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hopefulromances · 10 months

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Long Time Coming I Chapter Six I More Than A Crush

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

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning: Drinking/getting drunk, a little bit of angst?

A/N: Thanks for 100 Followers yall! Tell me what you love most about this series so far!

Prologue One Two Three Four Five

A week passed and the team seemed to move on from Man City. Back to normal practices and games. Everyone moved on. But not me. I was still sat on the bus next to Jamie, who had requested me to sit next to him, feeling my head lull as I started to fall asleep. I was still laying my head on his shoulder at some point and his head laying on mine. I could still feel our legs tangled in the seat and our hands almost intertwining between us. I couldn’t have imagined all of that. Could I?

“(Y/N)!”

Oh, right. I’m standing on the pitch passing the ball back and forth between Jamie and myself. I blinked myself back to the present and saw that Jamie was waiting for me to pass him the ball.

“Got your head in the clouds today, ain’t ya,” he jabbed, his cocky smirk adorning his face.

I tried to force out a laugh kicking the ball back his way. “’Spose I do.”

Jamie seemed to notice my vacant mood and took the ball, kicking it around in a few tricks before responding.

“How as your date with that bantr bloke? Ryan or whatever?”

Oh, right. That too. It was Keely’s idea, of course. After returning from Man City, you had told her everything and how you were hopelessly, horribly, terribly infatuated with Jamie. And while she maintained that you should tell him, she also offered the idea of going on bantr dates to get him off my mind. What’s where Brian had come in.

“Brian? Oh yeah, he was great!” That was a lie. Brian was dull. Barely asking me a question the entire night and when he found out I worked for Richmond, he suddenly needed perked up and told me all about his long history with football. Suddenly, he thought that coming to a game would be a great second date. Suddenly, he was wondering if I could get him in for free. So no, Brian was not great. “I’m going out with this other guy… Ethan, tonight though.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows at me before shooting the ball back towards me. “Ethan, huh?”

“Yeah… Ethan.” I kicked the ball back towards him, chewing on my cheek. “He’s an accountant, I think.”

“An accountant,” Jamie cringed. “What the fuck are you doing goin’ out with an accountant?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He seems nice! That’s all!”

Jamie kicked the ball up in his hands, starting to walk over to me. “Nice? That’s all?”

“Look, Jamie, I don’t exactly have a lot of choices.,” I pointed out, yanking the ball out of his hands.

“I just thought you could do better than ‘nice’ is all.” He held up his hands in submission. As we started out walk back inside, Jamie stared at the ground, his feet kicking the dirt as we went. “Where are you goin’?”

“Color Factor? It’s a dancing club not too far from here,” I told him. I wasn’t usually one to go dancing on a first date, but I thought it would be better to not actually be able to hear him talk. Afraid of a repeat from the night before.

“An accountant is taking you to a dance club?!” Jamie asked, stopping outside the door.

We finally made it into the locker room as the other lads were beginning to show up. I headed to my desk in the corner of the coach’s room. Ted and Beard were having an intense staring contest when I entered. I snapped my fingers, in front of Beard’s face causing him to blink.

“DAMMIT! (Y/N)!” He shouted, smacking his desk.

“I could see the dust settling on your pupils,” I told him, slouching down into my chair.

Ted checked his watch with a large smile. “That was a new record for me! Thank you for the assist, (Y/N).”

It was nice having Ted and Beard as friends. It was different from my relationship with the boys or even with Roy. Sure, they were older, but they respected me in a way I hadn’t experienced before. They didn’t care that I was younger or that I was a girl, to them I was just their equal.

“So! Tell us about Brian,” Ted asked, putting his head in his hands and blinking cutely.

“He was fine, the conversation was a bit one sided,” I admitted, shrugging. “When I mentioned I worked here he started asking for tickets.” Beard blew a raspberry and gave me a big thumbs down. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Ted sympathized, giving me his best frowny face.

I gave him a flat smile in return. Training went well. It was good to be back in our routine, prepping for our normal competitors. Now that we had broken our tie streak, we had been doing pretty well. With Roy on our staff, it really felt like we had our groove going.

What wasn’t grooving though, was Nate’s sudden confidence boost. If confidence was what you could call it. Some might call it arrogance, but I was not one to judge. Ted paired us together today to work with the lads. The starting mids and forwards. So, Jamie, Danny, Colin, and Richard to name a few.

We set up a few drills for them to preform to strengthen their endurance as well as their aim while moving. It was a maneuver where they had to move to the left while shooting to the right. Nothing too terribly difficult but it required a good amount of coordination and precision. After another stumble by Richard, I blew my whistle signaling them to stop. I was about to turn to Nate to say something, but he stepped forward before we could confer.

“Richard! Have you lost your ability to run at high speeds?” He shouted, approaching the boys. “Has your right leg fallen off and grown back as a second left food?”

“No, my legs are gorgeous, as always,” Richard retorted, kicking his foot in the grass.

“Well, you could have had me fooled,” Nate spat back. “This is simple football, next time I see you stumble you’ll be running laps for the rest of practice.”

Richard frowned, his face darkening in disappointment. The rest of the boys looked uncomfortable as well. None of them were achieving well in the practice and the thought of being bereted for learning a new skill is never good. I knew I had to step in.

“Alright, Nate.” I placed my hand on his shoulder and pulled him back lightly. “Richard, you’re second guessing yourself before you make the pass. It’s causing your footing to be misplaced.” I began to show him the footing myself, step, cross, step, kick. Richard watched intently. “You need to really land that step before the kick, that’s where the power comes from.”

I looked over the group of boys, looking for any signs of questioning among them. They all stared unwavering at me, really listening to what I was saying. My eyes eventually landed on Jamie. He, of course, was having no issue with the exercise. Though, that may be, in part, due to me showing it to him during one of our early morning practices together. But, in this instance, I helped for a teaching moment.

“Jamie!” I called out to him. “Why don’t you show them your technique.”

“I think you should do it,” He responded quickly, quirking his eyebrow at me. “You’re the expert.”

I opened my mouth to shoot back a quick response but quickly closed my mouth into a straight line. He knew I was dying to show off my football abilities. He knew I was capable. He knew I was the best one to show them. I heard a scoff to my left and knew it was the unbelieving thoughts of Nate coming out. Jamie shot him a quick glance before locking his eyes with me again, and quirking his slitted eyebrow at me, challenging.

“Okay.”

I stepped forward and took control of the ball in my dribble. Passed the ball over to Jamie to assist and started to jog right before quickly changing direction and heading left. Jamie passed the ball heading towards the right of the field. As it came towards me, I focused on my footing. Step, Step, Cross, step and… kick! I sent the ball through the air without missing a step, sending it flying towards the right side of the goal and landing with a swish. The boys behind me rushed me with cries of celebration. As if I had just scored the winning goal of a match. I couldn’t help the giddy laugh that left me as they jumped on me.

Through the celebration huddle, however, I saw Nate, unmoving from his spot near the sidelines of the field. The scathing look of underlying anger was enough to send anyone running. I started to frown but then Jamie’s face filled my view. His smiled was so blinding I almost had to look away. But I couldn’t. ‘I told you so’ was written all over his smug face as he clapped along with the lads. Man, I loved it here.

…

I felt good going into my date. I was riding the confidence wave from the day into the club. I was early, of course, as I always am, and I went up to the bar to wait for him to arrive. It was still pretty early in the night so not many people were there yet. I sent a quick text to Keely letting her know I had arrived and was okay. She sent me a quick reply letting me know she knew I looked gorgeous and that it was going to be great!

“Can I get you something?” The bartend behind me asked, washing a cup.

