#i wrote this like over a year ago and sort of hated it at the time
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After the events of the past weekend— Eyghon, Jenny, the terrifying possession and his own mortifying breakdown over it all— Giles feels that he owes the kids an explanation. Part apology and part penance, he decides to take them to the beach after school to soften the blow of what he has to say. Of course, none of this goes according to plan.
Or, alternatively titled: coming out as a murderer to your surrogate children is hard.
(Additional Tags: Past Rupert Giles/Ethan Rayne, Background Jenny Calendar/Rupert Giles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heart-to-Heart, Awkward Conversations, Episode: s02e08 The Dark Age, Bisexual Rupert Giles, scooby dynamics, Giles is an incredibly awkward not quite surrogate dad)
#rupert giles#buffy the vampire slayer#buffy summers#willow rosenberg#xander harris#buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction#buffy the vampire slayer fanfic#btvs#btvs fanfiction#btvs fanfic#i wrote this like over a year ago and sort of hated it at the time#and then rewatched this episode recently and was like 'huh wait didnt i write a fic about this'?#and reread it and was like. huh. wait that actually wasn't so bad lmao#i mean at worst it's ooc to ever expect giles to willingly talk about his feelings or anything personal#bc he literally Will Not in 95% of circumstances unless literally forced to lmao#but. yk. we can pretend :)#btvs is actually about what it's like to have an emotionally unavailable father figure so sorry for giving giles a bare minimum#amount of emotional intelligence :/#myfic
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I Hate You. | F.W.
summary: They had been friends since the moment they met, but what happens when she falls in love with him and he seems to blind to notice?
pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader
word count: 5718
warning(s): ends in smut
notes: I have not posted in quite some time, nor have I wrote anything in a long time. I tried to avoid the use of y/n. Fred calls her 'little red' or 'red' ocassionally, this is explained in the writing.
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Six years of friendship. Six years of falling for Fred Weasley, really. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew she loved him two years ago. It was just easier to ignore as a 15 year old girl. She initially tried to write it off as just feeling that way because they were so close already, but she knew that wasn’t true. She was just as close with his twin brother, George, and she wasn’t in love with him. Fred was different. They knew each other on a different level. They could be overly affectionate with each other. When she saw him at the platform this year, she ran to him and jumped into his arms and stayed there despite George whining that he hadn’t seen her in just as long. On the train ride, she fell asleep with her head in his lap whilst he and George started scheming their first prank of the school year. He would hush George any time she would start to stir, then gently play with her hair until she settled again. She had fallen asleep on George’s shoulder once, and swore to never do it again. Whilst he was also one of her best friends, he did not hold the same kind of soft spot for her as his twin did. He had used a spell to turn her hair bright green. She was livid when she realised. Poor George was afraid to turn his back to her for the next four months. She had waited six months for her revenge, perfecting the same colour changing spell, but turning all of his clothes pink.
Now at 17, her feelings were harder to hide. The pangs of jealousy at every Gryffindor party after a quidditch match when girls would shamelessly flirt with him. And he seemed to love it. Tonight was another one of those nights. Gryffindor had destroyed Slytherin on the quidditch pitch and were, of course, throwing their usual celebration. She sat next to George and Angelina on the couch, her eyes following Fred. Her gaze only left him as Julie came up to him and was heavily laying on the charm. She felt the jealousy bubbling in her like a failed potion about to go horribly wrong. She felt George shift and wrap an arm around her shoulder, giving her a slight squeeze. “Love, why don’t you talk to him?” Angelina asked, reaching over George to squeeze her hand. Her gaze moved from her knees to her two friends, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “I couldn’t possibly talk to him about this, Ang. I’d tell him everything and feel like an absolute git after.” She admitted, letting out another huff. George shook his head, opening his mouth to speak but quickly closing it. Ever since the start of the year, she had grown closer to George and his girlfriend, Angelina. Unfortunately, closer than she was with Fred. They were definitely still close, but something was different between them this year. And it wasn’t that she was head over heels in love with him. It was him that was keeping a distance between the two of them. Every year, she sat with them at the Gryffindor table. Her Ravenclaw robes made her stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of red, but Fred and George were her best friends. In fact, she only ever sat at her own houses’ table a handful of times. The sorting ceremony, the last day, and that couple of months last year when Fred had a girlfriend who absolutely hated her. She had friends in Ravenclaw, but she wasn’t as close to anyone as she was with Fred. George was a close second, but her and Fred always just clicked. They clicked from the first train ride to Hogwarts they ever had. They were nearly inseparable. If Fred wasn’t with George, he was with her, or they were all together. She spent a few weeks with the Weasley’s every summer. Molly was like her second mother at this point. She loved spending time with all of them. She loved answering all of Arthur’s questions about the muggle world. She loved hanging out with Ginny, the only other girl around her age in the Weasley household. It was usually the highlight of her summer.
A loud cheering pulled her attention away from her two friends as they all turned to the source of the noise. It felt like her heart shattered into dust. Don’t cry. Do not cry. Not here. “I-, I have to go.” She quickly stammered, slipping away from her friends and blinking back tears. There he was. Fingers tangled in Julie’s hair, kissing her passionately. She tried to keep her head down as she pushed towards the door. She knew better, but she looked up anyway. Another stab to the heart. Her tear-filled gaze met the eyes of Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley, best friend, heartbreaker. She tore her gaze from his and moved as quickly as she could without running. She pushed out of the door, finally letting a tear fall as the door shut behind her. She could’ve swore she heard George yelling at his twin as she stepped out, but she could be wrong. She stood in the hall for a moment, unsure of what to do. Her feet were moving before she registered that she was moving. She knew Fred, she knew he would try to come after her. He was her best friend, after all. Part of her wished he would push through the door, catch up to her and wrap her in his arms. The other part of her, the hurt, told her to stop hoping he would feel the same way. Though, he would ask George what happened first, which bought her some time, yet not enough to get to her common room before he caught up with her. Even if she ran, he could easily catch up to her. Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the hall, watching the door to the room of requirements take shape. She heard him calling her name, and heard his footsteps. She didn’t want him to see her like this, not right now. Not when it was so fresh. She shouldn’t be crying. They were only friends, she was the one hopelessly in love with him. She reached for the doorknob, sliding into the room and quickly shutting the door behind her. Merlin, please let the door disappear before he gets down here. She slid down the wall next to the door. How absolutely foolish could she be? Her and Fred would never happen. It was clear at this point. She was terrified that if she told him how she felt, it would ruin their friendship. Not only would she be heartbroken, but she would lose her best friend too.
She had no idea how long she sat there for. Maybe an hour? Maybe two? It took nearly another hour before she gathered the courage to leave. Even if he had seen her, she doubted he would’ve waited for her. Maybe two years ago, but not now. Not with this weird distance between them. Definitely not after close to three hours of her hiding. She could still confidently say that Fred was her best friend, but it was different. It wasn’t like before. They weren’t joined at the hip anymore. This summer made that clear. She spent most of her time with Ginny and Molly. The few times they had spent together went from comfortable and playful to awkward. There were moments when it felt like he may also feel the same way about her, but he always seemed to pull away a little more after. She could’ve sworn he was going to kiss her one night, her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. But he just cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he took a step back from her. Maybe she should’ve just kissed him then, and let whatever would happen just happen. At least she would’ve known how he felt. She might have lost her best friend, but she wouldn’t constantly feel this hurt and jealousy.
She pressed on the wall, waiting for the door to appear to make her exit. She slowly pushed the door open, only then realising she should have left from the other side of the room. There he was. That beautiful, heartbreaking idiot. His head leaned back against the wall, mouth slightly open as he slept. She realised she really had been in there for much longer than she thought and it was a miracle Fred hadn’t been found by Filch or Mrs. Norris. She kneeled in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. “Freddie.” She whispered lightly, pushing against his knees to hopefully wake him, but she knew he could sleep through the whole castle crumbling to the ground. “Freddie!” She whisper-yelled, shaking him harder, earning a groan from him. “Fred Gideon Weasley, get up before Filch comes and kills us both!” She whispered harshly, causing Fred to finally open his eyes. His sleepy gaze quickly turned to a soft look when he took her in. She knew her eyes had to be slightly puffy and her nose was red. It always turned red after she cried, and she hated it. She also hated that Fred always knew when she was upset or had been crying, and he always knew exactly how to make her feel better. Whether she needed a hug, or to be held, or if he needed to go to ridiculous measures just to make her laugh. Fred reached out and pulled her to him, stretching his legs out so she was in his lap. She fell forward against him as he hugged her. She let her head rest against his chest, feeling tears threaten to fill her eyes again. “C’mon little red.” He whispered, moving to get up. “I don’t have red hair.” She mumbled, she didn’t know where the nickname had come from. Fred had just started calling her it one day. The only answer for why she ever got was that she was now an honorary Weasley and she was tiny. It used to annoy her to no end, which is probably why it stuck. Fred loved getting reactions out of her, because even if something annoyed her when it came to him, she secretly loved it. It was like he knew it.
She walked next to him, keeping her head down. She watched her feet as she walked. She wasn’t paying attention, she just let him lead the way. She figured they would go to his dorm. It was the closest and safest bet. The chances of not getting caught on the way to her common room were slim to none. It was way too late to even consider being out of the common room, everyone was most likely asleep by now. She knew they were entering the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady had long ago stopped putting up a fight about her being snuck into the common room after hours. It happened so often that it wasn’t worth it. She didn’t bother to look up, just followed Fred to the stairs. The floor was a mess and she was afraid to look up. She didn’t want to relive her most recent memory in this room. She followed Fred into his dorm, noting that it was empty. He shared a room with George and Oliver Wood. Neither of the other two boys were here. She stood there silently as Fred moved around. He pulled out a jumper and handed it to her, turning around for her to change. The normalcy of this pained her. She knew Fred had seen her almost completely naked. He had stayed with her when she was sick last year. She had a fever that wouldn’t break and she had stripped out of her shirt and pyjama shorts in her sleep- with Fred sharing the same bed. She pulled the jumper over her head before pulling her jeans off. The jumper hung down to her knees, Fred was nearly a foot taller than her, if not more. She didn’t say anything as she climbed into his bed, only huffing as she rolled over to face away from him.
She felt his weight as he slid into his bed, turning to face her back. “George told me what happened. She kissed me, and I didn’t…” He whispered so quietly she could barely hear him. Her whole body seemed to tense as she registered what he said. Of course George told him. Bloody hell. She felt Fred’s hand brush over her arm. He grabbed her shoulder, gently trying to turn her to him. She fought him on it, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, no matter how determined she was to keep her back to him. “You know you can tell me anything. Hell, you’re my best friend.” Fred whispered, his eyes on her face. She stared at the ceiling, feeling tears well in her eyes again. “That’s the problem, Freddie. I’m your best friend.” Her whisper was soft, not trusting herself to speak without starting to cry again. “And I hate it.” She finished, closing her eyes tightly to press the tears back. She could still feel his eyes on her, but she knew she couldn’t look at him. She knew she would break. She knew he would hold her until she either calmed down or fell asleep. Merlin’s beard, they were more than just friends. Friends don’t do this. Friends don’t share a bed. Friends don’t sleep in nothing but the others jumper and their underwear and cuddle. Friends don’t wake up wrapped in each other's arms. Friends don’t cling to each other the way they usually do. She loved George like a brother, he was one of her closest friends. Her and George are not friends like she and Fred are. She felt a tear squeeze its way from her eye. She let out a shaky sigh as she felt Fred brush it away with his thumb. He pulled her into him and she hated him for it. She hated him at that moment. She hated that he made her hurt, but he was the only one that could make her feel better. A sob escaped her lips as the tears began to fall. “I hate you. I hate that you’re so damn oblivious to me. All I am is your best friend and I’ve been in love with you for two years, you idiot.” She cried into his chest. He cradled her head with one arm and pulled her closer with the other, holding her there as she cried. “I’m sorry, Red, I-i didn’t know.” He held her tighter, placing a kiss on the top of her head. His fingers drew circles on her back as her cries slowly stopped. He hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep until her grip on his shirt slowly loosened.
She woke up pressed to Fred’s chest and her legs tangled in his. His fingers were drawing slow shapes on her side. God she was still so hurt. The image of him kissing Julie replaying in her head. She went to pull away from him, only to be pulled against him tighter. “Let me go.” She mumbled, pushing against him again. “No can do, doll.” He mumbled back. “I still hate you.” She bit back, trying her best to ignore the comfort she felt being pressed against. “You don’t mean that.” His voice was gentle. He was used to her little fits. She had told him multiple times over the years that she hated him. The first time when he accidentally broke her brand new quill that her father had sent her as a gift when she found a new hobby of writing. It was their second year. He had saved up anything he could get until Christmas that year to buy her the same one. She had cried then too, but those were happy tears. She had told him she hated him the day he told her that he couldn’t come see her that summer, that was year three. Then she wrote to his mother and asked if she could come there to see him and George. Of course, Molly said yes. She was so delighted to finally meet the twin’s best friend. She was glad they finally had someone to level out their antics, but that didn’t last long. They were always up to something. She had told him three times in year four that she hated him. Once was when he had her pinned down and was mercilessly tickling her. She gasped it out between laughs. She even used his full name. He couldn’t help but smile, only to stop tickling when she rushed out that she was going to pee her pants if he didn’t stop. But he kept jumping at her, pretending he was going to tickle her again. The second time was when he was dating Hannah. They had gotten into a fight, screaming at each other. She was sad because she felt like she was losing Fred as a friend because Hannah hated her. And he called her bitter and jealous that she had never had a boyfriend. It was then that she told him she hated him. He could see the hurt in her eyes. That was the first time it truly hurt when she said she hated him. It felt like she meant it that time. The third time was towards the end of the year. They had made up and were thicker than thieves once again. She had conned him into going to the library to study. He was messing around the whole time and trying to make her laugh. He took it a little too far, accidentally hitting her inkwell. It shot across the table, they both moved to catch it and they both missed. It had spilled all over her skirt. She said she hated him then and told him he was lucky he was her best friend, otherwise he’d have to buy her a new skirt. Last year, year five, there were odd bits of distance between them, but when he thought about it, they weren’t odd. They were distant every time he had a girlfriend or was chasing after some girl. He had been slightly jealous of George since last year. She seemed to latch on to him, but it all made sense. She was distancing herself to protect herself and George was there for her, probably to tell her that Fred was an idiot and he’d come around one day.
“Look at me.” He said as he rolled on to his side, sliding her off his chest. She stared at his chest, not meeting his gaze. “I am.” She mumbled and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Her full name left his lips as he gently pushed her chin up to force her to look at him, but she kept her eyes trained on his chest. “I swear, you are so stubborn that I wonder how you weren't sorted into Gryffindor.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “What Fred? What do you want? I don’t care if she kissed you. You didn’t have to kiss her back.” She bit out. He had to hide his smirk. If she wasn’t so upset with him, he knew she would’ve rolled her eyes and made a ridiculous comment on how she was surprised he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. He suddenly missed her jests, wishing he could rewind to before the party. George had told him that someone they knew was pining after him. He just didn’t think it would be his best friend. But then again, how could it not be? They spent most of their time together, either alone or with George. If he wasn’t with George, he was with her. People often commented on them acting like a couple. Fred would walk her to class, arm slung around her shoulder. “I’m an idiot-” He started, only to be cut off by her. “I know you are. You’re the biggest idiot I know.” She tried to hold her glare, fighting a small smile. “C’mon, little red, let me finish.” He raised his brow as she opened her mouth to talk then closed it. She let out a sigh, waiting for him to continue. “You say I’m the biggest idiot you know, which may be true. But I’m the most handsome idiot you know.” He paused as a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. You could’ve just told me. Could’ve said ‘hey, you big, handsome, idiot, I love you’.” He paused again, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I would’ve said, ‘hey, little red, I love you too’.”
“Stop calling me that.” she mumbled and Fred let out an exasperated noise. He noticed the small smile playing on her lips. “I still hate you, at least for the next five minutes.” Her voice was much softer this time. “You’re so stubborn.” he mumbled, smiling when he felt her fingers grasp his shirt. “And you’re an idiot for not kissing me.” She mumbled, her gaze still locked with his. He slowly leaned in, his nose brushing hers as her eyes fluttered shut. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” She whispered as he leaned in. Her lips just barely brushing his as she spoke. He paused for a moment. He knew she had never dated anyone, but he didn’t think she had never kissed anyone before. He closed the gap, gently kissing her. The kiss was slow and soft, until she took him by surprise when she nipped his bottom lip. He groaned, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. “Never kissed anyone before, unbelievable.” He mumbled against her lips. She pulled on his shirt in a futile attempt to get closer than they already were. It was when she slid her hand up her chest and around his shoulder up to his hair that the door to his dorm opened. He reluctantly broke the kiss, looking up to see George standing in the doorway. “Well, I was coming to tell you that no one has seen our little friend here since last night, but I see you’re snogging her.” George grins. You roll over at his comment, turning to look at him. George winks at you and then turns his attention back to Fred. “I am now obligated to help her hide your body, doesn’t matter that you’re my brother.” George states, causing her to laugh.
“George, leave. Please.” Fred groans. “I think he should stay. This is fun. Hey, Georgie, isn’t Fred the biggest idiot you know?” She asks, smiling sweetly at Fred. “That’s likely!”
After George had left, they spent the entire morning in bed. Fred stealing kisses from her when she wasn’t dozing back off. “Freddie?” She whispered, curled into his side, her head laying on his chest. He hummed an acknowledgement. “Did you mean it?” She asked, her fingers grasping his shirt again. A small chuckle came from him as he squeezed her to him. “I love you, I have for some time. You’re also my best friend and I didn’t want to lose you.” He said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, you big, handsome idiot.” She said as she lifted her head to look at him. “Don’t think I won’t ask George to help hide your body.” She grinned as he laughed.
The rest of the year seemed to breeze by. Two months of Fred pulling her into random broom closets between classes and sneaking into the room of requirements before curfew. Countless nights spent in there, hidden away among the mess. Before she knew it, everyone was packing and getting ready to leave for the summer.
“Fred, I’m too tired, carry me.” She whined as he gently woke her when the train finally stopped at the station. He let out a sigh as George laughed at him, shaking his head. She was going to the Weasley’s for the summer as her parents were away until November. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking up at Fred. “After we get off the train, then I’ll think about it.” He reached a hand out to her, helping her up. The journey to the Weasley’s was rather quick. They travelled through the floo system. She dramatically collapsed into Fred’s arms when they got back. “So tired.” she mumbled. “You’re going to kill me.” He laughed, picking her up. This wasn’t entirely unusual for the two of them. Everyone was used to Fred and her clinging to each other. Molly would often give Fred a knowing look when she would walk into the den, finding her sleeping with her head in his lap or curled up against him. Molly also knew that, most nights, if she were to peek into Fred’s room, she would find the two of them together. She often heard them talking in loud whispers and trying to hide their laughter in the middle of the night. It didn’t dawn on her that only a handful of them knew they were together, not until George opened his mouth. “Hey ma, did you know that Freddie has a girlfriend?” A groan left Fred as he stared his twin down. She buried her face in his chest, trying to ignore the slew of reactions from the older Weasleys. Molly was utterly delighted, commenting on how she was surprised that it took this long.
The days seemed to fly by spending them in the Weasley household. Lots of stolen kisses and sneaking around. It wasn't until mid-July that her and Fred were alone in the house together. Everyone had gone out for one reason or another and it was just the two of them. They spent the morning in Fred’s bed, tangled together. She was constantly falling back asleep and Fred was just content to hold her. It wasn’t until she was the one to lean up and kiss him that the day seemed to take a slight turn. They had shared a bed countless times, kissing had almost turned into more countless times as well. But this kiss was needy and built a fire in the both of them. She started the kiss. It was soft, loving at first. Then she nipped his bottom lip and a groan left his lips. His fingers dug into her hips, the feeling giving her the courage she needed in the moment. She moved to straddle him. His hand pushed up the jumper she stole from him, revealing her bare thighs. She really would be the death of him. She never seemed to wear pants. Just his shirt and a pair of panties, she was a constant tease seemingly unknowing to the fact. The kiss was still innocent enough, until she ground her hips down on his. The almost whiny moan that left her lips had him flipping them over. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, most likely leaving marks in his wake. The sounds that left her lips were driving him wild. “You’re killing me.” He mumbled against her neck. His hands slid around her body. He gripped her hips before sliding a hand up her shirt. His fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, a lewd moan leaving her lips.
