the brief reprieve he offered from his onslaught. Your brain was so cloudy that words weren’t on the agenda.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he purred with a sadistic edge. “You get to play with that tight little cunt of yours, and I get to come wherever I like. How does that sound?”

“Sounds reasonable,” you sighed with a delirious smile, your hand returning to your torture, tense cunt. But Roger’s grip on the back of your head pulled your gaze right back up to him.

“There’s one other thing, though, Kitten. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed.

“Wherever I decide to come, you’re not allowed to clean it off until we’ve walked around the entire castle. So you better hope that mouth of yours pleases me, or it’ll be going on that beautiful face of yours.”

You moaned hearing those words. Was he really serious?

You didn’t care. You continued to play with yourself, dutifully opening your mouth to take his cock again.

“Can you imagine what everyone would think if they saw you with spunk dripping down your face, darling?” He groaned; he seemed to know the exact things to say to have you teetering on the edge in seconds flat. “Or maybe I could fuck you. You love feeling it drip down those thighs, don’t you, Kitten?”

Now that was an idea, you thought. Your eyes popped open with enthusiasm as you gave an approving mewl.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you Kitten?” he taunted, his cock hellbent on making your jaw ache. “Tell me how much you want it.”

Of course you couldn’t manage that. Words were impossible when you were gagged by that thick rod of his stuck down your throat. But that didn’t stop you trying, gurgling a comical, “Fuck me please Daddy,” through the unrelenting mouthful.

“So cute,” he teased. “I didn’t quite catch that, Kitten.”

“Oh my god,” you gurgled again, “please fuck me Daddy.”

Roger laughed, yanking you off his cock. He spoke to you like you were a gorgeous little simpleton – slowly, annunciating every syllable. “English, please, Kitten. Tell me again.”

“Please fuck me,” you whined, your hand working overtime between your thighs.

Then, panic set in. Roger wasn’t focusing on you anymore. Instead, he was busy looking around as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and offered you a hand up.

Your stomach dropped with disappointment.

You quickly wiped the drool off your chin, and power walked out of the cellar and on to the next exhibit in the castle, red face and both of you so frustrated by each other’s teasing that you might have exploded just from walking and holding hands in awkward silence. “Where to next?” you asked him.

“Maybe we should try the armoury?” he sighed. “Might be a bit less busy.”

Clamouring up several flights of stone and wooden steps, you and Roger were horrified to find that the jewel in the crown of Montreux’s most famed tourist attractions in peak season was completely packed. Small children ran amuck in the armoury, enjoying the view and playing around with the wooden toy canons.

It was a sight that could’ve made you and Roger cry.

“Right! Back on the boat,” Roger ordered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans and bolting down the wooden steps towards the courtyard.

You struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the stony path towards the jetty to catch the next boat back to Montreux.

“I can’t fucking believe that,” Roger complained. “I was so fucking ready to …”

“Shag my brains out?” you laughed.

Roger’s features changed from bitter frustration to mild agreement, and even, a small meek smile. “Yeah.”

“Where to next,” you began, draping your arm over his shoulder, “Daddy?”

He flicked his eyes over to you and with a devilish smirk, he made his suggestion. “There’s a really good bar on the promenade. And I don’t think they’d bat an eyelid about people shagging in their toilets.”

You laughed, slapping his chest as the boat set sail. You were so ready to give up on the game you were playing. “Haven’t we had enough near misses today?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Roger began, stepping on to the boat, “I thought we were doing the whole public sex thing now, because my girlfriend’s just realised she’s a bit of a freak!”

You plonked yourself down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I am, but sometimes, you have to make it about the soft stuff, you know?”

Roger raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“I’m kidding! Where is this bar you were talking about? It better be good!”

“Drinks are on me, Kitten,” he said softly, patting your thigh.

You and Roger burst into the opulent bathroom at Funky Claude’s with the verve and roguish impatience of a pair of horny teenagers. You giggled, casting an eye over the decadent restroom to make sure no one was there, before bundling Roger into a stall.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you laughed, hiking your dress up around your hips and planting your hands firmly against the wall at the back of the cubicle.

“Me neither,” Roger responded. This was followed by the hasty unzipping of his jeans, for the third and hopefully final time that day. He spat on his fingers and dragged them over your cunt, still sensitive and glistening invitingly from the torture Roger had bestowed upon you at the castle.