“Oh! No thank you, I’m waiting on someone!” I explained to him taking a seat on one of the stools. He nodded and walked off.

But then 8 o’clock came around and he didn’t show. Then 8:10, and 8:30 and no word. I refreshed my messages on the app, looking for any sign of why he wasn’t here yet but there was nothing. Every now and then the bartend would come back to ask me if I wanted to order anything, but I insisted on waiting.

Eventually I sent him a message asking him if everything was alright. Read, no reply. Fuck.

Around 9, the bartender placed a drink in front of me.

“What is this?” I pulled the drink towards me, not really waiting for an answer.

“It’s on the house,” he told me, a sympathetic look on his face. “Sorry about your dude.”

Ah! Love a good sympathy drink. But at this point, I was too frustrated to care and took a long sip of the drink. The club was becoming more packed with people and the music was turning up. I took one last look at my phone, begging for him to say something, but nothing ever came so I decided it was time to go.

I downed the rest of my drink, thanked the bartender, and hopped off my stool. I had almost made it out when I heard a voice call my name from behind me. It was so loud so I couldn’t quite make out the owner of the voice, so I looked around trying to see where it was coming from.

Out of crowd, Jamie fucking Tartt appeared. He had his hair down and was wearing a Hawaiian shirt on that was open to about halfway down his chest and God did he look amazing. I hate to fight to make sure my eyes didn’t roam down his body as he approached me.

“Jamie? What are you doing here?”

“You mentioned it earlier, so I wanted to check it out.” He shrugged, bringing his beer bottle to his lip. “You look fit, where’s the bloke you’re with?”

“Oh!” I looked around like I was trying to find him. “He’s… uh, oh right! He didn’t show up so I- “

“He what?” Jamie practically spit out his drink at me. “He didn’t come?”

I tried to play it off like I was cool, but I could feel the embarrassment heating up in my cheeks. Jamie was the one person I didn’t want to see right now. He looked so fucking good, and it was making it very hard for me to focus on anything except his gorgeous face.

“Yeah, uh… it’s been like… an hour,” I told him, trying to sound unbothered. “So, I was just heading out.

“Well, that’s stupid of him,” Jamie snorted.

I waved him off. “No! It’s fine! I’m fine. It’s all fine! I’m just gonna go home. I need to get rest anyways… got training tomorrow, ya know? Shouldn’t have even come in the first place. I mean like! Ahh! It’s so crazy, are you hot, it’s really hot in here?”

Jamie stared at me while I rambled until I eventually tapered off into an uncomfortable silence.

“You should come with us,” Jamie finally said.

“Us?”

“Yeah, I’m here with Isaac, Colin… uh, I think Dani is here as well.” He turned and pointed into the dance floor where, somewhere, the rest of the lads were. “They’d love to have you join us.”

“I don’t know, Jamie… I’m not… I’m not sure if I’m feeling up to it,” I admitted, looking towards the door.

“Please.” He reached out to turn me back to face him. “You look fit as fuck and you deserve to come have some fun with us.” Now my face was flush for sure. If it wasn’t the heat, it was the fact that Jamie was touching me and calling me fit. I bit my lip as I weighed my options.

His hand slide down to my hand as he started to pull me into the crowd. “Look, if you stay and, somehow, you don’t have fun, you can blame me later, alright?”

I let him pull me, finding a smile coming back over my face. He looked so excited as his hand gripped mine, pulling me through the throngs of people. I felt myself getting swept away in him and for a second I let myself. I squeezed his hand.

“Fine, fine, let’s do it.”

He cheered and turned around, not letting go of my hand and started leading me through the crowd. Eventually, we came into a smaller opening where Isaac and Colin were dancing. Dani wasn’t too far away, two women dancing quite close to him.

“Lads!” He called out, pull me up to stand next to him. “Look who I found!”

The boys cheered when they saw me. Raising their beers and various other drinks towards me.

“(Y/N)!” Colin cried, coming forward to hug me. Jamie finally let go of my hand to let me go to him and suddenly, I felt very cold. “So, glad to see you here!”

Luckily, they didn’t ask too many questions about what I was doing there, and Jamie didn’t give anything away. In face Jamie stayed by my side practically the whole night. Just for tonight, I decided to let him be mine. All his attention was on me as we dance with each other. Finding myself getting pressed closer and closer to him as more people entered the dance floor.

Throughout the night, the boys made sure I had a good time, suppling me with drinks and not allowing me to pay. But Jamie kept special attention to me. He constantly was making sure I was okay and warded off anyone who tried to approach me.

His eyes being on me felt so surreal. Like somehow, all those emotions that had bubbled over last week were being cleared up in his gaze. At some point, someone bumped me into him, I found myself falling into him.

“Woah!” He helped me steady myself, his hands falling on my waist mine on his chest. I looked up at him, my mouth suddenly going dry. “You alright?”

I couldn’t speak so I just nodded and pulled my hands from his chest. But his lingered on my waist as he started to sway to the music. My eyes were big as I looked up at him and he looked down at me. He was so close to me; it would be so easy for me to lean up and kiss him. The liquor in my system definitely was egging me on as my hands landed on his biceps, God had they always been so solid? My eyes darted down to his lips and a smirk came over his face. For an instant we were leaning into each other, and the music was fading away.

When suddenly, a hand was on my shoulder yanking me away from Jamie.

“(Y/N)! I love this song!”

I was going to kill Colin. But he didn’t seem to notice my glare as he started dancing to the song that was playing. I looked back at Jamie, who wouldn’t look anywhere near me, and felt my heart sink.

Maybe we really weren’t meant to be.

…

The night was pretty much over after that. Jamie ended up driving all of us home and we piled into his car. I ended up in the back with Colin’s head on my shoulder as he took us throughout the city dropping us off.

Finally, though it was just the two of us.

“I’m sorry, by the way, about Ethan.”

Oh, that! I had forgotten about that.

“It’s whatever.” I shrugged, slumping down in my seat, suddenly very intrigued with the window buttons. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Jamie chewed on his thumb as he considered my words. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean,” I let out a long breath. “I’m just like that, I guess. Not people’s type?” When Jamie didn’t say anything, I continued. “Brian just liked me for my job, Ethan probably showed up got one look at me and left and you-" I caught myself, almost saying too much to the wrong person. I was surprised at my own candor, chalking it up to the alcohol in my system. “I’m just saying people don’t like me like that. That’s how it’s always been.”

It was silent for a while after that, and I felt myself falling asleep to the steady rumble of the road. Eventually we pulled up outside my apartment building. I sat up in my chair, rubbing my eyes.

“I think that’s stupid,” Jamie finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“I think that’s stupid,” he repeated, looking over at me. “That you think that.”

I frowned. I hadn’t meant to upset him. I had just learned to lower my expectations when it came to romance to save myself a lot of pain.

“Jamie, it’s nothing personal.” I found myself unable to meet his eyes. “I just know what to expect now.”

“Well, I think you deserve fucking lightening.”

I snapped my head back over to him. He was looking at me earnestly, a soft frown lining his cheeks. Suddenly, I was much more sober and knew that if I didn’t leave now I wouldn’t be leaving the car at all.

“Thank you, Jamie,” I decided on, speaking softly. “Thank you for everything… tonight.” I let myself sit in his car for a moment longer before tearing my face away from him. “I’ll um… I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?”

That made Jamie smile. “I’d like to see you try and beat me hung over.”

“I’ve done it before,” I laughed, opening the car door. “Don’t count me out!”

“I never do,” he replied, sincerely.

That dumb butterfly began fluttering up in my stomach again.

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

And with that, I closed the door and watched as he drove off down the street.