“Freddie, please.” She whined, pushing her hips up against his for any sort of friction. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up until he reached up to pull it over his head. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his. She deepened the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. He still found it hard to believe she had never kissed anyone before him. Not when she kissed him like this. She continued to grind her hips against his, moaning into the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers hooking under the waistband of his pyjamas pants. She started to push them down when Fred broke this. “Baby-” He started only to be cut off by her leaning up and kissing him again. He knew she was virgin, while he may not be, he didn’t want her to feel like she had to do this. He was content just being with her. “Freddie, please. I want you. I-,” She paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “I want you to be my first.” Her breathy proclamation almost made him groan, but it was her reaching down and palming him through his pants that made a groan fall from his lips. Fred reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor. His eyes dragged over her body. She was perfect. “So pretty, baby.” He groaned, she would’ve thought he was talking to himself until his eyes met hers. His hands slid from her hips and over her stomach before he leaned down, kissing down her neck to her navel. It was then that her nerves started to build up. His lips pressed to her hip as he looked up at her. “If you want to stop, we will. At any point, baby.” He nipped at her hip as he pulled her panties down. She felt her cheeks flush, suddenly feeling exposed. Fred’s hands sliding up her legs seemed to calm her nerves. He pressed a kiss to her knee first, then trailed kisses down her inner thigh. It was the kiss that he placed closest to her sex that had the first moan falling from her lips. She gasped when she felt his tongue against her clit. He slowly added more pressure as he worked her clit. She didn't know how much more she could take, every pass of his tongue on her was overwhelming. Her hips bucked into his face. She was sure if she wasn’t so consumed by the building warmth in her abdomen that she would have been embarrassed. His name fell from her lips as he slowly worked a finger into her. His pace was painfully slow but every move made her feel like he already knew her body better than she ever could. It wasn’t until he worked a second finger into her and sucked her clit between his lips that she felt like she was falling apart. His name left her lips in succession until all she could do was moan. She moved her hips against his fingers, riding out her orgasm.
“Please, Freddie, I need you inside of me.” She let out a breathy whine. This girl would really be the death of him. He turned his head, leaving a hickey on the inside of her thigh. His lips were on hers in an instant. When she reached to push his pants down, this time he let her. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her bottom lip. He slipped his tongue against hers, taking his time kissing her. He ground into her, sliding his dick through her folds. He teased her with his tip before gently pushing into her. She gasped into his mouth, her body tensing at the intrusion. “Relax, baby, okay?” He whispered, kissing her jaw. He didn’t move his hips, but his hand snaked between them. His thumb pressed against her clit, causing another gasp to leave her lips. He continued to toy with her clit as she looked up at him. The look in her eyes as a quiet moan fell from her lips had his resolve wavering. It was when the next breathy moan fell from her lips that she took him by surprise. She pushed her hips up, taking more of him in. His ministrations continued as he tried to ease any of her discomfort with pleasure. She rolled her hips into his, fucking herself like she had done on his fingers. Fred moved his other hand to her hip, holding her hips in place. It was then that he pushed into her until she took all of him in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, then her lips. The kiss was slow, gentle as he gave her time to adjust. She broke the kiss, brushing her nose against his. “Freddie.” His name left her lips in a breathy moan as she pushed against him. His thrusts were shallow at first, his forehead resting against hers. They moved slowly together, quiet moans falling from her lips. His name fell from her lips as he thrusted into her harder, faster. Her hands ran up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she gripped his shoulders. “O-oh, Freddie.” She gasped, tilting her head up to press her lips to his. She could feel her orgasm building again when he slid a hand between them, pressing his thumb to her clit. Fred could feel himself getting close to the edge.
“Fuck, baby, cum for me.” He groaned against her skin. His thumb pressed into her clit harder, circling until she threw her head back. His name fell from her lips, her nails digging into his back. The feeling of her walls clenching and spasming around him as she came sent him over the edge. Her name fell from his lips as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Freddie.” Her voice was a whisper. She leaned up to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he could speak. “I love you.” He mumbled between kisses.
They spent the next few hours tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, and her dozing off a few times. Fred woke her when he heard the first noises in the den below. Fred scrambled to find his clothes as she waltzed around his room to find hers. She pulled on a pair of leggings and his jumper. Her fingers slid across his sides as he pulled his shirt on. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against him. His arms snaked around her, placing a kiss on the top of her head.
#harry potter#one shots#one shot#imagines#fred weasley one shot#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagines#fred weasley#fred weasley smut#fred weasly x reader#fred wealsey fic#fred weasely x y/n#iiwontgiveuponmilkk
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Callouses on his gentle hands was absolutely adorable! It kept making me thing of a continuation of the sorts where some years pass and the reader actually enlisted in the military earning the code name Bird too without Price having any knowledge. Only to show up when he's a captain maybe even to be part of 141 or something important.
Idk if this is a possible request as I don't want to bother you but it would be amazing if there was some well timed banter and just generally happy.
Again your writing is so good it leaves me speechless I love it so much! 👁️〰️👁️
Calluses and Milky Scars
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Synopsis: It's been years since you've seen or heard from John and yet you still can't get him out of your head. But can a chance meeting rekindle old emotions? (18+)
Word Count: 16.1k
Warnings: Angst, typical violence & gore, talks of human trafficking, vulgar language, eventual fluff, banter, smut, honestly I think I wrote switch!Price without even realizing it, p in v sex, fingering, teasing, breeding kink, etc.
A/N: Imma be honest I hate the first part of this duology - it was one of my earlier works - so I made this as standalone as possible. So if you don't wanna read the first part (please don't) you can still understand this one just fine by itself. (this is also an excuse for more smut practice). Anyway, enjoy! Part 1
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
They only saw the glint of a blade, the metal reflecting the light of a mist-filled night back into the whites of their eyes. You could see the result of your form in their terror-stricken visages as, one after one, they succumbed to the ministrations of your unyielding determination.
You had forgotten when the act of taking a life had become so easy for you. It was as natural as breathing, now. Elementary. Your fingers could pull a trigger just as fast as they would raise for a handshake or a wave. There was little need to be shy about it – your days as a victim were far behind you, and ‘Bird’ was nothing more than a callsign uttered under hushed breaths. Said behind back alleys by Human Traffickers with fear-slick eyes.
It was no longer uttered in a deep British accent, the word making your skin tingle and cheeks heat. No matter how much you longed for it to be.
You were a Captain in the military now. Working hand-in-hand with the CIA under the direction of a certain Kate Laswell. You even commanded your own Squad that specializes in getting others out of the very situation you had been in years ago with no mercy or hesitation.
Revenge, you decided, was most likely why this was easy for you.
You enjoyed it.
“Perimeter clear, Captain,” Wren speaks into your earpiece as you step over the bodies at your feet, boots splashing through puddles of blood so starkly contrasting the grass it makes you smirk.
“Move up.” A balaclava covers your face, and sweat dribbles down your brow before you blink it out of your eye.
Around your chest, the M4A1 sits with its familiar weight, and you wipe the life-fluid from your crude combat knife before sheathing it at your thigh. You had taken out three stragglers at the South End of the current Targets territory, your blood singing sweetly in your veins at the prospect of finally crossing another name off your list.
“Eagle,” Your voice bounces off trees and low shrubs, and you continue forward as your fingers press the button on the old-issue radio. There were better versions nowadays, and you got teased for still using the ancient one you have currently strapped to your chest, but it was sentimental to you. An old friend had given it to you for safekeeping a long time ago…How many years now was it since you had seen or heard from John Price? Ten? Fifteen? Who could really tell, anyhow? Time moved quickly, and you ran through it even quicker.
Your sharp eyes flick out over the view as you exit the brush, standing on the top of a large ridge – a series of warehouses lit up with large spotlights below your perch makes you frown.
“Let’s get this started then, shall we?” You mutter, shifting your feet and rolling your shoulders. “Blackout in 3.”
“Roger that, Ma’am.”
You watch the guards walking like obsidian ants below, your predatory gaze missing nothing – you spot the mannerisms fairly quickly; who limps, who favors their left over their right. Who’s sleeping on the job. A first victim was almost immediately chosen as you tilt your head and feel the chilled breeze on your visible skin. Your Unit knows the procedures you’ve ingrained into them and they’re watching just as closely and predatory as you are.
All four, including you, are stationed in a circle around the area, with Eagle, the man with the sniper rifle, taking point far off into the trees on a higher portion of the topography. Three seconds of prep time come and go quickly. And so do the lights.
A series of muffled pops and a shattering of glass break the night into chaos, and then the illumination goes out entirely. The area is plunged into an inky darkness of your own command – you revel in it. And then the screams begin.
“Take ‘em.” You mutter through the open channel, and your feet then propel you forward, dodging trees and jumping downed branches as you skid down the slope. Your heart beats with adrenaline, the hunt making your nerves twitch.
In your grip, you ready your weapon, flicking off the safety as shots begin to ring out over the land. Eagle was taking off the ones he could, but if you had to guess, Shrike was already in the fray, letting her face get bloody from the close quarters she favored. You only hoped the woman wouldn’t go overboard this time. Thrush was usually the one to help keep her head on, but the man was across the territory with his own hostiles to wipe the board of.
You fire at the first shadow with a light finger, watching it drop and pivoting to pull the trigger at two more before they knew what was happening – too panicked by the sudden assault seemingly out of nowhere.
“Shrike,” Your voice wafts over the buzzing line, “mind yourself. I don’t need you put on Suspended Leave again.”
“Don’t worry, Ma’am,” Thrush’s light voice meets your ears as you take cover behind a vehicle directly in front of one of the warehouses, “I’m making my way to her now.”
“Ah, Fuck off, Thrush!” Shrike growls, and there’s a distinct sound of someone’s gurgling last breath in the background. It makes you let out a huff of demented laughter. “I know the limits!”
“I don’t think she knows the limits, Ma’am,” Eagle grunts over the call, and a shot sizzles past your head and takes out a charging man that was making his way to your hunched and hidden form. “I really don’t.”
Rushing forward out of your cover, you chuckle breathlessly as Wren’s dignified voice pipes in.
“I’m making my way to the main building and getting set to download the data. Target’s nowhere to be seen, Captain.” Your lips thin under the fabric and you grunt, feeling a bullet graze your bicep. Ducking in an instant, you set your feet and fire, running past before the sound of the body slamming to the ground behind you can reach your ears. A burning heat enters your arm, but you barely acknowledge it.
“Eagle, cover her until I get there.”
“Affirm.”
“Shrike, Thrush, report. How’s the other warehouse lookin'?” Your body skids across the ground, and your hand connects with the warehouse you needed to clear before making your way to Wren and the Mainframe.
Half of the Op was data retrieval, and the other was taking out a human trafficker only named in his file as Buck – bastard’s been running for a long time, and you needed to leave him a bloody mess before he kept his ‘business’ going. Laswell only sent in your Squad because she knew you could get it done with an efficiency no one else could. Nearly a perfect success rate got the attention of people worldwide; your waiting list was long of the places the CIA wanted to send you and your team.
But you didn’t care, as long as your own list was getting checked off they could fly your ass to Antarctica for all it mattered.
“Our warehouse is cleared out. Must not have expected us…they were running around with their heads chopped off.”
Shrike snickers. “Just like chickens.”
“Good. Join up with Wren and make sure she can get the download completed. Copy?” You grasp the large metal handle and growl, locking your arms and pushing with all of your strength. The weight makes your thighs shake, but you only open it enough for you to slip inside, gun at the ready as breaths puff from your mouth.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Boots shuffle over the concrete floor, and your ears twitch in the quiet darkness at the crunch of stray gravel underfoot. Your finger shifts slowly to the trigger, glaring into the nothingness.
It was silent.
You heard it then, like a spike to the heart – the panicked breathing; the sounds of shaking lungs and grasping hands. Sounds all so familiar it made you pause, mind for an instant blanking at the implications.
There were people here. Drowning in fear.
You could see them in the corners, scores of bodies piled on top of one another to find some semblance of comfort. Their eyes wink in the moonlight of a single window in the roof, and the stench nearly makes you want to gag. Blinking, you lower your gun, feet shifting to stand straight like a statue; heart racing. These people weren’t supposed to be here, and already vicious comparisons to your own rescue by a certain man a long time ago invade your mind. Calluses seem to burn your hands under your gloves, and a gentle imaginary prod at an injury on your forehead makes the milky scar ache.
He readies the wipe in one of his hands, the other coming up to your jaw. When you tense he freezes, but as soon as the hesitance leaks away from you like a wave, the slow motion returns to his limbs; his fingers come to grab at your chin, gently holding your head in place. When you place more weight into his hold and release a deep-chested sigh of content he quirks a dark eyebrow.
“This might sting, Doll,” John whispers.
“That’s alright,” You mutter back, staring into his beautiful eyes as the wipe comes into view in the side of your vision. “Not your fault.”
He only releases a puff of air from his lips before adding the smallest amount of pressure to your forehead, running the wipe over the red and swollen flesh.
Taking a deep breath one of your hands goes to your radio stiffly. Eagle needed to know about this so he could send a message to Laswell – get an immediate Medical Evac for these people.
In your hyper-focussed state, memories you wished would stay away rear their head; infect your intuition and common sense. You missed the click of the safety until the barrel of the pistol was level with the back of your head. Freezing, your fingers tense over the device, your body going rigid and muscles tight as the people in the corners gasp and cry out into the night.
A panting man stands behind you and you feel his hands shaking as the barrel digs into the balaclava’s fabric.
Well, that’s unexpected.
“Show me your hands,” He breathes heavily, and you feel his puff of air echo out over the open space. Tinged with fear. Dripping with adrenaline.
Your lips pull back into a steady, hidden, smirk, head tilting as your hands slowly drift from your radio and let your weapon hang from its strap around your chest; feeling it bounce off the various packs and supplies you carry with pride. They splay beside your head, fingers lazily loose and leather gloves squealing into the night.
Selene herself holds her silver breath, the winds sucked down into Hades as Cerberus breaks sinner’s bones with his savage jaws and blood-slick teeth. It was silent.
Born and bred to violence, there truly wasn’t a better place for you to be than in the CIA. This was Hell, but you could play that black-clad ruler’s game just the same. You’d been dodging him for years.
“T-toss your gun to the floor.”
“You know that won’t matter.” You look behind you, side-eyeing that shaking would-be threat. Phobos lives in his very being. Coward. Pathetic. Red-hot anger lights your nerves, iris narrowing to black slits. This thing – he was little more than an entitled boy in a man’s body. Using others for his gain just like others had used you. This was your Target.
This was Buck.
“So this is the one who made an empire on the suffering of innocents.” You mumble, unafraid and unbothered with a scoff. “I really expected more than a man who plays with his food.”
Yes, the adrenaline was running in your veins; you were human. It was natural. But the way the wailing birds rampaged in your chest wasn’t – you should be afraid, not angry. Not enraged to the point you were shaking; fingers twitching for your knife. For spilled blood to coat the earth.
Phobos was this man’s ruler, but that Fear God’s father was Ares. And Ares was yours.
“I…I said drop your fucking weapon you bitch–!”
Your opposite hand knocks Buck’s wrist to the side and your body twists. In a single fraction of a second between the loud misfire that hits the floor and the ringing in your ears, the knife at your thigh finds purchase in his pliable neck. Crimson sprays over your eyes; staining the balaclava as your body falls to the ground as you jam the blade deeper – all the way to the crossguard.
Buck grumbles wetly from under you, hands coming to weakly grasp at your arms and attempt to pry your unyielding body from him. His grip is as strong as a child’s, and as blood spurts from his mouth and entry wound, you slap your free hand over his face and twist the knife. Strangling the hilt in your grasp, you viciously jerk your limb, sending the edge sliding over his neck; cutting tendons and arteries. Creating a red-lipped smile from ear to ear that explodes with gore.
Buck was already dead before the puddle over the ground grew an inch in diameter.
Ripping your weapon out, you shove your boot into his chest and push off, stumbling to your feet as you stare down wide-eyed. Your digits shake, but the flickering of your gaze goes from the dead eyes to the open mouth of the corpse. Flicking your wrist, you splatter more blood on the floor to rid some of it from your blade before sheathing it.
Gripping your radio, you speak clearly into the line.
“Eagle this is the Captain – get in contact with Laswell immediately. Civvies in the far South warehouse. Ask for Medical Evac.”
Say to bring only women, you want to growl but refrain. That was impossible to manage.
You stare at them now, the innocents, and see your own path reflected in the many colors and the feral glints in their irises. In the way their bodies huddle like cats with their backs flared. If life had been different, would you still be in a situation like this – waiting for your own John Price to break you out? It was a difficult question. Far more challenging to answer than why the body behind you was staining the concrete with blood and tears.
…What would have happened if he had never kneeled down before you that day? Offered you his hand stained with calluses and gunpowder residue?
You blink at the thin bodies, gaze flowing to each and every one in turn. With a slow motion you begin forward, hands at your sides and visible; you draw the memory to you. The one you think of often.
You had stayed there in fear, curled up in the corner, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Until John.
“Ma’am,” He had said, kneeling on one leg while his hands clutched his M16 to his chest, the muzzle still smoking, “I’m Lieutenant John Price in Command of Unit Bravo. You’re safe now.”
Unit Bravo? Safe? You had wondered, looking up at the man with confusion. How can I be safe?
Nonetheless, when he offered you a hand, you had taken it, looking in awe at how gently he gripped your limb in his own; John’s limb completely swallowed yours and yet held you like delicate glass.
You stopped before a woman far too young to be in a situation like this and kneeled. She watched you with a shaking body, the others curling away in fear. They didn’t know you, and so they feared you. Taking a breath, your hand raises, and the woman’s eyes are laser-focused on your form.
I should make myself smaller, you think. And so you do.
The fabric is sweat-heavy; laden with dirt and other substances, but you grasp it without hesitation and peel it off of you. It sits in your hand with the weight of the past in the thick polyester threads. Swallowing down saliva at the breeze that hits your face, you watch the lady blink at you, her gaze filled with confusion.
An easy smile comes to your face; if they hadn't just seen you murder a man, they would not believe you to be the same person. Yours was not the face of a killer – of someone who twists the knife deep and revels in death. It was soft beside the scar above your eyebrow, easy to look at. Innocent.
A simple Bird, no. A vulture perhaps suited you better, if they were to get into specifics.
You clear your throat and they all flinch.
“Ma’am,” Your voice carries. Again, not the voice of a monster. But even Ares marries a beauty. Could you not be a spawn of them? Beautiful and utterly bloodied by the rules of war? Oh, yes, that’s what you were, you had to be. Nothing else would make any sense. But they gravitate to you nonetheless – war and love often go hand in hand. Especially when one killed the ruler of their torment. “I’m the Captain of Raptor Squad. You can call me Bird, if you want. It’s alright. We’re gonna get you out of here and get you some help, okay? You’re safe now.”
The woman can’t help but nod sheepishly.
Who says no to an offspring of Gods themselves?
—
The helicopter ride back was silent, with everyone tired and covered in more blood, dirt, and sweat than they can recall. Buck’s body was stuffed into a black bag and sitting in the walkway at your feet – you needed it for positive identification back on Base. You had shuffled back into the balaclava, taking comfort in the security and anonymity it lent. Below, your eyes watch the word whizz past, one foot limply hanging off the side thousands of feet above the ground; you swish it back and forth like a child and allow yourself to think.
You had joined the military only a few years after John had rescued you – much against the wishes of your therapist, but seeing as you were of sound mind, it wasn’t that difficult to enlist. The brown-haired Brit had sent you letters for the first three months after you had left the Base you had been recovering at and then, inexplicably, they had stopped. No letters, no contact. The radio – along with you – was too far away to get a signal; that was how it ended.
Not with a kiss or a soldier’s goodbye, just nothing. Silence.
But you never held it against him. Perhaps, you reasoned and partially believed, he was already dead. At the end of the day, he had been a great motivator for you, and over the years your fists and skills had propelled you to top ranks. Laswell had been in contact soon after you had been promoted to Lieutenant and Raptor Squad had been formed when you had chosen the most violent and perfect bastards to join it.
