#i will say that the kit i had to wear was AWFUL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seraphimcollections · 1 year

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drunk daze | NSFW Price/Reader | +18

warnings: MINORS DNI !!!! P?rn with plot, slight size kink, rough, club sex, sex pollen, multiple orgasms, sex with a superior, mutual pining, allusions to masturbation, NSFW FOR GOD'S SAKE!! Pure filth. No mention of Y/N but readers codename is "Kit"

...I regret nothing.

summary: you, Gaz and Price are all on a mission to locate a mysterious bio-weapon, the likes of you and your dear captain get an acquaintance with ;)

words: 5k <.<

a/n: ...just gonna leave this here...

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You could barely raise your chest to bring in breath. You felt like you were on fire, every inch of you covered in a thin film of sweat glimmering in the dingy lights of the cramped restroom. You sat on the toilet lid, your back arched and your head leaned over so that your hair could pool at the bottom of the basin. Cool running water ran over your locks in an attempt to increase your rising temperature. Little to say, it wasn’t working.

Oh, that’s right, you were on a mission, the objective completely forgotten at this point. You’re mind a haze, all you could think about was trying to hang on to the last piece of sanity holding you back from making a stupid decision. Your lips parted, you let out a strangled moan, trying your best to focus your gaze.

“Love,” his voice alone was able to cut through all the noise.

You looked up into his honeyed gaze, finding salvation. You smiled at him, hand reaching to catch on his tee.

“I really fucked us didn’t I,” you eyes swirled with lust staring up to the bearded man, “Captain.”

Four hours earlier, Gaz and Captain Price touched down in Tokyo, assigned to a special mission to retrieve a rumored bio-weapon.

“And we don’t have any other intel on this, Laswell?” You ask, all three of you standing around the laptop.

“All we know is that it's highly effective and mind-altering, but we’ll get the information we need once we’ve retrieved it,” Laswell said over the call.

“And this supposed bio-weapon is hidden inside this club?” Gaz said skeptically.

“Well, if I were an evil mastermind trying to hide the next hottest bio-weapon, I’d want to hide it in plain sight,” you shrugged.

“Alright, all that’s left is to get ready,” Price said, standing to his feet, “Gaz will be positioned in the building across from the club while you and I infiltrate and attempt to locate the weapon. Boots on the ground by 19:00 hours.”

You turned and waved over your shoulder as you walked toward your separate room, “can’t rush beauty, Cap!”

Gaz rolled his eyes with a chuckle, hearing the door click shut.

“Not going to lie, Captain,” Gaz smiled, “I’d kill to be in your position. Respectfully, of course.”

“Right,” Price smirked, slapping a hand on Gaz’ shoulder, “stay sharp, Gaz.”

Thirty minutes before departure time, Price sat in one of the hotel armchairs, helping himself to a cool glass of Scotch. Of course it wasn’t even close to being as good as his regular, but it would definitely be better than the drinks they’d be serving at the sketchy club he was heading to.

Instead of wearing his usual uniform, he had changed into something a bit more colloquial, a simple pair of jeans and a gray tee underneath his bomber. A beanie had replaced his trusty bucket hat. Sighing, he flicked his wrist to look at the time before his eyes shot to your door for what felt like the 10th time in 20 minutes. What was taking you so long, he thought. He had massively underestimated what went into making you look presentable, that much was apparent.

Finally, he heard your door open before the clacking of your heels on the hardwood. John felt his mouth go dry as his gaze climbed up your long legs, up to the short hemline of your skimpy reflective dress, over the canyon of your breasts -- no bra to be seen, until finally settling on your sultry gaze. He could feel his face become harder, his lips parted in awe.

“You look strapping, Cap,” you smiled.

Price gulped and tried to put on the best smile to hide his nerves. Nerves? He would’ve scoffed at the idea, but it would be a lie that he wasn’t seduced by the pure image of you. The way the dress hugged every curve, the way your skin glistened in the light, the subtle makeup on your eyelids that made your eyes pop even more than John thought possible. A goddess stood in front of him, and he hardly felt worthy.

“You look…stunning, love,” Price said.

You felt your stomach twist in a knot as you quickly averted your gaze. Love, a term of endearment, but from a friend. A superior. Your boss. Of course your Captain’s attractiveness was not lost on you, spending nights hot and out of breath as your sheets clung to your sweat body, one hand clamped over your mouth and the other slid between your legs. The image of your Captain’s bruising grip holding tightly on your hips while he-

“Should we head out then?” Price snapped you out of your thoughts as he stood to his feet.

You nodded in an attempt to be stoic and focused on the mission, despite the pure filth going on in her head, and between your legs. Price gestured for you to go first through the door, where he then realized the dress exposed the entirety of your back. He noted how your shoulder blades peaked from your skin, how the line of your back ran all the way down to the plump of your ass. Price nearly had to slap himself to get himself to stop looking, a near impossible feat. Get it together, idiot, he thought.

The ride to the club was quiet, both you and Price keeping your attention to anything and everything passing by as Gaz drove. Your leg crossed one over the other, you leaned your chin on your palm, your expression showing boredom. Gaz looked into the rearview toward your relaxed figure.

“You clean up pretty nice,” he said jokingly.

You smirked, playfully kicking his seat, “eyes on the road, casanova.”

Gaz chuckled before throwing his hands up in defeat, “just stating the obvious. Oh, you don’t look too bad yourself, Captain.”

Price rolled his eyes, looking at his watch again, “anyway, you know your positions. Gaz, keep an eye to see if any of our targets come in the vicinity. Kit and I will make our way in and locate the weapon-”

“And make our grand escape into the sunset. Mission accomplished,” you looked to him with a comforting smile, “don’t worry Cap, this will be a cake walk.”

Price sighed almost in relief as he stared into eyes. You often had the tendency to be optimistic, sometimes to a fault, but it helped with the nerves. Something Price had a feeling you knew well.

Finally the car came to a slow around the corner of the club, eventually coming to a stop underneath a street lamp.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Gaz said, twisting to look back at you two, “good luck in there, try not to die.”

“And prolong my amazing funeral? Wouldn’t dream of it,” you clapped Gaz on the shoulder before stepping out, Price following you out.

Gaz didn’t wait, immediately pulling off to dump the car in an unmarked alleyway before making his way to his rooftop position. The chill of the night air sent gooseflesh over your arms as you stood next to Price. You blinked in shock as he held out his arm to you, looking up at him. John gave you a small smile.

“Better make it look believable, right?” He said.

You smiled before snaking your arm in between his, maybe a little too eagerly.

“Who knew you were such a gentleman,” you smiled.

“Of course, you think I’m some sorry sod who doesn’t know how to treat a fine woman like you?” He said, “fine” slipping out before he could do anything about it.

This slip wasn’t lost on you, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

“You’re right, that's more of Gaz’s deal isn’t it,” you smirked.

“I can hear you, you know that right?” Gaz sounded unimpressed over the earpiece.

“Just checking if the ear piece was working,” you said coyly.

“Right,” Gaz said.

The two of you turned the corner, making your way to the growing line outside the club door. The building itself wasn’t anything to write home about, but the growing line waiting outside the door was enough to prove otherwise. By looking at the serious demeanor of the bouncer, who was obviously armed, you knew your were going to play this up a bit more. A sultry smile grew on your glossed lips, pulling gently on Price’s arm to bring him to your level. You pressed yourself closer to his side, molding into him. To anyone else, you were a young couple completely infatuated with each other, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

“He’s armed,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear.

Price went rigid feeling your sudden warmth, one of your arms wrapped his arm, the other on his chest. He quickly had to refocus, realizing the weight in your words as he looked over the bouncer at the door.

“Got it,” his voice rumbled.

It wasn't long before the two of you reached the door and the bouncer held up his hand.

“トラを食べちゃう車ってなぁに？” the large man said deeply.

Without skipping a beat, you answered, “トラック.”

The man nodded and stepped aside, letting the two of you pass by, his stoic gaze never leaving Price until they passed through the door. They walked down a short hallway that vibrated with the music until they reached the main floor. The place was packed wall to wall, on the dance floor and the terrace above where the bar was located. Price’s eyes squinted at the violent flashing lights as he looked over the room. You still had a grip on his arm. He leaned down your ear.

“How’d you know how to get in?” Price said.

You shrugged, “it’s an old riddle, my grandma taught to us as a kid.”

Price nodded, “alright, let’s split up. Keep an eye out for anything interesting, stay frosty.”

“Copy that,” with that you released his arm, much to his disappointment.

You turned and looked over your shoulder with a grin, “and loosen up, old man! You’ll blow our cover before we ever get the chance!”

Price nearly choked on his breath, “not so loud!”

You waved dismissively over your shoulder, “no one can hear us, it’s too loud!”

You continued your way down to the dance floor, your heartbeat picking up as you sunk into the waves of dancing bodies lost in the music. Yes, you were on a mission, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a bit of fun, right? Letting yourself be taken by the beats shaking the ground underneath your heels, you began to sway your hips. No one could wipe the smile away from your lips if they tried. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually went dancing, it had been way too long, forgetting how releasing it could be. The months of rough missions and being shot at had even your light-hearted jokes coming on a bit thick. So yes, you needed this. You need a release.

You ran your hands over your curves, swaying foot to foot, your hips in circles. In the same moment, you could feel eyes on you, and you knew damn well who it was. Price found you so easily in that crowd. He leaned over the railing, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he looked down at you from the terrace. His eyes never left your form, noting every way your body rolled, watching as your growing sweat began to glisten across your skin. God, you were perfect, and you knew it which made you all the more dangerous to him. A forbidden fruit.

Now, now you are going to put on a show. It was just too easy and too tempting not to. Maybe it would’ve landed you in a world of hurt later, but for now, you were going to wring every drop out of this moment. You flipped hair, your hands moving to hold your neck as you swing your hips in a circle, rolling your body in waves. You look up at Price, that smug grin never leaving.

“You little minx,” Price mumbled, taking a deep swig of his whiskey.

You had to have known what you were doing to him, this little game you were playing was slowly unraveling his resolve with each move. Not even a second later, you feel hands smooth over your waist and the warmth of someone behind you. You immediately tear your eyes away from Price and look at the man behind you.

“Haven’t seen you around here before, stranger,” the man said into your ear.

You didn’t slip, laying on the bimbo act on thick, “I’m from out of town, heard this place was a must see. Can’t see why though, am I missing something?”

The man chuckled, twirling you around before holding you tight to his chest shown brazenly through his unbuttoned shirt.

“You made it just in time for the grand finale,” the man said, his hand sliding down to your ass before squeezing.

It took everything in you to not slice his hand off right then and there, hiding your maliciousness behind a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, is that so?” You say.

The music began to reach its peak, the crowd becoming rowdier by the second. It felt like the dance floor had become even more packed, people closing you in completely. You looked over the man’s shoulder and up to Price, your gaze saying it all. Something was about to go down.

“Everyone’s storming the floor -- Kit time to go,” Price said to the ear piece to no response, “Kit, you read?”

But you couldn’t hear him over the loudness of the music shaking your bones. The air felt thinner and the heat was nearly unbearable when your dancing partner suddenly pulled you even closer to him to whisper in your ear.

“Here it comes, don’t waste a single drop,” he snickered.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion before hearing a large pop. Your head shot up to the blinding light above, seeing confetti raining down. But it wasn’t just confetti, there was a fine dust that glittered in the light and completely dominated what little air there was. The man took in a deep whiff, letting out a groan before sticking out his tongue. Before you could turn away, the cloud was upon you, blinding you while the room erupted into cheers. You shoved the man away from you, not that he seemed to mind, his attention drawn to the showering cloud of powder above.

Price instantly lept into action, abandoning his drink at a nearby table and shoving past the troves of people to get to you. You coughed and stumbled through the bodies, bumping into everyone as you passed, desperately rubbing the powder from your eyes to the best of your ability.

“John, s-shit, J-John!” You shouted in panic, hands over your eyes.

Soon enough you felt his warm hands take you by your arms.

“I’m here, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said.

He guided away from the floor and you followed blindly. You could feel the two of you pushing through, John not even bothering with manners until you could hear the opening of a door. You stumbled through and John hurriedly locked it behind you. You swayed, letting out a groan as you felt a throbbing headache coming on. You outstretched your arms, your hands laid flat against the walls casing you in.

“Fuck, I can’t see,” you whimpered, keeping your eyes squinted.

Without as much as a word, John turned you around and forced you to sit on what you assumed was the toilet.

“Here, lean back,” Price said, his voice laced with worry.

You did as he said, leaning back far enough that your back was supported by the sink basin attached to the tank. You could feel John’s hulking frame lean over you, adding his own heat to your unbearable temperature, turning on the faucet. Gently, he took your locks and laid underneath the cool water. You couldn’t quite place it, but you felt like your skin was crawling. Was it always like that? Your blood must have been boiling in your veins, centralizing lower, causing you to clench your thighs together. This feeling, it couldn’t be…

Your head began to turn into mush, you hadn’t even realized your tight grip on John’s shirt.

“Hold on, Kit, stay with me,” John’s voice sounded too good right, too good.

You flinched as he gently poured water over your closed eyes, the liquid feeling as if it was evaporating off your skin instantly. The world sounded underwater, like this small room was all that was left in the world. Leaving only you and John. You couldn’t hear Gaz calling over the earpiece, it having fallen out of your ear in your scuffle through the crowd, but John was talking to him.

That powder, it tasted sweet like sugar and coated everything. Everyone seemed to have been expecting it, everyone except you two. Shit, it all made sense.

“F-fuck, John, the weapon,” you gritted out, “that’s what it was. It’s some kind of, s-shit, I don’t know - an aphrodisiac, maybe? Fuck it’s so hot.”

John’s eyes widened in shock and realization. You groaned, cracking your eyes open to look up at him. If you didn’t think he was a giant (compared to you) you definitely thought so now seeing him in such a cramped space. He looked over you with that piercing blue gaze, the one that sent fear into the heart of many, but now only set you ablaze. Your gaze spilled over him, over his well-kept beard and mustache -- how desperately you wanted to ride them.

You clenched your legs tighter, trying but obviously failing to hang on to any ounce of sanity. He was your Captain. The man that made sure the job got done and that everyone came back. That’s all it was supposed to be. But you knew damn well it hadn’t just been that for a long time. You found yourself staring at the man for longer, sometimes he’d catch you and return a smile. That damned smile gifted by the mischievous gods themselves, sent to destroy you. And gods, it was working. Soon everything became engraved in your mind, the way his hips winded when he walked, the way he’d chew into his cigars when he was stressed. How he would bark orders to the time, watching them fall in line so easily, wishing, begging that he’d one day turn those orders on you and you alone. How you’d pray for them in your bed, your fingers desperately rubbing circles on your overstimulated clit in hopes of even coming close to what impossible pleasure he’d give you.

All such feelings were just that, feelings, and thus had no room in the real world. But now, such feelings roared like a furnace in your belly and you feared they’d overflow.

“I’ve really fucked us, didn’t I, Captain?” You said, your voice weak.

John couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, leaning closer to look into your blown eyes. He gently tilted your head to get a better look at you.

“Kit, report,” he said gently.

You didn’t respond, your words tangled in bliss. John frowned, running a thumb over your plump lips.

“Come on, stay with me,” he whispered.

Your brow furrowed and you gulped, your mouth a desert.

“I-It’s…hot, so hot, I feel like I’m hot spring on top of fucking volcano,” your words slurred, “my head feels light, I can’t think straight…and my heart, it’s beating so fast. It hurts, John…”

John frowned, finding the odds even worse than he thought. In only a few moments, you wouldn’t be able to move let alone respond if he didn’t do something. He felt his heart in his throat. If you died on his watch, right in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He knew then, he felt more for you than a superior should ever feel. He now understood the anxiety he felt when he’d send on missions without him, and the immeasurable relief you brought when you came back to him. How he’d crack a smile at your bad jokes, so bad that they could even make Ghost chuckle. Remembering your divine image when you’d come out of a training session, covered in sweat to the point that it soaked through that little tank you called a shirt, eyeing how it clings to you, showing him everything but not enough at the same time.

John felt his mouth run dry as he pressed the earpiece.

“Gaz, keep an eye on the perimeter,” John said gruffly, “going dark.”

He didn’t even wait for Gaz to answer before dropping the earpiece and stomping it underneath his boot. John looked over your limp body, hunger clawing at him as he took in every inch of you.