Taglist: @heletsmelovehim @higherthanheroes @ajax-petropolus-wife @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @kno-way-home @sleepy-time

as always, send me an ask, leave a comment, let me know what you think!

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

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sadboyeddie · 2 years

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Once In A Lifetime

October 12th: Sugar Daddy -> older Rockstar!Eddie

Kinktober 2022

Summary: Eddie has an offer that’s hard to refuse

Warnings: (Minors DNI 18+ only) smut, older man/younger woman, everyone is above the age of consent

A/N: this one kicked my ass lads

6.2k Words

Masterlist

You let out a tired sigh as you slump into your regular seat in the lecture hall, arriving just a few minutes before the lesson starts.

Today had been a long one, but thankfully this was the last class for the day and it was relatively easy going.

Professor Byers enters the room and chucks his messenger bag on the desk before clapping his hands to garner the attention of the students.

Photography wasn’t something you wanted to make a career out of, although at this stage you’re not really sure what career you’ll end up with, but you enjoyed the serenity of taking pictures.

Professor Byers was as laid back as they come, but he was passionate about photography and you felt that every time he’d explain different subjects and techniques.

He was currently mid sentence talking about the current project he assigned that will be more than half of your grade, you wanna drop your head to the table with a groan, not having found the inspiration to even start the project.

And it was due in two weeks.

By the end of the class Professor Byers has noticed your slouched posture, it’s a small class and you’re one of his favourite students, always eager to learn more.

When the class ends he asks you to stay behind so he can talk to you. You feel anxious, you like Professor Byers and you don’t wish to disappoint him.

“What’s going on, kid?” You let out a dramatic sigh making the older man smirk before leaning against one of the tables.

“I can’t find any inspiration,” you groan, “I took your advice and went for a walk somewhere I’ve never been but still nothing!”

Jonathan nods his head, all too familiar with what you’re experiencing.

“You usually shoot scenery and landscapes have you ever thought about trying something different?” He voice is soft and understanding.

The project was pretty simple, you had to take a series of pictures that tell a story, something interesting that will grab the audiences attention.

All the projects Professor Byers makes are always pretty easy, wanting students to enjoy the assignments instead of dreading them.

“I don’t really have a lot of people I can photograph,” you admit, a little embarrassed.

You moved to the city to go to college and you spent all your time either in class or working shifts at two separate jobs, you never had time to keep up with friendships or even find them.

You didn’t mind though, always preferring your own company, or maybe that’s just something you convinced yourself.

Once again Jonathan understands, maybe that’s one of the reasons he likes you and wants you to succeed, because he sees a lot of familiar traits in you.

“I have a friend who needs some photography work done, I was gonna do it myself but I think this would really help you.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion but you’re a little hesitant on the idea, “won’t they prefer their pictures professionally done?”

“Give yourself some credit, kid,” he chuckles, “and it’s not for some fancy wedding it’s just promo pictures for my friends metal band.”

“You have a friend in a metal band?” The question slips through your lips without permission and you immediately go to apologise.

“That’s surprises you?” He doesn’t look offended, exactly the opposite.

And it did surprise you, Professor Byers seemed more reserved and from an outside point of view it seemed like he would have surrounded himself with people more like him.

“You don’t seem like the type to enjoy metal music,” you shift awkwardly from side to side.

He laughs at your response and nods his head, “yeah I’m more into classic rock but I have to admit their music is pretty stellar.”

You snort at the use of ‘stellar’ and move the conversation on, “who’s the band?” You’re curious if it’s a local indie band.

“Corroded Coffin,” his smile is small but holds some pride behind it.

Your mouth drops open and your eyes blow wide at how casually he just slipped that information.

“Corro— Corroded Coffin?!” You weren’t super into metal, you did enjoy some of the classics.

That’s how you discovered the band, you were looking through Spotify for a decent playlist and they had a few covers in there, when you went to their page they had four albums worth of their own music.

You enjoyed a lot of it and after doing some research you found out they were quite popular in and out of the metal community.

“Yeah, you heard of them?” There’s a smirk playing on Professor Byers face.

“Uh yeah!” You grin causing the older man to huff a laugh at your excitement, “how are you friends with them?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound so shocking but again it didn’t really seem like his type of crowd.

“I went to school with them,” he shrugs, moving around his desk to grab his bag and pulling out a red and black card.

“Awesome,” you mumble.

Professor Byers hands you the card, Eddie Munson scribbled across in a sharp font, his phone number beneath it.

Eddie Munson, the lead guitarist, one of the most attractive men you ever seen, and you have his phone number.

You try to act nonchalant as you run your fingers over the slightly raised words, mind working a mile a minute to take in all the information. You can’t believe this is happening.

“Are you sure?” Your voice comes out slowly as you reaffirm.

“Yeah, they’re finishing the last leg of their tour back home before they take a break,” he slips the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll let Eddie know what’s happening, send him a message tonight and he’ll probably invite you to the show.”

You gape at him as he bids his farewell and leaves the classroom, your feet unable to move as you replay the conversation over in your head.

Invite me to the show?

You’ve always wanted to go to one of their concerts but the tickets were always sold out. You could only afford the cheapest ones but they were usually the first to go, you found a few scalpers online but they were charging almost triple the original price. You just couldn’t afford it.

When you do finally move you rush back to your studio apartment, twenty minutes off campus, you could t afford on campus housing unfortunately.

You throw you bag on the rickety old chair near the door and fall back on your lumpy mattress, still not believing what happened.

Corroded Coffin. Corroded Coffin.

You scroll through your playlists finding the one you made of all your favourites of theirs and play it in the background while you fumble around your apartment.

When should you message? Professor Byers said tonight but what time tonight? What should you say?

-x-x-x-x-x-

By the time seven rolls around, the time you finally decided on, your apartment is spotless. Granted it’s very small but still.

You cleaned every surface and even reorganised your cupboards.

You sit in the center of your bed and stare at the black screen of your phone. Taking a deep breath you open your message app and type out a greeting.

It’s almost ten minutes before you settle on something that you didn’t cringe while reading.

Hi, is this Eddie?

You add in your name and where you got his number and press send before you can erase and retype something else.

After a few seconds your phone vibrates in your hand and excitement shoots down your spine

It sure is babe, Byers informed me of the situation

‘Babe’ you squeal at the name.

I thought you’d text sooner

You sit there and mentally kick yourself for taking so long.

Sorry! Had a few assignments I was working on

You tell him the small lie, not wanting to admit that you spent the last three hours over thinking and freaking out.

that’s fair, I never went to college so I can’t relate haha

You smile at your phone and how casual this all seems and before you can type a new message he sends another through.

so down to business :P what’s your class schedule like?

Mondays and Thursday I have classes from 9-4, the rest of the week there’s only a few lessons a day but I can do a few of them online

sounds good babe

…

what’s tomorrows classes?

business studies is the only one I have to be there in person for

what time?

8-11:45

great! I’m not out of bed before midday haha

…

come on by after class

He sends the address for the studio they’re rehearsing at tomorrow and you chat a little more, he tells you his security will escort you in and other minor details about tomorrows meet up before you both call it a night.

You fall asleep easy, usually it takes you a while to settle your thoughts, but tonight you slip away into unconsciousness, mind conjuring up different scenarios with the metalhead.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day goes by in a rush of excitement, you honestly thought it would drag on and on and on but thankfully it doesn’t.

You order and Uber, not trusting the buses in your city, thankfully there’s enough money in your monthly budget for the fare.

When you arrive at the studio your heart is hammering against your chest and your hands are shaking, you can’t believe this is actually happening.

You enter the lobby and sign in with the receptionist, she’s about your age and gives you a distasteful look, before calling someone.