From there it was win after win and the CIA soon counted this team as one of the most lethal in its roster. You’ve been all over the world.
More than I could imagine I would become in a concrete corner and locked in a cage.
Your eyes watched the expanse of forest outside, but there was still something missing. Why had John just…stopped? It was the one question you could never answer.
Did I really not matter to him at all? Around your vest, your fingers twitch as the helicopter bounces on airwaves. Blue eyes still haunted you – the ones that held silver starlight hostage. How they used to soften with care when they looked down at you. John shouldn’t have mattered this much to you.
Why can’t I just let go of him?
You bite at your hidden lip with sharp teeth, peeling back the skin as Wren shifts in her seat beside you. She speaks into the comms to avoid yelling over the drowning sound of helo blades and you lock your eyes on her form.
“You might want to look at the info I retrieved from the Target’s mainframe, Captain. Didn’t Laswell mention she had a separate Task Force going after someone named Casilda Kalpana? She’s mentioned in this file.” Wren hands you her tablet, and you hold it in one of your hands as your hard eyes slim down the screen, taking in compiled sources.
Casilida Kalpana was on your list of Targets to take care of, but Laswell had given the job to another Task Force – designated TF-141 – for the small difference that this woman had ties to multiple terror organizations. Raptor Squad was no stranger to that, but Kate had also stated that the Captain of that group had been incredibly instant on taking it himself.
Your head tilts in memory.
“Kate, I’m not understanding why you think we can’t handle it.” You huff, shaking your head with an exasperated expression. “It’s no different than anything we’ve done before.”
“I have no problem with you participating, but the Captain pulled in a favor. Said he ‘felt obligated’ or something like that.” You pull a face, and Laswell glares at you from behind her desk. “Bird, I really don’t have the time to argue today – I’m stuck with stacks of papers because Keller decided to get himself lost again.”
“I’m not trying to argue, Kate.” Holding up your hands you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The only thing that matters is that the Target ends up six feet under at the end of the day. You know what it means to me.”
The Agent looks up from her papers and pauses for a moment, a pen placed between her digits, and her eyes soften around the gray edges.
“I can personally assure you, Captain, that this Task Force will see it done…Now hurry up and get ready for your own mission – I hear South America is warmer than usual this time of year. Pack a cold drink.”
The words in the file make your stomach churn; leading to your eyes widening. You flip the tablet back to Wren and radio Eagle who’s blankly watching Shrike and Thrush play rock-paper-scissors across from you.
“Eagle,” the man’s head snaps to you and he blinks, “Patch through to Laswell. Tell her to gather Task Force 141 in the meeting room on Base and wait for me. Under no circumstances should they be allowed to leave on the Op for the HVT Casilda Kalpana. We’ve got vital intel.”
Eagle nods and gets to work on a secure call to Kate, as you turn to Wren, clapping her on the shoulder and leaning close to speak into her ear over the noise.
“Good work, Sergeant. Get all that transferred onto a flash drive for me, yeah?”
“On it, Ma’am.”
This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? You sigh deeply, tilting your head back as the sun starts to slowly rise over the land, bathing it in an orange glow that spreads out like fire. The large Cargo plane following behind the Helicopter would carry the innocent victims of Buck back to Base, and you fight the urge to get in contact with the pilot's headset to ask how it was going for them. It was hard to not get attached – especially when you knew what was probably going through their fear-stricken brains.
Left wondering in silence, your fingers pick at themselves over your gloves, peeling at frayed threads and durable fabric. As the minutes stretch into hours, you lift a hand and run a digit over your scar, caressing the skin as the forest pulls back and buildings emerge. Turbulence overtakes the helicopter, and your hand grabs the net on the side of the wall to steady yourself as the descent begins.
Settling your nerves, you wait until the ‘all good’ from the cockpit before you hop out, signaling with your finger for your Squad to follow close behind. Someone else would come and grab the body bag – it wasn’t your problem anymore. Your feet pound the Tarmac, and you can’t help the look you send up to the sky, watching the cargo plane on the horizon as it comes closer. Frowning under your covering, you re-focus.
I need to stop thinking about it – I always get like this with civvies.
It was hard not to. You only wanted to bring them the same comfort that John had brought you.
God, stop fucking thinking about him! His phantom haunts your every step like the two of you were Orpheus and Eurydice – only one of you wasn’t dead in the first place. One had left; abandoned you to the wolves. You had said you held no bad feelings towards the Brit but was that true? And if he was really dead, would you ever even know it?
Your feet carry you forward as the helicopter blades slice the air, making your clothes ruffle and shake under the combat vest and around your ankles.
The last time you had contact with the brown-haired man, you had been reading his letter in a free-of-charge home given to you until you could get on your feet and secure a job. John had been sent back to the UK on another assignment, leaving you a nervous wreck surrounded by people you didn’t know the intentions of. You had been excited to go to the mailbox at the time – even if being outside still made you nervous. Everything was just so big to you back then. When your fingers had opened the small metal box and found the white letter with the elegant script on top, you felt a smile rip open your face.
But the contents had been less than they usually were. Stiffer; formal in a way you had yet to associate with the man. He had always been nice to you. But maybe he had grown past that – you feared that thought.
“This’ll be my last letter for a while, Bird. I’m going Black. Make sure to remember to go outside and drink water for me, yeah?”
-Price
There had been the start of another sentence before it had been scribbled out and then had been it. No updates; no return address this time so you could write him back. And then you had bever received another letter until you had gotten fed up with your life going nowhere and enlisted. John Price had disappeared, and whether he was dead or halfway across the world you knew not.
He had been the only man you had trusted until Eagle and Thrush had become a part of your group. Still, even now, the opposite sex made you hesitant – you didn’t like being alone with a man you didn’t know. Your line of work didn’t help that notion, either.
“Bird,” Shrike’s voice brings you back, and your eyes slide to your side to look at the smaller woman. You hum in question. “What was in the file Wren downloaded? And who’s Task Force 141?”
“All in due time,” You mutter back, your hand opening the front door of the main building. No one was bothering to remove their gear or clean themselves – they all understood from the way you were walking faster that this was important. “And as for TF-141, I have no idea. Never met ‘em.”
Wren coughs, and Shike looks over as Thrush and Eagle listen silently, the former handing a cigarette over to the other.
“One-Four-One is a Multinational Special Operations Unit comprised of operatives from all over the globe. Much like what we do, but on an infinitely larger scale. I believe Laswell asked our Captain to join it a year ago…” Wren trials, not bothering to look up from her tablet where she still reads through files and other intel from the mission.
Thrush’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit, really? And you passed it up?”
“Obviously,” You snort, itching at your bicep where the bullet graze still sits in dried blood and dirt. You repress an annoyed hiss of pain. “Why do you think I’m still stuck here with you lot?”
“Awe,” Shrike coos, scrunching her nose, “She loves us.”
“Loves to hate us,” Eagle whispers. You send a half-serious glare as Wren chortles to herself.
“I can always ask Kate for the offer again.” A loud uproar makes people in the hallway turn and stare, and you laugh under your face-covering, chest light.
You all arrive at the meeting room door and you don’t bother knocking, shoving your way inside with Shrike still giggling behind you. There’s the presence of five others in the room, and one stands at the head of a large table, a blank projector behind her in dim lighting. You don’t bother looking at anyone else – still keeping that habit of being nervous around new people.
Laswell sighs as she looks you over, crossing her arms over her blouse.
“We're all here, Captain. What was so urgent that you had to show us?” You slip past her and head to the computer atop a wooden stand, hearing whispers and muttered comments as your groups disperse around the room. Heavy stares that peel back skin like batter nearly make you sweat. They were boring into you, making your heart race.
They’re waiting for us, you remind yourself.
“Wren.” You call steadily and a second later you’re catching a well-aimed flash drive without looking and plugging it into the computer.
Before touching anything else, your hands reach up and grasp the balaclava, tearing it off your head in one quick motion and hooking it onto your belt. It was rare for you to wear it on Base.
A sharp inhalation of breath makes your fingers over the keys pause, but you only blink and return to typing – pulling up file after file. The air in the room was already tense, but whatever had just happened was setting off alarm bells.
Who are these people? What just happened?
Nonetheless, you get to work and turn to Laswell with the intel on screen.
“You’re going after a useless player. Casilda Kalpana is only a pawn in a much larger scheme.” Kate’s eyes snap from one digitized document to another as you continue, staring at her and no one else with a blank expression. “If you had sent your Task Force, they would have died. They already knew you were coming.”
“Well,” a distinctly Scottish accent makes your fingers twitch, but still you don't look as a comment is said into the air, “I’d have to disagree with that, now, Hen.”
Blood and sweat stain your skin, and you’re covered in more of it down your gear. Your gloves are stiff with dried crimson and even the small amount of interaction you had on the computer left stains over the keys. But you still find the energy to roll your eyes.
“Can you fight off upwards of one hundred hostiles while trying to sneak through a city so inhabited that it's practically a human ant hill? No offense, but if you answer that with ‘yes’ you may need a psych eval done.”
There’s a pause before a small masculine snort echoes out.
“Shut your gob, Garrick.”
“Laswell,” you remain on topic and the woman looks at you with inquisitive eyes, “The only way forward with this is cutting the head off the snake. I say we go one above Kalpana and take out the ring leader.”
“Abel?” Kate’s eyebrows raise, “Bird we’ve been looking for him for years – I don’t know what you expect us to do with noth–”
Your finger hits a key, and the next document pops up.
“You can thank Wren for compiling the sources. Lots of emails to go through on the helicopter ride. Some not as fascinating as finding coordinates for a Target.”
“You can say that again,” said woman huffs from the back of the room, “you know how many kinky photos these people send to one another. Shit’s disgusting.”
The Scot speaks up again, “really? On a scale of how bad it was – one to ten, Bonnie.”
“Fifteen. I need my eyes bleached.”
There is a gaze that doesn’t leave you; it hadn't since you had walked through the door. It is hard and unrelenting. It does not falter or blink away.
It makes you nervous.
Sucking down a deep breath you try to focus on what everyone is saying, but it becomes more difficult with every second. Your hand reaches up to your head, scratching at your scar as the presence follows your actions.
Who is this? You wonder, but clench your jaw and listen to Laswell speak.
“--reliable is this source?”
Shrike answers from near the door, chuckling, “very, Ma’am. Rarely do these people sugarcoat things. Small brains, you understand?”
“...At the very least I need more than a location and a vague date. Bird,” your head turns slowly away from the floor, “can you give me a week?”
The hairs on the back of your neck stand.
“A week?” You frown, eyes narrowing at the blonde, “He could be off in the wind by then. Do you have any idea how much this guy runs – I’ve been tracking him down ever since I joined, Kate. This is the most I’ve gotten in that entire time.” Splaying out one of your hands for emphasis, everyone hangs off your words. “He’s the source of all of it. When you cut a snake up, the head can still bite, sure, but at least you know where not to step. Kill Abel now, and all of them are left bloody in the dirt. Ready to be picked off.”
Before the stoic agent can say anything, the radio on your chest sizzles to life and you forget about the hot eyes and the thick air.
The people from the warehouse.
Hand snapping up, you turn your head down into it, facing forward as your eyes stiffen.
“Cargo plane is clear for landing, Ma'am. Just thought I’d let the Squad know.”
“Thank you, Cadet. I’ll be there momentarily to help out…” You blink, “Try to make sure only female medics work on them but make do if you have to.”
“Copy that. I’ll spread the word.”
“Rog.” You don’t bother to take the USB from the computer before you turn away – they’ll all go over it while you see to the Civvies.
“How many this time?” Kate asks seriously as you slip past, her body pivoting to orient herself as you pass.
“Warehouse full.” You grunt, itching at your bicep and shuffling to the exit. “Less than last time.” The agent knew better than to try and stop you.
“That’s an old radio you’ve got.” The British accent makes you falter for a second; it was deep, aged like a fine wine that coated the vowels with clipped authority. Familiar for some reason, but you took no notice of it. “Must be one helluva long story, eh?”
“Very long,” You say as your nimble hand connects with the door, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to tell it–”
Your body freezes as you send a quick glance to the voice’s owner; stance suddenly locked tighter than a bank vault as your optics find familiar blue eyes.
…John? There was suddenly a violent silence in your head, a sheet of white paper held in front of your brain to block it from firing.
He looked older, but then again, it had been years. Many years. But the build of his face hadn’t changed so much to a point you’d be unable to recognize those blue eyes. Oh, that blue. Like deep water and sea foam on a cold shore. Was it possible to know someone only by their eyes? You had to argue that, yes, you could. Because the man sitting down at the table, flanked by three others that all watch the interaction with confused eyes, is not the Lieutenant you remember.
The beard was new – shiny brunette like his hair under his bucket-hat-covered head – along with the stature. Before, Price had been large, sure, but now he was built like a bear. Your tense eyes slip over the tight compression shirt covering his arms, the bulk of his thighs as he shifts in his chair to stand up firmly. John clears his throat, and your face heats under the flesh, but upon the doorknob, your fingers strangle the metal. He was taller.
In your chest, the aggressive pounding of your heart rivals a cheetah.
What the fuck is he doing here? You can’t help but glare when the man frowns, his eyelids half-down in a studying look as his eyebrows push in. Like he was just as surprised as you were. Hesitant. But I’m not the one who disappeared. I’m not the one who made the other think they died.
When your face shifts to anger, John freezes, his hands coming up to cross and grip the collar of his beige combat vest looking about as awkward as he can. When you huff out a breath through your nose, his feet shuffle shoulder length apart. Ever the soldier – waiting for a lip-lashing. You watch the wrinkles on his forehead with growing hatred.
“Bird, I…”
Breathe.
“Well, this just keeps getting fucking better and better.” Without another glance, you wrench the door open and shoulder though, tossing it back with a decent enough force to make the wall rattle as you disappear down the hall.
But he won’t leave your thoughts. John Price. Alive. Here.
What kind of game was this?
Your hands are shaking at your sides when the door, already far down the hallway, opens quickly. But the feet are not heavy. Wren slides up next to you, her feet pumping. She doesn’t say anything, just walks next to you as your eyes shutter closed and you take a deep breath.
“You up for helping out in the med ward?” You force yourself to say, hoping to distract yourself as your face once more moves back to a picture of innocent calm.
How can he be here? Fuck…h-how? John was part of the 141 for this entire time? Did he know I was here? He couldn't have, no. But what if he did…
Why didn’t he say anything?
“I’m certainly more inclined to lead my abilities to the nurses, Captain. You’ll find no resistance from me.” You liked that about Wren. She never pried about things she knew you didn’t want to talk about.
“Good. They’ll need them.”
—
“John!” You laugh, hands coming up to your head where the Lieutenant had placed his beanie, the chill outside had made your nose hurt and your breath puff out in clouds.
Standing just outside the main exit of the medical ward, you grab the fabric as your face turns up to the tall man at your side. He had just shown up from a meeting, and the door closed behind his back as he locked his arms on his vest collar and set his feet shoulder length apart.
“Well now, what’re you doin’ out here?” It was rare for you to be out of the building – open places still scared you. “You alright?”
But you needed to think.
Stiffly smiling, you try to hide your running thoughts from the man who narrows his deep blues at you. He shifts closer, and you can feel his heat melt into you, making your shivering slow for a moment. He made all of it better.
John huffs.
“You’re about as easy to read as anyone, Bird. Go on, then.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” You play with your fingers, skin pulling tight. “I’m just overthinking everything.”
“You’re nervous.” He states, glancing ahead with a tilted head and a raised brow at no one.
Under your feet, the snow shrieks as you shuffle, looking to the ground and sighing deeply. There was no point in hiding anything from him and his damn hawk eyes.
“It’s just…I’ve missed so much, y’know?” Your teeth bite your lips as you feel his firm eyes on you, locked onto the side of your face and caressing your visage with their path. You blink out over the base, seeing everyone move from one place to another with a purpose in their steps. “I have no idea what I’ll do with myself all alone.”
Whispering out the last sentence, you look at the ground, lips in a line.
It’s a good while before the Lieutenant speaks, and he sighs deeply before he does. You don’t suppose he’s ever had to deal with something like this before. But he’s learning. All the others at Base and in Bravo Unit had been surprised that the two of you had formed such a tight bond in the limited time you had known each other. John Price wasn’t known to be the easiest person to speak to – especially when traumatized victims were on the other end. His stoic and quite confident attitude was the main deterrent, usually, but his hard eyes and face that rarely showed any emotion were a close second.
But to you, he was the nicest person you had ever spoken to. He never made fun, poked, or prodded, and he certainly didn’t act mean or bossy toward you. John was kind and warm; gentle when you got to know him.
And you quite liked his company.
John’s sigh puffs out over the air, and you grab the sides of his beanie and pull it farther over your head to cover your ears. You send him a curious glance and watch his fingers tighten, one eyelid creasing farther than the other when he looks at you in turn. Locking eyes, you can’t help the small smile that twitches your lips, liking the natural handsomeness of his face. You wonder what a full beard would look like over his cheek beside the current scratchy stubble that you had always known.
His eyes flick to your lips, and his teeth grind against each other for a moment before they snap back to your face.
“They’re sendin’ you out in three days, yeah?” John asks, scratching at his jaw with three fingers before settling his hands back into his vest.
“Yeah.” You affirm, smile turning to a frown. The man tenses minutely beside you before clearing his throat.
“Well, where they shippin’ you off to? Someplace nice I’d imagine. Heard somethin’ about bloody Oregon, but they wouldn’t give me much more than that.” You tilt your head at that, expression turning amused.
“You asked?”
“‘Course.” He raises a brow, and his eyes crinkle down at you. “You expect me not to?”
Face suddenly hotter than the sun, you blink rapidly, snapping your head to look out at the base once more. You may have imagined it, but John’s chest jerks in velvety chuckles you miss due to the ringing in your ears.
What was happening to you?
A small silence wraps its arms around you before you gather the ability to speak again.
“I think it was Washington, actually.”
“Hm, that it?” John frowns to himself, “Lots of people, Love. How are you feelin’ ‘bout it?”
“I don’t really get a choice,” you chuckle, licking your chapped lips as your pulse rises, “whoever has space was kind enough to offer it, how can I say no to that?”
“By tellin’ ‘em you don’t want to.” Price shuffles so he’s standing in front of you, blocking the people you were watching. He splays his hands at his sides and waits, blinking with a loose jaw. You nod an approval, though feel confused.
His hands go to rest on your arms, holding them incredibly light; barely applying pressure but you lean into him anyways. You enjoyed it when he touched you like this – the only person you would allow to do so besides nurses. Your tension softens into pliable clay when he watches you.
You could get lost in them, you knew, his eyes, if you stared for too long. There was an undeniable attraction to the man that you wanted to push away, but couldn’t help yourself. John was everything to you – he brought you books to read, sat with you as you ate in the cafeteria; he sat up with you when you radioed him about nightmares in the small hours of morning.
That memory made you giddy. Price would stay in his barracks – unable to leave because of curfew – but would speak to you over your shared channel. Use that soothing tone of his to make your eyes flicker back into slumber until he hears your soft breath over the line and sighs.
John’s throat releases a grunt, bringing you back to the present. He was staring at you softly, a small smile on his lips. You try not to suck in a soft breath. How long had you been staring at him?
“Focus, Bird.” You can’t stop the mute giggle on your tongue.
“Sorry.”
The Lieutenant's head tilts, and his usual expression shifts back. He studies your face, eyes sliding over to the bandages above your eyebrow.
“If you don’t wanna go, tell ‘em, okay? No one can force you to do anything.” He sighs. “I need you to understand that.”
“...Where else would I go?” You mutter, keeping your eyes locked. “It’s not like I have a home, John.”
His eyes snap away to look at the wall behind you, narrowing. The expression makes you grin, finding it funny when the man thinks so hard. John blinks, cycling back to stare at your lips.
The air heats and in your chest, you feel your heart beat just a tiny bit faster. Grumbling, Price peels back and releases you before his hands travel up to his beanie. He pushes it down farther, lightly ruffling your head in the process.
“Hey!” You huff, annoyed. Your hands flap above your head, shoving his digits away as his chest jumps in low chuckles. “Jerk.”