“Kit, I need you to listen to me,” he said, both hands cradling your face.

You tried your best to give him your attention but you were slipping by the second.

“I need you to tell me you want this,” he said, still trying to find restraint. “Or else tell me to stop this and I will.”

You didn’t think your heart could beat any faster than it did but you couldn’t put it past John. All sense of restraint snapped like a twig. Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him close until your lips clashed together. Teeth clashed as you held him tight. You expected him to push you away, you expected to have read the situation wrong, but you didn’t. He didn’t.

John nearly lost it when you moaned needily into the kiss. He tried his best not to crush you under his weight, one hand supporting himself against the wall behind you, the other tangling in your damp hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You kept your hands busy too, sliding down to his shirt and belt, yanking at the fabric. By the time the two of you separated, John was out of breath as he looked down at you with an unquenchable thirst.

“I want you to know,” his words rumbled in his chest, “if I could, I’d take you out to dinner, get you flowers, I wouldn’t, I mean-”

You giggled, “I know, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do all that later.”

John smiled, his hands squeezing under your thighs before hauling you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The wall felt like ice against your back, but he felt like fire against you. His warm hands slither up your thighs and under dress, fingers curling around the band of your thong.

John groaned, “what you do to me…”

His fingers moved the fabric clothing your heat, swiping up the slit and gathering your juices on his fingertips.

“God, how are you this wet already?” He mumbled against your lips.

You could only answer with a strangled mewl as he slid two fingers inside with ease. Working them, you struggled to contain your moans as his thumb circled your clit relentlessly. Your vision was blurring by the second as you clawed at his shirt, moaning into his neck. You squealed, feeling John add another finger and when he curled them, spots of your vision completely disappeared.

“S-shit, John, right there, g-god!” You gasped.

John pumped his fingers faster, his mouth covering yours as an attempt to quiet you despite craving to hear you more. He watched as you fell apart in front of him, and he hungered for more. He kept his pace until your eyes flitted to the back of your head, your legs shaking around him. You came violently around his fingers, clawing at John’s muscular arms as he continued to pump them into your sensitive cunt. He only slowed when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, causing him to look up into you fucked out gaze.

Your eyes said it all. Your lips were parted and glossy with his and your own saliva.

“John, please…” you whispered airlessly.

He didn’t hold back, letting your legs fall as you tried your best to lean into the wall so as not to fall. He pulled hastily at his leather belt, peeling back the layers until he cock was finally free. You felt your mouth water seeing it slap up against his abdomen, its head red and angry. John stroked it a few times, squeezing the tip tightly. He took your left thigh, propping your heel on the toilet, spreading you and slipping between your legs. Now you could truly feel all of him. You slithered your fingers underneath John’s shirt, lifting it up to his firm pecs that you more than once caught yourself staring at during workout. Your hands felt so hot against him, he wanted more, needed more. His steely blue eyes connected with yours, looking for any hesitance, anything that would call him off.

“Tell me to stop,” his accent sounded rough, showing how much he was actually holding back. “Tell me-”

You silenced him with a kiss, softer and gentler than the last. This was true, a promise. You broke from him and smiled warmly.

“You are all I want,” you whispered.

John groaned, swiping his tip along your slit, pulling a moan from you before knocking the air out of you as he began to sink into you. He was big, the was obvious. The tip alone made you stretch uncomfortably but you craved it, longed for it. He was being careful, your cautious captain. You could see it in his face, his brow scrunched up as he sunk further and further until he reached the hilt. Your mouth hung open in pleasure, your brow knitted.

He waited for a moment before gently thrusting, kissing your velvety walls. You let out mewls, your fingers clawing against his arms.

“J-John,” you whimpered.

“Yea love?” he said, his words beginning to slur from the pleasure.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “let go.”

John’s eyes widened a centimeter, fully blown. By a flip of a switch, he wrapped your wrists with a single hand and pinned them above you. His lips found sanctuary in your shoulder and neck, leaving smoldering kisses. His hips snapped against you and breath-taking pace, hitting deep with each thrust. You felt your mind fully melt, stars blinding your vision.

“F-fuck, how are you this tight, love?” He groaned against your ear.

All you could now was whimper pathetically in response, your hands clawing at his back as he ravished you over and over. Both your slick stuck to his abdomen and your thighs, his balls slapping against you every time he’d bury his cock into your cunt. You couldn’t control your moans, and John wouldn’t have wanted you to. He as lost in them as you were, groaning into your ear.

The way he pounded into you, kissing your cervix, it was no wonder how you were so quickly returned to the edge. Your felt your stomach tighten as slapped your hands against his chest as another orgasm came over you in a unforgiving wave. You were dripping now, juices beginning to pool at your feet.

For a moment you thought John had relented, letting out a pitiful whine as he pulled out of your puffy cunt. This thought was dashed when he dragged you over to the sink, your hands holding yourself up against the porcelain. John ruffled your dress over your ass, slapping a hand against it before tightly squeezing.

“Look at you, you’re a sight,” John mumbled, “it was pure torture watching you out there. Almost like this was what you’ve always wanted. Needed a good fuck, didn’t you Kit?”

You let out a moan, feeling John slide a hand up your back to tangle into your locks before pulling. You looked up lazily into the reflection, finding him staring back at you.

“Answer me, soldier,” he said, a smug smirk on his lips.

In any other circumstance you would want to whip that prideful smirk off his face, but right now all you wanted to do was worship him.

“Yes, sir.”

You let out a moan as he slid back into you so easily, falling back into his brutal pace. Your head rocked back as you bit you lip, your eyes rolling to the back your head. He kissed your sweet spot repeatedly, bruising it but you loved it. God you loved it.

“Good fucking girl,” he cursed, his fingers digging into the plush of your hips, “doing so well for me.”

You yelped as he picked up the pace, something you didn’t think was possible. John watched with pride as your ass slapped against his thighs with ever thrust, echoing against the concrete walls along with the pornstar moans he was dragging out of you so easily. He could feel your walls tightening around him as he rammed your womb, inching him closer to his climax.

“Where do you want it, love?” He said, his breath labored.

You didn’t even think, your mouth did all the work.

“F-fuck, fuck cum, cum inside me- fuck, John!” You cried.

“Fuuck, love, you’re dangerous,” John groaned, his grip on your waist tightening, his head dipped to your back.

His breaths left his lungs in huffs each thrust, matching your moans until you both unraveled like paper dolls. You let out a long moan, feeling his seed paint your womb and warm you from the inside out.

The two of you refused to move, both gasping for air. It wasn’t until his soft dick was forced out by your tight cunt did John look up into the mirror.

“You alright, love?” He said.

All you could do was nod, still trying to catch your breath. John stood straight, hands gently rubbing your back as he looked down at the mess he made of you. His seed dripped out lazily from you and before he could even think, he took his index, catching some before stuffing it back in. You let out a small whimper, looking over your shoulder to him.

“Can’t waste a drop, love,” he said with a tired smirk.

You shakily pushed yourself off the sink, your dress falling back over thighs. Legs feeling like jello, you stumbled to sit down on the toilet. You hung your head as you tried your best to catch your breath. Much to your dismay, the high began to subside and the regret began to set in.

As if sensing your anxiety, John gently cradled your face, guiding you to look up at him. He placed a gentle kiss on your swollen lips before pulling away with a smile.

“I meant what I said,” he said. “I want to take you out. Somewhere you nice. Treat you like you deserve, that is, if you’ll have me?”

You looked up at him in disbelief before grinning, “I’ll go anywhere you are, Captain.”

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*leaps into escape vehicle*: I REGRET NOTHING!!

help me out a please reblog and like, thank you!!

#price x reader #price x you #price x yn #cod price #cod x you #gaz #mw2 #pollen #mw2 smut #price smut #john price smut #smut #mdni #ghost #konig

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 5 months

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queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

#queer signalling #my posts #long post #anyways............. hmu if you have more bc i know there's more that i've forgotten but i didn't want to wait #but these were my personal highlights #this is for me more than anyone i know. i don't really know if anyone's really waiting on this #but i personally have been feeling like i gloss over a lot #and forget a lot #and minimise a lot for fear of making a big thing out of something small #but... then i make big things into something small.#which i hate #going through my archive just shows how fast an event passes by and i just stopped talking about it #ive complained about this many a time i know #anygays #for whoever wants to come scream with me <3 #also i have left out some events that were too easily deniable and i didn't want to clutter the post #since what's actual tangibly real and straight from them is so insane already #also that gif is how i feel rn.#how i often feel tbh #i want to be braver again

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oliversrarebooks · 3 months

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The Rare Bookseller Part 42: Fitz's Cold Comfort

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

tw: captivity, mind control, aftermath of burns and mouth whump

When Fitz opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else entirely, being laid out onto an upholstered couch. His mind was swimming, still drowning in sleep. He was in a bedroom, a particularly large and ornate one. His childhood home? How was he back there? He couldn't be -- not when he'd been out for so many years --

No, he realized just as he started to panic, this was a different nightmare entirely. He was still in the auction house, still with the vampires. Through his lidded eyes he saw Mr. Alexander setting him down, and behind him, Miss Lily being comforted by a long-haired woman in a simple pinafore and apron.

"Mr. Lex, sir, what happened?" she asked.

"Our sire punished her -- forced her to cut out her tongue again."

Again?

"Please attend to your madam, Nellie. Take her into the bathroom and help her wash off the blood and calm down. She'll need to feed from you in order to begin healing the wound."

"Of course, sir, of course. Thank you for helping my madam, sir."

Fitz blinked, and Mr. Alexander was looming over him, making him involuntarily flinch. "It's okay, Fitz. I'm going to wash your wound with cool water. Please hold still."

He willed himself to stay still as Mr. Alexander brought a washcloth to the burns on his chest. The cooling sensation of the water felt heavenly, and he couldn't help but sink into it.

"There's an awful bruise on your face, too. Did he hit you?"

"Mm," said Fitz. For denying that I wanted you to buy me, he didn't add.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

"No, just the slap and the burns and the general air of threat and torment, sir."

"...I'm sorry," he said softly. "I need to go fetch some bandages and lotion. I won't be long. Why don't you rest, go back to sleep?" Before Fitz could respond either way, Alexander began to sing his lullaby once more, and Fitz couldn't help his eyes growing dull and heavy after only a few bars, couldn't fight the pull of enchanted slumber. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but he couldn't help but just rest his eyes for --

"Fitz. I'm back. Can I help you sit up?"

He opened his eyes, confused. He had only just blinked. Hadn't he?

"Here, let me help take the dress off, and then I can give you some lotion for the burn. I brought some pajama pants you can wear."

"Alright, sir," said Fitz, despising how useless and helpless he felt, how he was too tired for wit. How much he was at the mercy of this vampire's kindness. The memory of the Maestro effortlessly toying with his body as though he were a doll haunted him, and while Alexander's power was far more pleasant, he still couldn't help feeling trapped.

He wanted to believe that Mr. Alexander was better, that he'd escaped or at least postponed the worst of it, but how could he know for sure? How could he possibly begin to trust a vampire? And even if he could trust Mr. Alexander, there was the Maestro's challenge, his promise of inevitable tragedy.

There was a truly awful noise coming from the bathroom, something between a retch and a howl, and Mr. Alexander stopped unlacing Fitz's corset for a moment. "Lily's having a rough time, to say the least. I know it sounds terrible, but she will heal in a few days at most," he said, resuming. "Vampires can heal from almost any wound, given an adequate supply of blood. One important reason why we keep thralls, not as if I expect you to sympathize."

His new purpose, to feed a vampire. Even after all that had happened, Miss Lily's spell of submission still had a grip on him, made him long to be close to Mr. Alexander. "I understand, sir. Perhaps I wish I didn't, but I do."

"Here, sit down, this will help with the discomfort," said Mr. Alexander, as he gently pushed Fitz back down onto the couch. He had a little metal kit with a red cross painted on it, and he pulled out some pink cream and began applying it to the branded spot on Fitz's chest. It was soothing, and Fitz found he could breathe easier, sinking into the couch cushions.

"I'm going to have to stay here at the auction house for the next few days to help with Lily's work, while she regains her voice. While I was downstairs, I arranged for a room for us to stay in. We'll go home after that," said Mr. Alexander.

Home. His new owner's home, of course.

"Lily is my little sister in spirit, you see, and I can't just abandon her. Not after what happened," he continued. "I hope you don't mind."

Fitz started intently at where Mr. Alexander was taping a bandage to his wound. "Does it actually matter if I mind, sir?"

Mr. Alexander's hands dropped. He cleared his throat. "It does," he said. "And I certainly don't expect you to trust or forgive me after that, but... I am sorry. It was either follow his order or leave you with him, and what he does to his thralls..."

"And you're different, sir?"

"I like to think so, yes," said Alexander. "I won't harm you. I'll treat you well. I'll give you everything that you desire, that's within my power to grant. You have my word."

Fitz wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that so badly. That's what made it a dangerous thing to believe. Hell, he'd seen this very con game before: one confidence artist as the tough guy threatening the mark, while another takes the role of a helpful good Samaritan, to ingratiate themselves more easily to the mark. How did Fitz know this wasn't all planned?

"You have every incentive to treat me however you please, sir," said Fitz. "Didn't your sire say that if you didn't train me to his standards, you'd be punished as well?"

"I don't care." There was a sudden flame in Mr. Alexander's eyes, a fierceness that hadn't been there a second ago. "He is not taking you, Fitz. Not ever. You're mine."

"Sir...?" Fitz couldn't help but be taken off guard by this sudden show of protectiveness and possessiveness in one.

"I haven't truly desired anything in decades," said Mr. Alexander with frightening intensity. "He may have delivered you back to me in order to control me, but all he's done is provided the incentive for me to finally break free of him, no matter what it takes."

Just as back in the showroom, Fitz could feel those eyes tunneling into him, could feel the weight and presence of the vampire's need. He could feel Mr. Alexander's hunger, his dark desire, and it took the last vestiges of his willpower to keep holding onto his mind.

It should be terrifying. They'd only just met earlier that evening, and Mr. Alexander owned him. With his vampiric and mesmeric powers, he could do anything he liked to Fitz.

And yet.

No one had ever felt so passionate about Fitz, not really. He'd flirted and manipulated his way into many a heart and many a bed, but no one had truly seen him as more than an idle diversion. He'd never had someone to care at all.

He wanted it, despite himself.

But everything Mr. Alexander was saying was exactly as the Maestro had predicted it. Mr. Alexander wanting to possess him, Mr. Alexander thinking they could both be saved.

Fitz swallowed his thought. He didn't want Mr. Alexander to know that and give him incentive to treat Fitz poorly, or discourage his plot to kill his sire.

A lot could happen in one year.

The moment between them was broken by Miss Lily slamming open the door to the bathroom. Compared to her perfect poise during the auction, and even how put-together she had been when meeting her sire in the parlor, she looked as though a horse had trampled her. Her hair was falling around her face in tangles, her makeup was half-washed off and smeared, and her dress was skewed.

"You look terrible. How are you feeling?" asked Mr. Alexander.

Her glare said it all.

"Sorry, I mean -- it's understandable that you look terrible after all of that -- you understand what I was saying -- perhaps I should shut my mouth," said Mr. Alexander, clearing his throat.

Miss Lily sighed and gestured towards Fitz.

"I fetched a first aid kit and patched him up. He should be fine," said Mr. Alexander before Fitz could report on his own condition. "I talked to Colette downstairs. She's going to let me fill in for you while you're... indisposed. Fitz and I will be staying in the room three doors to the left from here."

Miss Lily looked so tired as she nodded. As she crossed the room, she pat Mr. Alexander on the shoulder in a gesture that seemed to convey gratitude, then absentmindedly pat Fitz on the head before sitting on the bed. She gestured towards the bathroom, and Nellie emerged, walking briskly to sit next to her vampire owner. Fitz could feel the pull of Miss Lily's aura as she tucked back Nellie's hair, brushing her neck, before giving Mr. Alexander a pointed look.

"Oh, yes, we should retire to our own quarters so you can feed in private. Besides, Fitz needs rest after all of that."

By this time, Mr. Alexander's spell had worn off enough that his anxiety had returned. "I don't know how you expect me to rest after all of that, sir."

"I was going to put you to sleep again," said Mr. Alexander as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Fitz looked from him to where Miss Lily was waiting impatiently for them to leave. Nellie was looking at her rapturously, tilting her head to expose her neck, waiting for the feeding. A vampire's servant, just as he was, now.