A few awkward minutes later a man with fantastic hair and an even better smile hops out of the elevator and walks towards you with a smile.

“You here for Eddie?” His voice is kind and you nod, “great, I’m Steve.”

He holds out his hand and you quickly slip yours into his grasp and shake it, cheeks aflame with nerves.

“So, you’re his security?” You make conversation as he swipes an access card against the elevator panel.

“I mean technically,” he shrugs, “we’ve been friends since school so I think he keeps me around for nostalgia,” he chuckles.

You wring your hands together and flex your fingers on your camera bag as you bite your lip, this does not go unnoticed by the taller man beside you.

“Don’t be nervous,” his voice is soft, “I know it sounds like a cliché but he’s just like anyone else,” he assures you.

You can’t help but snort before smiling up towards Steve, “really?”

“Okay, he’s a little weird but there’s no need to be intimidated by him,” he turns towards the door as the elevator stops, “if anything he’s the one that gets intimidated by beautiful women.”

You watch as Steve steps out of the metal box, and before you can question what he means he opens the door to a cozy little room.

There’s couches lining the back wall and the coffee table is filled with a range of alcoholic beverages and snacks.

One band member, Jeff, is laying on one of the couches doing a crossword puzzle and Gareth is on the ground with his back slumped against the couch as he scrolls through his phone.

No sight of the lead guitarist.

“Where’s Eddie,” Steve surveys the room for the older metalhead.

“Here he is,” a deep voice comes from behind you.

You turn quickly and instinctively take a step back with how close he is, he lets out a chuckle as your eyes slip down to his chest, shirtless and covered in many tattoos.

“Like what you see, princess?” He teases with a smirk.

“Eddie, play nice,” Steve rolls his eyes and slides into a chair.

Hi, I’m—,” you start to introduce yourself but he interrupts.

“I know who you are,” his smile is not unkind but it’s intense, “that your camera?”

You look down in shock momentarily forgetting the reason why you are even here.

“Ah, yes!” You mentally scold yourself.

“It’s a bit dingy, sweetheart,” he reaches out and takes it in his hands to examine it.

You’re a little offended at his words, you know it’s dingy, it’s second hand and all you could afford but it does the job.

“I know,” your voice is a little clipped.

“I didn’t mean to offend, princess,” he gently passes the camera back to you, “just an observation.”

You go to apologise but he brushes passed you and formally introduces you to the rest of the band.

“Alright, so if you could just take pictures of us in our natural element, babe, that’d be great,” he chuckles, gesturing around the room.

You click the camera on and snap a picture of Eddie, bare chest and bare foot smiling in the center of the room.

He nods in approval as ideas swirl through your mind for your class project.

By the end of the day your memory card is full of pictures and short videos, you sit on one of the sofas and flick through the shots determining which to keep and which to trash.

It’s dark out now and you really should be heading back to your apartment and upload these to your laptop, it’s a pretty outdated computer so it’s gonna take a while to get them all on there.

Jeff and Gareth are nowhere to be seen and Steve excused himself to take a phone call twenty minutes ago, leaving you and Eddie alone in the room.

The metalhead, who’s now wearing a Metallica shirt, much to your disappointment, is sitting on the opposite couch strumming a tune.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” your voice cuts the serene sound as Eddie looks up with a smile.

“It’s something I’m working on,” he shrugs, pen tucked behind his ear and a notepad on the cushion beside him.

“It’s pretty,” you regret your words almost instantly. Pretty?

“Pretty?” He snorts, placing the guitar down, “I would exactly describe metal music as ‘pretty’, babe.”

“Sorry,” you flush with embarrassment, “I just meant it’s nice is all.”

He shakes his head with a smile, not at all offended by your choice of words.

“Well, I better be off,” you tuck your camera into the bag before pulling out your phone to order an Uber.

“How are you getting home?” He stands along with you.

“Uber,” you wave your phone in your hands.

“You sure?” You locks his guitar in its case and slings it over his shoulder before walking towards you, “I can give you a ride? Or Steve?”

“Oh! No, that’s fine,” you immediately decline, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further.

Eddie stares at you with an unreadable expression on his face before he finally nods, letting it go.

“Okay,” he gestures for you to leave the room first before flicking the light off and locking the door behind him.

Steve meets you both at the elevator instantly apologising for the long phone call, Eddie shrugs it off and you all descend to the lobby together in a awkward silence.

“Am I giving you a ride?” Steve asks as he pulls out his keys and you all make your way outside.

When you turn to Steve you miss the look that crosses Eddie’s face, a little upset with Steve’s offer even though he offered the same thing upstairs.

“No,” you smile, “I already got an Uber.”

“No problem,” he says his goodbyes and leaves for his car.

“Aren’t you going with him?” You question as you stand by the curb.

“I drive myself, sweetheart,” he gives you his signature smirk as he waits beside you.

“You don’t have to stay,” you’re glad he did though, a little nervous about standing around at night alone.

“And leave a fair maiden by herself? Any brute could come along and do you harm,” the look he shoots you is playfully and dramatic and you can help but giggle and play along.

“Oh my!” You exclaim, hand on chest, “my hero!”

He gives you a wink just as a car pulls up to the curb.

“Your carriage, m’lady,” he bows as he opens the rear passenger door and you once again can’t contain your girlish giggle.

“Thank you, good sir,” you bow your head in a nod and slide into the car.

“Text me when you get home,” he points a finger at you playfully but his words are stern.

“F’course,” you nod, your heart doing somersaults isn’t our chest.

He closes the door with a thud and only leaves for his car when you’re out of sight, a smile playing on his lips as he starts the ignition.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When you arrive home you place your camera bag on the bed and pull out your laptop from under your pillow.

home :)

good girl ;)

You feel your heart in your throat as you read and reread the two word text, you feel a warmth spread between your legs at the message, not to mention the winky face. Lord.

are you home?

stopped for food first

…

burgers and fries

that greasy stuff will kill you ;)

You bite your lip as your thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, contemplating erasing the winky face. Fuck it.

…

That’s it you overstepped, you made it weird.

Just as you go to chuck your phone on the bed it vibrates in your hand.

-incoming call: Eddie Munson-

“Hello?” You sit on your bed, blood loud in your ears as your heart hammers away.

“You worried about my health, sweetheart?” His voice is warm over the phone and you smile into the receiver.

“Maybe…” you find you have a lot more confidence when you’re not face to face with the man.

“How’d I get so lucky?” His chuckle crackles along the long and you hear distant sounds of cars.

“Are you driving?” You ask alarmed.

“Loudspeaker, pet,” you can hear the amusement in his tone and can’t help but huff a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be,” he brushes you off, “s’nice actually.”

You go to question him further but you hear the ignition cut off an assume he’s made it home.

“Well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You’re voice is hopeful and you pray it doesn’t sound as desperate to him as it does for you.

“No doubt,” he answers cooly, “how do the pictures look?”

“Oh!” You completely forgot about your previous task, “I haven’t really started looking through them all yet.”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” he lightly scolds, “naughty girl.”

Fuck. There he goes again.

You clench your fingers into a fist and rub your thighs together to alleviate some of the pressure.

“My computers slow,” you pout as you enter your login details, “it might take me the better part of the night to upload them.”

“Shitty laptop, dingy camera,” he lists off, “I bet your apartment is crappy too.”

“And what if it is,” you’ve started to pick up on his personality and try matching your energy with his.

“Hey, I get it,” he reassures, “I used to be like that. I grew up in a one bedroom trailer with my Uncle, didn’t graduate until I was 20 and had to sell weed just to get by.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, “damn, that sucks.”

Eddie’s boisterous laugh on the other end of the line sends you into your own set of giggles.