You shove the fabric from your eyes and beam.
“Couldn’t help myself, Love. Here, let me.” John’s hands find your chin, fingers so delicately, brushing the chilled flesh that immediately warms at his work. One limb stays, while the other goes to fix the position of the hat.
Sucking in a slow breath, you look up into his eyes and blink as he focuses on your head with a concentrated furrow in his brow. How did he always manage to make you feel safe? Take away your worries as if they had never existed? If there was one man on earth that could make all of this better, it was the one standing right in front of you.
It would always be John.
“Will you keep in touch?” You whisper, nervous for the answer, and his eyes momentarily snap to yours as his motion slows. A pause.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Hm, well then, I'll write ‘til you tell me to stop.”
—
The reports make you want to bash your own skill in. In the dim light of your office, you sit into the deep hours of the night in your chair, spare reading glasses on your nose to help you force away the blurriness from fatigue. You had spent the whole day with Wren in the medical ward helping the civvies get settled and the nurses with the workload. Such a large influx of patients had set them back for weeks, but it couldn't be helped. They weren’t the people to push anyone away – you knew that firsthand.
You were still in contact with a few nurses from your own stay all those years ago. Good people.
Swishing another of your signatures on a confidentiality document, you slide it to the side and stifle a yawn with the back of your hand before picking up the next file. Your fingers flick the manilla paper open to where you plan to write gruesome details into the blank lines of the sheets inside, and you just begin to let your ink bleed into the paper when your mind suddenly runs to a brown-haired Brit. Pausing, you blink sleepily before pulling the pen back and setting it on the table with a long sigh.
“Fucking hell.” A groan escapes your lips. This had been going on for hours. You’d try to start something and then the thoughts would get blocked by that damn man.
He was even more handsome than you remembered him. Lightly tapping the tabletop with your nails, you can’t deny the heat that had entered your body when you had seen John again. The coarse beard. The writhing muscle of his thighs paired with that tapered waist.
He had aged beautifully down to the very atoms of his makeup to a point it made your breath go thin; pupils widened in a primal display of need. It was pathetic. But the carnal attraction had always been there along with the normal crush. There was something you had learned a million times over – it was never going to be anyone else but John Price. Even so, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You’d had plenty of boyfriends throughout the years – small flings that never lasted.
None made you feel as secure as the once Lieutenant’s simple presence had. Wren had told you in the med ward that he was a Captain just the same as you, now. Captain Johnathan Price. If anything, it made you mad that the title had a nice ring to it.
Your face twists into thinly-veiled annoyance. What gave him the right to come waltzing back? You thought he was fucking dead. Instead, you had been ghosted so bad you joined the goddamn military to help cope. Fuck, maybe your therapist had been right all along.
You’re just about to let off a spring of audible curses when a knock on your office door makes you flinch, eyes scrunching before sense finally finds you again.
Can’t I wallow in peace? You ask yourself, hoping Shrike hadn’t gotten into a fistfight at the local bar in town again. I swear I need to put Thrush on watch duty for that woman. Maybe Eagle’ll convince him for me.
“Come in.” You stand as the door opens slowly, hinges echoing out as you slide the reading glasses off your face and toss them down. “I swear if Shrike got suspended again I’m going to hit her over the head with the code-of-conduct manual.”
Snapping your fingers and cracking your neck, you huff when no one responds before turning to the door.
“What’s going–Oh.”
John stood in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a thick black cotton shirt that covered his large arms and hugged just the perfect amount over his triceps. It showcased his large shoulders before being tucked into his cargo pants. For once in your life, you think you’ve seen him without some sort of hat on his person.
Freezing, you stare wide-eyed at him. John frowns from where he lets the door automatically shut, nodding his head towards you firmly in greeting as your heart kickstarts. His large hands enter his pockets like some guilty teenager as you gape at him.
John clears his throat.
“Bird.”
“Get out.” You deadpan, not bothering to hear the man out. Price groans, head tilting to the side to glare at the wall as his jaw clenches.
“Love, would you let me explain–”
“No. Frankly, I’ve had enough adrenaline rushes for one day, you damn jerk. Now, get out of my office.” You begin making your way from around the table; pulse flying through every point in your body.
You can’t be here, John, you clench your fists, please, you can’t be here.
Annoyance sparks in those blues that you love to stare into, but all you do is go to stand right in front of the man with a violet frown that he mirrors.
“Bird.” He says again, setting his feet.
“John.” You raise a brow and cross your arms. The Brit growls, gaze flicking away with a heat to it before wafting back like fog over water.
“What’re you doing here?” He says slowly, trying to keep the peace between the two of you.
“Well,” under your arms, your hands shake, “what the hell do you think? Working the same as everyone else. Or at least I was trying until you showed up.”
“That’s not what I bloody fuckin’...” John trails off, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting the tension in his shoulders loosen. His hands exit his pockets, and you stare as they splay by his waist. “Please, Love. I’m not trying to argue with you.”
“Arguing is the least of what you should be worried about.” Grumbling under your breath you lick your lips as his eyes lock with yours.
There was something there you couldn’t name, but it sat on the tip of your tongue – perhaps close to the emotions of guilt and horror that left the Brit’s jaw tight and his eyebrows constantly furrowed. Had he really never expected to see you again?
Yes. You figure with a heavy heart and a spark of hurt. Had you really been so discardable? In your mind, you had thought that you meant something to him. But maybe that was just another lie.
Letting out a scoff, you roll your eyes before looking away.
“Weren't really many options for me.” You concede a small portion of yourself if only to get him to leave so the way he makes your lungs sputter and face heat can cease. The others would make fun of you for this. A pointless crush on a man you hadn’t stopped thinking about for ages and held a great deal of resentment toward. When would the self-sabotage end with you? “Thought it was a better way to help others like me.”
You turn back and raise an expectant brow. “Happy now?”
John just continues to stare, lips thin and pulling under his beard hair as he raises a hand to itch at his jawline. A growl digs at your throat.
“John. Leave.” Not able to help yourself, you spit out, “if you wanted to quit talking to me all those years ago – you could have just told me instead of making me think you were fucking dead.”
The man’s head immediately flinches back, face scrunching in genuine confusion as his mouth parts. Under his shirt, you see his heart skip a beat.
“What are you sayin’ Bird? I never did anything fucken’ like that. What are you on about?” He shakes his head, “you stopped answering me.”
“The fuck are you saying? No, I didn’t!” Reeling back, you throw your hands above your head in a display of surrender; about to slink back to your desk and try to forget the heat of John’s body and the blaze of his eyes. “God, I give up on you and your stupid accent. I have reports to get done without your presence making me want to vomit.”
“Oh, my presence,” The Captain throws out a humorless chuckle that makes you want to cry. “Eh, you’re angry at me – you have every right to be, Love. I fucked up,” He growls, teeth gnashing, “But don’t fuckin’ lie to me. That is not what bloody happened – I never stopped writing you.”
“What the hell do you mean that’s not what happened?!” Your scream surprises you, with your voice bouncing off the wall like a demented banshee was in the room. You snap back around on quick feet and stalk over to the man. John’s eyes widen at the enraged tone and he blinks in shock as you continue, backing up a single step when you get in his face. “I waited and waited for you to send another letter – I waited months for nothing! Do you know how that felt, John? To-to go over in my head that maybe you never made it back from that Black Op at all? That you were dead somewhere in a fucking jungle or a desert or anywhere? I tried to get in contact with everyone, and nothing panned out. They wouldn’t tell me shit. So don’t stand there and say it never happened like that, because that is exactly how it happened!”
You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears are dripping down your chin, hitting the floor with muffled plops.
John is slack-jawed, eyebrows all the way up on his forehead and orbs stuck on you – on your obvious panic. His breath is heavy, and you feel it spread over your face from how close the two of you were; you had ended up pointing a finger right into the Captain’s peck. Under your harsh press, your flesh felt his pulse flying off the rails. Your nose scrunches as you sniffle, aggressively ripping your limb back to your side. Oh, but he had been so soft under you; his skin beneath that fabric reacting to your own by pulsing to life. John’s tongue wetted his lips.
Scoffing, you take a step back, but the man speaks before you can get far enough away. It was quiet, how he said the words, and his expression was one of genuine confusion and concern. His eyes were brighter than the moon – that gray space rock put to shame by the rolling beauty of his optics that reflect light far better than she ever could. Gentle Selene, how did it feel to be beaten by a man covered in more death and blood than anyone? Who’s skin is tough and callused so perfectly that a child of Ares wants to feel those fingers caress her in forbidden places. Oh, to be kissed and loved by him. To be worshiped like a god.
“What in the hell are you talking about?” It was nothing more than a gasp, and you see his fingers twitch to touch you; to hold you to him as if nothing had ever happened.
“John, I’m not repeating myself.” You sob down a breath, looking away and shrugging pathetically.
“Bird, listen to me. Eh, eh. I…I never stopped sending you letters, yeah?” Blinking, you turn back to him and frown dumbly, your eyes furiously dancing from one wrinkle of his forehead to another. A minute passes where you feel more tears drop to the floor.
“...What?” Confusion laces your eyes, “but I never got anymore after…”
You trail off, letting the sentence die as your heart does.
What does he mean he kept writing letters? I…I waited and I never got any. None of this made any sense, but the man in front of you was never one to lie. Ever.
John takes a step forward and you tense. He freezes, face hard and jaw set beneath his beard. You can tell he’s still confused – just as you are, but his attention is fully on you.
“Can I touch you?” He asks lowly, hands outstretched but never even grazing your shaking shock-filled form. His thick fingers are all separated, the digits lightly curled inwards to the palm. Those hands. Would they even feel the same as they did back then?
But did that matter? Neither of you was the same person anymore. Both of those people had been lost in the annals of history – their story was already over and done. The pages turned. Cover closed.
Those two kind people had died. They were buried together under the ground, bones turning bleach white and wrapped in vines; nothing more than a ghost of a dream.
“Bird?” John whispers, his head tilting down to look at you closer as his chin bumps his chest. His feet move carefully as his hips shift and you feel his body heat like a noose around your neck. Your resolve was slipping, but it had already been fraying when you had first laid eyes on this changeling – this person wearing the Lieutenant’s face and eyes.
John.
You nod without looking at his creased eyelids, and he slips you into his firm hold without a second thought.
“Oh, c’mere, Love.” Standing heavily, you breathe in a deep breath as your head meets his chest, body wound tight. How many times have you dreamed of this? Finding him again despite all of it? It felt…wrong.
You had been sure he was dead. How was he not dead?
“Little Bird, I’m so sorry.” Your eyes widen, and a sharp gasp is ripped from your mouth; lips instantly begin to shake and pull tight.
No, you want to scream, no don’t say that to me, John. Don’t do that to me.
But he mumbles it again into your hair as his hand cups the back of your skull, weakly swaying back and forth in this dim office surrounded by blood and death. His body is like a rock all around you, and as your arms rise to wrap around his waist, you hear his breath shutter down over your forehead; his lungs hitch.
“I thought you died.” You hate the whimper that gets muffled by his shirt as you nuzzle into it. Hate it with a burning passion. When was the last time you had let yourself break like this? Left staining someone's shirt with tears and muttering fears into their chest. But this wasn’t someone, this was John – John had promised you he would come back for you, always.
And so John just holds you tighter and kisses your forehead. He lets you cry. He makes you feel safe where no one else ever could.
The man – a triumphant Orpheus – keeps you close until you can breathe firmly again. Only then does he carefully peel back, and you catch a glimpse of his soft face. The face that you missed ogling as you walked beside him. His hands go to cup your cheeks, thumbs slipping to wipe away tears that clog your vision with his quick eyes falling to study your visage; you liked when John took care of you, even if you knew you could handle it yourself now.
He made everything better.
Peering into his eyes, you catalog the new aspects of his face as your breaths mingle, bodies close and intimate. He had more wrinkles than you remember, and his eyes were even more cold. John’s beard was perhaps the change you liked the most besides the nicely trimmed head hair.
“MacMillan.” He grunts out and you frown as he continues with a sigh. One of his arms goes to slither around your waist, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t be separated for one more second. “He didn’t like that I was writing you, Love. Said I’d been too distracted. Must have stopped the letters from gettin’ out…bloody fucken’ bastard, he is.”
You hum, content for the first time in a long while. John’s chest moves against yours – pressing into it and making you ache with every fast puff of air. Noticing the rapid movement of his heart, you look deeply into his expression and find his pupils blown wide, a deep heat taking root around the room.
“If I had known, I would have found a way to give ‘em to you myself.” Your body tingles, and your fingers dig into his skin from around his waist as your noses nearly brush. He doesn’t pull back. “You know that, don’t you? I’d have hopped on the first damn plane – shown up on your doorstep. Gear and all.”
“Now, I would have paid to see that, Captain Price.” He purrs, and the vibrations of his chest make your eyelids flutter. “Standing on my porch like a husband who came home from war. Pity.”
Chuckling breathly, you can’t help but giggle back, leaning into his hold on your cheek. You don’t remember ever feeling this happy.
A moment of stolen breaths and wandering touches ensues; beating hearts that make muscles writhe and inner tensions reach a breaking point. Finally together again after so long apart – there were so many things to say to each other.
“Hm, Love?” John mutters as his nose bumps yours, making your head lightly tilt to the side to make his lips brush yours with every panted gasp. You lick your lips and accidentally slide your tongue against the side of the Brit's mouth; you watch his eyes darken with a smirk.
“Yes?” You wonder aloud, eyes hooded, and his gaze narrows on you – a blatant enticing accusation making John’s skin thrum with electricity.
“Can I kiss you?” A breathless grumble.
“Yes.”
Your lips meet with a clash of hellfire and a song of lust, sparks like jumping embers lighting across lit flesh. Digging into his waist, you enjoy the way John’s ribs flare with large lungs as his teeth clatter into yours, the way his grip on your face trails to your neck, digging and making you gasp into his mouth when he slightly presses into your pulse point.
He chuckles pridefully before reconnecting his face to yours, feeling your heart pound outside of your body. The two of you were so close to one another that it was nearly like you were trying to melt into one being – an amalgamation of calluses and milky scars; violence and unspoken words.
The both of you had been waiting for this for years. Ages.
A swipe of his tongue over your lips and suddenly your mouth is wide open, letting the muscle delve into you before retreating once more; leaving strings of saliva as you let him separate. Face hot and breath panting, you both stare at one another with swollen lips, red and bitten. There’s a small moment of quick inhalations and banging chests before your nails suddenly dig into the small of his back, dragging him forward once more as he heaves under your hold.
No need for talking, you could get everything you wanted to say across just by how you bite into his bottom lip, how your knee brushes his crotch and leaves him jolting into you. Groaning into your mouth.
John’s fingers kneed your flesh, every brush like a cattle prod. Without even realizing it, both of you had started to back up, your feet skimming the floor as one of your hands went out behind you to connect with the desk edge.
“Lift.” You mumble into his mouth, and not a second later the man’s large hands grope at your thighs, squeezing once before he effortlessly manhandles you upwards. Your legs spread and go to wrap around his waist, locking at the ankles and producing a deep churning in your gut.
When your backside lands on the desktop, your lips have traveled to lay nipping kisses on John’s neck and under his ear; hand now over his abs and dragging down while your nails leave him shivering. He grunts and clenches his jaw when you bite into his flesh, the delicious tickle of beard hair brushing your nose as you watch with feral satisfaction upon the flush on his complexion.
The Captain’s hands run up and down your hips fervently, mapping out the flesh above your loose sweatpants. Before long there’s the feeling of pressure forming above your core, a deep imprint of tented cargo pants leaving a familiar feeling of passion leaking out into your panties. The both of you were utterly addicted to the other.
“Eager?” You breathily wonder, teasing, leaving another hickey on John’s pulse point as he side-eyes you with blown pupils. Your gaze only catches a flicker of a smirk before his hands suddenly bore down into the skin of your thighs and his hips cant into your core.
Gasping out a moan, your fingers twist into his shirt, face falling onto his shoulder.
“J-jerk!” You keen, face hot, and mouth open to help you suck down air before he does the same motion again, liking how you look when his erection rubs the right spots. Shaking, you feel John leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin, beard coarsely stimulating your already warm skin. Under his unrelenting hold, your legs quiver to try and move faster.
Smug bastard, he was enjoying this.
“Now, then, who’s eager?” A confident superiority was stuck to the tone like the slick was making your underwear stick to your slit. It felt dirty, but you liked when he talked like that – tried to use your words against you as his own pleasure was making him go slack-faced.
How would it feel to have him moving inside of you? Leaving you sobbing from pleasure as your shared release dripped over the floor and his veins caught your ridges just right?
Your back arches into him, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as his hand presses into your tailbone to angle you upwards into him as he groans into your shoulder and stutters his animalistic pace. The feeling was unlike any other you had experienced; you could feel the electricity every time he stimulated your clit, leading to involuntary jerks on your part and thin breaths. There was barely time to suck down air over the lightheadedness.
“I-” Your voice cuts as cold wetness slides down your folds, and you shiver despite boiling. “I think you’re the one rutting into me like a bitch in heat, John.”
“Well, you’d be right,” he growls, and your fingers slide down his shirt before you can slip into his pants. The Brit sucks in a sharp breath and his other hand, once on your thigh, goes to slam onto the desktop in a quick motion when you play with the strap of his boxers. “Fuckin’ minx.”
You smirk, angling your head to the side to watch his normally stoic face begin to break when your nails trace the trail of hairs that lead down. Close but not close enough to where his cock strains violently; twitching as the telltale leak of precum stains his underwear and pants. You doubt your appearance down there is any better. Everything sticks to each other so tightly that you were slightly worried your desk would need a deep clean.
John’s eyes are closed tightly, teeth clenched tight when your nails trace circles along his prominent ‘V’ line while his abdominal muscles tighten to an attractive degree of internal yearning. Around his waist, your legs are vibrating with eagerness, your skin so sensitive it was like every nerve was being fired. Oh, you liked that look on his face more than anything.
“You’ve got to say it, Love.” You watch as his biceps tighten and strain, hand over your desk clenching into a fist behind you. Your hand dips lower in his boxers as your core begs for something to fill it – anything to make the cum drip out of you and give overstimulated aftershocks. Your other limb goes to pop the front button of his cargos as your sweaty face angles itself to connect your nose with the Captain’s larger one, smashing against it desperately. “Open your eyes, John. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Breathing over his visage, he flickers his eyes open with a small struggle and you almost moan at the heaviness of them as they gaze at you. He says nothing to you, but his digits at your tailbone leave their position to mirror your own actions. Your confidence stutters when John deftly pulls at the string and slips his rough pads under your panties, stopping on your body where you wait on his.
Your eyes slightly widen and your heart beats impossibly faster.
So that’s what this is…some kind of cat-and-mouse game? Alright.
The desk is uncomfortable under you, but you find you don’t even care anymore. Staring into John’s unblinking eyes you raise a brow.
“Not saying anything?”
“I’ll leave it to you. Do what you wish, Princess.” Your fingers experimentally skim to the base of his cock, playing with the hairs and feeling his fingers mirror, stopping just above your aching clit and barely touching you. This would be easier with the clothes off, less awkward angles if you would just fuck each other like you both desperately wanted. Raw and fast, no time to breathe before starting another round to make up for lost time until the two of you were too tired and sensitive to even rut into each other without passing out. But the two of you were too currently obsessed with battling wills – this was a game that made you even wetter, and him harder.
But, fuck, it physically hurt not to have his dick inside of you right now. Maybe a substitute could work?
Your fingers grip him inside his boxers, and before you can laugh at his throat-strangled moan of carnal pleasure, his own are delving into your drenched heat relentlessly.
“Fuck!” You whimper, hips jerking as your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back. He has the audacity to steal your laugh from you and throw it back as it puffs out over your cheeks.
When John feels the drowning wetness stemming from your slit and he curls his digits, he can’t help the vile smirk that infects his lips; a raised eyebrow, and a comment on his hot breath.
“All this for me, hm?” You don’t answer, too lost in the blue of his eyes and the sparks that emulate at having another living being pulsing over your tight walls.
“S-shut it.” Groaning, you pant trying to move your hips before he growls in front of you, making you pause as your hand around his cock twitches.