Is that how he would look? Adoring, staring into Mr. Alexander's eyes, with no thought in the world but to give his blood to a vampire.

"Let's go and give them some privacy," said Mr. Alexander, sweeping Fitz up into his arms.

"I could walk --" he protested.

"There's no need."

And Fitz really did have no choice but to let Mr. Alexander carry him out of the room, down the hallway to an equally ornate room. No choice but to allow him to tuck him in bed or sing him back to sleep.

Or perhaps he did have a choice, and he was simply too exhausted to make it.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week we'll return to Oliver's time as Alexander receives a social call.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree

#whump #whump writing #vampires #vampire whump #vampire whumper #mind control #rare bookseller #fitz #alexander #lily

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talesfrommedinastation · 5 months

Text

My redneck neighbor Doug on the Jedi in 'The Clone Wars'

Y'all have asked, and Dr. Meat Muffin might be a disgruntled old hag that chugs too much Trader Joe’s bourbon and doodles too much subpar art, but she keeps her promises!

Just so y’all know, if you’re a major character (Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, etc) you keep your name, because it was drilled into Doug’s head over 8 seasons of Clone Wars and the movies. Everyone else, though, Doug gave up and created his own catchphrases for them.

CW: This one's not as spicy as Doug's previous rants regarding Star Wars, but y'all know if y'all know. "It'll all come out in the wash."

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

Plo Koon: Ah, Shrimp Daddy. He looks like a shrimp that’s been boiled and left in the sun after a potluck. But my wife LOVES him, she says he has the nicest voice and she wishes he’d narrate some books. I loved him too, he was my favorite. That scene where he tells his clone boys in space that they’re important to him? Ah great. They should have him lead HR meetings.

Aayla Secura: Babe-the-Blue-Jedi. They sent her away from the Temple because Yoda didn’t want that hotness distracting everyone. Is she and Miguel (Bly?!) dating? They are, right?

Kit Fisto: Reggae Swamp Thing. Tell me that boy don't look like he lives in the Atchafalaya and bangs on the steel drums all day. I wonder if he stole those shorts from Michael Phelps. He’s cool but does he need to have a tank to swim in on his ship? Does he have gills? I need more info on this guy.

Adi Gallia: Storm’s Cousin. Doesn’t this chick look like her? She does, right? Maybe she's a Jedi cause she can't control the weather. Didn’t Maul’s brother Saul impale her on his horns and that’s how she died?* Why didn’t Maul do that to Obi-Wan? Maul was obsessed with Obi-Wan, do you think it’s because he had a crush on him after he sliced him in half?

(Doug also ships Obi-Wan with Maul now? IS THERE ANYONE WHO DOUG DOESN'T SHIP OBI-WAN WITH?!)

Shaak-Ti: Ahsoka’s Aunt. They’re totally related. (“No, they’re not.” “Says who?” “Um, EVERYONE?!”) She’s cool, nice to the clone boys. I like her horns.

Saesee Tiin : Angry Bull Boy. He looks like a minotaur whose daddy left him at a Wal-Mart instead of the Labyrinth after drinking too much.

Deepa Billaba: My Coworker Anu. Seriously! She looks JUST LIKE HER. I even texted her a screenshot, and she used that as her Slack Channel picture for the longest time. Nice lady, she's a good master to Lil Kanan. Hm, Lil Kanan sounds like a rap person my niece would listen to.

Ki-Adi-Mundi: Mutant-Mall-Santa. Look me dead ass in the eye and tell me the man don’t look like he was supposed to hand out presents and ask kids what they want for Christmas and ended up hanging out in toxic waste instead. He's a snotty asshole, I don't like him, he thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.

Luminara Undali: Lady-in-Drape. She’s a green lady, and she wears a drape. Meat Muffin, I'm tired and it's about to snow.

Barriss Offee: Little Lady-in-Drape. Man, she was awful, but she had good points, ya know? Kind of like Darth Maul. Do you think Darth Maul and Obi-Wan ever dated? Or would Obi-Wan’s boyfriend get jealous?

Quinlan Voss: College-Hippie-Boy. Doesn’t he just look like one of those goofs that fart around with hackysacks all day long? I'd buy weed from him if he was selling, he looks like an exporter and consumer, if you know what I mean.

Even Piall: Dobby the House Jedi. Man he looks like he was on his way to help Harry Potter or something and ended up in a bathrobe with a light saber. Ah well.

*= Savage is ‘Saul’ and Feral is ‘Paul’. So it’s Maul, Saul, and Paul. I strained a muscle laughing when I got this.

Tagging my Redneck Doug stans here! @amalthiaph @sued134 @eyecandyeoz @thecoffeelorian @merkitty49 @megmca @skellymomam I missing anyone?

Let me know if I missed any Jedi, those were the ones that came up that Doug didn't immediately recognize.

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justjensenanddean · 9 months

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Jensen Ackles | Charlotte (North Carolina) Convention, August 20, 2023 | Main Panel

(CreationEnt)

jared prefacing being careful about sag questions and jensen goes “oh i have a handful of stories lined up for you guys” so let’s go (x)

danneel got Jensen an experience driving cool cars and it was at 7 am (x)

“7 am? on a saturday? i’m already not happy” (x)

danneel got Jensen an even to get to drive a fast exotic car around a track but at 7am on a Saturday and he asked if she would come with him and she said “no i’m sleeping” (x)

JENSENS CAR HAD A RAINBOW UNICORN ON THE HOOD AND IT WAS PINK. ITS NAME WAS “sparkles glitter hooves” (x)

his helmet also had a pink unicorn on it. (x)

the car broke on the track 😭😭😭 they only got up to 50mph and it stopped (x)

aw he didn't wait to get another driver he just got in his actual car and went home. Jensen; it was NOT a great experience and i wish i had just stayed in bed (x)

jensen: i hurt my hand the other day by pushing on a closet door and it pinched my palm and i pulled my hand back and a piece of my palm was still in the door (x)

ARROW ASKED HIM IF SHE WANTED HER TO HOLD HIM BC THATS WHAT HE DOES WHEN SHES HURT (x)

jensen just told a story that one of his girls fell and he offered to hold them then he hurt his hand and he heard over his shoulder “… want me to hold you?” (x)

jensen had an emergency kit that phil gave him from season 8 and he opened it and he thought it would have bandages but all it had was salt and matches (x)

“make the bed first thing in the morning” - Jensen (x)

“would you rather have the others’ face for a butt or the other’s butt for a face” (x)

Jensen: yeah id rather have his face for a butt. jared: better wear see thru pants bc you’d have a damn fine ass Jensen: jokes on you i already have a damn fine ass (x)

jensen: I already have a fine ass jared: *chanting* prove it! prove it! (x)

Jensen prefers hard plastic spatulas (x)

jensen reccomends four roses whiskey (x)

fan: advice on senior year or life? jensen: do as much as you can. sign up for clubs. do as much as possible (x)

jensen is telling the baseball/theatre conflict story again he really is troy bolton (x)

in his senior year jensen left baseball early to do a play this man was living high school musical irl (x)

fan; if you were earths ambassador to talk to aliens, what would you ask or show them jared: FACE BUTT jensen: *in alien voice* excuse me can i ASS you a question (x)

LAST QUESTION IS WHATS YOUR FAVORITE VIDEO GAME GROWING UP LETS GO JARED SAYS SUPER SMASH BROTHERS AND JENSEN SAYS GOLDENEYE (x)

jensen saying it’s a me mario with the accent (x)

(outerspaceangie)

#jensen ackles #spnnc2023 #mustache!jensen #arrow rhodes ackles #daddy!jensen #jensen: panel highlights #*

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cherryxcadbury · 1 year

Note

11 with jude please 💖

so ik there were a lot of reqs for #11, but this was the first one I received so this will be my #11;)

2nd person pov

“Why do you have chicken in your purse?” You asked your best friend, Natalia as you both looked on at the pitch.

“Not paying for that over prices stadium shit.” Natalia explained, as she happily ate her chicken nuggets in peace while people began to fill in the seats after half time.

You two were both huge Bayern fans. So when they posted on their social media, a giveaway for two tickets up close to the pitch, it didn’t take much for you two to submit about a thousand entries. And somehow, you guys won.

The score was 0-0, against Bayern’s biggest rivals, Dortmund. In honesty, Dortmund usually tended to get thrashed by Bayern, but they were the biggest competition in the Bundesliga.

“Look! Bellingham!” People called from behind you.

You angled your head and saw as Jude Bellingham was leading the charge back from the break onto the pitch. The nineteen year old captain had even the Bayern fans in awe of him.

“I hate him but he’s hella fit.” Natalia admitted, to which you only nodded in response.

He was good yes. Okay fine. He was really good. But you considered him overrated.

“There are way more options for captains though. I don’t know why the nineteen year old is the captain.” You grumbled, honestly a bit angry because of how close Jude had gotten to assisting.

“Says the one who’s no older than nineteen. Also bro, you know he deserves to be captain. Have you seen the way he is on the field. Captain material. And I say this as a lifelong Villa and Bayern fan.” Natalia responded.

You looked to her to see a brow raised in your direction.

“You’re more competitive than half the players I swear.” Natalia laughed.

“Chicken?” She offered, holding her hand out.

You chuckled before waving her hand away.

“Second half’s about to start.” You mumbled.

“WOOOOO MIA SAN MIA!” Natalia cheered, eliciting more cheers from fellow Bayern fans.

“What does Mia San Mia even mean?” You asked her, as Dortmund made their way up the pitch.

Natalia scoffed and turned to you, “You do not deserve to be wearing that Alphonso Davies kit right now.”

“In my defense, I’m not German!” You exclaimed.

“Y/N! I am literally from fucking Ecuador, I don’t know German either but at least I know Mia San Mia! Fake fa-”

She started to say before being cut off by you. Dortmund’s offense was getting suspiciously close to the Bayern net. You were tempted to grimace as Neur was out with a knee injury, not that his replacement was bad by any means.

The stadium almost fell silent as the ball made it to Bellingham’s feet. He was successful in weaving in and out of players, before the ball was deflected. And it was coming straight at you.

Your worst nightmare. You’d love football since you were a little girl. You’d watch it all the time, with or without your family. The one thing that kept you away from live matches as a kid was potentially being hit by a ball. The thought embarrassed you to no end. And now, it was about to happen, in front of tens of thousands of people.

This was what you deserved for sitting in the front row.

“DUCK!” Natalia screamed into your ear, physically pushing you down.

Luckily the ball didn’t hit you, and went flying to the row behind you. Hitting a poor unsuspecting boy.

“Oh shit.” Natalia looked at the wailing kid sympathetically.

You also felt your heart pang in sadness for the clearly hurt boy. But you also thought it was kind of funny. He’d been kicking the back of your seat for the whole first half. And you wanted to smirk and mention karma, but you were better than that.

You grabbed the makeshift ice pack in your bag, which was really just a bag of a lot of ice you’d bought at the stadium and handed it to the boy’s mother.

“I don’t have much but this might help.” You said, placing the bag in the mother’s hands who smiled at you gratefully.

The boy also thanked you, silently calling a truce.

You and Natalia told the boy jokes to help distract him from the pain but eventually it was drowned out by cheering on your side.

“Turn around!” The injured boy gestured.

You did so and saw Jude Bellingham jogging over to your area. Hence why you could barely hear anything. You turned back to see the gleaming boy, figuring it would probably be easier if he was closer to Jude.

So, you picked the boy up and transferred him to your seat, closer to the pitch, while you climbed over to sit a row behind.

Unbeknownst to you, the kind act did not go unnoticed by Jude, who’d seen it while approaching.

“I’m sorry about that bud.” The footballer smiled apologetically, ruffling the kid’s hair.

The boy just smiled, “It’s okay. You weren’t the last one to hit it anyways.”

“You doing better now eh?” Jude smiled.

“Yeah! She helped me by giving me ice and telling me jokes.” The boy answered, gesturing to you while he spoke.

This caused Jude’s eyes to flicker towards your for a second. A smirk found its way onto his face while you started blushing red.

“Ah well your sister seems very nice.” Jude emphasised the “sister”.

The boy quirked his brow.

“She’s not my sister. She just helped me after the ball hit me.” The child explained. “Ah, should’ve figured based off of the opposing kits.” Jude replied, noticing now that you sported a Bayern kit while the child was decked out in BVB gear.

You turned to Natalia who just sat there smugly, watching it all happen.

“Don’t talk much now do you?” Jude asked you, the smirk ever so present on his face.

You wanted to stop from blushing again. But you couldn’t. Instead you had to switch the topic.

“Don’t you have a game to play smart one?” You shot back, snark in your voice as you forced him to turn back to the field where the players were still waiting.

“If I were you, I’d go back to playing now. The quicker you lose, the quicker you get this over with.” You advised.

That flared some sort of pride and fighting spirit in Jude. He smiled to himself turning to go back to the pitch.

But just before that he looked at you and said, “I’ll show you why I’m the golden boy for a reason.” before stocking off.

Within a few seconds, the game resumed.

“I swear the golden boy was Gavi.” Natalia wondered aloud.

And you couldn’t help but laugh.

Approximately 48 minutes later, the match was at a standstill 2-2. Jude had already smirked in your direction after scoring. You however didn’t return anything because what if he had a girlfriend or something that was directed towards?

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Natalia breathed as Adeyemi made his way up the field.

That boy was faster than lightning.

Adeyemi handed it off to Jude who then passed it to Gio, outside of the box. The American faked Alphonso fucking Davies and shot the ball at such an angle that no one expected a goal out of it. But it was. It was a goal indeed. You bit your lip as Dortmund players and fans alike celebrated, going insane.

You could only think to keep your head down to shield yourself from the embarrassment.

15 minutes later

Most fans had left but you and Natalia hung around to take pictures considering how close you were to the field. Your back was currently facing the pitch as Natalia stood on top a seat to get your optimal angles.

“You look so good!” Natalia smiled, clicking away.

But she stopped abruptly.

You noticed.

“Oh are we done? Should we go now?” You asked her.

“Turn.” She commanded.

You whipped you head around to see Jude Bellingham shirtless. Kit in his hand, elbows leaning against the miniature wall.

“You.” You gulped, waiting to get trashed after seeing the look on his face.

“Unfortunate that you guys lost today.” He smiled.

“Yeah well match fixing’s always a possibility. Sure you know a lot about the match fixing.”

You referenced the interview which got Jude fined in the previous year.

Jude’s smile stayed, turning into an ever present smirk.

“Touché I suppose.” Before handing you his kit.

You grasped it, before looking in disgust.

“I don’t do Dortmund kits.” You tried handing it back to him.

You were actually freaking out on the inside.

“This is a Jude Bellingham kit though.” He bit his lip as he maintained eye contact with you.

“Even worse.”

He just laughed.

“Listen sweetheart. I’d take a good look at that kit before you feed it to the dogs.”

And with that, he winked, jogging into the tunnel.

“You better fucking open that kit.” Natalia commanded, holding it up.

Both your eyes shot to something scribbled in the corner.

Call me;) 49*** *** **** -Jude

Your mouth hung wide open at this point. He was into you.

“W fucking rizz Bellingham. W rizz.” Natalia muttered.

“You’re going to be a WAG Y/N.” Natalia’s hands clamped over her mouth.

You rolled your eyes at your best friend’s wild imagination. But secretly, 99% of you, hoped that what she was saying, was true

#jude bellingham #bellingham #jude #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham x you #borussia dortmund #bvb09 #bvb imagines #england nt #dortmund #football imagines #footballers #football #fc bayer munich #bayern #bundesliga

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iloveoldermen-posts · 4 months

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REQUESTS OPEN -> here

Summer -- Fem!reader X Simon 'Ghost'

Use of Y/N

Fem!Reader

Pt 2 -> currently N/A -- here asap.

WORD COUNT - 387

Ghost in summer.

Ghost almost always has his whole kit on, I mean he is alwaysss working. Except for today, it's hitting highs of 37 degrees and with y/n being around, it will only feel hotter.

He is dreading y/n seeing him without his mask, but that is the price he will have to pay for not melting into a puddle.

He walks into 141's meeting point and she doesn't seem to be there yet, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and finds his seat - the one placed right next to y/n. He's grateful for his punctuality at times like this, it prevents them all staring at him at once.