Usually when Eddie tells his sob story it’s met with pity not with a ‘damn that sucks’. It’s refreshing.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” you feel like a school girl taking to a crush. You’re seconds away from kicking your feet and twirling your hair around your finger.

“You weren’t,” he assures.

“So how’d you get to where you are today?” Curiosity getting the better of you, “working hard?”

You hear his snort of amusement on the other end before he answers, “nah, I had a Sugar Daddy.”

You assume he’s joking because surely you would’ve heard about that.

“You what?” you inquire further.

“I exchanged certain favours in return for money,” he’s no longer laughing, his tone light but serious.

“Like a prostitute?” You flip down on your bed now that your laptop and camera are set up.

“No, not exactly,” you hear rustling on the other end that sounds like he’s getting changed, “it wasn’t always sexual favours.”

“Huh,” you desperately want to ask who and seek out more information but that is a little intrusive.

“Have you ever thought about it?” His question is casual but it has your breath catching in your throat.

“I’m not rich enough to support someone,” you joke.

“No, you dork,” he chuckles, “obviously you’re experiencing some financial hardships.”

“I don’t know if I could do that sort of exchange, especially with a stranger,” you admit.

“It doesn’t always have to be sexual, princess,” he assures, “when you start with someone you can create a contract and have a list of hard nos,” he patiently explains, “as for the stranger I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone you know or you could at least meet with the person a few times to get a feel for them.”

“The only rich person I know is you,” you say without thinking, instantly filled with regret.

The line is quite and you consider hanging up and and just moving to Alaska or something.

“And?” His voice sounds curious.

“And?“ you splutter, “and what?”

“And,” he huffs a laugh, “would that be something you’d be interested in?”

“I—,” you take a moment to reach over and grab the half empty water bottle on your nightstand, mouth completely dry, “what do you mean?” Your voice barely a whisper.

“I mean,” he’s volume mimics yours, “I will pay for all of your finances in exchange for favours on your end.”

“That’s crazy,” you say at normal volume, “why would you wanna do that?”

“You’re cute and sweet,” he states, “you got a good head on your shoulders and I fully believe you can make it far in this world you just need a little help.”

“I mean—,” you try to find a reasonable response, you want to deny him because you’ve always been independent, but maybe your pride can take a backseat for this ride, “is this a joke?”

Eddie smiles into his phone, excited to know that you’ve mentally already agreed.

“Absolutely not,” he promises, “let me take care of you, baby.”

He knows you’re probably slightly overwhelmed at the moment so he decides to ‘ignore’ the small whimper you let slip at his words.

“Okay,” you agree before you can stop yourself, “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Eddie’s excitement is contagious as you chuckle along with him, “we’ll work out the finer points tomorrow, baby.”

“And you’re sure?” You ask again.

“Yes, princess,” his voice is firm, “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

“Just checking,” you smile.

“Go to sleep, silly girl,” he playfully scoffs, “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Promise?” Your voice suddenly shy.

“Promise.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

It’s been exactly one month since you started this… situation?

And it’s been great!

It had taken a lot of reassurance on Eddie’s end and thank god the man had plenty of patience, you were constantly double checking every time he bought you something.

When he gave you his credit card you all but shoved it back into his hands until he all but forced it on you.

You tried not to abuse his money, only buying the essentials but Eddie was like the devil on your shoulder encouraging you to just let loose, treat yourself.

He bought you a new camera and a laptop the second day into the arrangement and he was slowly trying to convince you to move to a better apartment.

So far it’s only been a ‘take take’ relationship on your end. When you and Eddie sat down to discuss the details you established that you weren’t entirely sure about the sexual nature of this, and he promised and even signed a contract that stated any sexually contact will be initiated by you first.

It’s not that you didn’t want to, it just you were nervous. After all it is Eddie freaking Munson.

You finished your class assignment a few weeks ago and received a pretty great grade, Eddie also invited you to keep taking pictures of them because he enjoyed the style.

As much as you tried to decline, he gave you a pay check.

Tonight was the last show of the tour before they settle down for a while to relax and work on some new music.

They decided Hawkins was the perfect location for the final concert, they rented a pretty large field and had a stage set up, like a small festival.

You go over to the few trailers that have been set up for the boys and walk into Eddies.

“There you are, baby!” Eddie’s voice comes from behind and you spin on your heel just as he wraps you in a hug, “missed you,” he mumbles into your hair.

“Eddie, it’s been less then twelve hours,” you laugh but return the hug with enthusiasm.

“And?” He scoffs.

“And nothing,” you smile, “I missed you too.”

“That’s my girl,” he leans back and boops your nose before reluctantly pulling away.

“You excited for the show?” You ask as you take a seat on the small couch.

“Excited for it to be over,” he groans as he slumps on the couch next to you, pulling you into his side automatically, “don’t get me wrong, I love performing but it’s been a very long eighteen months.”

You nod along with his comments, not fully understanding what it’s like to travel around like that.

“My Uncle Wayne is coming to the show,” he smiles, “he’s excited to meet you.”

“You’ve told him about me?” You look at the older man in shock.

“F’course,” he chuckles, “I’ve been told I talk quite a bit about you actually.”

You playfully shove him but nerves start swelling up inside you, Eddie hasn’t really spoke much about his personal situation since the first night he brought it up but from what you gather Wayne is the most important person to him.

“Don’t worry,” he taps your shoulder, “he’s a very easy going guy.”

Eddie’s words bring very little comfort as you slowly begin to dread the meeting. It’s not like this is a relationship but if you’re being honest it’s the closest you’ve really gotten to one.

You see him daily, call and text all through the night, you eat together (mainly in private because you’re not good with all the attention on the street from fans), he’s very affectionate with the pet names and the cuddling, you were the first to initiate the cuddling and he almost seem relieved that you wanted his touch.

The point is you’ve fallen for the guy, it’s was inevitable really, but there were many factors standing in the way: the arrangement and the fact he is almost fifteen years older then you. Not that you minded but society always had to have a say.

“What’s got you so distracted?” His voice pulls you from your increasing negative thoughts.

“You,” you’re honest, “thinking about you.”

He seems pleased with the answer and squeezes your shoulder with a smile.

“Good,” he lets out a sigh before standing, you immediately miss his warmth, “I better get ready.”

“Awesome!” You stand and make your way to the door, “I can’t wait for the show.”

He grins as he watches you move towards the exit before stopping you, “you gonna watch me from backstage?” His voice is hopeful.

“Of course!” You reassure, you always do.

“Good, here,” he walks over to the chair where he’s thrown a leather jacket and a denim vest.

“What’s this?” You ask as he carefully hands you the clothes.

“This used to be what I wore in high school,” he looks a little red at the admission, “never really took it off, played my first show in this.“

You run your fingers over the worn out threads on the back of the vest, admiring the obvious hand stitching done by Eddie. You trace Murray, the mascot for Dio, and smile at how well maintained this is.

The leather jacket has chains and safety pins around the cuffs and you snort at the handy work.

Eddie watches with a soft expression as you handle his jacket with care.

“This is awesome, Eds,” you go to hand the bundle of clothes back to the metalhead, assuming he would be wearing it for tonight’s show.

“No,” he gently pushes your hands back, “I want you to wear it for me.”

Your breath catches and once again you go to protest but by now Eddie is familiar with this routine.

“I’m positive,” he says before you speak, “I want to see you wearing my clothes.”

You let out a speechless nod, not trusting any words at the moment.

“Good girl,” he chuckles at your shy reaction as you turn away slightly, “off you go,” he ushers you to the door, “I got rehearsals.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

The show was fantastic, not that you had any doubts, they pulled out all the stops and had an explosive end, literally, they had firework canons set up on stage and went out with a bang.