“None of that, now.” There was no amusement in his eyes, but a steel-like determination and a demented tilt of his head as his forehead connected with yours. “We’re gonna help each other, yeah? Make it a little game of who can get off first. Can you do that for me, Dear?”
Where has your confidence gone? Has it leaked out of you?
You whine as your eyes crinkle, desperate for something on your clit despite the feeling of being stuffed by two of John’s large fingers. John frowns, and his thumb hits the perfect bundle of nerves like he could read your mind. Writhing, you feel your eyes wet with pleasure-tears.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind is going so fast that it’s blank, only able to focus on John and how his hips sputter to try and fuck himself on your hand. He was just as needy as you were, skin flushed and muscles tight under his clothes.
“C’mon, Love.” He groans, nipping at your wet and red mouth and pulling at your lip as his calluses rub in small sparking circles, trying to get you to respond. Your hips careen forward to chase him. “Where’s my sweet Little Birdie gone, eh? She’s so wet for me, can’t have lost already. Listen, now, okay?”
He begins to fuck you with his fingers, moving painfully slow in and out, pushing and prodding as you moan and gasp when he runs over the tense walls. But you do listen – God, how couldn’t you?
“You hear that?” Your eyes widen and your hand tightens over his cock like a vice. Your own cunt was so soaked that every motion of John’s fingers made an obscene squelch, and your walls tighten in retaliation around him as he groans deeply, feet shoulder length apart. “There she is.”
You match his pace with your hand, collecting his precum at the tip and spreading it down the shaft as you both get each other off with fast breaths and locked eyes.
“T-that’s a girl.” John can’t help the way he moves faster, eager to release the strain on his balls, his fingers rapidly moving and thumb pressing tightly as you squeeze around him. “Fuck.” He growls, hunching over you and taking a peek down to where your sweatpants and panties strain to hold his hand inside as you work him. “Fuck,” he repeats, “such a lovely fuckin’ cunt of yours. Grippin’ my fingers like a damn noose, you are. Can’t wait to—”
A strangled whine breaks through his clenched teeth when you twist your hand, creating a rhythm of your own that makes sweat break out on John’s forehead.
“Bloody…” his head falls to your shoulder, where you lick and bite at the side of his ear with hard teeth, thighs burning as you jump every time his thumb weakly stutters over your clit. Your ankles dig into his tailbone.
“C’mon, John,” you gasp, sweat trailing your spine and soaking into your clothes as the sound of rabid slopping echoes off the walls along with loud moans and guttural grunts. “This is what you wanted, right?” He bites into your shoulder through your shirt.
The Brit was close, you could feel it in the fast careening of his hips; the way his dick in your soft hand was twitching and covered in just as much wetness as your splayed slit was, where John’s fingers continue to spread you violently wide. But his motions had faltered, but still, that tightening in your belly was there even as he slowed at his impending release. Your pleasure stemmed from seeing him lose it under the twist of your wrist and the lick of your tongue under his ear.
His groans were getting louder, body hunching in around you as the desk knocked into his knees.
“Little more,” you like the way his beard burns your neck flesh, how his body pulls you even tighter against him so you won’t take away his climax at the last second. “C’mon, let me feel it.” He gasps and twitches a whine stuck deep before it is expelled from his lungs as he shakes like a leaf against you.
He shoots his cum down to stain his boxers and cargo pants and you look down in a daze to look at the patch, but his locked fingers inside of you involuntarily curl all the way up, pressing into that spongy spot as you clit it pinched so tight your eyes widen. Before you can stop it, you're moaning out loudly and breathlessly, back arching and releasing just like that. Spazaming, it’s cutting through you like a knife, filthy stickiness coating John’s hand in a thick layer in an instant as your walls clench.
The both of you shake into one another, bodies coated and clothes wreaked – fingers and hands not willing to part from the other's wreaked pants.
Whining, you force your flicking eyes open and feel John breathing heavily into your neck. Sucking down fast breaths, you lick your lips and state, perhaps a little smugly, “I…I win.”
A panting moment of sweat-coated silence.
John starts laughing, deep bouts of shaking movements that make you follow. In the dim office atop a ruined desk, you both lean into one another, clean hands digging into the others’ clothes and hair. The lingering pleasure was addictive.
“Fucken’ hell…yeah, Love, guess you did.” The brown-haired man pulls back, and your hand falls from his cock and lands in your lap. You unlock your ankles and shiver when his fingers brush inside of you when he takes them out, teasingly running over your overstimulated clit and huffing, amused when you whimper pathetically and slap his hand away. Glaring, he smirks and you roll your eyes. Raising a brow as sweat falls from your nose, you shift over the wood and stare at John as his hidden emotions wash over you in the form of blue water.
You can’t really think that I’m done with you? You want to say.
“What do I get, then?” Your thighs twitch, legs still splayed around his wide hips. He frowns teasingly.
“What’s that?”
“I won, didn’t I?” Staring intensely, both of your hands go to hold you up behind you, leaning back so you can place weight on them. Already, your slit is aching again, your navel pounding as the room smells like sex and messy release. “I want a prize.”
“That how it works, then, Captain?” John sighs, crossing his arms and puffing his chest as your leg moves up and down his thigh, “You expect to be rewarded? Hm, you’re in the wrong profession, you are, Love.”
“No,” you smirk, “I’m not.”
Reaching, your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt, feeling John’s eyes bore into your skin as you pull the article over your head and let it hit the floor. You hear his breath get shallow, and, disliking how the cum staining your lower body feels, you lift your hips and slide both your panties and sweats to your ankles with a quick motion.
Looking up at John, you smile innocently, only clothed in a bra.
“Take off my shoes for me?” His blue eyes are barely visible anymore, black already taking over as his piercing look stays on your shiny cunt like a dog with a bone. You see his breath get shallow and the hard-on under his clothes once more grow larger. “John?” Prompting him to move, you take one of your hands and spread your folds.
The man’s hands twitch, feet shuffling, but other than that he stays stone still until you speak once more, even if he’s almost physically vibrating at the sight of you.
“I’ll let you clean me up if you hurry up and get my clothes off.” His large hands snap to your laces, untying them expertly and pulling them from your feet so they clatter to the ground. The remaining fabric follows.
Giggling, your breath gets caught when John’s fingers trail up your ankle, his free hand going to lay firmly at your opposite knee. Using one of your hands you reach up and unclip your bra, slipping it off your shoulders. The reports on your desk are all most likely ruined – you’ll need to rewrite them tomorrow – but for right now you’re transfixed on the sight in front of you.
John looks into your eyes and utters, “you sure you know what you’re doin’ Sweetheart?”
“Take off your shirt.” You smile in return, your fingers going to slip into your eager cunt, still burning from John’s long-gone relentless digits. Your eyelids flutter at the fire. “And your pants. I wanna feel your muscles movin’ when your tongue cleans up my cum.”
His chest is heaving like a wounded animal, and you whine when you curl your own fingers in your heat, wishing it was John’s dick. Fuck, you needed him to hurry up already. Your digits couldn’t satisfy you as he could – when you had been stroking him you had marveled silently at the girth, the sizable veins that pulsed in your grip when you squeezed.
Watching like a hawk, John slowly moves and pulls off his shirt as you lazily fuck into your wet entrance. You spy his large pecs and nicely shaped waist as chiseled abs make your mouth water and lips part in soft puffs of breath. The coarse hair over him was the same shade as his beard, and you followed the trail with greedy eyes until it disappeared below his unbuttoned and stained pants.
Your chest gets just a little bit together; cunt tightening dangerously.
“You’re droolin’, lovely,” John smirks down at you, “careful now, don’t wanna finish on yourself. Just makin’ more of a mess for me, hm? Naughty.” He strips off his pants and boxers, kicking his boots off, and you stare wide-eyed at the spring of his dick, noticing the way it hits against his stomach with a molten red tip.
You would have gotten on your knees and sucked him off, but he beat you to it.
The Captain forsakes his own needs and does as he’s ordered – he kneels to the ground and levels his face where your cum stains your skin and nudges your fingers out of the way. He begins to lick along your thighs as your wet hand goes to slick his hair back, gripping the strands and observing the phenomena below you with a slack jaw.
Oh, hell.
He stares at you as he does it, cataloging the flesh that makes you jump and the places that leave you shaking with need. His tongue sucks and bites, but never goes where you want it to, instead, he just spreads your legs farther and makes comments as you grunt above him.
“Such a mess, Princess…I’ll have to take care of you.”
“That’s it, Love, fuck my face – try and get off. Good girl.”
“Fuckin’ delicious, that is, eh? Here, have a taste.”
You’re left a shaking mess by the time the remnants of your orgasm are traded for saliva, his muscle slurping up every droplet without complaint as his fingers leave bruises in your thighs from how tight he has to hold them to keep the limbs apart. This wasn’t going to plan for you.
Whining and whimpering, you ache for him, your lower body throbbing as more slick begins flowing. At this rate, he was going to suck you raw and leave beard burn all over your inner thighs.
“J-John,” you plead, disheveled as your hand grips his hair tighter, biting into the brown whisps. You were going to climax without him even entering you.
“Hm?” He groans out, licking a long stripe over your entrance but never sinking into it. Your body shivers and jolts, chasing that friction but he moves away too soon. You nearly sob. No, no, no. I can’t take it. “What is it, then?”
“Fuck me.” You feel the twist of his lips more than see it.
“Yeah? That what you want?”
“I swear to God, John–!” He stands so quickly that you yelp, legs wrapping behind him as his arms go around your backside and hike you into his hold.
Moaning loudly, you feel the press of his cock over your slit, whining and immediately trying to shift in his grip to attempt to slip him inside of you with a twisted face. But the Brit’s hand on the small of your back is tight, keeping you trapped against him.
“Not yet.” He growls in his ribcage, and you connect his forehead with yours and force yourself not to beg as he narrows his eyes at you. But you're not a fool, you can practically hear his cock trying to move against your heat; his thighs quivering. “Fuckin’ hell – you’re impatient. Your whole squad like that?”
“You’re a damn tease.” You huff, rubbing and pressing your nipples over his chest hair to stop the throbbing in them. “Ruder than I remember. Didn’t even let the girl suck you off.”
“Then you’re gonna hate what I do next.”
Your confusion bleeds into your expression as he situates himself in your desk chair, leaning back into it with a groan and squeezing you in his arms. His dick slaps at your backside when he lets you go and just stares. Furrowing your brow, he tilts his head down at you as your arms rest on his pecks, playing with the hair there and tracing scars.
“Go on.” The Brit prompts with a tilt of his head toward you, a nonchalant expression on his face that makes him look more like he used to – outwardly not caring but studying every move and twitch of your body.
He watches you like a wolf.
“What?” Questioning, your head pulls back as your legs fall limp at his sides to dangle above the floor.
He huffs. “You said you wanted your prize – take it, then.”
“...b-but…”
“Go on. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
You glance down, utter exasperation showing on your face, “how am I supposed to…?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure that out, Love.” John’s hands go to sit on the armrests, fingers swishing as they hang off the ends. Your face burns, annoyance filtering into your veins as your eyelids crease.
Trying to prove a point, you stave off the awkwardness of the angle and shift upwards, using John’s broad shoulders as a way to lift yourself up. Taking a shallow breath, your breasts are shoved into his face when you free one of your hands, going to grasp him to line the joining up. You feel him distantly nipping at the supple flesh, his hands over the rests jerking as his legs open wider under you. When you grab him, he grunts, and your nails leave crescent marks on his skin as you clench your jaw as it rests on his head. Huffing, you jerk him off a few times to make his body writhe before, in one fell motion, letting yourself fall onto his dick.
You both let out sounds that are more animal than human, deep wails and keens that shake the office walls.
“Fuck, John,” you make noise like a damn porno, head slotted in his neck as you shake and jolt this way and that with rapid nerves that shoot down your arching spine.
He was tearing you open – ripping you apart with the spearhead that curves so deeply you struggle to breathe correctly. Jesus, was he in your throat? Gasping, you feel so full in such a unique way it leaves you addicted, your cunt so tight around John’s cock that the walls inside of you quiver with every small movement. When he gasps out breaths with his closed-tight eyes, you notice the way your body convulses, red-hot pleasure rocketing to your brain and pumping endorphins before clenching around him.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit, I can feel his goddamn veins digging into me! Your small mewls of pleasure spill out even as you both stay still to adjust. Sex had never felt like this before.
John spasms, hands immediately snapping to your thighs to keep you there as he wheezes.
“Fuckin’....christ!” Blinking rapidly, you bite into John’s neck to ground yourself, hips rocking despite his pleas. “So tight. Squeezin’ my cock just perfect. Take it, Love. Fuck, c’mon, take it.”
Your slick and his precum make it easier, the wet squelching once more resuming at a faster pace than before. You release his skin, intent on chasing after the orgasm building around this man’s dick that hits every spot like it was target practice.
“John, feel so good,” you moan, breathing loudly as the Brit watches you take him like it was nothing.
“H-hell.” He groans long, hands helping you jump when your legs shake too violently every once and a while. He’ll have blood dripping from his shoulders from how hard you dig into him, but watching your cunt swallow him over and over again is payment enough as a ring of milky white forms at his base. “Look at you. Fuckin’ good girl. Keep it steady, now.”
“P-please,” you sob, eyes shiny as your walls ache – your needy clit was burning. John watches wide-eyed; blues boiling. “Clit. I need…”
Trailing off you connect your lips to his when one of his thumbs goes to your nerve bundle, quickly working at it in tight circles that molds your lips onto a silent scream. John whimpers when your pussy clamps, his senses all covered in you – your scent and how your tits bounce so beautifully – a second later he can’t help himself any longer.
His feet plant themselves to the floor, and he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hips rapidly thrust, skin on skin the only sound above high moans and muffle pleas of release.
It was far past words anymore, just feral animals seeking an earth-shattering orgasm at the other’s hand. Drool was slipping down both of your lips, splattering down chests and cheeks as sloppy kisses miss marks.
So close. So close.
The snake was coiling, walls shaking and alternating between squeezing too tight and letting John hit as far into you as possible. You suddenly wail into his hot mouth, eyes rolling back when he angles his thrusts back towards himself as he slouches in the chair.
“There it is. Bloody bastard.” John hits it again, leaving you collapsing onto his chest as his hands go to wrap around your back, large arms using you to stay still as he pants ferally, eyes wild as they stare down at your blessed-out expression. Fuck, were you even able to speak anymore beyond whines and gasps? The clench of your pussy?
“Don’t worry, Love,” One thumb still plays with your overstimulated clit, making tears splatter his chest hair and get stuck as every sliver of skin that’s coated in sweat and joined slick. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah, I’ll fuck you proper later.”
Your eyes roll back, back arching into him. God, was this not fucking you properly? But then again, John was a gentleman at the end of the day – his idea of proper was probably a bed and a glass of water on the nightstand.
But this was so much better. The neediness of it, the emotional release besides the physical. John could fuck you anywhere at any time, as long as you got to hear him speak to you like that. Breathless, whiny like he never was and probably never will be outside the company of just you – even after being separated, you knew he was never one to do things like this.
“Tell me you’ll let me cum inside this cunt, eh, Love,” his accent is stronger as he gasps, raspy, with muted growls, before his head tilts back behind the chair’s backing. He speeds up until you were sure the chair was going to break in two, the material squealing. “Let me breed you like I always wanted to, yeah? Watch that spent cunt drown before I pump back in and stuff you full again. Please, Bird, let me…Let me…!”
You're about to lose it, hands raking down his chest and legs numb before you can gasp out a single sentence before the rope snaps.
“God, John, don’t…don’t let any go to waste.” You moan and slot your head under his jaw, feeling his beard bristles burn your nose when you finally let the snake strike.
Freezing, your lower body jolts as if connected to an electrical line, walls constricting around the foreign entity inside of you as it continues to chase its own high. One firm thrust, two sloppy ones, before a groan so loud you feel it reverberate in your heart enters the heavy air. There is an undeniable fullness to your womb that shoots deeply into your being, splattering your thighs and staining John’s abdomen. From there it’s small instinctual thrusts as your ringing ears twitch at the sound of cum dripping on the floor. Panting, you can’t help the fucked-out way your mouth parts to release a satisfactory sigh at the feeling of euphoria in your brain and cunt.
It felt like you were floating on air when John finally started rubbing a hand up and down your back, shaky fingers hard and sure as they trace old marks.
Still short of breath, the two of you revel in each other's company with palpitating hearts and half-lidded eyes. Still slotted under his jaw, the brown-haired man mutters softly.
“New?” As he taps a bullet wound on your right side that’s been healed for years now.
“Hm,” uttering softly with a hoarse voice, you smile weakly with warm cheeks, “old. Three years.”
“...I have a lot to catch up on, then, yeah?”
“Very much. But don’t worry, I’ll be patient.” He chuckles, making your form move with him. You take a deep breath, finally feeling yourself come back to earth, albeit on unsteady feet.
A good bout of calming silence forms before you speak through a haze of fatigue. It had to be late by now – incredibly late. Maybe just using the pullout bed would be better than doing the walk of shame back to your barracks. John could join you here, you decide internally.
“How did you know I’d even speak to you in the first place?” You ask as the man shifts under you, lightly lifting your black and blue thighs as you begin to whine quietly; he shushes you with a calm presence. Delicately pulling out, he lets his spent cock exit your red and swollen hole as more combined fluid falls from you to run over his hips and pool below. Resettling you, he brings a hand to the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead.
“The radio. You kept it.” You grin shakily, feeling him run his fingertips down your spine, finding more milky scars and caressing them with callused hands.
You’d have to tell him all of your stories later, and in turn, he’ll tell you his. There was a lot to learn, but this certainly wasn’t a bad spot to start. Nuzzling farther into his neck, you sigh dreamily as his pulse sings you to sleep like a lullaby. Before you drift off you whisper out a reply that leaves John shivering.
“...I guess I did, didn’t I?”
TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here
TAGS:
@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07, @shoe1412, @jaimiespn, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaut2029, @shmaptin, @levietc
(if anyone has any idea why some aren't working I would love to know lmao)
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Is that Jessie fic getting a 3rd part? I want to see them reunite 🥺
I wrote this in my study I:
ALSO: I changed the club that y/n moved to because I was told Gotham wasn't near Portland and then I felt stupid but I'm not that familiar with NWSL
the set up j.f
plot: Your teammate is giving you a hard time about Jessie
warnings: angst part 3 of hey there
You had finally settled into your new home and had made your debut for Seattle Reign FC.
You had made some new friends and even kept in contact with almost all of the girls from Chelsea, Christine had come over every now and then to make sure you were okay but in reality there was only ever one girl that you wanted to see.
Jessie.
You hated yourself for it.
You were the one who broke her heart, you were the one to tear your relationship apart.
She has every right to ignore you.
But it still hurts when you would see each other in public and she wouldn’t even say hi.
But today was different. Today Seattle Reign would vs Portland Thorns and as both you and Jessie were midfielders you knew there would have to be some sort of altercation between you two.
Lauren Barnes, a friend you had made since your move was waving her hand in front of your face, trying to gain attention as you sipped on your hot chocolate. “Earth to y/n” she sang out and you looked up at her “Sorry?” you asked
“I said are you worried about the game but I think I already got my answer” she smirked “Oh” you shrugged “I guess”.
“So it’s true then,” Lauren said, leaning closer to you “What is?” you asked
“That you and Jessie dated before she moved to Portland”
You rolled your eyes at her eagerness “Yes we did Lozza, now go off and pester someone else” you whined, and the girl shook her head “Why’d you break up?” she asked “Because she was going to Portland and I thought my forever home was London” you told her “but you’re back here” she pointed out “I am” you nodded “So…” she trailed off “So?” you asked.
“So get back together!” she whisper yelled and you flinched away “Jesus Lauren” you whisper yelled back and she backed away sheepishly “Sorry”.
The girl didn’t stop making comments about the Canadian to you on the bus and in the changing room as you all got ready.
“You are not helping me,” you told the girl as you laced up your boots.
“I’m being honest I saw her looking at you when we were all checking out the pitch” she excitedly told you “No she wasn’t” you denied “She was! It was like you guys were playing tennis, every time you looked away she was looking at you and every time you looked at her she was looking away!”
“Do you mind focussing on the game?”
“Nope”.