The rest of the 141 squad had all seen him without his mask, obviously, after working with him for such a long time. It was just y/n that hadn't seen him without it, she was relatively new to the team - well at least the newest out of the 141 squad. And she is one of his favorite people already, he would literally take a bullet for her without any hesitation.

It takes a few minutes for the team to fleet through the door into the office, all of them complaining about the heat one by one which Ghost just releases a little grunt in response. She's the last one to come into the office as usual.

She glances around the warm room until her eyes find Ghost's, she is stuck between awe and shock - frankly, she doesn't know how she should react.

He just sits there staring at her, annoyed that he can't hide behind his mask.

"Well, who's this handsome gentleman? I don't think we've ever met, I'm y/n." She says, chuckling slightly at her own joke.

"Handsome huh?" He replies with a small laugh of his own.

"Oh shut up," y/n answers rolling her eyes, smacking his arm lightly as she sits down next to him.

She almost falls out of her seat as Ghost offers her a small smile.

"He should wear his mask less often. But she needs to get over this crush on him, so maybe it would be best if he kept it on" She thinks to herself as she tries to sneak glances at him.

All the eyes turn to hers. Shit.

Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoyed. All interactions are deeply appreciated.

REQUESTS OPEN -> here

#task force 141 #simon ghost riley #141 x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #summer #cod 141 #mw2 141

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hopefulromances · 11 months

Text

Long Time Coming I Chapter Three I It's Nice To Have A Friend

Summary: Being hired as the first female assistant coach in the league was a challenge of it itself. Being a football protigy and University Football Legend was easy enough. Coaching Jamie Tartt was a challenge all on its own.

Word Count: 2498

Warning: I have literally no clue how football works.

A/N: Hey fellas! I hope things are going well for y'all and that you're enjoying the story! I am like a puppy dog and thrive on words of affirmation so if you're enjoying pls let me know!

Prologue One Two

“She said what?” Keely gaped, looking up from her laptop at Jamie.

“She said that I made her feel like… like she didn’t deserve to be here,” Jamie repeated, leaning back in his chair.

“Aw, poor girl,” Keely pouted at him. “What did you say?”

Jamie shrugged. “Nothing, she walked away before I could say anything.”

“Well, what would you have said if she stayed?” She pressed.

“I… I don’t know,” Jamie admitted, after a second. “It just made me think about… me dad.” Keely frowned at that. She didn’t know a lot about his dad, Jamie had always stayed mainly private about that part of his life, but what she did know wasn’t great. He continued. “I was just such a dickhead.” Keely snorted. “What? I’m opening me self up to you. Can you try not to laugh at me?”

“No, Jamie, no! I’m not…” She cleared her throat, trying to appear serious. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, I’m pretty sure you’ve called yourself a dickhead about a hundred times since you’ve been back.” Jamie rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. “Have you talked to Dr. Fieldstone about it?”

“Yah, I have. She said I need to forgive me self so I can let them forgive me. Cause if I won’t forgive me why should they. Whatever the fuck that means.” He was frustrated with himself. It was like she could understand what the ball was doing before it even moved. Why couldn't he just tell her that. “I just want her to know I’m sorry. It doesn’t help that the rest of the team hates me to.”

“Well Jamie, they aren’t going to just forgive you. You have to show them you’ve changed.”

“Ted said not to buy them all PS5s.”

“No, not like that! Just… let them show you how to make it up to them,” Keely clarified.

Jamie looked at her for a second processing what she said. “…. Keely?’

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Can you return 30 PS5s?”

“Oh, Jamie.”

The next game was against Coventry City. The coaches didn’t usually spend a lot of time with the lads before games, but I loved the energy in the locker room. I walked around the room, talking with the boys, giving last minute tips, handing out fist bumps. I could feel Jamie’s eyes on me as I did. Every now and then I would glance over at him as he tied his shoes. I warded him off with a small smile, but I didn’t dare get too close to him.

“(Y/N)! Look at this!” It was Colin, excitedly showing me his boots. “Had Will shine these bad boys this morning.”

“Yes, Colin your shoes look great,” I rolled my eyes whilst giving Isaac a fist bump.

“You’re not even looking!”

I turned a looked at Colin. They did look really great.

“You know what Colin, those do look great,” I conceded, reaching over to give him a high five.

Just then the sound of stretching tape caught our attention. I turned to see Sam pressing black tape over his Dubai Air logo. Someone cracked some joke about Dubai Air not paying him enough but he quickly explains that it was more than that. That Dubai Air owned by a compnay that was destroying the environment in Nigeria. There was silence in the locker room.

Then Jamie stood up.

I eyed him, ready to step in if he decided to make a stupid decision here. But instead, he stretched the tape and put it over his own Dubai Air logo.

“Gotta wear the same kit,” he explained. As if it was simple. As if it was expected.

He patted his jersey before tossing the tape into the center console. I studied his face, looking for any signs of mockery, but there was none. Soon the whole team had stripes of black tape over the kits. The whole game, all the focus was on Sam, even though it was Jamie’s big return. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he celebrated Sam when he returned from the post-game interview. We lost the game, but no one seemed to mind.

“All I’m saying is that objectively, this red looks better than the blue boots,” Colin insisted, motioning to his feet.

“Colin, the red is going to get dirty so much more easily than the blue,” I counter, pointing at my own shoes.

“Now that’s just- “

“Hey, (Y/N), can I talk to you?” Jamie interrupted.

Colin and I took simultaneous sips of our beer, making eyes at each other before I nodded. Colin took that as his cue to leave, giving Jamie a cheer as he left. Jamie looked down at his shoes, looking a little nervous.

“What’s up, Jamie?” I asked, trying to force him to meet my eyes. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was a ticket. “What is this?”

“It’s my ticket to your final game at Imperial,” he explained, motioning to the ticket.

Surprised I looked down. Imperial College. Where I had gone to uni and played football all four years. This final game I lead my team to the league championship.

“I-I don’t under- “

“Me and some friends had heard about this crazy talented football girl,” he began, still not meeting my eyes. “I thought, there was no way a girl could be as good as they were saying.” He laughed a little. “So, we bought tickets to see you play. And you were that good. Like… even better than they was saying.”

My mouth was agape with surprise. I looked down at the ticket, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Jamie, I- “

“Wait, let me finish, please,” he interrupted, again. “You really were incredible that night. I thought I would see you in professionals but.... your name never popped up. Anyways, when I found out you were coming to coach here, I suppose I thought that I needed to prove me self to you. Make myself look bigger and better. But it was really because I was intimidated by you. I was dumb, and really stupid. And I know I’ve been saying it a lot but I really am sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t good enough for us because the truth is, you’re really better than most of us.”

I was shocked by his sincerity. “Thank you, Jamie.”

He finally looked up at me. His eyes were big and searching, it almost broke my heart. I smile at him and raise my beer towards him.

“We’re okay, Jamie,” I reassured him.

His face broke out into a smile, that stupid cocky smile that I had seen so many times before.

“Good, good,” he clinks his beer against mine. We both took a long sip of the beers looking around at the room.

“You know, what you did today, for Sam, it was really good of you,” I told him, sincerely.

He shrugged. “Any of the lads would have done it.”

“But they didn’t, you did,” I press, nudging his shoulder. “It was good.” He kept his cocky smirk, but I could see his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “Doesn’t excuse you playing like rubbish out there today.”

“What? I did not!”

“Oh, yes you did!”

The two of us sat there bickering and chatting about the game until long after everyone else had left. But I barely noticed. Jamie was funny. He was sincere and honest in a way I didn’t expect. It was too soon to tell but I felt my heart jump. The same way it had that night with the ghosts. Maybe, just maybe, that Jamie was here again.

I had a routine. Since moving back to Richmond, I stayed in the same schedule. I woke up at 7:00am. Get up, get a quick workout in, shower, eat breakfast, and get to work early so I could have some time on the pitch. Occasionally, when I was leaving my house, I would run into a pap or two asking me some inane questions about my place in the league and what I was doing to single handedly fix sexism in the football industry. Keely just told me to keep my head down and keep walking.

But now there was a new part to my schedule. Now when I arrived at the pitch, Jamie was there waiting for me. We’d play against each other, throwing sharp jabs at one another for whatever tiny mistakes the other would make. It was fun. Jamie was a fun friend. Wasn’t that great. Friends? Almost best friends, I might say. It was distracting.

“So, hows that puzzle coming?” Ted asked, as I walked into the coaches room after my daily session with Jamie.

“Huh? Oh! Good, I suppose? He’s doing well,” I responded, sitting in my seat. “He’s a fun guy to be around.”

Ted gave an understanding grunt. “Aint, that just great. A new friendship. Beard, didn’t I tell you I knew what I was doing.”

“Don’t gloat,” Beard grunted from behind his book.

“Hooh! I love it when he gets bitter,” Ted giggled, smiling at me. “Turns his eyes a lovely shade of hazel!”

Beard lowered his book just enough to show me his eyes. They did look lovely.

The game that weekend didn’t go great. We ended up in the video room watching the loss on the television. Isaac’s leadership was taking a steep turn. His fear was coming out in aggressive rages on the field when his teammates didn’t make the plays they were supposed to. After one particularly bad defensive move by Jan Maas, Ted paused the tv.

He began his motivational speech. This time about romcommunism. An interesting play on words about getting through the dark forest of the season.

“What about aca-teamwork?” I suggested referencing my personal favorite romcom.

“Oh, that is a Pitch Perfect comparison,” Ted quipped, snapping his fingers. “Becca thought she was cool by trying to be independent but what she needed was teamwork.”

“But wasn’t the real lesson in Pitch Perfect the understanding of sisterhood and how surrounding yourself with people you love creates strength?” Colin pointed out.

“Exactly, Colin,” I agreed, leaning back in my chair.

Ted came to sit next to me as the lights went down. I scanned the lads to watch their attention levels when my eyes landed on Jamie. He was smirking at me. When he caught my eyes, he gave me a fist pump a la The Breakfast Club. I shook my head at him and motioned for him to pay attention.

As the boys were changing and packing up for the day, I erased the strategies off the board.

“Good call today with the Pitch Perfect reference, I love that movie,” Colin shared coming up behind me.

I capped my marker and turned to look at him with a smile. “It’s only the greatest romantic comedy in the 2010s!”

“I agree. We don’t talk about the sequels, though,” he pointed out.

“What sequels?” I joked, raising my eyebrows. “I’m still waiting on Becca to choose a song for the next auditions.”

“You get it, alright, I’ll see you around girlo!” He gave me a pat on the arm as he walked out of the room. As I watched him leave, I noticed Jamie sitting on his bench listening to us talk. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Something to add, Jamie?” I asked, grabbing my bag.

He picked up his own bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Nah, I ain’t seen that one.”

“What! You haven’t seen Pitch Perfect?” I gaped. Though I knew it wasn’t super surprising that Jamie hadn’t seen it.

“I prefer 10 Things I Hate About You, I like… what’s his name…” He approached me as he thought about the name. “Heath Ledger’s character.”

“Patrick?” I offered, shocked that Jamie knew about one of the best rom coms of all time.

“Exactly!” He started towards the door. I followed him, walking close enough that our shoulders were brushing. “What are your plans for this weekend?”

“Uh, beating Sheffield Wednesday?” I replied, raising my eyebrows at him.

“I mean besides that.” He rolled his eyes.

“Dunno, maybe sleep in for once? Eat a French fry?” I shrugged. “What about you?”

As we rounded the corner to leave the room, I spied the newest sponsorship that Keely had hooked up for the boys. Keurig coffee makers.

“Woah, maybe make too much coffee with my brand-new coffee machine,” he gloated, picking up his coffee.

“Change of plans, I will be at your place drinking too much coffee with your new coffee machine,” I joked, glaring jealously at it.

He laughed. I decided I loved that sound and smiled at him. When I went to follow him, I heard a loud throat clearing. I turned and saw Rebecca and Keely looking at my expectantly. I frowned at them and turned back to Jamie.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” I called after him.

He turned back and for a second it looked like real disappointment on his face. But it cleared up quickly when he saw Keely standing behind me.

“Oh alright, see you at Sheffield,” He turned to walk away but not before calling out, “Bye Keely!”

I don’t know why but it made my heart drop to hear him address his former girlfriend. I waved at him before turning back to face the two women behind me.

“What do you two want?” I pouted, leaning against the wall next to Rebecca.

“You like him!” Keely shouted, clapping her hands excitedly.

I snapped my head in their direction. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s right,” Rebecca concurred, starring at her phone. “Everyone can see it.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Keely concluded. “Except, apparently, you and Jamie.”

I looked incredulously between Rebecca and Keely. I do not like Jamie. JAMIE! Of all people. Just a few weeks ago I couldn’t stand him and now they think I like him.

“Seriously, that is just ridiculous, Jamie is just my friend,” I clarified, shaking my head.

“Your friend that you go to work with, hang out with while at work, and walk home with?” Rebecca inquired, finally looking up from her phone. Her stare as piercing. But no, there was no way that I liked Jamie like that.

“I think the two of you need to get laid,” I finished, pushing myself off the wall. “Instead of getting in other people’s business.”

I walked away from them, back to my office where I could pretend to be mad at them. I wasn’t mad, not really. Just annoyed. So, what I wasn’t able to have a friend in Jamie? I wasn’t able to admire his physique in a friendly way? Or laugh as his naivete and honesty? I finally felt like I had someone who respected me in this field. That’s all he was. A friend.

Tag list:

@optimisticsandwichgladiator, @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo, @ajax-petropolus-wife

#jamie tartt #angst #enemies to lovers #eventual fluff #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #ted lasso #ted lasso show

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assortedseaglass · 10 months

Text

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Injury Detail, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Word Count: 6.1K

October 1940

The bombardment started the second he rounded the corner.

“Got time to play?”

“Maybe later, Joseph.” Joseph Mason, his older brother Albert and little sister Betty ran along the ginnel in Tom’s wake. A few of the younger children, which were Mrs Mason’s Tom didn’t know, struggled to keep up on their chubby legs.

“Haven’t you got anything else to wear?”

Betty shushed her brother. “It’s his uniform!”

“Well?” Joseph ignored her. “Haven’t you?”

“Free sweets and tram tickets with the uniform, Joseph.” Tom continued ahead, his little battalion of children trotting along beside him. He smiled.

“What’s that?” Betty pointed to the silver coin pinned to his navy shirt.

“Distinguished Service Medal.”

“Are you a hero?” Albert suddenly seemed interested. Tom smirked.

“Always was, always will be.” Thank God Bess wasn’t here to hear him say that. Or Albie. He’d have laughed himself into next week.

“What you doing here then?” said Betty.

“Hitler sunk my ship, gotta find me a new one.”

“Did you kill any Germans?” Albert was still awed by Tom as he tried to keep up.

“Loads.” Tom said, turning on his heel. The children stopped abruptly and stared up at him. A wry grin quirked the corners of Tom’s mouth. “Killed a few kids an’ all.”

They shuffled back in fear. Mrs Mason told them to keep away from Tom Bennett before the war. Now he was back, and he’d actually killed people! Joseph found his quavering voice. “What for?”

“Asking too many questions.” Tom left them behind in the ginnel and turned into the street. The smile faded from his face. The kit bag on his shoulder fell to the floor and, for a brief moment, his mind stilled. The house. What had happened to the house? Why was there rubble across the road? His mind sped up, images flashing like a zoetrope through his mind.

“Lois?” he croaked, running to the house. “Dad!?” His feet carried him up the pile of bricks scattered outside the front door, and he peered into the kitchen. The table and chairs had splintered, fragments of them remaining, and he saw it. The bomb. Its inactive shell lying before the fireplace. Pressing his face against the little glass that remained in the window, Tom looked up. His father’s iron bedframe dangled precariously from the hole in the kitchen ceiling, and above it, the cold and grey Manchester sky stared back at him.

Tom slipped as he took a step back. His chest was rising rapidly, the panic that accompanied him every day since the Exeter awakening every nerve. Blood pumped through his fingers. He balled his fists a few times to regain their feeling. Find them. He was as untethered here as he was at sea. Find them. An image, Vera in her little cot, gazing up at the ceiling as it came crashing down around her, flashed into his eyes and he rubbed it away. Find them. He slid down the rubble pile and before he’d taken his first step towards the abandoned kit bag, terror froze him once more.

The Vaughn house. It was intact. Still standing, but the windows were boarded with black-painted wood. Tom hammered on the door. “Fergal? Dot?” He waited. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a whisper.