By the end of the concert you were a little more that hot and bothered, Eddie had stayed on your part of the stage, facing you when he had guitar solos so you could watch his finger work.

He picked up on your little obsession with his fingers the first week in, noting how you would subtly glance at his hands before just full out staring when you thought he couldn’t see.

When he came marching off stage with the rest of the band, hyperactive and sweaty you all but dragged him back to his trailer.

He was momentarily shocked, usually you went in for the hug, but he watched with a smug grin as you lead him away. Finally.

As soon as the trailer door closed behind him your little bit of control was instantly ceased.

Eddie firmly grabbed your arm and pressed you to the door, watching as your pupils dilate and your tongue comes out to wet your dried lips.

He swallows as he watches the movement before snapping himself out of it, “you want this?” He pushes his body against yours and you nod, “tell me, baby,” he rests his forehead on yours, “tell daddy what you want.”

You let out a moan and close your eyes, “I want you, Eddie,” your breathing coming out in hot pants, “please, daddy.”

With that Eddie slams his mouth against yours, pouring out all the heat and desperation he’s been feeling for the past month.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you in close, pushing his tongue past your lips and against your own.

He grips a handful of his jacket you’re still wearing and pulls you closer as he walks you both backwards before he’s pulling away and sitting on the couch, patting his lap with an inviting smirk.

“Take your throne, princess.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You straddle his legs, bunching the skirt of your dress around your thighs so it doesn’t restrict your movements.

Eddie wastes no time in reattaching his mouth to yours, this time the kiss is slower but no less hungry.

He slides his hands over your hips and drags you lower until you’re grinding over the bulge in his pants, you both let out simultaneous groans at the contact.

You place your hands on his shoulder and with his direction you lift your hips more before bringing them down with a little more force, he moans into the kiss before nipping your bottom lip and pulling back.

He buries his head in your neck and starts to suck a bruise into the skin, you let out a whine at the softness of his lips as you tangle your fingers through his damp, sweaty hair and gently tug, the action causing Eddie to snap his hips up harder.

After a few minutes of grinding on each other you feel like you’re going to explode if Eddie doesn’t fuck you, you reach down and undo his belt and zipper, the older man gratefully lifting his hips just enough to free his leaking cock.

Eddie pulls away from your neck and presses a gentle kiss to your lips before lifting your dress up far enough so he has access to your panties.

“Tomorrow I’m gonna take you out on a nice date, roses and chocolates, and then fuck you in the car,” he promises as he rubs a thumb on your thigh close to your heat, “but tonight I’m gonna fuck you on every surface in this trailer.”

You moan at his crass words, “promise?”

“Promise,” he slides his hand forward, fingers slipping beneath the material of your panties.

You let out a sharp cry when the pad of his finger makes contact with your clit before fingering some of your arousal and spreading it up your folds and over the nub.

You rest your head on his shoulder and watch as his hand plays with your pussy, your underwear is obscuring the view but there’s something really hot about seeing his hand in your panties.

You take his neglecting cock in your hand, Eddie lets out a hiss at the feeling, you run your fingers over the weeping tip before spreading his precum down his length.

He bucks his hips up to meet your thrusts as he pushes two fingers deep inside you, instantly starting to scissor them.

“Ed-die,” your voice cracks and your pussy clenches around his digits,” please fuck me.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he moans, “at least not on the first night,” you whimper at his deep chuckle.

After a few more thrusts of his fingers he’s pulling them out of your panties, he slaps your hand off his cock and wraps his own, slick with your desire, around his length.

When he’s deemed you and himself ready he helps you kneel above his lap as he moves your panties to the side and lines his cock up with your entrance.

Your eyes snap shut and your head falls back as you let out a long moan, when you’re fully seated on his cock you take a few seconds to accommodate the tight fit, your walls burn from the stretch.

You can feel him twitching inside you and it causes you to squeeze your pussy around him.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he groans, grip on your hips hard enough to bruise, “can I move?”

You barely nod before he’s snapping his hips up, you cry out and hold his shoulders for dear life.

He keeps your hips in place as he pistons his cock into you, his breath is coming out in harsh pants and the scrunched up look of concentration on his face has you reaching a finger out to trace the wrinkles on his forehead.

At your touch his facial features soften but his pace is still harsh.

“Play with your clit, princess,” his voice is strained, “show daddy how you touch yourself.”

You whimper and his request and immediately comply, taking your right hand off his shoulder to massage the engorged nub between your legs.

His eyes are trained on your fingers, taking note of every movement and action your hands make and committing them to memory.

When you spit on your fingers and rub the saliva around your clit he lets out a debauched moan.

The trailer is filled with moaning and breathless whines as the smell of your combined arousal fills your senses, you can feel your impending release and try to hold off just a little longer.

“I can feel you clenching, princess,” Eddie notices your hand no longer rubbing your pussy, “don’t fight it, cum for me.”

You fall forward as he moves his hands from your hips and envelops you in a tight embrace, holding you against his chest as he snaps his hips up and continues as best he can with the rough pace.

You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your scream, Eddie hisses at the pain but his cock jumps inside you and the motion causes you to cum around him, your body spasms against his as you’re forced to ride out your high, his thrusts not slowing down.

“Just a bit more, sweetheart,” he grunts as he bucks his hips up one last time, his cum spilling inside you and painting your bruised walls, “fuck!”

Your body is stuck to his with sweat and your breathing is laboured, he runs a soothing hand up your back, tracing the divots in your spine.

Before you both can fully come down the door to the trailer swings open and in walks Jeff and Gareth.

They dramatically cry out and cover there eyes as Eddie hurls a cushion in their direction and you bury your face in his neck.

He chuckles and kisses your temple as you shiver slightly, cold air slipping through the briefly opened door.

“I guess I forgot to lock the door,” he groans though you hear the amusement.

“Yeah, no shit, Munson,” you giggle.

“Oops.”

#stranger things #my writing #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #kinktober

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elise-51-blog · 30 days

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youtube

Gary Neville is a REF

So inspired by this. Working on a WIP, another which may it see the light of day someday. An AU where Gary gets kicked out the the United youth academy and becomes a referee instead. Carra has his Liverpool career.

[[Absolutely inspired by this marvelous fic here as well, where both of them became refs instead of footballers, please give it love: PLAY THE WHISTLE by saltstreets ]] credit: @zevons

Snippet of my WIP here.....

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

“It’s a fuckin’ shambles, Gaz.”

Gary should’ve known better than to answer his phone. It’s a beautiful day for football. Which has fuck all to do with Gary. Gary’s on holiday. At home maybe, but it still counts. He’d even had a lie-in ‘til nearly half seven.

He doesn’t, won’t, can’t hold back a weary sigh, soul-deep. He’s got a headache already. Worse, he already knows he won’t say no in the end.

Still.

“I can’t fuckin’ do it, Stuart. I’m on holiday.”

“What, in fuckin’ Bury?”

“How d’you know I’m still in Bury? Maybe I’m in Ibiza!”

“Fuck you are, you boring cunt. You’ve probably been in the back garden, tellin’ the daisies which way to grow.”

“Fuck off.” They both laugh, it’s fucking true innit.

“Fuck me.” He can’t do it. He will do it.

“Already got me lad on the way, son. He’ll scoop you up, you’ll be on the pitch in thirty. Lovely day for it.”

“They’ll not go for it, Stu.” For fucking obvious reasons. “Raffa won’t, anyways.”

“Already had it out with ‘em, you mong, ‘course I have. Sir Alex and Raffa are well up for it. Talked you up, didn’t I? No one I’d trust to do the job right. Sterling lad, absolutely professional he is, our Gary Neville, no one else for it.”