You rolled your eyes in defeat and shrugged off your jacket “let’s go games about to start” you huffed and walked away.
Christine saw you walk out with a scowl as she was also planning to get an early start on the line-up.
“Kiddo what’s up?” she exclaimed and grabbed your shoulders, you turned your head towards her “Just a bad day,” you told her “Was it Lauren teasing you?” she asked and you shot your head up “How Did you-“ “I may have asked her to ask about Jessie to you” she admitted and you stepped back “why?”
“Because I have been pestering Jessie”
“Well stop,” you told her “Me and Jessie broke up a year ago” you started, not hearing the boots that were walking behind you “It’s been a year and I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants” you ranted.
Jessie has always been an early bird, to everything. It usually gave her peace and quiet but when she decided to join Christine at the line-up she definitely wasn’t expecting to see you waving your hands around whilst complaining.
“I haven’t even got the courage to start a conversation with her and you guys are telling me to ask her out again, do you even know if that’s what she wants?”
Your words were clean off your tongue and Jessie stepped away and hid behind the corner.
Ask her out again.
But you didn’t love her.
At least that’s what you told her.
“I’m sorry” you apologized to Christine and hugged her, sighing in relief when she smoothed her hands over your back “Freshen up kid, I’ll see you on the field”.
You walked away, thankfully to the front so Jessie didn’t have to worry about you but as soon as you were out of sight Jessie stepped to Christine.
“Why are you meddling?” she asked the older Canadian who was shocked to see her “Jessie-“ “She told me she didn’t love me and I moved states, I thought I was over her” she gritted her teeth “god” she cursed “you guys can at least talk about it,” Christine said and Jessie scoffed “she might have something that you’ll want to hear,” the older woman said softly “like what, how much she didn’t love for those two years of us dating”
“Jessie” Christine tried to reason but the girl back away “I’ll come when Janine does” she said and walked back to the room, opposite of where you had gone.
Christine watched her walk away and lifted her arms in surrender.
“Fucking kids”.
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just a random short angsty, sort of fluffy one-shot, Severus Snape x professor!reader
i just wrote this right now because im in an angsty sort of mood, and i wanted to post something. i miss you guys, and i am now currently writing part 14 to shameless!! woo!! that break did my brain well. i feel refreshed hehe. <3 thank you for giving me some tips on how to get rid of that godforsaken writer's block, good lord. i hated it. but i'm free now, until next time ;)
this is a drabble/one-shot so it's sort of vague-ish, so yeah, if there's any mistakes or anything i'm sorry. ;(
(i also didn't put the taglist since it isn't part of the shameless fic! just in case you wondered!)
warnings: mentions of cheating
"If it makes you stop crying," Snape began hesitantly as he stared at your tear-stained face, frowning with a scrunched nose of what seemed like disgust. "We can go back to my office, and I'll make you some tea." He said, shoulders rising and falling slowly as he sighed. Watching you be so sad and cry wasn't something Snape was fond of, and it was effecting him - more than he wanted to admit. He just hoped you'd accept his request of making you some tea, then perhaps he could figure out what was making you so upset, and punish the culprits. Snape had always had a little soft-spot for you ever since you'd joined Hogwarts as a professor a year or so ago. Usually he didn't feel such a way towards younger, new professors, however, your kind and sweet aura had him unexpectedly mesmerised the moment you'd introduced yourself to him. The Potions Master wasn't exactly sure why he felt this way towards you so soon, but he knew it couldn't be good - the last time he felt something like this was back when he was a child.
You looked up, still sobbing quietly, managing to slip a confused frown upon your face. "Tea?" You repeated quietly with a sniffle, pausing for a moment to ponder on Snape's offer. "...Tea would be nice."
You hadn't expected to bump into your usually gloomy, rude colleague whilst having what you thought was going to be a private breakdown after learning that your partner had cheated on you with your best friend. Almost two years down the drain, just like that. Snape had accidentally walked in on you hunched over your desk, crying hopelessly. He was about to walk away when you'd heard a deep sigh, startling you. And here you were. Being offered tea by him.
"Let's go then." Snape said with a flat tone, looking away from your sad eyes, unable to withstand the pain that was gathering in his chest.
You were at least two or three cups of tea down when you'd finally explained everything to Snape. From the start of your relationship to the unexpected demise. It dug up old, painful memories, and you were crying again.
"What's wrong with me?" You sobbed, taking another sip of the tea that Snape had made you; hot tears soaking your cheeks and dripping into the cup. Another deep, frustrated sigh slipped from Snape again as he watched you from his desk with a sad frown upon his pale features. "I don't get it," you sniffled, gripping the handle of the tea cup with white knuckles, "did I do something wrong?"
No, you couldn't do anything wrong, Snape wanted to say. He wanted to tell you how wrong you were, and how perfectly good you truly were. But he knew you wouldn't listen, and so he kept quiet, only muttering in disagreement.
"I doubt that, Y/N." Snape mumbled, though you didn't give him much time to say anything else before you stumbled into a self-deprecating rant.
"Maybe I wasn't worth it, I mean, it's not like I'm anything... special," you laughed dryly, avoiding Snape's cold eyes, "maybe I'm just the girl that everyone dates before they find their true love. I'm the girl that they use to find the one, I don't have any good qualities, I'm a pushover, and-"
Snape inhaled sharply, "Stop it, Y/N!" He bellowed, slamming a hand down on the desk that the two of you were sat at. Instantly, you went silent, your mouth hanging open in shock as your heartbeat suddenly sped into an incredibly fast pace. You glanced up at Snape with wet and wide eyes, startled by his unusual outburst.
"Severus-"
"No, Y/N," he held up a hand, silencing you, "you're wrong about yourself. You are special." Snape sighed, moving his hand to massage his temples. You couldn't believe what was coming out of this man's mouth. "You're more than enough. Your ex was clearly a fool to do such a thing to you. In fact, I can't fathom why they would choose your friend over you." Snape said with a stern tone, clearly distressed. Your mouth still hung open as you stared at him, flabbergasted. "You're kind, sweet, considerate, and your heart is twice the size than it should be."
"I..." You uttered quietly, staring at Snape, evidently speechless. He shut his eyes momentarily, suddenly realising what he'd just said. Yet another deep sigh slipped from his heaving chest, rendering you silent.
"You..." Snape stumbled, avoiding your eyes. There was no way he could look at you right now. He'd just opened the floodgates on what he truly thought of you. He probably looks like a right blithering idiot.
The room went quiet, and the two of you sat there in what felt like a somewhat-comfortable silence, taking the moment to acknowledge what had just happened.
You stared at the man opposite you, a sudden and unusual warmth blooming in your chest. For the first time since you'd met him, you took the opportunity to truly look at him. Snape's black eyes glittered in the low, soft amber light from his candles as he reluctantly glanced up at you, pressing his lips into an awkward thin and flat line. His shoulders rose a tad, tensing as he inhaled, and he shifted his gaze to the desk again. Clearly, he was unsure on how to navigate this current moment.
A tiny smile picked at the corners of your lips as you looked at him. "Thank you." You whispered, glancing down at his splayed out hands. Taking a chance, you reached out your own hand and placed it atop of one of his, feeling it flinch. Snape's eyes darted up to yours, and he returned your smile, though it seemed a little awkward.
Snape didn't say anything to you, he only nodded gently before pulling his hand back to himself after a few long moments, clearing his throat.
"Well, since you've stopped crying," he began, sitting up straight in his chair, "we can assume I've done a good job." A little chuckle escaped you, and it caused a loose, genuine smile to erupt on Snape's face. You noticed it, but chose not to say anything, instead silently admiring how well it suited him.
"Now I know who to come to when I'm sad." You joked lightly, and as quickly as the smile had arrived on his lips, it disappeared. You laughed, feeling a tad lighter. Though the awful situation still sat within you like a dead weight, waiting to be dealt with, it felt good to smile and laugh, especially with a man you thought to be devoid of such emotions.
"I don't think-"
"Thanks, Severus." You cut him off with a bright smile, making his heart flutter. Perhaps he would wander past your classroom a little more often than before.
Masterpost
#severus snape x professor!reader#professor severus snape x reader#severus snape#pro severus snape#harry potter#professor!reader#pro severus#hp fandom#pro snape#hp#severus snape x reader#severus snape imagine#severus x reader#severus x y/n#severus#snape content#professor snape#severus snape fandom#snape#snape fandom#snapedom#professor severus snape
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For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!
youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:
tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3
notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.
notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺
���� i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.
𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.
𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.
𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore
𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.
𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.
𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation
𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing
𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.
𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.
𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.
𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom
𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face
𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.
𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”
𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.
𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.
𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon
𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help
𓇻 the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening
𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.
𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”
𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background
𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in
𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)
#bts fanfic#bts fluff#jungkook fanfic#bts#bts jungkook#jungkook#jungkook scenario#jungkook fic#jungkook imagine#jungkook x reader#bts fic#bts imagines#bts headcanons#jungkook headcanons
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AU idea I stumbled across while writing up notes for chapter 11 like. What if AU where Vlad wrote Jack out of his life after getting out of the hospital and never looked back. He still has ghost powers and is still stupid rich but he's off just doing his own thing and hasn't thought much about Jack in years.
When the reunion rolls around Vlad invites the Fentons because they were part of the class for that year so it's just a matter of course. He treats them like any other guest and is kind of bewildered when Jack addresses him like they should be really close during the reunion party, and asks Jack to remind him of how he knew him back in college.
Jack is pretty hurt by the coldness and goes over the whole deal about them being best friends back in college and then sort of. Brushes over the fact that he caused the accident that sent Vlad to the hospital for years.
Vlad listens with polite interest and then when Jack gets to the accident he coldly tells Jack that he remembers now. Then he laughs, and asks what Jack expected by strolling up as if they were still friends. Jack injured Vlad and then never even apologized, never reached out, he's basically making Jack out to be the worst person in front of everyone at the reunion party. Everyone else present is a fair-weather friend for abandoning him cause his ailment made him "too ugly" to want to be seen with but at least they didn't pretend otherwise when they showed up for the reunion.
Jack is devastated by this and all the other Fentons are furious with Vlad for humiliating him in front of an audience. Danny decides to prank Vlad as payback after the party is over and ends up running into Plasmius that way. Vlad basically conjures a broom and swats Danny back out of his house because he has no time for some uppity ghost kid and he has other stuff to get on with. They don't figure out each other's secret identities until some time later.
Danny has a grudge against Vlad for humiliating his dad and takes any chance he can to try to play ghostly pranks on him. Never seems to work for some reason and that Plasmius ghost keeps showing up to stop him maybe they're friends and--WAIT.
It's a huge shock when Danny figures out that Vlad is also a human-ghost hybrid. Literally the only other person like him is a guy he hates for being mean to his dad. Vlad figured Danny out a while ago but didn't say anything cause he wanted to see how long it took Danny to realize it.
Danny wants Vlad to apologize for humiliating his dad and Vlad's just like, no Jack never apologized for landing me in the hospital for years and turning me into a mutant freak why should I apologize to him? You're lucky you escaped with only the mutant freak part, kid.
So potential for angst and for comedy. Could be fun!
#Danny Phantom#Vlad Masters#Vlad Plasmius#Jack Fenton#idk if I'll ever do anything with this AU but it was fun to think about
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Alright, alright, I have this little crossover idea of sorts!
Trigun is an anime in the world of MHA, and reader is crushing on Vash the Stampede. Reader has the manga, the anime on Blu-ray, figures, a plush...
How would Izuku, Bakugou, and Mirio react to their crush having a thing for Vash, who is fictional? Would they possibly get jealous, wondering what it is about him they like so much? :3
[ I love this cross-over idea. Fuck yeah! You know, it's funny. I wrote a few headcanons between the BNHA boys and them having a plushie a long time ago. I think the reader being obsessed with a fictional character, Vash in this case, is awesome and quite relatable. I honestly have to say I'm in love with Vash from the 1998 animated series, he is just so cool and I'm also currently reading the manga which is just mind-blowing. ]
His words were stolen from him when he entered your room to see endless amounts of manga, plushies, and even figurines of Vash the Stampede. Although given his collection of All Might merchandise, he knew he couldn't judge. But he also couldn't stop himself from feeling the tiniest bit jealous.
"W-what is it about t-that guy that makes them a-admire him…so much?" He asked after successfully convincing you to allow him to borrow the Blu-ray Trigun Stampede series collection you had. He didn't understand why you liked the characteristics Vash displayed but nonetheless jotted them down in his notebook as he watched.
Unfortunately, the attempts to display the same characteristics he saw to capture your attention were unsuccessful, and honestly, he felt a little pathetic about trying to be someone he wasn't. Plus, the look on your face made him feel like a bigger idiot than he was.
"I d-don't know what I was thinking…" he whined, pressing his head against his desk. "Will they…l-like me like they do V-Vash?" It was pitiful to think he was jealous of a fictional character.
"Perhaps you are approaching the problem incorrectly," Tenya suggested. "While the feeling of affection can extend to…fictional aspects, I'm certain that Y/n is aware of reality and will look at you the way you desire as long as you remain yourself." He wasn't sure how much faith he put in Tenya's words but knew he was right. Comparing himself to Vash wasn't going to get him anywhere.
Accepting something was the hardest thing but given that he was once the quirkless boy who dreamed of being a hero, he would face this issue the same way. He could accept it but not for long. He'd prove he was better than Vash The Stampede and then maybe…just maybe you'd see him as your hero.
"Tch, reading a lame manga, huh!? How stupid!" He remembers those words from his middle school years, and how you would always huddle in the corner with a stupid smile as you read 'Trigun Maximum.' The thing that years later became your obsession.
"What the hell is all this shit!?" He demanded. "This is worse than that damn Deku's room!" You had shelves filled with manga, and Blu-rays, not to mention plushies of the same character scattered around. "You shouldn't be obsessed with fictional dumbasses that swing guns around! I'm the only badass here!" And he'd prove it.
His jaw clenched tighter and tighter whenever he was in class, hearing you go on and on about your love for Vash. How cool and handsome he is, how amazing he is in combat. Damn, he hated it. He would never admit he was jealous, but what made Vash better than him!?
"What do you mean I can't take these!?" he demanded after irrationally barging into your room and stealing your Trigun manga collection. Nevertheless, after a heated argument, he settled for reading it in your room. "What the hell is so damn great about this dumbass?" From what he could gather Vash was nothing but an outlaw with a gun.
He didn't think his jealousy would affect him just like he didn't think his feelings for you would sway him from his dream of becoming a hero. But he found himself being fueled by the hatred of your Vash The Stampede obsession. Because of this, he grew extremely cocky during training exercises. He even went as far as shouting that he was better than some stupid outlaw which you found...odd, to say the least.
It didn't take a genius to realize you were unimpressed by his attempts and criticism of your favorite character. Yet, as usual, he'd be damned if you continued to idolize someone else when he should be the one idolized by you. Whether you liked it or not, he'd be the object of your affection next.
"Heh, wow...you really like this guy." Of course, it was an obvious statement with all the Vash the Stampede plushies, and merchandise that littered your bed and shelves. He picked up one of the plushies, staring into its blue button eyes that reminded him of his own and a strange feeling made his stomach twist. Was he feeling insecure?
"Oh, is that Vash the Stampede?" Nejire asked, pointing to the plushie Mirio held. "Huh, wait you know about him!?" He exclaimed. "Yeah, I-" He grasped her shoulders before she could finish. "What do you like about him!?" He demanded, and although Nejire didn't have a solid answer she settled for Vash's bravery and caring for others.
While Mirio was happy that he shared some favorable characteristics with Vash the Stampede, he still struggled to think of how to get your attention while respecting your love for the fictional character. How could you view him as you did Vash? Of course, he could never tell you who you could and couldn't love, but gosh wouldn't it be amazing if you did love him?
"So, what do you think!?" Mirio demanded with a bright smile. He was dressed in a red trench coat and orange glasses, the key pieces of clothing Vash wore. "You like Vash, right? I sure look like him now, wouldn't you agree sunshine?" To see your eyes light up when you looked at him, even in the silly little cosplay he was wearing, meant the world to him.
He convinced you to hang out with him and took you to a special area resembling the setting where the Trigun show took place. It was part of a beach, with endless sand everywhere. He wanted to impress you while respecting your feelings, and maybe make you have feelings for him. Overall, your reaction was so-so.
Despite his jealousy, and his somewhat successful attempts at trying to sway your attention away from Vash the Stampede and onto him, he wanted you to be happy. "Heh, who knows, maybe I will be their Vash someday!" Until then, he'd just keep smiling.
#izuku x reader#mirio x reader#katsuki x reader#midoriya x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#togata x reader#izuku x y/n#mirio x y/n#midoriya x y/n#bakugou x y/n#bakugo x y/n#mirio x you#bakugo x you#katsuki x fem!reader#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#katsuki x male reader#katsuki x you#katsuki x y/n#bakugou x male reader#bakugo x male reader#bakugo x female reader#bakugo x self insert#izuku x you#midoriya x you#faultywrites: izuku midoriya: headcanons: 24#faulty writes: katsuki bakugou: 24#faulty writes izuku midoriya 24
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Wood Stairs on The Coast.
warning: age gap (4 years). please lmk if there's anything i missed!
a/n: i wrote some words repeatedly im sorry, imsorry imsorry
daily click
You really hate yourself for sitting in the same spot again and again. Resting your butt on the wooden surface of the stairs, your eyes gazing at the ocean merely 270 meters from your house. You letting out a sigh as you bury your face in your arms, cursing yourself because you're still waiting for Abby to return, even though there's almost no chance and reason for her to come back to the little town where you live. It has been five years two months and two weeks since she left you with her promise to wait for her come back in 4 years, well, it was too far late. Now that you're a grown up, no longer the girl who once struggled with her homework, you work at a little bakery shop in your small town instead of pursuing university like most of your friends did. Being 21 years old, you feel old enough to date Abby that you've been waiting for almost half a decade since too young to have her back then. But does it truly matter when the promise remains unfulfilled? All hopes, birthday wishes, and prays you always mean it for Abby, hoping she'd be here soon with her feet touching the ground. You knew where her hometown was at, only if you get enough money, you swear you could go there and meet her. You don't even know if her promise is still worth for believing in or it's just a bunch of lies that you still hold tightly. You rejected the girls who confessed their feelings to you because you were waiting for Abby. Now they got their own girlfriends, you still here, sitting on your house's stairs, alone, not with Abigail Anderson, not with her being your girlfriend. You leaned on the railing, thinking about how much easier life was when she was with you, even if it was only for four months. The past five years hadn't been as amazing as the year before. You've heard great things here, but not as great as they'd be if she came back. Your house remained the same as it was a year ago; there was no chance of her getting lost. Night had fallen, and you sat by the window, facing the coast you've been staring while sit on the porch stairs this morning. The dim light in your room from a white bedside lamp—the gift from Abby for your 16th birthday—that you never turned off, day or night. The lamp served as a symbol of how long you'd been waiting; once it went off, it would be over. Your head leaned against the wall, sighing, "Should I stop, Abby?"
You promised yourself you wouldn't sit again on the wooden stair corner again, yet there you are, hand cupping your cheeks, the gentle breeze playing with your hair, forcing you to tuck hair strands behind your ear every single seconds. You have some rocks on the ground from the beach you visited earlier this morning. You've sorted them by size and now you're playing with them randomly, just to stave off your boredom, as if you were know that Abby won't come back, leaving you feeling hopeless now. You huffed, again. You tried not to care anymore about the promise. But no, you knew yourself better than anyone; deep down in your heart, you still cared enough for her. You were too focused on your mind, hands still playing with the rocks and sand, not hearing the footsteps approaching you. The footsteps stopped a few meters away from you. You raised your head, immediately stood up after you saw the owner of the footsteps. You couldn't say anything as if words had become trapped in your throat.