“Fuck.” The word hissed from his mouth in panic. He grabbed his kit bag and raced to the only place he could think of. The hospital. If anything’s happened, they’ll be at the hospital. And Bess – fuck – Bess will be on shift. She would have been on shift, why would she be in Longsight? Please let her have been on shift.

“They found you a ship then?” Joseph shouted with a smile as Tom ran past. He didn’t hear. All he could think about was his family. His little family, shrinking. I can’t lose anyone else, not after mum. Not after Vic. Not after Albie. Already, the world felt smaller as he ran towards the Royal Infirmary. Through the parks, ginnels and scrapyards, the world was the hiss of his breath, the thundering of his heart and thoughts of his family. He rounded into the dockyard, sprinting towards the canal bridge that led to the city’s centre. The dockyard.

In an instant he changed direction, pelting along the dockside between engineers and labourers. Some tipped their caps to him, offering their thanks and “welcome back”, others hissed at him to get out of the way. Still, Tom thought of only one thing.

“Fergal?” He called as he pushed through the crowd of workmen. “Fergal Vaughn? Does anyone know where I can find Fergal Vaughn?”

“Tom?” The rasped Cork brogue cut through the clatter of metal. Tom launched himself at the squat man in relief, his arms wrapping around Fergal’s broad shoulders. Fergal barely had time to comprehend this out of character display before Tom pulled back and unleashed a tirade of questions.

“The house-I-I went home and the house-” Fergal placed his hands on Tom shoulders to calm him but the young man continued. “Bess? Bess? Is she ok? And Dot? And-”

“They’re all fine, my boy. Just fine.” Fergal rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “It was the same strike as what got your place. Only blew the windows out, thank the Lord.”

“And Lois and Dad? And the baby? Where are they? I-I don’t know where to go,” Tom’s voice cracked, thinking of his childhood home destroyed, the last place that held any concrete memories of his mother. Through his panic, he saw a piece of Fergal’s lightness dissipate. The round and reddened face of Fergal Vaughn, the man Tom had known since childhood, displayed that one thing he had never seen cross it before. Pity.

“Oh, my dear boy.” Fergal said softly, taking Tom by the hand to sit between the metal sleepers and tell him everything.

Bess was in no mood to stop and chat. Sister Stern had given her a bollocking for not changing the beds quickly, and Joan was in a foul mood because the soldier she was seeing had dumped her unceremoniously. So when she approached Carver Mills to see Mrs Russo waving, her cigarette leaving a trail of smoke in the air, Bess groaned. The silk scarf wrapped about Mrs Russo’s head took flight on the autumn wind and bustled towards Bess’ feet, and she knew a conversation was unavoidable.

“Ta, Bess.” Mrs Russo said brightly, holding her hand out for the scarf.

“Hiya,” Bess rubbed her eyes and fussed with her keys.

“Had a good shift?” Mrs Russo’s voice was offensively loud.

“Yes, fine.” Bess shifted uncomfortably under Mrs Russo’s watchful gaze and tried to squeeze past the round woman to reach the door.

“I’m expecting best behaviour from you girls while I’m away at my daughter’s,” Mrs Russo said, tying the scarf around her permed hair. “Caught Joan trying to sneak in that new beau of hers-”

Bess pushed the door open wearily. “They aren’t together anymore.” Mrs Russo paused her bustling.

“Poor girl. I’ll see if I can get some chocolate at the corner shop. Try and cheat my ration book.” She winked and tottered away. “Ta-ra, Bess.”

The door to the old mill swung shut heavily behind Bess, and she trudged up the stone stairs towards her flat. A glint of light cut the gloomy stairwell in two, and Helen poked her head out of the door to her own flat.

“Bess! A few of us are going to The Crown tonight for a lock in, do you want to-” She stopped as Bess turned to face her. “Christ, you look awful. Tough day?” Bess could do naught but nod. “Tell you what. You stay home and rest, I’ll take Joan. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else and all that. There’s bound to be a desperate soldier looking for an easy girl.” She laughed and closed the door.

A moment later and Bess was in the welcome peace of her little home. Smalls were strung across the kitchen on a length of rope. The morning’s empty cup of tea still sat on the rickety table beside an old copy of Vogue, the christening dress she was making for Vera abandoned on the armchair by the window. Since the start of the war, fabric was hard to come by, lace and silk especially. Douglas let Bess take a cutting from Marie’s wedding dress. She wanted something from each side of the family, and parting Robina from her store of antique lace had been a challenge, but she persevered. Still, the gown was almost complete. Bess removed her nurse’s wimple and placed it by the garment, running her fingers over the ivory silk. Darling Douglas. The christening couldn’t come soon enough. After everything, Lois needed some happiness. It would be even better with Tom on leave. Bess’ heart skipped and she padded to the bedroom. She perched by her simple vanity, a mirror balanced on a school writing desk, kicked off her shoes and took the stack of Tom’s letters out from the drawer.

October 16th can’t come soon enough. Lois’ food, Cora and Dot making a fuss. Little Vera and you.

The last letter was dated early September. Bess knew Tom couldn’t write all the time. He was either too busy onboard or, on occasion, they were prevented from writing during particular missions. Her only knowledge that he was ok were the continued reports of the Navy’s skirmishes on the wireless and in the newspaper. The HMS Keith had sunk, but Lois received a telegram that Tom was fine and awaiting the next ship home. Bess looked at the calendar on her wall. October 15th. Tomorrow. God willing, he’d be here with her, tomorrow. Instinctively, her hand reached for the photograph of Tom, now propped against the mirror. Every morning and every night, he watched her in sepia as she dressed and undressed. She kissed it and, placing it back, caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Helen was right. She looked awful. The swift removal of her wimple caused tufts of the hair to stick up at odd angles. The uniform she wore was bloodied and dirty. Her hands, hard now from hours work at the hospital, were grubby. She wiped them on her face. Her dark eyes were framed by circles of purple and grey, and her usually plump cheeks were gaunt and pale. The only thing that remained were her full and pink lips. Against the dullness of her skin, they looked garish. Bess sighed and one by one removed her hair pins. Watching her hair come undone, in some places curled from the pins, others straight and frizzy, she wondered what it was that had so changed the Longsight boys towards her. How she went from “witch” to something desirable. What drove Walter Watson from bullying her to forcing himself upon her behind the Palais.

It wasn’t as though she had changed all that much from those difficult years to now. When presented with the option to speak or remain silent, Bess always chose the latter. That is, unless someone cast insult over her chosen few. Then, as Cora said, “there’ll be none so fierce as Bess on judgement day”. She wasn’t as kind as Cora, with her thoughtful gestures and selflessness. Nor did she have her gentle charm and beauty. Dot, on the other hand, was an entity unto her own design. Despite her tendency for the flighty and sudden outbursts of judgement, wherever Dot went, the sun seemed to follow. Funny and light, the world seemed brighter in her company. Bess still stared at her reflection. What did she bring? A haughty quietness that most found intimidating? Her use as a seamstress and pianist? Over her shoulder, she caught sight of the photograph pinned to the wall by her bed.

It was at Albie’s birthday celebration in the summer. Dot had taken it with the camera Harry gave Bess in the spring. In it, Tom and Bess stood side by side. His arm was gripped tightly around her middle, pulling her to him and highlighting the slightness of her waist and fullness of her hips. The blouse she wore, tucked into her slacks, curved around her breasts. At her ear, Tom was whispering something sinful; Bess could tell by the girlish giggle captured in celluloid. For the first time, she was embarrassed by the image. Her womanhood was so wantonly on display. So, that’s what the boys saw in her, that summer she came back from Manchester.

“Never thought I’d be in this position with Bess Vaughn. That little freak from school.”

Vomit rose to her mouth as the memory of stale smoke and alcohol flooded her nose. Bess’ eyes snapped from the image to her reflection. Gaunt face, dark eyes, grey skin.

“Then you came back from Manchester with this. And these-”

Bess rubbed her hand across the bodice of her uniform. Her chest felt tight. Heavy and not her own.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

The memory of Walter’s assault on her was plaguing Bess of late. With Tom at war and Douglas-. And Douglas-. Her two defenders were gone. At night, alone when she imagined Tom with her and her hand slid beneath her nightdress, Bess recalled the way his neck strained as he screamed at the man. The crack of his fist against skin. But no sooner had the memory of Tom’s dominance warmed her cheeks, chest, thighs, was Walter’s sweaty face swimming into view and ruining her bliss.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

Her near lifeless eyes blinked back at her in the worn mirror and, body humming with hatred, she pushed herself away from her reflection. The stool fell backward with a thunk onto the wooden floor and Bess stood motionless. The day had been full of misery at every turn. Bloodied soldiers to be sewn back together. Wrecked buildings pouring onto Manchester’s streets. Her own self-loathing. Too tired to drag her body to bed, Bess hovered at the centre of her room, lulled into an imitation of sleep somewhere between lucidity and nightmare.

Downstairs, the front door of the mill crashed closed, and she jolted from her half-sleep. Joan was obviously back from the infirmary and still in a foul mood. Bess sighed, ran a hand through her tangled hair and uncovered the duvet. The clock read 6 o’clock and she hadn’t even removed her apron. Beyond the door, Joan was tearing up the stairs of Carver Mills, her heels sounding more like jackboots as she pounded the steps. Bess stomped across the floor. Her hand closed around the doorhandle, ready to slam it shut-

BANG BANG BANG

She froze. From her spot in the bedroom doorway, Bess watched the front door rattle on its hinges. On tiptoe, she edged forwards. The thundering fists hammered on the door again.

BANG BANG BANG

She tried to remember if she had locked it behind her. No, of course she hadn’t. Shit. Only Mrs Russo and the other nurses had access to the flats; there was no need to lock it until curfew. Not even Helen or Joan, in her anger, would bang down the door. Bess rushed forwards, ready to bar the intruder as best she could. She knew there was little she could do to stop them. Even with her nurses’ strength and steeliness, an intruder would overpower her. Walter Watson flashed across her vision. What if he was home? What if Queenie or Frank told him where to find her?

BANG BANG BANG

Hang on. An intruder wouldn’t knock. Again, she froze, this time in confusion. The last knock had barely rung out when, as if in slow motion, Bess watched the handle turn. The door flew open and the person on the other side stormed in.

It was like watching a cat stalk its prey. The whites of his eyes burned like a wild beast’s, the blue at their icy centre darted around the room madly until they landed on her. They widened, then narrowed. A predator locking onto its next meal. For them, everything faded from view. The peeling wallpaper, the laundry, the few scattered belongings. Everything, except for Bess. Excitement, or was it fear, fluttered in her ribcage. The pathway to her was blocked by the kitchen table and, striding towards her, he threw it aside in one swift motion. She shivered, swaying where she stood at the flex of his hands. Bess barely had time to register his thin cheeks, the lines that framed his eyes, before those same hands gripped her face hard.

“Tom-” His mouth crashed into hers. It was hard, a clash of teeth and tongue. With her words stolen, Bess grew light-headed and struggled for breath between Tom’s harsh kisses. A hand moved from her face to her neck as she tried to speak, keeping her head in place against him. The other fell to her waist and gripped the flesh there roughly.

“Tom, I-” He silenced her. Swallowing Bess’ words, he roughly tugged the hair fisted in his hand and bit the exposed flesh of her neck with a growl. She whimpered, hand gripping onto his shoulder for support. For something real. Surely this wasn’t real? “Tom,” His assault on her neck was rough and through it, still Bess struggled to speak. “Tom, I thought-I thought you weren’t back ‘til tomorrow-”

He ignored her. The hand holding her waist moved to grope the fullness of her bottom and pull her harder against him. The strength of the action forced the breath from Tom’s chest in a huff as, overwhelmingly, his world became Bess. The scent of her sweat. Old perfume. Her pathetic whimpers. The small hands clawing at his body. The swell of her breasts pressed against his chest. The ripe flesh of her bottom. The smell of her sex. He was an animal on the hunt. Uncontrollable. Terrified. Surviving. Hungry. He bit the meat of her shoulder and she cried out, at last pushing him away. Tom’s hands flew once more to the sides of her face and held her in his vice-like grip.

They stood watching each other. Beneath the furrow of Tom’s brow, the hard crease of his forehead, the usually bright eyes that Bess so adored, always full of mirth and mischief, were desperate. If she looked closely, she swore she could make out tears, taunting him. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the air passing through his flared nostrils. The line of his mouth was shut firm, though swollen from the way he kissed her, and his jaw- fuck, that jaw, was set hard and strong. Bess should have been worried. Scared even. Instead, her heart flooded with unease.

The dark eyes that Tom so adored, always full of certainty and knowing, were searching. Not disgusted by his depravity, or the violent lust with which he needed her. Her hands wound up his arms and grasped the hands still on her face, and Tom watched as the same emotion that had washed over Fergal’s face, washed over Bess. Pity.

He didn’t need fucking pity. He needed stability. Comfort. Home. Something real. One of Bess’ thumbs stroked the side of his hand and he snapped at its tenderness. Tom brought his face to hers, devouring her in a hungry kiss. He walked them backwards until Bess hit the bedroom door. Breaking momentarily from her lips, Tom bent down, a hand sliding up one of Bess’ stockinged legs, and hitched it around his waist. She barely had time to steady herself before he thrust his groin against hers, his hard length pressing against her through the sturdy cotton of his bell bottoms.

Still, he didn’t say a word. As Tom’s hands roamed greedily across her backside, her hips, her breasts, Bess tried not to think about his silence. It was true, she had imagined the devouring ferocity of what having him would be like when he returned home. But each time, it was bookended with tenderness. Whispered adorations and gentle devotions. Not this…anger. The first prickle of fear ran over her. Not at what he would do, but why he was doing it. She tried to reach out to him. To caress his face or run her hand through his hair. He batted it away, gripping her wrist and pinning it to the door as, with ferocity, he ground his hips into hers. The movements were hard and desperate. Whether by the hand caught beneath his bruising grip, or the urgency with which he rubbed his clothed length against her, Bess’ mind went blank and she moaned. At last, Tom spoke.

“Fuck.” His head lolled to nuzzle at her neck, and when she met his hips with the thrusting of her own, he growled. He could take no more of this. He lifted Bess over his shoulder and kicked the bedroom door open. It banged against the wall, and when Bess shushed him, he ignored her. Tom threw her down onto the bed and knelt between her parted legs. Without hesitation he tore at her uniform. Tom pulled the apron so hard its bow gave away, and he tossed it aside. His hands fisted her layers of skirt to reach her suspenders. He unhooked them roughly and pulled down Bess’ woolen stockings. The second ripped, and through the haze of her increasing arousal, Bess noted that they’d need darning. The thought vanished when Tom pushed her knees away and rolled her suddenly onto her front.

“Tom-” Whatever she was going to say died in her throat at the sound of ripping fabric and buttons hitting the floor. Tom tore the back of her bodice open, kissing the skin there as he pushed the sleeves away from her shoulders. Bess slipped out of her uniform, squealing when Tom let go of her. Her body fell forward onto the bed and he roughly pulled the skirt away from her legs. Bess was near nakedness now, and excitement warmed the apex of her thighs. When Tom pushed her small chemise over her bottom and smacked the skin there, she burned.

“On your knees.” His voice was low and cracked, as though his throat were full of gravel. Her cunt clenched. Immediately, obediently, Bess pushed her body off the bed. She was too slow for Tom. He grabbed her by the hips and wrenched her towards him. Resting on all fours, Bess tried to look over her shoulder. Tom pushed her face away. “Don’t look at me.” The darkness of his order made her shudder. She faced forward, toward the damp-stained wall and the photograph of her and Tom. The one she’d been gazing at mere moments before he arrived.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

No. She shook Walter’s words from her mind. This was Tom, not Walter. Rough and angry and needy, yes. But Tom. Not Walter.

Tom’s hands rested on the apples of Bess’ backside, and she felt him lean his weight there a moment. Heard him hit the ground. He was kneeling, wrenching the now soaked knickers she wore down her thighs and, before she could comprehend it, lapping greedily at her core. How long they stayed there, with Tom’s arms wrapped around her thighs as he worshipped her cunt, Bess couldn’t say. Only that with every grunt of his throat, every suckle at her sex, every eager flash of his tongue against her folds, the tension in her abdomen increased. The worry she could not put aside, did the same.