“No one else stupid enough to take it on, you mean.”

“Right you are, son!”

Stuart laughs some more at Gary’s pain. It’s a thing they do. “It don’t hurt you’re a short taxi ride away, either.”

“This is mad, this is.” Gary shakes his head. “If the scousers even let me off the pitch in one piece, I’m gonna get absolutely killed by the fans, no matter the result. Both sides, probably.”

“Yeah. But you’ll be golden in my books, Nev, don’t you worry about that.”

Gary feels a bit sick. “This is me fucked, you understand that, right?”

“Listen,” Stuart actually sounds worryingly sincere. “I wouldn’t ask it if we didn’t need you, Gaz. Really. I know it’s unorthodox, but I’ve made everything absolutely crystal with the managers. The press is being made aware. It’s the wrong time of year for a re-play, innit. Everyone wants to play today. I’ll protect you, lad, I swear it. It’ll be alright.”

He can see it now: Ex-Academy Player Officiates Derby Match, Ripped to Pieces By Former Teammates and Blood-Thirsty Scousers Alike!!

Gary tries to grasp at anything to make the situation better in his mind. “It’ll be Keane and Gerrard to captain, I assume?”

There’s a suspicious pause. Stuart sounds mildly apologetic.

“Err, well. Gerrard’s out today, actually, knee’s acting up again. It’ll be Carragher in his place.”

Oh, well, fuck Gary Neville then. Just fuck him all day long.

“Oh, well, that’s more good news then, Stuart. The only moderately sane man in Liverpool is out on injury, in his stead an Actual Fucking Lunatic.” He is absolutely insane is Carragher. “Between him and Keane, it’s gonna be sunshine and fucking daisies. I can’t wait to be spoken to with nothing but dignity and respect for ninety minutes.”

Suddenly, Gary hears the desperate honks of a car horn idling impatiently just outside the kitchen window. Stuart must hear it over the phone, he sounds absolutely elated to ring off.

“That’ll be our Dave, then. Off you go, Gaz, that’s a good lad! Don’t forget your whistle, you’re gonna need it today, sure!”

Christ.

It’s gonna be a fuckin’ shambles.

#fic wip #carraville #Gary Neville is a Ref #i am writing this just so i can have that title #if anyone knows a good reference to the history of pgmol please send it my way #i made up stuart but i do like him #Youtube

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mikhailwrites · 6 months

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Remotely possible II / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #23 - Sex Toys

Somewhat standalone-ish continuation of this thing where Soap convinces Ghost to wear a remotely controlled sex toy for a day. This time, Ghost gets his revenge.

Read Part I

Part II:

The absolute silence of the room is disturbed when Soap yelps and nearly falls from his chair. Everyone turns to him, mostly questioningly but, in Laswell’s case, with a clear suspicion.

“Sorry, sorry, something’s bitten me,” Soap murmurs an apology. A scarlet blush of embarrassment is clearly visible on his cheeks. Ghost is the epitome of indifference, unwilling to spare Soap a single glance despite this being all his fault. Well, the little remote controller in his pocket played a part as well.

“If I may continue,” Laswell interjects, apparently not in the mood for jokes as she explains the latest AQ resurgence in Al-Mazrah, accompanied by satellite images.

The rest of the briefing went smoothly and without any interruptions, which cannot be said about the lunch. Soap’s only saving grace is the overall noise in the mess hall, so the loud clang of a fork falling onto the plate and high-pitched yelp are only noticed by his squad mates sitting around.

Gaz leans in closer, looking from Soap to Ghost and back. “You lot are out of your bloody minds! If Price knew...”

“If I knew what, Kyle?” Says a voice behind Gaz’s back.

Soap promptly excuses himself, ready to leave the table. “Where do you think you’re going, Sergeant?” Price’s heavy hand lands on Johnny’s shoulder promptly, stopping his retreat and pushing him back down before Price sits next to him. “Well, who’d like to enlighten me, then?”

“I... I have no idea what you mean, Captain,” Soap stutters and hisses because someone kicks him in the shin under the table. Ghost.

“Last week, Ghost was acting like someone put a cockroach into his trousers; today, it’s you. I’d like in on the joke,” Price smiles. The kind of smile that spells imminent doom.

It takes Soap tremendous effort to hide the panic. He needs to say something. The longer he stalls, the harder it would be the sell the lie.

“Alright, alright, we made a bet, Ghost and I,” he admits, trying hard to think of something, anything! Fortunately, Ghost rescues them both. “It’s a shocker. Taped to a thigh. We were comparing our interrogation training and couldn’t decide who was trained better.

Johnny stares for a second too long. That’s... actually... ingenious. The sort of shitty brag-bet only soldiers can think of. And it explains their weird behaviour. Ghost’s brilliant! Gaz chokes on the drink he hoped to hide his disbelieving stare with. He knows very well what’s going on.

Price sighs and massages his temple in an equivalent of “I’m too old for this shit.” Yet, in the end, he only says, “I guess I should be grateful you’re content to pull off shit like this on downtime instead of the field.” Price shakes his head and stands to leave them alone. Before he does so, however, he turns back to them. “I hope it goes without saying that you cut the crap now and act your age and rank, lads.”

Soap nods, but Ghost is going to collect the debt to the last bloody minute, especially since Soap is on a rookie training rotation in just about an hour.

Ghost is camping on the roof of the armoury with some snacks and a pair of binoculars. He’s keeping Soap in the illusion of security for the moment. The Sergeant crosses part of the obstacle course to kick someone’s ass for slacking off. Ghost waits a few seconds into the apparent monologue until he presses the button. The setting is low, but he can still clearly see Soap flinch. Can almost hear him lose track of his words.

He leaves the vibrations low, knowing full well, from his own recent experience, how maddening it starts to be after just a few minutes.

He’s right, of course. Soap starts to fidget, then he starts to pace and, finally, sits down on the low wall because that’s perhaps the best way to hide the bulge in his trousers. Should’ve worn camo today. Ghost smirks at his own joke as he flicks the intensity slider.

Blush creeps high on Johnny’s cheek as he looks around, trying to locate Ghost. No luck. Simon is feeling particularly cruel, so he increases the intensity once more. Johnny very nearly doubles over. It’s enough for one of the recruits to come over to him, presumably asking if he’s feeling alright.

Soap replies something before he nods, stands up and apparently excuses himself. Ghost is reasonably sure he’s going to lock himself on the toilet and wank, and that just wouldn’t do.

Ghost leans against the stalls. There’s only one occupied, and there’s no one else present.

“Hiding from me, Sergeant?” Ghost says in a deep purr as he knocks on the door. There’s only silence. Then the lock clicks. Ghost squeezes in. The stall is way too small for the two of them, not that Ghost cares. Especially not when he sees Johnny sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, his trousers undone and something wild shining in his eyes.

Ghost’s own cock twitches at the sight. Suddenly, there’s an idea. “Stand up,” Ghost commands, and Johnny obeys like the good soldier he is. Ghost takes his place as he sits down and pulls Johnny to sit on his lap, back pressed to Ghost’s chest. It’s a little bit of work to get the trousers and the briefs out of the way, but they manage. Johnny spreads his legs as much as the trousers allow, and Ghost looks down over Johnny’s shoulder, humming in approval as he sees his hard prick already leaking.

Simon holds Johnny up with one arm while the other sneaks between his legs and a bit further until he touches the hard base of the plug, feeling the vibrations. He presses on it, pushing it a little bit deeper. Johnny whines, or he tries to, but Simon’s hand promptly clasps over his mouth. “Be quiet, darling, unless you want someone to see you like this.”