You groaned as Roger eased into you. The way he stretched you tight around his girth and stilled for just a split second made you eagerly clench around him. It didn’t do much. But that was ok. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he finally began to move in tedious passes, every back and forth filled the tiny bathroom stall with slick sounds that would have given the game away, should someone have wandered in while you were mid rut.

Roger’s hips snapped into you with a jagged, purposeful intent, that made you curse and brace harder against the wall in front of you. He clung to your waist with his chest firmly glued to your back, hunching over you like an animal. “Such a tight cunt,” he moaned against your neck. “Touch it for me. Touch your cunt for me, Kitten.”

Those words made your entire body shudder with need. “You do it, Daddy,” you whined.

He chuckled and wrapped one hand around your throat. His free hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out the sensitive little nub he had taken so much pleasure in teasing so harshly before.

Your nails clawed at the wall as another wave ripped through your body. You cursed, loud and unchecked as Roger did his best to bring you to the edge as fast as possible.

But then, you heard the gentle swish of the swing doors to the bathroom. You and Roger stopped dead. His hand moved from your neck to your mouth and his lips pressed to your ear again. “Shhh,” he said, moving his cock painfully slow in. And out.

You blinked and looked around, as if somehow it would make your ears work a bit better in an attempt to track the person’s movements in the stall next to yours. You could hear them shuffle their jeans down. And you heard the stream of urine whizzing out of their bladder. And then their zipper. And a flush. And the taps.

All while Roger continued to fuck you so slowly it made you ache.

Nothing could prepare you for when the hand dryer roared to life. He moved at double the pace as when you were alone, pounding you like he was in heat; his fingers doing the same on your clit until your body convulsed and a loud, pleasure dripping moan escaped you, masked by your fellow bathroom goer drying their hands off after taking a piss.

When they finally left, Roger gave three sharp thrusts, punctuated by guttural grunts with his teeth planted in your shoulder. You could feel him dripping out of you as the pair of you stood there in silence, sandwiched together in your post romp comedown.

“Fuck,” you giggled, making his seed ooze down your thighs as you turned to him. “Can you believe we almost got caught?” Your cheeks burned with humiliation. “Do you think they realised?”

Roger shrugged, tucking his cock back into his tight blue jeans. “It was your idea, Kitten,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And I for one, actually liked it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you quipped, balling up a wad of toilet paper.

Roger leaned back against the cubicle door and watched, mesmerised as you cleaned yourself up in front of him. Even for you, this was a new level of personal space invasion.

“Staying for drinks?” he asked casually.

You got up and flushed the toilet then turned to him with a wide grin. “Do you think the people out there realised the two of us just blasted in and shagged in their toilets?”

“It probably happens more than you might think,” he shrugged. He turned and unbolted the door, throwing a glance back at you over his shoulder. “You finish titivating yourself and I’ll get them in. They’ve got a great cocktail menu.”

“Will do,” you sighed, following him out of the cubicle and wandering over to the mirror. Mascara was caked around your lashline from Roger’s earlier efforts at putting your mouth to good use and your lipstick was smudged, leaving only your lipliner intact. Not only that but the blistering August sun had made your foundation cling to all those tiny lines on your face that you didn’t want to admit you had. You opened your bag and fished out your make up to try and fix the damage. Your hair would require a bit more effort. Roger loved it messy, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to bear being seen in a fancy place like this with a raging crow’s nest atop your head. And you weren’t even sure you packed a brush. Snapping the emergency hair tie you wore on your wrist, you reckoned that desperate times called for desperate measures, and scooped your hair up into a high ponytail, hoping to god that Roger wouldn’t get the wrong idea and get another boner for you to take care of tonight. Then you swiped on some lipstick, blended out your mascara and your foundation and blotted on some powder to take the shine off. It never ceased to amaze you the wonders that five minutes in a quiet bathroom could do as you puckered up your lips to blot the excess rouge off. You topped it all off with some perfume and you were good to go.

Roger waited patiently at the bar, seductively sucking an olive from a cocktail stick and eyeing the cocktail menu from over the frames of his glasses. His shirt sat askew and his hair stuck up in all directions, but somehow he fitted right in with the opulence of a place like this. You could tell he was a big deal. Sometimes, it took your breath away and made the butterflies resurface all over again, remembering that he was yours and no one else’s.

His eyes lit up when he saw you wander over to him from across the crowded room. Like two strangers on an awkward first date, unsure of how to approach each other. But pleased they had found themselves in the same place at the same time.