If the callous and unashamed way Tom devoured Bess caused her arousal and anxiety to grow, his next movement all but obliterated any thought of him regaining his senses. With one last smack to her bottom, Tom departed. Bess’ thighs clenched. His sudden absence was frustrating. Infuriating even. She knew she needn’t wait long for him, though. Atop the mussed bedding, the navy of his uniform shirt landed. A thud on the ground indicated he had abandoned his boots, and the hush of fabric and panted breaths told Bess he was battling with his slacks. She yearned to help him. To turn around and with fast hands rid him of his last barrier of restraint. But Tom knew Bess. He’d known her long enough, well enough, to recognise her craving for control and independence. Not today. Not now. She was alive. She was here before him, bottom raised, sweating gleaming at the dip of her back, panting with need, doing whatever he asked of her. Just as she began turning her head, he ran two long fingers through her wet slit and she moaned his name, pushing backwards against his fingers for relief.

“Sheath.” Tom grunted, taking himself in hand. He was painfully hard, precum already weeping from the angry head of his cock. His eyes roamed over Bess’ exposed heat, pink and slick and waiting for him. The urge not to drive forward, full into her, was overwhelming.

“We used the last before you left,” Bess was breathless, waiting. A hard warmth brushed against her entrance and she groaned. “Please, Tom.” He wasted no time. That was the certainty that the sheath didn’t matter. One hand one the small of Bess’ back, the other gripped at the base of his cock, Tom thrust forward, heading falling at the tight heat that welcomed him. Both hands holding the flesh of her hips, Tom withdrew himself from Bess before slamming forward. Bess buried her face in the bedsheets, muffling her cry. She had missed him these last months, and though her fingers temporarily satiated her longing, nothing could prepare Bess for the sensation of Tom Bennett filling her completely.

Over and over, Tom’s hips snapped into Bess’ cunt. His sandy hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat pouring from his brow. The hands that held Bess in place were unmoving, the nails biting into her tender skin. Over and over, Bess moaned his name. When she tried to reach a hand back, desperate to touch him, Tom seized it and, body bent low across her back, held it against the bed. His breath was hot in her ear, hard with pants and grunts of what should have been desire. Between her paroxysms of pleasure, Bess thought they sounded angry.

Like all these other thoughts, they disappeared with every thrust of Tom’s cock into her. His passion was confirmed again when he gripped the auburn hair at the base of her neck and bit her pulse point. Pain fluttered through her veins and excitement lit her core. When Tom did it again, she sped towards painful release. Her hip was burning under his hand, the skin of her buttocks sore from the continued slam of his hip bones. Her back, bent and pressed against the bed, ached and the pulse of a headache crept under the spot were Tom pulled her hair taut. Tears were beginning to prickle her eyes, and when Tom pulled again on her hair, a mangled sob of pain and pleasure ripped from her throat as her walls spasmed around him.

That was it. With a final few violent thrusts, Tom spilled himself inside her. Blinding white light flashed across his eyes and his whole body seemed to crackle with electricity. This wasn’t a release of passion or love, but something more depraved. A violent shock to the system that proved he was still alive. Could still feel. He’d seen men charred beyond recognition, heard the tear of bombs through the sky and torpedoes in water. The groaning of metal as it gave way to bullets. Feared drowning, being mown down or else ripped limb from limb by enemy explosives. Come home to find his childhood didn’t exist and missed the death of his father, years after he watched is mother slowly succumb to nothingness.

Tom looked sideways at the body beneath him. Though her face was half-hidden in the bed, hair frizzy and in disarray, there was no mistaking the tear tracks that ran down Bess’ face. Her breath was ragged and erratic, the small whimpers she made so different to her usual sounds of pleasure. Tom pulled out of her suddenly and though she didn’t move, she gasped. He looked at her lying there, so still and vulnerable. With tentative hands, he caressed her legs and knelt on the bed to lie beside her body. She didn’t look at him, even turned away once he had brushed the hair from her face and, crumbling with shame, Tom buried his face in her neck and began to cry.

7 o’clock. The sun had just descended below the Manchester skyline and only Tom and Bess’ laboured breathing could be heard throughout the flat. Bess hadn’t moved. Not for a long while. Against his thighs, Tom could feel the gentle shake of her legs. Breath still shuddering from their exertion, her back occasionally brushed against his hard chest. The sight of her like this, quaking because of him, should have made Tom proud. But when she shivered, actually shivered, he felt nothing but disgrace. He should have ravished her when he got home. Instead, he'd used her. And she’d let him.

“Are you cold?” he whispered in her ear.

“A little, yeah.” Grabbing the quilt from the floor, Tom draped it over Bess, his warm hand beneath the patchwork rubbing lazily at her side. It was only then did she roll over to face him. Her small hand, with its long, dexterous fingers, brushed across his cheek. Tom knew she was studying him. “You’ve become a man far too quickly,” she said. Tom didn’t need her to explain. His hair was lighter, already on a stress-induced course to grey. The youthful fullness of his cheeks had gone, and now the skin stretched too tightly over his prominent cheekbones. Sometimes, when he caught sight of himself in a mirror, he could see his skeleton sitting just below the surface of his pallid skin. He knew too, that the hardness had settled not just about his face, but in his soul. War had sunk its terrible claws into him, and the man he swore he’d never become, his father, was beginning to appear. Tom brushed some sweat-stuck hair from Bess’ forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She continued to stroke his face, and Tom placed a palm there to stop the action. If she carried on with this gentleness, he’d cry again.

“I just had to make sure you were real,” At this, Bess laughed.

“What do you mean?”

Tom sat up, leaning on his elbow and, distracted by the hair wrapped around his finger, hurried his words. “When I saw the house, I just panicked-And I didn’t know where to go and then I went to your dad-I was thinking-I was gonna come here but I didn’t know if you’d still-and then I went through the dockyard and your dad-your dad told me everything-and when he said you were ok I-I,” he took a shaking breath. “I had to come and see for myself. That you’re still here.”

Bess was silent. Her eyes darted about his worried face, unsure of what he meant. “Did you think something had happened?” It was Tom who looked confused now.

“Bess, I went home and the fucking house had been blown up and neither you or my family were anywhere to be seen.”

“But, I thought-”

“No. I didn’t know.” Tom spat. His anger was flaring again as he swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his bell bottoms. What he was planning to do, he didn’t know, and when Bess quietly said his name, he deflated, slumping back onto the bed. “I didn’t know,” he said weakly, and immediately Bess was at his side, rubbing circles on his back and kissing his bullet wound scar. He collapsed against her, and slowly she pulled him back under the covers with her, his head resting against her naked chest.

There was nothing to be said. What could she say? Tom Bennett had been away at war and come home to learn his father had been killed by the very thing he was fighting. As if reading her mind, Tom spoke quietly into her chest. “What’s the point? We go and fight, to keep you all safe, and it doesn’t fucking work.”

“That’s not the only reason-”

“It is for me.” Tom said firmly. ��I’ve got nothing else but my family, and you. You’re what makes this bastard war worth fighting.” Bess looked down at him. At his elegant nose and furrowed brow. At his lean and muscular body curled around hers, and her heart swelled with enormous affection for Tom Bennett. She kissed his head and he settled for a while. Content to have him home, nose buried in his hair, the first comforts of sleep beckoned to Bess.

“Your dad said you were there.” Though quiet, she jumped at his voice and, swallowing the lump that appeared in her throat, she murmured that yes, she had been there. Tom chewed his lip, considering his next question. After Bess, it was all he had thought about since Fergal told him of that night’s events. “What did he look like?”

Bess froze. “Tom, you don’t need-” He cut her off.

“It can’t be anything worse than what I imagine.”

He had a point. Gripping one of his hands in hers, she told him about the events immediately after the bomb detonated over his childhood home.

“Dadda was trying to get us back to the shelter, it was difficult to see because of all the smoke, but when the ambulance arrived, I could see it was Lois and Connie. And when Dadda came out of your house, there was blood on his uniform. I didn’t know what state your dad was in, but I knew that whatever it was, Lois couldn’t see him. So me, Connie and one of the paramedics went in to get him out.”

Tom sniffled against her chest and Bess hugged him tighter.

“He looked so peaceful, Tom. I won’t lie to you and say he was perfect; a beam from the ceiling got his arm so there was a messy gash there, lots of blood, and what I assume was falling rubble had caught his head. Nothing dreadful!” she quickly said when Tom flinched. “Just a few little cuts around his face. But he was sat in his chair by the fire, newspaper hanging out of one hand. Like he’d just drifted off to sleep. Thinking of you, I expect.”

“Shut up,” Tom wiped his nose. “He was probably thinking about Mrs Chase’s smalls-”

“The sooner you realise that your dad adored you, Tom Bennett, the better!” She pinched his arm. “You know, him and Lois had a fight that day. She’d gone off to work and he was so down in the mouth about it, we said we’d look after Vera that night.” Tom said nothing and she continued. “What did Lois say when you saw her?”

“Eh?” Tom looked up at her through his long lashes.

“Lois. What did she say when you saw her?”

Tom’s arm around her waist grew tighter. “I came straight here.” Bess hid her smile from him, trying not to let her joy show as she ran her hand again through his hair.

“I think perhaps you should go and see her. Now,” Bess added when Tom tried to argue. “Tom, she’s so unhappy. Missing you, and your pa, raising little Vera alone. I suppose Dadda told you about Vernon?” Tom nodded. “Go. Now.” She kissed the top of his head and shooed him from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Notes: I read an article about a gunner who fought in the Battle of River Plate getting the Distinguished Service Medal, so I figured Tom would get one too. The HMS Keith actually sunk during the evacuation of Dunkirk but for the sake of the story, I made its sinking a little later.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel@greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

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hearts-hunger · 1 year

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Chapter One: A Flash of Steel and Silver {Series Masterlist | Series Playlist ♫}

Series Summary: You've been called the Jewel of the Bay, a lady born and bred in one of the Royal Navy's most profitable ports of call. On a fateful summer night, taken aboard the pirate ship Starcatcher, your world is turned upside down. To survive, you must put your faith in the honor among thieves and learn to trust the devotion of a pirate to his most precious treasure.

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Sam x Danny, Josh x Reader | Chapter Word Count: 4.7k | Warnings: AU-typical violence, harassment, historically accurate misogyny

A/N: My sweethearts! This is my very first time doing an au like this, and I'm very excited to share it with you. I have no concrete plans for this series, and no update schedule - I'm just seeing where the wind takes me on this one. I know it's different from my other fics, but I really hope you like it! ♡

Pirates.

The word alone struck fear into the hearts of the people of Sapphire Bay, sending them inside to lock their doors and close the window shutters with a firm crack. Those devils marked by the branding iron were hated and feared, considered with a mix of awe and horror and morbid curiosity. To meet one meant certain death; for the superstitious, even to speak of one meant the calling down of hell’s rapacious wrath upon the new world’s fragile kingdom of islands. Everywhere, in hushed voices and cautious glances at the western horizon, people dreaded the coming of those demons. Pirates.

You had learned to fear them just as much as anyone, the threat of them always lingering in the back of your mind, but there was an insatiable curiosity that held you captive any time you so much as heard them mentioned. Your late father, the former governor of Sapphire Bay, had spoken of them often; you’d grown up on snatches of conversations heard from the other side of his study door, tales of murder and thievery and drunken escapades, stories of freedom and bravery and adventure.

Those stories had continued to fascinate you even as you became a woman, and you were more interested in them now than you had been as a child. Lucky, then, that you’d been betrothed to Commander Kit Drake of the battleship Black Smoke; his own closed-door conferences about the pirates that roamed the seas provided an endless diversion to your hungry imagination.

Hearing those stories was perhaps the only lucky thing about your betrothal, and you reminded yourself to try and think of other silver linings as your lady’s maid dressed you for dinner at the Commodore’s estate.

“He’ll tell me how beautiful I look,” you said to yourself, touching light fingers to your lightly rouged lips. “Surely he will.”

“Indeed he will, miss,” your lady’s maid said as she styled your hair. “You’ll be the jewel of the bay this evening, all sparkling in the candlelight.”

You met her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Tabby. You’re very kind.”

She smiled. “Have you decided what necklace and earrings you’ll be wearing tonight, miss?”

You brushed a hand over your deep blue bodice. “I suppose the sapphires would be best, wouldn’t they?”

“As you say, miss. Commander Drake will surely be pleased to see you wearing his gift.”

Tabby finished your hair, a relatively understated crown of curls, and spangled you with trinkets from your jewelry box that could have fed and housed a family for several months. You touched a hand to the blue gem that rested in a swath of silver, the centerpiece of the heavy necklace that felt more like a collar for a dog than a gift of love from your fiancé.

“There you are, miss,” Tabby said when you were ready. “I’ll tell the footman to bring the carriage ‘round.”

The Commodore’s estate was right on the bay, a sprawling mansion that put even your father’s estate to shame in sheer grandiosity. Several carriages stopped outside the main doors, ladies in fine dresses and men in naval uniform stepping out to join the group that filed into the golden, candlelit hall inside. Your attention was drawn to the sea as you waited, watching the way the moonlight dashed itself to bits across the glittering surface of the water.

“My dear. You finally made it.”

You looked over from the bay to the door of your carriage. “Kit.”

A frown tugged at your fiancé’s expression. “You mustn’t call me that here, dearest, you know that. Commander Drake or ‘sir’ will suffice.”

You flushed, wishing you’d remembered that rule. “Of course, sir.”

You accepted his hand when he offered it to you, and you looked up at him with girlish eagerness to see if he’d comment on your appearance.

“I wore the jewels you gave me at our engagement,” you said quietly.

He gave you a distracted glance. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you did.”

“Do you... do you like them?” you asked, crestfallen.

He breathed a short sigh. “They’re lovely, my dear. Let’s not tarry, shall we? I’m afraid you’ve already made us late.”

He offered his arm, and you hung off of it as a good young lady should. Your head turned back to the sea, just for a moment, and you thought you caught a glimpse of a shooting star reflected on the waves.

“We’ve got to double our presence on the coasts of the southern isles. We’ll rout them simply by being there in force. They wouldn’t dare to try and attack any of the ports there if we made our presence more obvious.”

You took a sip of wine and tried to look bored, knowing that the quickest way to get navy men to stop talking of pirates was for a lady to show an interest in their conversation. If they didn’t consider you too delicate or stupid for that kind of talk, they’d fear for some kind of longing to spark within you, the same kind they allowed to rage unchecked as they sailed on their mighty seafaring vessels.

“No corsair in these waters is a match for any of our fleet,” Kit argued. He gesticulated and narrowly missed your wine glass as you set it down. “I say with conviction, gentlemen, that there is no need to add even a single ship to those we already have out of port.”

“Maybe they’re not a match for your ship, Commander,” said a lady on the opposite end of the table. You glanced over with mild panic, wishing you could tell her merely to listen, but the gentlemen she was interrupting didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve heard you gentlemen say the Black Smoke is the fastest ship in the Royal Navy,” she said, and there was a flirtatious intonation to her voice that drew the men in like moths to the flame. “However, I’ve also heard it said that there is a pirate galleon in our waters that can match it for speed.”

“Name the ship,” a lieutenant challenged.

The lady smiled. “Starcatcher.”

The name caused a flutter of excitement to stir in your breast. Starcatcher. It certainly sounded like a fast ship, and no vessel in the Royal Navy had such a wonderful name.

“Nonsense,” Kit said, waving her remark aside even as he trained his attention on the coy curve of her mouth. “The Starcatcher is a myth told to frighten new deck hands. No such ship exists.”

“No?” the lady asked with an elegant lift of her brow. “And what of its sister ship, the Indigo Streak? Some men say it can disappear into thin air.”

“Some men are fools,” Kit said, and his smirk betrayed his arrogance. “No doubt you’ve heard these same men claim to have seen the witches that serve as the figureheads of each ship.”

“They’re not witches,” another man protested. “I’ve heard they’re meant to be Nike and Themis, goddesses of victory and justice.”

Kit scoffed. “Victory and justice, indeed. Even if these ships did exist, what victory and justice could be won outside the King’s authority?”

“Pirates don’t consider the King’s authority legitimate, though, do they?”

All gazes swung to you, and you felt a wash of embarrassment follow the heady flush of having impetuously offered your own opinion. Kit’s face went pink with anger.

“What a pirate thinks of the King’s authority means little,” he said sharply. He took your hand under the table and gave it an uncomfortable squeeze, leaning close. “And what a woman thinks of it means even less, my dear, so I suggest you keep such foolish thoughts to yourself.”