"You've grown up a lot,"
Without a second thought, you ran to her and hugged her tightly. Even though the promise was fulfilled much later than expected, it didn't matter anymore. She's here, Abby is here, Abigail Anderson is here. No words comes from your mouth, all that mattered was the hug, and she returned it just as fiercely. Her hands rubbing your head while saying "I'm sorry, you've waited me for too long." She was saying sorry to you, for countless times. You shakes your head, crying in between the hug. Abby cupped your cheeks, smiling, her gaze locked on your lips, "Can.. can I?" You didn't wait for her to finish speaking as you simply nodded, you want her to kiss you, you really want it. Your lips met hers, ending five years of loneliness without her. At last, she could kiss you without concern for age differences, and at last, you could having her being your girlfriend. "God, where was the girl who always asks me to help her homework?" You chuckled, along with her wiped your tears away on your cheeks after the kisses, "She's a grown up now, Abby."
"Please, please don't leave me again,"
"I won't, baby. I won't,"
Once again big thanks to Taylor Swift for giving me the idea.
#⋆˚࿔ nothingtolose 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#abby anderson angst#abby anderson#abby anderson tlou2#abby tlou#abby the last of us#abby anderson x reader#tlou abby#tlou2#the last of us 2#abby anderson fluff#abby x fem!reader#Spotify
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Letters.
tw: mentions of self harm and self hate
The Ninth Letter.
It was a long shot, but Timothée knew he had to. He had to find her. It surprised him, just how much he cared for this girl. He didn't know her, but he was desperate to find her—to understand her. Timothée felt a sense of loyalty to her, vowing to finish her letters one by one—and not skipping to the end. Sure, he could save a lot of time if he'd just go on and skip to the last letter. But that felt like betraying Y/N—as if it was skipping to know the person who'd poured her heart out in the last eight letters.
Timothée sighed, before closing his laptop and putting it away. He was in a meeting with the private investigator he had just hired two days ago. The trail was undoubtedly cold—because the only clue they had was the stamps on Y/N's letters. Still, the young actor wasn't going to give up that easily. He picked up the next letter and ripped it open. It was dated July 27th, 2023.
Dear Timothée,
Don't kill the butterfly,
That's what I heard the girl whispering beside me while I waited outside of my therapist's office. It was a year ago, when I started with Julie. I'd been staring at her, not realizing she was muttering something onto her shaking hands. A whisper, so quiet that I would've missed it if I hadn't been looking at her like an animal at a zoo. She was repeating it again and again, “Don't kill the butterfly.” like some sort of mantra.
At first, it seemed strange. Because she had a butterfly drawn in black ink on the back of her hand—it wasn't a tattoo—it was smudged, clearly drawn on with a pen. It wasn't until I asked her and realized what the butterfly was.
It's called The Butterfly Effect, and it's to help people who self harm—people like me. The idea is that every time a person wants to cut, they would draw a butterfly on their wrist and name it after a loved one. You have to let the butterfly fade, and if you cut, the butterfly dies.
I felt terrible. I've been killing the butterfly, over and over again.
The next session I had, I asked Julie about the girl—her name was Jane—and when I realized what had happened to her…..Let's just say, I haven't seen anyone so brave.
I feel like a mistake. A waste of space. If I was brave enough, I'd already done it, but I hadn't. Who knows? Maybe someday, I can and I'll be free from all the bullshit of my life. Or, I'm just taking my time.
Why am I even still writing to you? I feel like an idiot, wasting my money to get stamps, to send these fucking letters you won't ever read. But what if you are? Maybe you're reading my letters, reading how my life is hell.
Anyways, I stapled a photo of myself at the end of this letter. I know, I know, I'm an ugly piece of shit. Not like the girls in Hollywood—not like fucking Kylie Jenner. How do I even compete with her? Next to her, I look like a potato with eyes.
Maybe, just maybe…..
But I don't want to get my hopes up.
I don't know what to believe in, honestly.
All my love,
Y/N.
Timothée stared at the photo, a beautiful girl was staring back at him—she had mesmerizing (y/e/c) eyes and long beautiful (y/h/c) hair. She was smiling. As if she wasn't the girl who wrote the letters he had read. He quickly snapped the photo and sent it to the private investigator.
Timothée didn't know why she called herself ugly. Does she even look at herself in the mirror? She was beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
“Stay with me, Y/N. I'm going to find you, even if it's the last thing I do.”
@lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad
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i'll love myself if you touch me like that | c.f.
conrad fisher x fem!reader
"Use me if you just insist that you love the body you refuse to kiss" - based on fuck me (i didn't know how to say) by crawlers
[or the one where you would give him your whole world and all he can give you is sex in the backseat of his car]
WC: 1.9k
A/N: i really wrote 4 fics, participated in some discourse and dipped huh... well, it needs to be said that i have read the books and have been a conrad girl since day 1 and am therefore better than the rest. let me know if you want to be tagged for part 2
Warnings: bad smut, light choking, titty sucking vaginal penetration, theyre doing it in a red jeep wrangler. angst, i hated myself while writing the smut holy. all participating parties are 18 in this.
masterlist | part ii | ao3
In retrospect, you’re not sure what you had expected when Conrad had texted you to go driving at 1:22 am. Perhaps Cousins’ summer heat and the buzzing of the cicadas had finally driven you mad. No amount of teenage delusion could turn a “u up?” text into any notion of romance, but when it came to him, you seemed to have an endless well of good faith in his intentions.
The cliffside view he had driven to was beautiful, with the moon reflecting beams of light off the sea, redirecting into the misty depths of Conrad’s eyes. He was sitting tense, his arm braced against the steering wheel, the cords of his muscles flexed, looking as pissed off as he had all summer. In all the years you had known him, had loved him, he had never been quite like this.
Sometimes you thought you could see traces of the gentle boy you knew; in the moments after sex, where all that could be heard were the mix of your breaths in the wind, and he would look over at you with that boyish smile, his eyes not quite as hard as usual.
Not that you’d seen much of him this summer, not in any way that really seemed to matter.
You hadn’t even known he was back in Cousins; for months, there had been little interaction between the two of you and you weren’t desperate enough to count him viewing your Instagram stories as such. There were no more late-night calls or even the occasional text. He was just… gone.
Seeing him at the bonfire had felt like a slap to the face. He had grown out his hair and his glasses were long discarded. It was that night that you felt something more in his gaze, as though he had grown hungry in the months apart.
When he kissed you for the first time, it hadn’t been anything like the naive imaginings of your youth. It wasn’t soft or loving and it didn’t happen after a confession in the rain. It was open-mouthed and dirty, the taste of cheap beer etching the memory.
It had been short-lived for the dramatics of it all, with Belly Conklin interrupting midway.
She had looked shocked but a little smug, with a look of “I told you so” carved into the creases of her grin.
Once, a summer or two ago, Belly too had felt a flicker of emotion for the boy. It was hard not to; Conrad had always had this quality, an effortless allure of sorts that drew people in. It was a pull that existed even now, amplified by his new sense of brooding, that made anyone who looked into those reflective eyes want to dive in and drown in their depths.
Of course, now Belly hardly felt much towards the boy, too enthralled by her new girlfriend Taylor to care. But she was your lifelong friend. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
It wasn’t long after that kiss that you started sleeping with Conrad. In the light of day, you rarely saw him, catching only the barest glimpse of him through your shared fence. Yet it only ever took the single meeting of gazes to end up in some closet or empty bedroom with the boy.
It felt unholy and blasphemous to the fantasies you had held for so long, but you relished in the rare moments of tentativeness. In every aching moment, every scorching touch, you yearned for him to see you. To notice the care and attention you place on your appearance, to trace the lines of your frame with more than just lust.
But now here you were, in his car for the first time since last summer, back when your yearning was something of tender love only felt in inexperience. The air hung heavy and you turned towards him, seeking his eyes, praying for a glimpse of the boy from last summer. If you could discern the boy of summer's past, then the love you felt would be justified. Then all the time you spent making yourself prettier, better, for him, would have been time well spent.
It would make all that you were less pathetic; because at least it would have been worth it.
When he finally turned to face you, there was nothing to be seen. He was an empty cracked shell on the shoreline and you were the foolish girl holding him close, listening for waves anyways.
And as he moved to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, leaving his hand to rest on the crook of your jaw, you let him pull you into his embrace.
The softness of his lips was contrasted by the hard urgency in which he kissed you, inhaling in your being as though you were the air he breathed. The hand cupping your jaw travelled down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake and you gasped against his mouth when you felt him give it a gentle squeeze.
As he swept his tongue against yours, you found yourself clinging to his back, clawing the smooth muscles built from years of football. He tasted like the cigars he smoked, like fire and ash. You were lost to the sensation of Conrad’s hands on your body, too filled with wanting to be embarrassed by the way you were moaning against his lips.
The white sundress you had haphazardly thrown on in the dark was sliding up, the hem skimming your upper thighs as he pulled you across the centre console into his lap. In the dark of the night, as you straddled Conrad Fisher in his red Jeep Wrangler, you caressed the contours of his face, cupping the strong lines of his jaw.
In moments like this, you could almost pretend you didn’t feel like shit being touched in this way; you could fake a level of tender intimacy that did not exist, pretend that you were more than some easy fuck.
“Do you want to move to the back real quick?” he asked, breathless, before moving to kiss the skin above your collarbone.
Almost.
“Uh- yeah. Sure,” you replied numbly.
Crawling into the spacious back seats, you could feel the weight of his stare. You barely turned around before his lips were on yours once more, tasting, feeling, consuming you whole.
This was where you always ended up. No matter which path you took, it always led back to him.
He broke away for the briefest of moments, out of breath and looked into your eyes, before peppering kisses along your jaw.
His hand shifted away from the small of your back and you felt a tug on the bow keeping your straps up. The delicate triangles of eyelet fabric fell away, revealing your bare breasts and you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate at the sight before he dove in, taking one into his delicate mouth.
Whimpering, you sank into the matte leather seats, clutching his soft curls as he explored the expanse of your chest, openmouthed, gently biting and licking the stiff nipple. Trailing wet kisses down your naval, you shivered at the buzz of his mouth against your bare skin.
“Is this okay?” he asked. Your sundress was a scrap of fabric gathered around your waist, and he was making sure you were okay with his head between your legs.
Same old Connie.
“Yeah,” you murmured with a smile. “This is more than okay.”
The smile he gave you in return was effervescent. He was effervescent. It was always so easy to remember precisely why you had been stuck on him for so many years; why you continued to cross tightropes to keep his eyes on you.
Grinning into his kiss, you shifted your hips as he peeled away your panties. His shirt was off now, his pale skin glistening in the starlight. The echo of his zipper rang through the car, twirling around notes of heavy breathing.
He let out a shaky breath as he slid into you easily, groaning at the way you clenched around his thick length. Pulling out a few inches, he leaned in next to you, tickling the curve of your ear with a sigh.
“You’re always so fucking tight for me,” he whispered, thrusting in hard. “Always so pretty.”
Clasping your wrists in one of his hands, he pinned them against the window, which was collecting steam. His other hand coming to grasp your hip, he began to press into you harder, his strokes gaining rhythm. The slapping of skin reverberated throughout the jeep, creating a crude melody.
He was staring into your eyes, and for the first time that night, it felt like he was truly looking at you. All summer long, a fog had obscured his eyes, but at this moment, there was a clarity in his eyes. He was seeing you.
Shifting your legs to his shoulders, you cried out at the new angle, feeling his cock push deep against your cervix. Your knees shook as you pulsed around him, so close to finishing.
Bringing his hand down to where you met, you felt him begin to rub your clit, drawing elaborate figure eights around the swollen bud.
You came then, in his arms as he gave you infinity.
Pulling out quickly, Conrad stroked his length quickly, his cum spread out across your tits.
-
It was 3:05 and the cliffside air was still. In the aftermath of it all, you always found yourself stuck in the limbo between childhood friend and lover. In these moments you were both and neither.
“So- uh, did you want to walk around a bit? Or we could stop by the diner if you’re hungry…” you rambled, sounding all too loud in the quiet night air.
“Nah, I’m good, I have to be up early to meet Cleveland,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “We should get going anyways.”
You nodded eagerly, trying not to grimace. He wasn’t looking at you. In fact, he was looking everywhere but you.
The drive home was silent, without any attempt at conversation, as if he wasn’t inside you only 20 minutes before. As though you had not been moaning in each other's mouths, tasting the embers on his tongue.
Rolling into the shared driveway between your neighbouring beach houses, embarrassment dawned on you as the barest rays of sun graced the horizon.
“Is this the only reason you asked me here tonight?” you said, breaking the tense silence. Inside, your heart was crumbling.
Conrad said nothing.
How did you ever think he saw you? He didn’t see you at age 12 when he had first caught your eye outside of the friendship you shared. He didn’t see you at age 14 when you had gotten your braces out and he hadn’t seen you even at age 16 when he got his first pair of glasses to combat his astigmatism.
“Don't contact me again for stuff like this,” you said, with steel in your voice. Your vision was blurring. “Maybe don’t contact me at all for a while.”
Opening the Jeep door, you stepped out on weak knees, shutting it before the boy who held the shambles of your heart in his hand could call out your name.
When you closed your front door, escaping Conrad’s sight, that was when he allowed himself to cry.
#conrad fisher x reader#conrad fisher x you#conrad fisher x y/n#conrad fisher#the summer i turned pretty#tsitp#the summer i turned pretty imagine#tsitp imagine#conrad fisher smut#conrad fisher x reader smut#smut#angst#conrad fisher angst#conrad fisher x reader angst#conrad fisher fluff#conrad fisher x reader fluff
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John not meaning what he says
You know, we all say a lot of things when we don’t know what we’re talking about. I’m probably doing it now, I don’t know what I say. You see, everybody takes you up on the words you said, and I’m just a guy that people ask all about things, and I blab off and some of it makes sense and some of it is bullshit and some of it’s lies and some of it is — God knows what I’m saying. I don’t know what I said about Maharishi, all I know is what we said about Apple, which was worse.
John Lennon: The Rolling Stone Interview, Part One
“It’s sort of complicated but sometimes you say things, but it’s not really what you meant to say. If I say something to you and you hear it different from what I’ve said it, and you answer back and we’re not really getting down to it. I’m really talking like that you know. Like somebody says ‘do you want ice cream?’ and I’ll say no, and actually I meant yes. You find yourself saying the opposite of what you mean. This happens to me quite a lot. I speak a lot, but what I say is not always what I mean.“
John Lennon, 1973.
‘I was told recently by Yoko that one of the things that hurt John over the years was me going off and doing The Family Way,’ Paul says. The filmmaking Boulting brothers had approached him via George Martin. ‘I thought this was a great opportunity. We were all free to do stuff outside the Beatles and we’d each done various little things.’ When he mentioned it to John, Paul said, ‘He would have had his suit of armour on and said: “No, I don’t mind.”
Paul McCartney, c/o Ray Coleman, McCartney: Yesterday and Today. (1995)
But by the time I arrived, an agitated John was deeply involved indeed. More specifically, he was having a row with Paul and George Martin.
“We’ve already done the concept album,” he argued, presumably referring to Pepper. “Why do we need to do another one?”
“Look, John, we’re just trying to think symphonically,” George replied. “We’re trying to create a complete work out of song fragments.”
John was derisive at first, saying, “You’re taking yourselves too seriously,” but when Paul invited him to contribute some compositions of his own to the medley, he seemed to capitulate.
“Well, I might have one or two that could fit,” he said sheepishly.
I exchanged glances with Paul. I’m sure we were both thinking the same thing: He’s just been waiting to be asked.
Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey
SHEFF: But you didn’t compose your stuff separately, as other accounts have said?
JOHN: No, no, no. I said that, but I was lying. [Laughs.] By the time I said that, we were so sick of this idea of writing and singing together, especially me, that I started this thing about, “We never wrote together, we were never in the same room.” Which wasn’t true. We wrote a lot of stuff together, one-on-one, eyeball to eyeball.
John Lennon, interview w/ David Sheff for Playboy. (September, 1980)
PLAYBOY: "When you talk about working together on a single lyric like "We Can Work It Out,' it suggests that you and Paul worked a lot more closely than you've admitted in the past. Haven't you said that you wrote most of your songs separately, despite putting both of your names on them?"
LENNON: "Yeah, I was lying. (laughs) It was when I felt resentful, so I felt that we did everything apart. But, actually, a lot of the songs we did eyeball to eyeball."
John Lennon, 1980
“No, no, no,” he answered and he meant it. “I’m going to be an ex-Beatle for the rest of my life so I might as well enjoy it, and I’m just getting around to being able to stand back and see what happened. A couple of years ago I might have given everybody the impression I hate it all, but that was then. I was talking when I was straight out of therapy and I’d been mentally stripped bare and I just wanted to shoot my mouth off to clear it all away. Now it’s different.
“When I slagged off the Beatle thing in the papers, it was like divorce pangs, and me being me it was blast this and fuck that, and it was just like the old days in the Melody Maker, you know, ‘Lennon Blasts Hollies’ on the back page. You know, I’ve always had a bit of a mouth and I’ve got to live up to it. Daily Mirror: ‘Lennon beats up local DJ at Paul’s 21st birthday party’. Then we had that fight Paul and me had through the Melody Maker, but it was a period I had to go through.
John Lennon, interview w/ Ray Coleman for Melody Maker: Lennon – a night in the life. (September 14th, 1974)
GEORGE: I remember the day when John did an interview with a certain magazine and said certain things, and then I remember the day when he disagreed with what he’d said, but the man who interviewed him denied him the right to change his mind and, even though it was two and a half years, later still went ahead and published something which John said he no longer agreed with himself on. Which means the dream was over, yet certain people wouldn’t allow him to have his dream... over. Nudge nudge wink wink, say no more. [inaudible]
JOHN: In other words, imagine if somebody or if you accidentally bang your head and you shout, “Ow!” – that’s the end of it. [self-conscious; laughs] Right?
GEORGE: And he said that too.
JOHN: I mean, it doesn’t go on for the next five years, right? And we all did that.
December 21st, 1974 (New York)
INT: It seem that you did minimize a little bit, what the, what the effect was on the, value and lifestyle and all that. You said that there was almost nothing left of Beatles.
JOHN: Well I get bitter too, you know. And uh, also it was always the insistence that the Beatles led something, you know. And if anything they were figureheads, you know. And, I put it more succinctly later on when I thought about it. When I said those statements A) I was bitter and upset; emotionally upset cause we just split up, you know. I call it a divorce right. But when I think about it, obviously…you know, I can change my mind.
John interviewed by Jean-François Vallée in April 1975.
Underground journalist Felix Dennis watched the session. ‘I remember Ringo getting more and more upset by this… I have a clear memory of him saying, “That’s enough, John.”’ Lennon and Ono competed to come up with the most insulting lines, Dennis said. ‘Some of it was absolutely puerile. Thank God a lot of it never actually got recorded because it was highly, highly personal, like a bunch of schoolboys standing in the lavatory making scatological jokes.’ ‘John would forgive himself, and expect Paul to forgive him,’ Derek Taylor recalled.
Peter Doggett, You Never Give Me Your Money: The Battle for the Soul of the Beatles. (2009)
I went through a period of trying to encourage Paul by writing and saying things that I thought would spur him on. But I think they were misunderstood. That's how "How Do You Sleep?" (on the "Imagine" album) was intended. Although I suppose it was a bit hard on him.
John Lennon Talks To Ray Connolly May 18th 1972 Radio Times
“At the moment he is cut off from the three of us. The last time I saw him was in December.” Asked whether he thought John Lennon’s recent unkind references to Paul on his “Imagine” album, had deepened the rift, George replied: “Maybe John felt like that about Paul at the time he was writing the song, but he doesn’t feel like that all the time. The song doesn’t represent what he really feels. It’s just John – people don’t really understand.
“I think John’s record is great – though that track about Paul is a bit hard. But it’s only something felt at the time . . . ”
George Harrison, interviewed by Mike Hennessey for Record Mirror (October 16, 1971)
JOHN: (smiles) You know, I wasn’t really feeling that vicious at the time. But I was using my resentment toward Paul to create a song, let’s put it that way. He saw that it pointedly refers to him, and people kept hounding him about it. But, you know, there were a few digs on his album before mine. He’s so obscure other people didn’t notice them, but I heard them. I thought, Well, I’m not obscure, I just get right down to the nitty-gritty. So he’d done it his way and I did it mine. But as to the line you quoted, yeah, I think Paul died creatively, in a way.
John’s Playboy interview as published in the magazine’s January 1981 issue
He turned to me and told me that he had been equally vicious about Paul during the same period and that Paul had got it right when he had declared that the only person John was hurting with his vitriolic behavior was himself. It was not exactly an apology, more like an explanation.