For some reason, putting one foot in front of the other was much more troublesome in this situation. Not from a day of wandering around Montreux, but from sheer nerves. Feeling your chest burn, you noticed all eyes in the room were on you; you ran your fingers through your ponytail, smoothed down your dress, and sucked your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them. Your heart thudded, wondering what exactly was wrong with you. Why were these people staring?

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a dump like this?” Roger smirked when you finally reached him.

“Fella done me wrong,” you joked, hoisting yourself up on the stool next to him. You stole an olive from the dish in front of him, and elbowed his side.

Roger scanned the room at the people who stared at you. Not looking at you, he smiled. “You’re a real head turner, darling.”

“That’s probably you…” you paused, thinking of your next move.

Why not go with it?

This was the perfect backdrop to the most perfect date you could imagine. Admiring Roger in the glow from the low-hanging lamps over the bar, you asked him your burning question. “Would you like some company for the night?”

Roger turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. He slapped his hand on your thigh and said, “Only if you’ll let me buy you a drink, beautiful.”

He was playing along.

You scooted closer to him, peering over his shoulder to read the menu in his hands, laughing quietly at the names. “I like the sound of a ‘Money,’” you said, pointing to the page.

“I’m loving this ‘Let’s Dance’ one,” Roger replied. “You know, darling, I’m actually friends with Bowie.”

You knew this. You had seen David’s number pop up on Roger’s phone on numerous occasions, and the comments they’d leave on each others’ Instagram posts. But for the sake of going along with your perfect first date, you widened your eyes in shock. Over played, hammy, fake shock. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Oh he’s great. Peculiar guy. Cracking wardrobe.”

“So are you famous or something?” you pressed, beaming at him.

The bartender ducked between you and Roger – he looked like something out of a 1920’s speakeasy, complete with black armband, suspenders and a moustache. “Monsieur Taylor – que désirez-vous?”

Roger stumbled for a moment, with an um and an ah and then, in perfect French he ordered. “Je voudrais un Money, et pour la dame, une Let’s Dance s’il vous plait.”

“D’accord Monsieur.”

Something about Roger speaking French went straight to your legs; or rather, the spot between them. “You haven’t answered my question,” you prodded, looking visibly flustered by Roger’s linguistic prowess, and squeezing your thighs together for good measure.

“You could say that, darling,” he said, shovelling a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I’m the drummer in a rock band.”

“Oh so you’re a rockstar?” you cooed. “Will I have heard of you?”

“I don’t know, darling. Ever heard of Queen? We’re kind of a big deal,” he boasted in a charmingly modest fashion.

“So that’s where I’ve seen you!” you said with wide eyes. “Personally, I’ve always thought they were kind of shit.”

Roger didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead he did that thing he usually did, where he desperately moved his lips as his usually sharp and nimble brain played a game of catchup. It lasted a few awkward seconds where all you wanted to do was to break character and yell ‘kidding’ at him. But eventually, he changed the subject. “What brings you to Montreux, darling?” he asked, resting his head against his hand as he leaned on the bar and gazed adoringly at you.

“Just some bloke, really,” you sighed.

“Really? And here was me thinking I had a chance,” he pouted. “What’s your man like?”

You lowered your eyebrows and flashed him a smile that made him instantly wish he had never even asked that question. “Well,” you hummed, “he’s lovely. I met him on Tinder, and if you ask me, he’s far too old to be on there. But anyway, I let all that slide. Gave him a chance.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because he’s everything I could ever want. Shorter than I thought from his pictures, though. Still tall enough. Handsome. Great dress sense. He’s surprisingly intelligent, considering how beautiful he is. And, here’s the kicker. He has the most devilish, vile sense of humour I’ve ever encountered.”

“He sounds like a catch,” Roger sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He is. I’ve only been with him a short while and he’s completely changed my life for the better. I’m so much more confident because of him. But anyway, why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him and shuffling in your seat.

“A woman.”

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s the polar opposite of my ex wife and the kind of woman I should’ve married. So sensible and carefree at the same time. And she really makes me want to be better, you know? I never felt like I could have a life with my ex wife. But this girl. God, she’s got me thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ve missed the boat with all the settling down business. I hope not. Because she’s all I want.”

“And yet you’re in a fancy bar, buying a strange girl a very overpriced drink?” you asked with a wink.

“I think we’ve met before,” he sighed, closing his eyes ever so slightly.

“I think so too,” you said.

Roger turned his gaze towards the bartender, watching him as he made your drinks. You could barely hear the sounds that came out of his mouth. But his lips sure as hell looked like they were saying something important.

Like: “I love you.”

>> NEXT >>

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen

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