He released your hand with disdain, and you shied away from him as far as you could. You understood perfectly well why the lady with the deep red lips was allowed to speak and you were not; her comments were meant to incite men to braggadocio and pride, and yours only called into question their self-assurance. You would not speak merely to stroke a man’s ego, pirate or King’s man or anyone in between; most at the table considered it better, in that event, for you to keep your mouth shut entirely.

You took another long drink of wine and tried to keep your hands from shaking. Of a sudden, everything was overwhelming; the sound of tittering laughter and silver forks against china dishes, the smell of dozens of different perfumes, the heat of the candles that cast flickering beams onto jewels and gold buttons and silver sword handles. You felt pressed in on all sides with an extravagant meal you couldn’t hope to finish in front of you, men to the right and left of you, servants behind you to tend to your every need should you so much as wave an indolent hand.

You took a deep breath, as deep as you could with your stays laced as tightly as they were, and dug into the reserve of feminine gentility and self-control that had been trained into you since birth.

“Commander,” you said quietly, touching your hand to his sleeve. He ignored you, and desperation clawed at you.

“Sir,” you said in a pleading whisper.

With a frustrated huff, he turned away from his companions and met your eyes. “What is it?”

“I beg your pardon,” you said. “I — I suddenly feel quite ill. My head, it’s...”

He snapped his fingers, and a footman came to his side to await his instruction in perfect silence.

“Attend the lady,” he said, gesturing to you with impatience and contempt. “She’s taken ill, apparently.”

The footman bowed his head. “M’lord.” He pulled your chair out and gave you his hand; you took it, offering a feeble excuse to those few who noticed your departure and cared to comment.

“Shall I show you to one of the guest chambers, m’lady?” the footman asked when you were safely outside the dining hall.

You shook your head. “No, thank you. I wonder... could you help me find the gardens? I would be so grateful for a breath of fresh air.”

“Very good, m’lady,” was the man’s response. He escorted you to the gardens. “Shall I ring for a lady’s maid to accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

He bowed. “M’lady.”

A bit of the peace you so dearly needed was found out in the garden, and you wandered in the cool darkness of the shrubs and trees blossoming with flowers of every hue. You took a deep breath of the warm night air as you walked over the cobblestones, closing your eyes for a moment to drink in the quiet of birdsong and the ever-present hush of waves upon the shore. You longed to go down to the water, if only for a moment; what relief it would bring to feel the cool waves lapping at your ankles, to feel the salty breeze skim over your cheek with all the tenderness of a lover’s hand. You opened your eyes and felt its dark, silver-scaled presence call you like a mother to a child, begging you to leave the world you knew behind.

“Foolishness,” you whispered, pressing your hand against the merciless shackle of sapphire and silver that hung about your neck. You could never leave. You would be here, always, looking out upon the water, wearing its color on your breast, never quite close enough to touch.

You heard your name called from a direction opposite the ocean. Footsteps sounded behind you, and you did not allow yourself to breathe the sigh that waited ever-ready at your lips.

“I only needed some air, Commander,” you said without turning to him. “I’ll be well enough to join the ladies in the parlor after dinner.”

Without warning, Kit grabbed your wrist in a punishing grip and spun you towards him.

“Turn to me when I call you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Do not presume to speak to me with an air of indifference.”

Your blood ran cold at the anger in his face. “I didn’t — I wasn’t trying to — ”

“I knew you weren’t ill,” he said, squeezing your wrist tighter. “You left because you wanted to shame me, didn’t you? Or perhaps because you were petulant about my correction?”

“No,” you said weakly, trying to tug your hand from his grip. “Please, Kit, you’re hurting me.”

He took your jaw in his other hand and squeezed it. “I told you not to call me that. Do you mean to respect me at all tonight? Or shall I have to teach you a lesson in obedience?”

You paled. You tried to find your voice to try and calm him, to apologize, but another man’s voice broke in before you could.

“Take your hands off the lady.”

Kit released your jaw, more out of surprise than any desire to obey. You tried to pull out of his grip, but he held fast to your wrist.

“Who spoke?” Kit asked into the darkness of the garden. “Show your face.”

“Take your hands off the lady, as I said,” the man repeated. “I’ve got a pistol aimed straight for your heart, Commander, and I assure I won’t miss.”

Kit’s face flushed an angry red. To your surprise and relief, he let you go, and you put a few steps of distance between you.

“How dare you speak to me in such a way?” Kit thundered. “I demand that you to come into the light and show yourself.”

No sooner had he spoken than a man sauntered out of the shadows of a copse of palm trees, a flintlock pistol held in an almost lazy manner in Kit’s direction. The hilt of a cutlass on his hip caught the light of the moon.

“You demand it, aye?” the man asked. His long hair was dark, his frame lean and hard-muscled; he was practically indecent, his cotton shirt unbuttoned to reveal a collection of necklaces that rested against his tanned chest. You blushed and averted your eyes when he looked at you.

“Makes you wonder,” he continued conversationally, turning his attention back to your fiancé. “Perhaps your King ought to call you Demander rather than Commander.”

Kit put his hand to the hilt of his saber. “What are you, boy?” he said derisively. “Beggar? Thief? Be on your way before I arrest you for harassing an officer.”

The man’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile as he returned his pistol to its holster at his waist.

“Go ahead, Commander. Though I doubt if you’ll find there’s any jailhouse to throw me in by the time you do.”

Kit looked the man over in confusion and absolute fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but an explosion from the outskirts of town effectively cut across him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kit raged. He looked to see the billow of smoke from the direction of the jailhouse, then whipped his head back to look at the man.

“You’re a fool to attempt a prison break,” he said. “There’s plenty of brigs in the fleet to throw you and your worthless comrades in once we collect all of you.”

Kit drew his sword, and the man had drawn his and disarmed Kit in a flash of steel and silver quicker than you could see it. Kit’s sword clattered across the cobblestones and skidded to a halt at the man’s feet.

“I’d be careful who you draw your sword against tonight, Commander,” the man said. He kicked the saber back towards Kit. “You won’t find my men as forgiving as I am.”

“Your men?” Kit blustered, shame and fury mottling his face. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

A cocky smile lit the man’s face, and you found it somewhat maddening and almost alluring. Confidence radiated from him like warmth from the sun, and you watched in fascination as he took a step closer to Kit.

“You don’t know me?” he asked. He lifted his sleeve; just above the white bracelet he wore was the scarred mark of a pirate.

“You gave me this, Commander Drake,” the man said. “Though I suppose you were only a lieutenant back then, weren’t you?”

“Scum,” Kit spat. “I should have known. I’ve branded enough of your kind that you all run together into one wretched mass.”

“I see,” the man said. He sheathed his cutlass again even as Kit bent to retrieve his, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility of a duel. He tilted his head towards the Commodore’s house.

“In that case,” he said airily, “I’d love to be the one to tell you that the wretched mass is running together in your Commodore’s estate as we speak. Taking your jewels, your gold, your spit-polished swords that have yet to taste blood. It’s only a matter of time before they interrupt your little dinner party, I fear.”

As if on cue, pandemonium erupted from inside the house. Doors burst open, sending a flood of screaming party guests outside with pirates right on their heels, each of them armed to the teeth and crowing with delight.

“Filthy pirate!” Kit howled. “I’ll have you and every one of your men hanged for this!”

“Oh, Commander,” the man said with a winning smile. “You’ll make me blush with that kind of talk.”

Bang. A bullet whipped past the three of you, slamming into the trunk of a palm tree and sending out a shower of splintered wood. You flinched and raised your arms to shield yourself.

“Aye, watch yourself,” the pirate called to whoever had fired. He sounded only mildly annoyed rather than fearful for his life, and you wondered if it was bravery or stupidity that made him so calm.

Suddenly, Kit grabbed your arm and snatched you close to him. For the second time that night, he held you in an iron grip, and there was little you could do to fight him off.

“You’ll tell your men to let me go,” Kit said, panic crawling into his voice. “You’ll order them not to shoot me, because if they do, they’ll hurt the lady.”

You startled at the knowledge that your fiancé was using you as a human shield, offering you as a bargaining chip to a pirate. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held you fast.

The pirate scowled. “Coward,” he spat. “What sort of man are you, Commander?”

“One not condemned to death,” Kit said, a maniacal glee in his voice. “Not tonight.”

He started to drag you with him as he made his way out of the garden, heading with slow steps towards the docks rather than the house where screams and gunfire still rang through the air. You kicked and clawed, begging him to let you go, terrified that a bullet meant for him would kill you too.

“Let me go, Kit!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You worthless coward, let me go!”

“Silence yourself!” he hissed in your ear. “Once we’re well away from this, we’ll both be safe.”

He clapped a hand over your mouth, and it only made your panic and anger worse. You had to get free of him — he was squeezing you so tightly, you couldn’t breathe —

In a last, desperate attempt at freedom, you bit down, hard, on the soft junction between his thumb and first finger. He bellowed in pain and released you.

“Bitch!” he howled, backhanding you across the face. The force of it made you dizzy, and his signet ring cut your cheek; you stumbled backwards, falling in a tangle of blue skirts to the unforgiving stone walkway.

“Right, that’s it.”

You heard the pirate’s voice as if from somewhere far away. You looked up with a bleary gaze; he stood next to you, his pistol held aloft and pointed right at Kit.

“No!” you shrieked.

You grabbed at his leg to try and stop him, somehow, blind devotion for Kit urging your forward. The pirate didn’t even seem to notice you, and your whole body flinched at the sound of gunfire. You squeezed your eyes shut even as sobs wracked your body.

“Come on, lass.”

You felt the pirate's callused hands reach to help you up, and you reacted in terror-stricken instinct.

“Don’t hurt me!” you begged, trying to get out of his reach, woozy with fear and pain. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone you killed him, I promise.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said harshly. “Quit fighting, lass. I won’t hurt you, but you have to come with me.”

You looked up at him, and his face was blurry through your tears. “But you’re a pirate.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And your only chance of making it out of here alive.”

He offered you his hand, and you didn’t see any other choice but to take it. His grip was strong and steady, firm enough to help you but gentle enough to keep from hurting.

“Attagirl,” he said when you were standing. “Steady, now. Can you walk?”

“Yes,” you breathed. For some reason, you didn’t let go of his hand. “Where are we going?”

He nodded towards the bay. “My ship. You’ll stay there until all this settles down, and then I’ll take you back home.”

Shattering glass brought your attention to the house momentarily; a raging fire billowed out of the broken window, sending great clouds of smoke up towards the sky.

“Unless you live here,” the pirate said. “In which case, you’ll have to find other arrangements.”

You could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, bewildered and dazed. “But... why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

He looked over your shoulder towards Kit, who lay groaning and weak in the grass with a bullet wound to the shoulder. His expression held nothing but disgust and contempt for your fiancé.

“I don’t like to see a lady mistreated,” he said. He gave your hand a gentle tug. “Come on. This way.”

You followed after him, helpless not to, feeling outside of yourself as you tried to think past the pain in your jaw and the overwhelming fear that still held you captive. He led you through the garden and down to the Commodore’s private docks where a skiff was waiting.

“Wait.” You stopped and tugged on his hand, and he turned to face you.

“What is it?” he asked, a touch of urgency to his voice.

You looked to the skiff and then back to him. “How — ” You swallowed nervously. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

He looked a little lost for a response. “I don’t know, lass. I believe you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust a pirate?” you asked, choking a little on the words.

He gave you a grim half-smile. “Could be worse.”

“How on earth could it be worse?”

He didn’t answer you, distracted by the sight of several more skiffs approaching the docks. You followed his gaze and saw they were coming from two huge galleons further out in the bay.

“Heavens,” you breathed. You didn’t know how you could have missed them, but they suddenly loomed like two great monsters on the surface of the water.

He pulled you towards the boat. “Come on, lass,” he urged. “The second wave’s coming in soon, and they don’t mind me as well as I’d wish them to. I’d rather you not be out here when they come.”

You met his gaze. “Second wave? There’s more of you?”

He huffed a short, mirthless laugh and ushered you into the skiff with little grace. Your became hopelessly tangled in your skirts and sat uncomfortably on the opposite side from him.

“You may wish to take off some of those cumbersome overskirts, lassie,” he said, taking the oars and rowing you out to the giant ships. “You’ll get them caught in something and get hurt.”

You blushed vividly. “Take off my skirts?” you repeated, incredulous and mortified at the idea, though you noticed you didn’t sense any salacious undercurrent to his suggestion. “I certainly will not. Just because you run around in a state of undress does not mean I will.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You sat in silence as you came ever nearer to the twin galleons, feeling a caving pressure in your chest as they loomed closer. You looked around for something, anything, to distract you; against your better judgment, your gaze landed on the movement of your pirate rescuer’s strong arms with each pull of the oars.

You looked away, chastising yourself for such foolishness in the face of everything else that had happened.

When you reached the closer ship, you looked up at the cargo net that hung over the side with more than a little trepidation. How were you ever going to climb it in your dress?

Your pirate — when had you started to think of him as your pirate? — gave a theatrical gesture to the net. “Ladies first.”

You huffed, feeling anger at your situation start to override any other emotion. All you’d wanted tonight was to have a nice, unexciting dinner, and yet here you were, standing before a pirate and about to board his ship in the middle of the night.

“Very well,” you said tartly, dredging up some reserve of courage and feistiness from whatever was left in the hollow of your chest. With some difficulty, you reached under the waist of your blue overskirt and untied the two underskirts and hoop skirt underneath. He had the decency to avert his gaze, at least, but your face was still hot with embarrassment as you shimmied out of them and slipped off your uncomfortable shoes.

When all that was left to cover your undergarments was your overskirt and bodice, you stepped in your stocking-feet onto the first loop of rope on the cargo net.

“Mind your gaze, pirate,” you said, managing with a fair bit of exertion to climb the net. He scaled it with you, quick and nimble, and gave you a grin when he reached your perch.

“Pirate sounds such a dirty word when you say it,” he said, and there was a teasing lilt to his voice that gave you the strangest fluttering sensation in your chest. “You’d better just call me Jake.”

Oh, but you didn’t like knowing his name. Not one bit.

“Fine,” you said, tearing your gaze from his. “Mind your gaze, Jake.”

He grinned. “Only if you mind yours, lass.” He stepped up another rung and climbed the rest of the way with ease. You gave a dejected sigh and continued your laborious ascent to the railing of the ship.

When you reached the top of the net, Jake was waiting for you. He offered you a hand up, and it was only with his help that you managed to get aboard without falling on your face.

You looked up when you were steady. “Oh, dear.”

Several pirates stood frozen along the deck, watching you with a mix of shock, hostility, and undeniable interest. Each one of them was armed, sword hilts glinting at their hips and pistols tucked into belts that looped over their barrel-sized chests.

“Easy, lass,” Jake said, taking hold of your arm again. You barely registered that you’d made a sudden, jerky movement to flee the ship and go back down the net, but he’d stopped you before you could go anywhere.

“None of my men will hurt you,” he promised, and when you met his eyes with a terrified glance, you saw that he meant it.

“I have to trust you on this, too?” you asked feebly.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Aye. You’re getting the idea, lass.”

He let you go, a testament to his trust in you not to try and run, and nodded to the stairs before you.

“Allow me to escort you to my quarters,” he said.

You flushed. “Y-your quarters?”

“Indeed. Where I shall leave you to your own devices and come back out to be with my men.”

You gave a shaky sigh of relief. “Oh. Very well.”

You’d taken no more than two steps towards the stairs when another man appeared at the top of them, his features strikingly similar to Jake’s but done up in dark makeup that matched the black clothes he wore.

“Why, my dear Jakey,” he said with a glittering smile. “What have we here?”

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marimbles · 9 months

Text

Ey I forgot to post this here but! I wrote a lil ladrien fic!

Word count: 3.2k

Summary:

Ladybug sniffed. “I saw through you right away. You look just like a celebrity trying to sneak past the paparazzi.”

Adrien frowned. “Well, I think I blend in better than you do. What are you supposed to be, a film noir detective on holiday?”

Or, Incognito Adrien runs into I'm-Not-Here Ladybug on the bus.

Mr. Perfect Disguise

13:38

adrienagrestbrand

HALLELUJAH! My shoot was canceled!

lahiffesbeats

oh sweet!

wait the one with Lila?

adrienagrestbrand

Yes!!!