Glyn Johns, Sound Man: A Life Recording Hits with the Rolling Stones, the Who, Led Zeppelin, the Eagles, Eric Clapton, the Faces… (2014)
“I have to ask you, what was all that stuff in the telegraph about?... And he’s gone oh yeah, look, speak to Paul about that, I wasn’t in a good place mentally at the time. Just speak to Paul about it…. I thought it was a real cop out because he had hurt me, he’d said something unfair, and rather than just apologise, what he basically said was I’ve apologised to Paul, and Paul’s accepted my apology for for my behaviour in that period, the immediate aftermath of the Beatles, and therefore speak to him and he will explain to you why you should forgive me”.
I am the EggPod guest Sam Delaney talking about a Get Back screening Q&A with Glynn Johns
“I’m trying to be mad at you, but you’re so nice, it isn’t easy,” Glyn replied. Then he explained that he had been upset by John’s comments about him in the “Lennon Remembers” interviews. John had said that Let It Be, which had been re-mixed by Glyn, had wound up sounding awful, and Glyn, a true professional, had been very offended by John’s comments.
John did not remember saying it at all and he was very embarrassed. He explained, “I had just done primal therapy. I was just lettin’ off steam. That interview was just a lot of anger.”
Glyn stared at John. John’s words had hurt him, and he had never expected that John would not remember what he had said, nor had he perceived that the comments would be dismissed as “just lettin’ off steam.” Like everyone else, he believed everything the public John said and took him very seriously.
John repeatedly apologised to Glyn, and eventually the matter was dropped.
Loving John
“John’s most influential interviews, interviews which people took as gospel truth, were for John occasions to blow off steam and then to forget what he had said.”
May Pang, The Lost Weekend
At the time, we at Apple weren’t feeling good anyway, because Apple had failed; and here was one of our friends telling everyone who reads Rolling Stone that we were bastards. In the end we had to say, ‘Well, we’re not.’ John later retracted some of it, and we became friends again. And I forgave him. He would forget he’d said it, and expect to be forgiven, as he always was.
Derek Taylor, interview w/ Peter Doggett for Record Collector. (August, 1988)
John had gone through a tremendous upheaval in his private life, and he was a very odd person at times; he wasn’t at all himself. There was the famous interview he did for Rolling Stone, which has been reprinted many times, in which he says many unfair and untrue things, slagged everybody off, including me. I took him to task over it later on, asking him, “Why did you say all those things? It wasn’t very nice.” He said, “Oh, I was just stoned out of my head.” That was his only apology, really. Unfortunately, that has become history now; it’s accepted as the Bible.”
George Martin, interview w/ Howard Massey for Musician. (February, 1999)
“If you look at interviews and stuff with John, from around about that time he was in Imagine [documentary] he kind of admits that he’s having problems with himself. So, well, the first thing you do when you’re having problems with yourself is you bitch about someone else. And the closest person was me…He had a real go at me. I personally think it was ‘cause he was trying to clear the decks for Yoko. He’s got a new love, he’s trying to say to her, “Look, baby, I love you. I hate those guys.” And I think—you also have to remember John was going through a lot of problems. And you know, as they say, people, when they’re going through problems, come out with that kind of stuff. You know that, we all know that. When you’re in a bad mood, the first thing you do is badmouth somebody else. You don’t want to badmouth yourself…Some of the times, he was having other sorts of problems…So—like most of what John said, I take it with a pinch of salt. I love him still. I don’t care what he said, you know. Even if he badmouths me, I still know that he was a great guy, and that he loved me.”
Paul McCartney
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It Wasn't in my Head (1)
(a/n: hellooo! im super excited to be putting my ideas into writing ((finally)) and sharing it with u! this will be a multi part fic, im not sure how long yet, but i am a fan of long slowburn stories so get ready. also, this story will contain inappropriate themes so minors and ageless blogs dni! this is only my third or fourth fic ive ever done so plz be nice to me hehe. ok on with it then)
Summary: Abby is the starting linebacker at UW and when her team starts to falter her coach decides to get the team into ballet, in order to teach them that grace and stability is important in football too. Abby is just as upset about her teammates about this, until she sees her pretty new ballet teacher...
dancer!reader x football!abby
!!ABBY IS STRAIGHT IN THE BEGINNING. READER IS HER GAY AWAKENING!!
The locker slammed in the empty room as the blonde walked out alone, ready for practice. There were a few "hey man"s thrown her way as she walked out the doors.
Abby had always had a thing for sports since she was a kid. She tried a lot of them too, none of them quite working out.
That was before she found football.
Football was one of the only things that ever made Abby truly happy. She knew it was kind of corny to say, but she seriously felt lost without it.
So when she worked her ass off and was offered a once in a lifetime opportunity to play on the men's football team at the college in her hometown, it just kind of felt like fate was aligned.
Abby jogged over to where she saw everyone else running and started doing so. Abby got along fine with all the boys on her team, I mean it was her team after all, but she never really felt the need to truly befriend any of them. She had her close circle and that was all she needed.
Her said close circle consisted of her friends Miguel, Ellie, and Vi.
Her and Miguel met when they were teenagers at a boxing class. She ended up hating boxing but loving what came out of it. Miguel was the type of guy to make anyone feel good about anything. He could turn anything into the funniest joke, or a life lesson.
And Ellie, well she met Ellie not long ago, when their dads met in a poker club and Ellie's dad kina killed Abby's in the game. They had been friends ever since they started talking about their lack of mothers and love of corny dad jokes. Abby had also always known Ellie was gay, but the deal was kind of sealed when she would gush about her crush on a girl named Riley.
And Vi, well Vi was Abby's best friend since childhood. Abby was embarrassed to say, but she was the scared, shy kid sitting on the ABC rug in the classroom. Thankfully, Vi was the complete opposite and marched right up to Abby on her short little legs and struck up conversation. And the rest of the story just kind of wrote itself.
"Hey! Hey Anderson! Slow down!"
Abby looked over her shoulder to analyze the face calling out to her. She turned back ahead and cringed before turning back around and smiling at the man.
Owen wasn't a bad guy per-say, it was really just the way he couldn't learn when to stop. He had practically been eating out of Abby's hands the past three years they've been playing together.
It always confused Abby why she wasn't attracted to Owen, but she sort of just wasn't, and she thought she had made that pretty clear. She also just liked to think that sports were important to her, and she had too much going on for crushes or relationships.
"Hey Owen what's goin on?" Abby slowed so the man could catch up and tried to approach the conversation politely.
"Oh yaknow...practice," He said in between huffs, trying to catch up with the fit girl next to him, "What about you?"
"Yeah just, practice," She commented, coated with awkwardness.
Owen went to open his mouth to speak again, but thankfully her coach whistled loudly and told everyone to hustle in.
They flocked over to their coach and took a knee in front of him while the moustached man opened his mouth and started speaking.
"I called y'all over here to talk before ya started doing drills," he gruffed in his strange accent, "I hope y'all have noticied, that all your scrimages have been straight crap recently. I've seen blindfolded toddlers play ball better than you sissies!"
Abby cringed at his harsh words, but she couldn't help but agree. She assumed everyone was slacking recently due to the fact it was August, and the season hadn't even started yet.
"So, since I wont be caught coaching a ton of pansies, I've decided to get some outside help," everyone seemed confused by his words, and Abby couldn't help but be confused herself.
What the hell kind of outside help did they need?
"Huskies, y'all are gonna be taking ballet classes," the coach said, smirk prominent on his mustache covered lips.
Everyone immediately groaned and commented with wild distaste for the man's decision.
"Shut your nabbin!" he erupted with anger in his voice, "I don't want to hear another damn word! Y'all are takin ballet to learn that just because you think you're big tough men, don't mean you are! You will learn how to move properly on your feet, improving your agility, balance, and strength coordination. You start tomorrow and are fortunate enough to be taught by the greatest ballet dancer in the state and a student at this school. Dismissed,"
Fuck
(a/n: ok wow first chapter! hoped you guys liked it, I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I will try and have it out soon! ♡︎♡︎)
#tlou#abby anderson#abby x reader#abby anderson x reader#x reader#ellie williams#joel miller#first chapter#im nervy#i hope u likey#athlete!abby#football!abby
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Malleus x non-gendered reader
Scenario: Malleus doesn’t understand how mc doesn’t fear him. He doesn’t know if they’re brave, dumb, or not afraid of death. Spoiler they’re all of the above.
Btw I’m on chapter 6 and have no clue what happens in the next chapter.
LETs GET INTO THIS MOFO
(I wrote this all forever ago but I thought that I could add more to make it better but I was wrong. For some reason this was so fucking difficult. This isn’t the first time I’ve done a oneshot too. I literally do not think that I could write anymore twst oneshots because of how bad this came out. I’m literally so sorry. You can read if you want but I hate this so so much. And also sorry for the wait.)
Most people feared Malleus’s strength. That’s what he was used too. He usually didn’t focus on people enough to care but you were different. He could understand how you weren’t scared before you know how he was but even after you found out you still called him by that silly nickname and acted the same towards him. Every once and awhile he tries to think of a reason for this.
1.) You are actually really stupid
2.) You’re some sort of narcissist and think you two are on the same level
3.) You have short term memory loss
4.) You’re stupidly brave
5.) You do not fear death
He crossed out 2 and 3 after hanging around you for a bit. But even after all the times you two have hung out he still hasn’t been able to understand how you work. One day his curiosity took over and he asked you outright.
“Child of Man?”
“Yea yea?” You absent mindedly replied as you balanced on some old bricks.
“Why don’t you seem to fear me? You have many reasons to be.”
Well standing on one wobbly brick you looked up at him “Why should I? It’s not like you’ve hurt or threatened me.”
Do you not realize how much of a threat he can be?
“Still…“
“Still what? Listen I get you’re pretty overpowered, like everyone wastes money on pulls for you in Gacha games kind of overpowered.”
Huh?
“But you’ve been nice to me and that’s all I really need to trust you.”
He didn’t like the next words that came out of his mouth but he needed to know
“Child of man, I could easily kill you. Do you know how much of a danger I could be to you if I chose to?”
You both stand there for a minute.
Did he mess up?
Did he bring up something you haven’t thought of and now you were scared?
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean if you ever did kill me it would suck but whatever.” You look down at the brick wobbling.
Did you just say whatever at the possibility of being fatally injured?
“Why don’t you value your own life?”
“Is that really a question? What about my life actually has value? I mean it’s not guaranteed that I’ll go back home or that I’ll be able to start a new life here and if I do go back let’s say three years later I’d have to go back to school and waste a shit load of time and money on it. Honestly there are millions of things that could go wrong. It’s pretty difficult just existing here and not knowing what’s going on at home but whatever.” You jump off the brick and continue walking “At the end I just have to believe that things will string together and I don’t have to worry.” You spin around to face him and smile.
You say the weirdest things but still enchant him every time. Your a brave idiot who doesn’t care about how badly things could end and just put it up to luck, but that made him love you.
He smiled “I see. My apologies that was a foolish question on my part.”
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst incorrect quotes#twst#twst wonderland#twst headcanons#twst mc#twst yuu#twisted wonderland x reader#twst malleus#twisted wonderland malleus
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spinning out, waiting for you to pull me in
“Hey,” Amanda's voice quivers. She physically can't look Angela in the eyes when she greets her. Fuck, this shouldn’t be happening right now. The day has barely started and Amanda already feels like running away from everyone.
Angela looks at her skeptically, “I would say ‘Good morning,’ but you look like yours has been pretty terrible already. Everything okay?”
Amanda collects herself enough to muster a sort-of smile and shrugs. She watches as Angela furrows her brows, contemplating something. Before Amanda can insist that it’s no big deal, she feels herself getting tugged towards the back of the office and led between the costume racks.
“Spill. What’s up with you?”
“It’s nothing, honestly,” God, Amanda feels like she’s a teenager again. It’s stupid that she’s this upset about it.
Angela scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on, Amanda. Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know something is wrong,” her tone softens once she sees Amanda’s eyes start to become glassy, “It’s not stupid to be upset.”
She laughs a little, “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
“Because I know you. And I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“I appreciate you checking in, Ang,” Amanda sighs, “But I really shouldn’t be getting into it at work.”
“I know we’re coworkers, but we’re friends too, right? It’s fine if you really don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here for you,” she grabs Amanda’s hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. That simple gesture was enough to break down the final brick of Amanda's wall, and suddenly, everything came spilling out.
Two nights ago, she had gotten a call from Ian telling her that she didn’t need to come in for work the next morning, which Angela already knew, seeing as she was the one filling in for Amanda yesterday.
What Angela didn’t know, however, was how Amanda’s jaw tightened when she saw the close friends stories of her coworkers, her friends, having fun while she wasn't there. How she had to stop herself from spiraling as she rewatched the videos over and over again. How disappointed she felt in herself for letting this affect her.
Angela lets go of her hands. Amanda’s heart drops for a moment, thinking that she’s overstepped boundaries and came off immature, until she feels Angela hug her.
“We missed you too, you know?” Angela leans away slightly to look up at Amanda, arms remaining around her waist.
"I hate that I'm feeling this way. It feels so high school of me to be sad about my friends hanging out without me. And it's not even like you all planned to see each other! This is our job and," Amanda bites her lip, hesitant to admit, "I guess the kid in me remembers what it was like to get excluded from things. For the longest time, I was convinced it was a me problem. Maybe I never got over that."
"I get it, but you're right. It's a job where none of us have control over who's scheduled on any given day. It's not just a regular hang out between friends. Because if it was, I want you to believe me when I say we'd want you around every single time."
This time, Amanda is the one that pulls Angela into an embrace, "What would I do without you, Angela?"
"Probably cry alone in the gender-neutral bathroom." Angela laughs.
Amanda has to admit, Smosh is a pretty sweet gig. After all, it brought Angela into her life.
-----
word count: 587
title from: "satellite" by harry styles
i think it's literally been 4 years since i wrote fanfic but! i woke up with such bad amangela brain rot this morning that the thought of them is actually making me ill right now. i wrote this ficlet at 8am in class on the doc i use for taking notes, so it's not my best writing...yeah! hope you enjoyed it!
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Lump
{Sam Drake x F!Reader}
This is a lil love letter to those of you who feel like you’re not worthy of being loved in the same way as those in smaller bodies. Not expecting much traction on this, but it's self-indulgent and I'm just happy I wrote something. Though primarily written with chunky gals (me) in mind, I still hope this can soothe anyone who feels uncomfortable in their own skin. CW: There’s a subtle discussion of fat fetish subculture here (it is absolutely NOT glorified- Quite the opposite, in fact. No shame to those who dig that kind of thing, but it’s not my vibe which I’m sure you’ll be able to tell), so if that’s something you feel uncomfortable thinking about, pls move on. Of course, I wrote this with Sam in mind because I’m a whore, but honestly, this could just be anyone. I’m struggling big time, but this was a nice spoonful of medicine and a necessary moment of reflection. Not for everyone, but regardless, I hope you enjoy :) x
Masterlist
Sam’s hands are used to ‘rough’. To unforgiving iron bars. Crumbling stone. Splintered wood. The stippled rubber of weaponry grip. He’s got the callouses to prove it.
For a long time, it was all he knew. It was him. Rough. There was never a need for contrast.
He thought that it would demand caution. To have to sacrifice everything he’d started to reclaim and do for himself. He doesn’t want to be careful. So for a long time, he avoided anything ‘soft’.
But with her, he realised that not only did he want it, but he needed it. With her, he can indulge. With her, he’s able to grab and squeeze and tug with abandon. To soothe the soreness of his fingertips within her smooth, yielding ‘soft’.
To him, she is everything, even when she saw herself as nothing.
She’s not a reflection of glossy front covers. Nor the proportionately sculpted forms that stand sentinel in the halls of museums or the centre of fountains. She doesn’t believe it, but to him, she has always been a masterpiece unto herself.
‘A lump’, she used to call herself. A playground insult. Not harmless, but on the surface, tame. “I’m a lump compared to all these girls.”
He was cooking— the first time he heard her say it. She was perched on the counter, traipsing from one online clothing store to the next, paying more attention to the models than the outfits. He laughed. “Ridiculous,” he replied, shaking his head as the wooden spoon in his hand cut through bubbling ragu- a specialty. A comfort. Reminiscent of his mother’s existence. He held the spoon up to her lips, prying her face away from blue light with a hand stretched over her thigh.
To him, the word ‘lump’ meant discomfort. An anomaly. A flaw. A slab of something undesirable that took up space much to the disdain of others in its proximity. In his eyes she was the furthest away from any of those things he thought possible.
“Here. It’s missing somethin’.”
He lied.
He knew it was perfect. He just wanted to watch her eat. To pass his mother’s affection to her.
She hesitated, then shook her head.
He frowned, hand moving from thigh to soft jaw. “Open up f’me”, he urged, eyes narrowed.
A warm flush tinted her cheeks and eye contact broke.
For a fleeting moment, she considered whether or not there there was a deep-rooted fetish involved in his attraction to her. So she asked him if that was the case.
When he realised what she was implying, for the first time, he saw the cracks ran deeper than just a childish nickname. She was so worn down that she truly believed the only way someone could find her attractive was if they reduced her to some sort of Machiavellian fixation.
He realised that the thought had crossed his mind once before. And he hated himself for it.
He’d read about it years ago- it was featured in some dirty contraband magazine whilst he was inside. He found himself reflecting on it again after he’d gotten hard from her licking cake batter off the spoon when he’d visited her apartment for the first time. But he had come to the conclusion the whole kink thing wasn’t him. This wasn’t objectification. Control. Coercion. He’d feel the same regardless of her size.
It wasn't about the superficial aspects of her appearance or some strange fetishisation of consumption and weight, but rather about nourishing her in every sense of the word. Mind, body, soul.
She’d called herself a lump. This was merely his way of telling her that she was wrong. That she’s just as deserving of food and love and sex as anyone else.
And with that realisation, the fear that had momentarily gripped him slipped away as he swore there was nothing untoward about the way he felt about her.
He understood the depth of his feelings. For once, his words didn’t fail him, and he explained it plainly: he loved her. All of her. He’d found a sense of purpose and belonging he had never known before. He wanted her to feel cherished. Cared for. To make up for everyone who had ever done her wrong, and equally, showing that he was capable of nurturing in a way that he’d not been shown since his childhood. This was therapeutic for him.
Months later, he’d caught her crying in front of the mirror. An outfit not looking the way she wanted it to. And she did it again. Called herself a ‘lump’. This time, he didn’t laugh. She argued back at him when he told her not to call herself shit like that. That she was gorgeous just as she was. She called him a liar. Spat venom. But he kept on repeating it. That she’s beautiful. That she’s everything. Again and again, even as he fucked her against the mirror, kissing away tears and revering in every inch of her beauty that she despised.
She cried again that night. But this time it was because he had finally begun to turn her self perception on its sorry head.
He needs the soft, yes, but here she realised she needs the rough. The persistent reminders and the tough love.
Sam’s insomnia is a blessing now. He listens to her breathe and watches her eyelids twitch, smiling to himself as he wonders what she’s dreaming about, legs tangled, skin on skin. She hugs his arm into her chest as his other traverses over the curves and bumps and dimples she’s trying so hard to fall in love with the same way he has.
He whispers words of adoration, hoping they'll seep into those dreams, mending the cracks in her fragile self-esteem. And more. Kintsugi.
Sam sighs into her skin. Once upon a time the things he whispers to her would’ve been a front. Cheap flattery. Dive bar bait. Generic honey that drips off of the tongue and down into strangers’ ears so they get lured in just long enough for a moment of selfish pleasure.
But now the honey comes from his heart. The pit of his stomach. The deepest recesses of his mind. Genuine and raw. Just for her.
It’s frightening. One day you’re single and proud of it, swearing never to shackle yourself down with commitment and societal expectations, and the next, you’re ready to lay down your entire life for the sake of helping someone realise their self-worth.
He knows that loving her isn't just about declaring shallow affection— it's about showing her, in every tender touch and lingering gaze, that she is worthy of worship, exactly as she is. And as he holds her close, thumb smoothing over her cheek as she sleeps, he vows to spend a lifetime proving it.
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