Apparently she caught the flu

lahiffesbeats

uhh why are you so excited that lila’s sick. that’s not cool man

adrienagrestbrand

Oh um I’m not excited that she’s sick! I’m just glad to have some extra time.

One of my mom’s movies is playing at this indie cinema downtown. Want to go see it with me?

lahiffesbeats

aw man, i cant :( im watching chris

adrienagrestbrand

Maybe you could bring him?

lahiffesbeats

nah, he can’t sit still during a movie lol

maybe alya is free?

adrienagrestbrand

Uh, you don’t think that would be a bit awkward?

lahiffesbeats

why

adrienagrestbrand

I mean, Alya is great, but we never hang out with just the two of us.

lahiffesbeats

ok so ask marinette

adrienagrestbrand

I don’t think Marinette would want to go with me 😅 Last time we went to the movies together, Gorizilla showed up and it was kind of a disaster.

I think I’ll just go on my own. I’m not sure the movie would be that interesting to any of you anyway, haha.

lahiffesbeats

well i know for a fact that marinette would be 3000% down to go to literally any movie with u but ok lmao

adrienagrestbrand

What do you mean? How do you know for a fact?

lahiffesbeats

nvm

have fun dude!

adrienagrestbrand

Sorry, but would you mind covering for me? I told Gorilla I was going to study with you.

lahiffesbeats

sure thing bro. i’m honored to protect your scandalous sneaky ways

i’m proud. honestly i might tear up

adrienagrestbrand

Thanks

And shut up

Gorilla will drop me off in a few, OK? Then when the coast is clear I’ll head over to the theater

lahiffesbeats

How are you gonna get there

adrienagrestbrand

I’ll take the bus

lahiffesbeats

the bus?

mr. famous rich boy teenage heartthrob model adrien agreste is gonna take the bus

adrienagrestbrand

Yes

And shut up

lahiffesbeats

bro i hate to ask but have you ever been on a bus

like do you know how it works

adrienagrestbrand

Yes!!!!

But how hard can it be? You just get on and pay the driver and ride it, right?

Wait, do they give change back for 100€?

lahiffesbeats

probably not lol

just take my travel pass

adrienagrestbrand

Really? You’d do that?

lahiffesbeats

ofc. i’m very invested in your teenage rebellion

u can give it back tmw

adrienagrestbrand

Thanks, Nino!! You’re the best

lahiffesbeats

yeah, yeah. i know

just have ur bodydude drop u off here and i will help u turn on Incognito Mode. for maximum stealth

i will make you a kit

adrienagrestbrand

A kit?

lahiffesbeats

yee

for Operation Teenage Rebellion

just trust me

see u in a few

adrienagrestbrand

See you

— — —

“Uh, Nino, are you sure about this?”

Adrien frowned down at his outfit. Nino’s “Incognito Mode” had turned out to be a pair of sunglasses, his signature red hat, and an old denim jacket with a mysterious stain on it, which he insisted Adrien wear to hide the fact that his shirt “cost literally a million Euros, dude.” He’d even made Adrien swap out his orange Agreste-brand sneakers for pair of Nino’s old Nike slides, which were the only thing small enough to fit him.

“Have I ever led you wrong?” Nino grinned. “Just trust me.”

Adrien opened his mouth to name a time or two when Nino had, maybe, actually, led him wrong, but before he could say anything, Nino was nudging him out the door.

“Sorry, man, I really gotta get back to Chris. And you gotta get to the bus.” He shoved a plastic sack into Adrien’s hands. “Later! Keep me posted.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Adrien peered into the bag. It contained a neon yellow sports drink, a pack of American crisps with a cartoon cheetah on them, and a plastic blue card, which he assumed was Nino’s transit pass.

The bus would arrive in just a few minutes. Adrien hurried down the steps of Nino’s building and jogged to the corner to wait.

Soon, the bus rolled to a stop in front of him. He climbed aboard, pulling Nino’s hat lower over his eyes. The woman in front of him drew a ticket from her pocket.

“Oh—shoot.” Adrien reached into the bag and grabbed the blue card. The plastic rustled loudly. Blushing, he tapped the plastic card on the reader with a beep.

There was photo of Nino on the back of the card. Adrien’s hand shot back. He glanced up nervously at the bus driver, who was busy adjusting his mirror. Adrien’s muscles relaxed.

He followed the woman into the aisle. At this time of day, it was a crowded ride—standing room only. He squeezed through to an empty space next to a girl in a sunhat, pulling out his phone.

adrienagrestbrand

Why didn’t you tell me your transit card is also an ID??

lahiffesbeats

eh, they never check

how is operation teenage rebellion going

adrienagrestbrand

Well, I’m on the bus, at least.

lahiffesbeats

:’) proud of you, bud. my little rebel bro. breaking the law and everything

adrienagrestbrand

Wait, using someone else’s travel pass is illegal???

Before Adrien had a chance to fixate on the horror of his father bailing him out of jail (in this outfit), the bus took off with a lurch. He stumbled forward, nearly dropping his phone and treading on the toes of the girl in the hat.

“Sorry,” he said with a wince. So much for staying inconspicuous. He reached out and gripped one of the metal handlebars, tucking his other hand into his pocket. His fingers found his Marinette lucky charm, rolling the beads between his fingers.

“Oh, um, it’s fine!” The girl ducked her head. “It’s not a problem.”

Adrien blinked. There was something familiar about her. And something strange. Maybe it was the dark trenchcoat, which looked too heavy for the mild weather. Or maybe it was her wide-brimmed hat, more suitable for a beach than a crowded city bus.

He glanced down at her black leather gloves. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was trying to hide, just like him.

The bus rounded a corner, and despite his hold on the bar, Adrien staggered to the side. His free hand was thrown out wildly to try to keep his balance, and he nearly hit the girl on the nose.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he said quickly, scrambling back into place. His neck burned underneath the collar of his jacket.

“Don’t worry about it,” the girl mumbled.

Adrien shoved his hand back into his pocket and froze. His lucky charm was missing.

He scanned the floor and spotted it next to the girl’s boot.

“Um, excuse me, miss,” he said. “Would you mind handing me that? I dropped it.”

The girl peered down where he was pointing, face still hidden from view. Then she seemed to stiffen, frozen in place as she stared at the charm.

“Um, miss?”

She scooped it up and held it out to him, head bowed. “Here you go.”

“Thank y—” he started to say, but the words got lost on their way out. The girl’s hand was still outstretched, and he stared at the gap between her sleeve and her glove.

It was bright red, with a black spot.

The bus hissed to a stop. People clamored to their feet.

“Ladybug?” he whispered.

Her head snapped up. He caught a glimpse of her wide eyes through a pair of oversized sunglasses. Then she shot to her feet and pushed past him.

“Wait!” he called. He stumbled after her, down the steps and out the door. “Wait, please!”

She didn’t turn around. Just strode quickly down the street, the brim of her hat flopping with each step.

He broke into a jog and to catch up with her. “Ladybug!”

“I’m not—uh—who’s Ladybug?” She let out a breathless laugh. “Or, I mean, of course I’m not Ladybug. Why would you think that?”

“I, uh, saw your suit. Could you stop for a second?”

“No! I have to ca—I have … important business to attend to.”

“Um, before you do that, would you mind giving me back my lucky charm?”

She came to a halt, and he almost ran into her.

“Right,” she said quickly. “Here you go.”

She shoved the charm at him—he had to fumble not to drop it—and kept walking. But Adrien wasn’t willing to lose her that fast.

“What kind of business?” he asked quickly, dropping the charm into his plastic sack.

“Superhero business. Top secret.”

“Well, if it’s superhero stuff, then, um … why isn’t Chat Noir here too?”

“Because! It’s not—he isn’t—” She let out a little huff. “Because he wouldn’t get it. I have to do this alone.”

“I don’t think you ever have to do anything alone,” Adrien said. “Maybe he would get it if you explained.”

Finally, she stopped. Even with the double layer of her mask and her sunglasses, he could feel the weight of her gaze. “Why are you following me, Adrien?”

He blinked. “I … I didn’t realize you’d recognized me.”

“Well, um, that disguise isn’t very good.”

“It’s not?” He glanced down, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of the stained jacket and open-toed shoes. There was even a hole in the toe of his sock—Plagg kept stealing all of his good ones, and he always forgot to ask Nathalie for more.

Ladybug sniffed. “Not for me, anyway. I saw through you right away. You look just like a celebrity trying to sneak past the paparazzi.”

Adrien frowned. “Well, I think I blend in better than you do. What are you supposed to be, a film noir detective on holiday?”

Ladybug stiffened, and Adrien’s stomach dropped. He’d done it again. He’d let a stupid joke fall out of his stupid mouth, and now his lady was upset with him—this time, with Adrien him.

But Ladybug didn’t scoff, or cross her arms, or do any of the things she usually did when she didn’t like his jokes. Instead, she groaned, flattening the sides of her big, floppy hat to her head.

“This is so embarrassing,” she muttered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It’s—it’s not that bad,” Adrien tried, but Ladybug just buried her face in her hands.

“Ugh! This stupid suit!” Her head snapped up. “If you have any better suggestions, Mr. Perfect Disguise, I’m all ears.”

“You could just … detransform?”

She froze again, and before she could say anything, he went on in a rush.

“I mean, if you don’t want to be noticed, couldn’t you just take the bus as, like, yourself? And then just transform when you get to wherever you’re going? That would draw less attention. Unless, by chance, you daylight as a circus clown.”

He laughed awkwardly, mentally kicking himself for cracking another bad joke. But to his surprise, she laughed too.

“Nope,” she said. “That’s Chat Noir’s civilian identity. I’m just a normal girl with a normal life.”

He clung to the echo of her laugh, letting it fill him up with a hesitant sort of confidence he couldn’t resist testing.

“Aw, come on, mila—Ladybug,” he dared to say. “I’m sure there is nothing about you that isn’t special. Spots or no spots.”

“You’re wrong. I’m super normal. The normalest.”

“No way.

“Yes way! I bet—” She seemed to hesitate. “I bet I could sit behind you at school and you wouldn’t even notice me.”

“Lies,” Adrien said. “I would definitely notice.”

“Right. Well … um, wow, would you look at the time!” She let out a nervous laugh, glancing down at an invisible watch on her wrist. “I’d better be off. It was nice to love you, Adrien—I mean, nice to see you. Bug out!”

She spun on her heel, and without his permission, his hand shot out to stop her.

“Um,” he said, “do you—I mean … well, I still don’t get why you’re in disguise. Do you need help with something?”

“No! I mean, thanks, that’s okay, but I really need to … oh.” Her voice trailed off, mouth falling open.

“What is it?”

“I was going somewhere, but I guess now I don’t … need to.”

“What do you mean?”

She held his gaze, biting her lip, and then released a breath, her words spilling out in a rush. “I heard you and Lila were gonna have a photoshoot today, so I was going over there to, like, stake it out and stop her from whatever terrible thing she was planning. But I was worried that if I wasn’t suited up already I’d have to find a place to transform and that could take forever because do you even know how hard it is to find a decent hiding place in one of the biggest cities in Europe?”

“Well—”

“And by the time I hid and transformed and got back, who knows what kind of damage she could’ve done? So I was like, ‘Okay, I’ll just have to suit up beforehand so I’m ready for action at a moment’s notice.’ But there really isn’t much that can cover a whole supersuit, so I stole—borrowed—my mom’s coat and the hat she bought for her trip to Côte d'Azur last year because, I mean, she literally never wears it, and I was gonna put it right back when I was done, and I couldn’t use any of my hats because they don’t have a big enough brim to hide my mask. Because, like, even with sunglasses on you can still see it, so I thought I could just kind of, like, bow my head and it would be fine—”

“Ladybug—”

“—and of course Tik—my friend told me it wasn’t a good idea, but I just couldn’t let anything happen because I’m the only one who knows what Lila’s capable of. So I’m the only one who can stop her.”

At last, Ladybug paused, breathing heavily, looking flushed beneath her mask.

“This is about Lila?” Adrien asked. “What were you afraid she was gonna do?”

She was definitely blushing now, pink spilling out from under all her layers of disguise. “Well—I don’t know! She would think of something! She’s a liar. Or—I mean …” She breathed in, closing her eyes briefly. “She is at high risk for akumatization. Or getting others akumatized.”

Adrien nodded. “I know.”

“You—you do?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I thought you did, at one point, but then you started doing all these photoshoots with her, and you guys seem pretty … friendly.” She made a face at the word, like it was something slimy and poisonous. “I mean, like, being all cuddly and couple-y and—like, if you’re dating Lila, that’s … that’s fine, I just have to, um, warn you that—”

“We’re not dating,” Adrien cut in. “We’re not even friends.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” he said firmly. “The photoshoots are my father’s idea, and I kind of let Lila do what she wants with them because, well, I made a deal with her.”

Ladybug frowned. “What kind of deal?”

“I told her I would do the shoots with her if she’d leave my friend Marinette alone. Lila got her expelled from school temporarily. She almost got her akumatized. It was terrible.”

“You … you did that?” Ladybug asked, sounding strangely distant. “You did that for Marinette?”

Adrien nodded. “She’s really important to me. I couldn’t let anything else happen to her. I mean, I hate having to hang around Lila and pretend to be her friend, but”—he shrugged—“it’s worth it. To keep Marinette safe.”

Ladybug appeared to be in some kind of daze. She wandered to the edge of the walkway, sinking down onto a bench.

“Is something wrong?” Adrien asked.

She shook her head slowly, taking in a deep breath. “That’s, um, really nice of you, Adrien.” A pause. “You’re a good friend.”

He sat down beside her. “You know Marinette, right?”

“Yeah,” Ladybug said. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Then please don’t tell her about this. I don’t want her to feel guilty or anything. She has enough on her plate already. She does so much, and she cares about people more than anyone I know, and I don’t want this to be one more thing for her to worry about, you know?”

“Right.”

Adrien pulled his lucky charm from the sack. “She’s the one who gave this to me. Maybe it’s silly, but I feel like it brings me good luck. I always carry it with me wherever I go. My Marinette lucky charm.”

“That’s …” She looked down, hiding her face under the brim of her hat. “That’s really sweet.”

“Maybe … maybe this is what made me run into you today. At least, I feel like it’s good luck to see you.” He paused, smile faltering. “But maybe it wasn’t so lucky for you that I, like, chased you down. Sorry about that.”

She raised her head. “No! I’m really glad we ran into each other. Maybe that thing is lucky after all.”

“But you don’t need luck anyway, huh? You’re Ladybug.”

She laughed, and for the first time, she leaned her head back, lifting her face to the sky. “Trust me. I need all the luck I can get.”

For a moment, they just sat there, watching the people passing by. It was strange, to sit side by side like this with Ladybug—exactly like he’d done a thousand times before, but nothing was the same. A bench instead of a rooftop. The street instead of the sky. And Paris, bustling all around them, instead of twinkling from below.

He liked it like this. (He liked it any way, with her.)

“So,” she said, “were you not actually supposed to have a photoshoot today?”

“I was, but it was canceled.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because Lila has a huge zit.”

Ladybug’s eyes widened, and then she snorted as her face crumpled with laughter.

“I’m serious,” Adrien went on. “It’s enormous. Like, a category 5 disaster event.”

“You’re lying! They’d just cover it with makeup.”

“You can’t cover a geographical landmark with makeup,” Adrien said gravely.

Ladybug doubled over, clutching her sides as she howled. He laughed with her, feeling almost weightless with the thrill of it. He was laughing with his lady, without his mask. He’d made her laugh, and she knew it was him, and when she lifted her head again, the smile on her face (big, bright, beautiful, brilliant) was for him, Adrien Agreste, and no one else.

Finally, Ladybug straightened, nudging her sunglasses up on her nose to wipe at her eye.

“Wanna go out with me?” Adrien blurted.

She froze. “What?”

“I mean—sorry!” Adrien shook his head quickly. “I was on my way to a movie. And since you’re free now, and you’ve already got your disguise, I thought maybe you’d want to … come with me? Or—or not! I don’t mean to presume any—”

“Yes,” she said.

“Wait. Really?”

“Yes, I’d, um …” She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d love to go with you.”

Warmth shot through him like a firecracker, and he felt his face split into a grin. “Great. I’ve always wanted to see a movie with Beach Vibes Sherlock Holmes.”

She laughed. “Lead the way, Mr. Perfect Disguise.”

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladrien #ml fanfics #mine #my fics

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