Soap nods weakly. When Ghost grabs the plug and starts to pull it out slowly, Johnny does his best but still cannot completely stifle the whimper and the moan as he feels the stretch. Ghost doesn’t pull it out all the way. Instead, he pushes it back in and repeats it. That’s when Johnny understands.

“Simon,” he starts but is cut off by the sound of opening doors followed by footsteps. They both still, Soap putting all that training to good use as he controls his breathing. They hear the sound of a belt clasp, a zipper, and the telltale hiss of piss hitting the urinal. Ghost, against his better judgment, resumes his earlier actions. Soap stiffens with surprise and, most probably, a bit of fear. Which, of course, doesn’t really help him as he clenches around the plug all the more. He’s happy for Ghost’s hand still firmly covering his mouth.

When he proposed this whole idea to Ghost, he had no plans of taking it this far. On the other hand, he should’ve seen it coming. Both of them were always up to push the other further, consequences be damned. It’s the whole reason they started this twisted parody of a relationship. Getting fucked by a toy in the public toilets is, however, the stupidest thing they’ve ever done. No, he corrects himself; the stupidest thing they’ve done so far.

All the thoughts leave him as soon as the soldier on the other side of the door washes their hands and leaves. That’s when Ghost picks up the pace. That’s when he whispers into Johnny’s ear to touch himself. He does, gripping his hard, neglected prick and flicking the thumb over the cock head, spreading the precum to make the wank smoother and easier. The plug in him isn’t angled right to hit his prostate, but the vibrations make up for that, riling him up, forcing him to speed up, to tighten his grip as Ghost whispers filthy little things into his ear.

The danger of being discovered, the rush of this whole daring endeavour, and, of course, the fact that Ghost has been slowly edging him for the better part of the day gets to him fast. Ghost forces his wrist into Johnny’s mouth, sensing he’s close and giving him something to bite into instead of crying out.

He does. Ghost hisses quietly as Soap’s teeth sink into the skin right before he feels him seize, watching the thick ropes of cum staining his tee and hand. He stays tense for a few seconds before sagging against Ghost, who catches him from sliding onto the floor.

This was a horrible idea. But god damn it, was it worth it.

#call of duty #ghost mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #soap mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 6 months

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Ten Years Earlier...

All right, it's my first COD fic and it's smut (there's a running theme happening today). This is oc x canon which is know is not everyone's jam (DLDR). Also my first time writing Captain Price (so be gentle with me folks)

Set in 2012, Rory Sinclair (my oc) is a Corporal with the British army on leave and she just so happens to run into a certain Captain (Lieutenant at the time, this is mutton chop free John) at a bar where they share a bathroom cubicle together.

words: 3339

Pairing: Captain Price x OC

Fandon: Call of Duty: MW

Smut under the cut, 18+ MINORS DNI

P in V sex, hand jobs, fingering, semi-public sex, protected sex, stranger sex, with a big old heaping of praise and voice kink on top.

2012 - London, England - Lost Society Bar, Clapham 21:00

Rory shivered as the night air kissed her bare shoulders. The bass beat of the rock music playing inside thumping in her skull the same way the heavy wheels of an armored vehicle did. The kick of the drum, the steady march of boots. Blowing out the last puff of smoke from her cigarette, she stubbed out the butt on the railing she was leaning over and headed back inside to the attic club.

Five years she’d been fighting in Afghanistan, and leave always felt far too short compared to the time spent on the ground. Her father told her to take the time she was given and have some fun, it wasn’t too often a hero got to come home and rest, to everyone else she knew that meant going out on a Saturday night and getting piss drunk for fun.

Sydney, her best friend in the trenches, a perky blonde who had the choice of the army or a juvenile detention center in Aberdeen all those years ago, took her by the arm. “Come on, happy hour’s starting.”

“I don’t think I need anymore, Syd.”

“Fuck off, you and me are out to get hammered and then head home with some fit blokes. We spent enough time getting shot at, I intend to get bent over and fucking railed.”

Rory rolled her eyes but followed her friend to the bar, ordering a whiskey – neat – while Sydney lined up a row of vodka shots, quickly tossing them down her neck. Sipping from her glass, she leaned her back against the bar, her elbows propped up on the counter as she scanned the bar’s makeshift dance floor. She couldn’t help her instincts kicking in, her battle-ready brain having her scan for threats… or perhaps a partner .

Sydney tossed another shot back, her long lengths of hair shaking as she had a full body shiver, the liquor burning the back of her throat. “You need to relax, Ror. You’re going to scare the lads away. They can smell the fear on you like a pack of wild dogs.”

“Jesus Christ, Syd, I’m just getting the lay of the land.”

“We’re not in the fucking desert.” Tapping Rory’s army, she drank her last shooter and grabbed Rory’s hand to drag her to the dance floor. “Come on.”

“Nah, I’m gonna stay at the bar for a while. Might get a cab home soon.”

“Spoil sport,” Sydney huffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rory said with a wave of her hand, unfazed by her friends mocking. “Have fun.”

“Whatever you say, Corporal,” Syd gave her a quick salute – which was nicer than the flip of the bird Rory had expected – before heading into the crowd, leaving her fellow soldier to her own company.

Sighing, she took another sip of the amber liquor, her elbow knocking against the forearm of another, and her hazel eyes drifted over to a stocky man with a five o’clock shadow, his blue eyes sparkling as he met her with a smirk. “Sorry, love.”

Pulling her arms in towards herself, she gave him a friendly smile. “My fault, sorry.”

His brow furrowed slightly, leaning in towards her so he didn’t have to yell over the music. “Are you American?”

“No.” She shook her head, her long brown ponytail swaying against her shoulders. “Canadian.”

His smirk grew a little wider, blue eyes gleaming. “Should’ve figured that when you actually apologized.”

“Our reputation precedes us, eh?” She teased, putting on a heavier, more distinct Canadian accent, the kind that brought to mind Mounties and maple syrup.

“Only a little, yeah.” He waved at the barkeeper trying to get their attention. “On vacation then?”

“No. On leave – just got back from Afghanistan.”

He looked her over, straightening in his seat. His smile fading as he blinked rapidly for a moment, caught off guard to see someone like her as a soldier. “No shit.”

Her new friend tried once more to get the attention of the barkeeper, waving his hand, failing to even get a glance. Placing her hand on top of his, she winked, “Allow me.” Bringing her fingers to her lips, she whistled, the high pitch squeal enough to grab the barkeep's attention. Adding a wave and a smile on top of it, ensuring she was served next, she turned back to the man beside her and continued their conversation, “Why? You too?”

“Urzikstan.” He said, nodding.

He spoke in short, abrupt sentences. His voice gruff. She should have known he was a soldier. Her brows raised as she hummed into her drink, taking a sip and then hissing at the burn. “Small world.”

“Apparently.”

When the barkeeper came over, she was quick to continue the interaction. “Another whiskey for me, and one for my friend here?” She asked him with a cock of her brow.

“Yeah, whiskey’s good.” His grin was charming. The way his brow lifted, and his jaw shifted as he looked her up and down enough to tell her he was interested. “I’m going to have to remember that trick, though I doubt it’ll work as well for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She stretches her arms out, pushing away from the bar. It had been so goddamn long since she’d flirted with anyone. “You’re handsome enough,” she said with a playful nod of her head.

He gave her a half smile and tapped the corner of his lighter on the counter, shifting his shoulders. “Glad someone thinks so.”

She leaned against the counter with one elbow, twirling the length of her ponytail around her fingers, her attention firmly planted on him. “Please, a strapping soldier like you, I’m sure you have a port in every storm,” she said half jokingly, but almost expecting it to be true.

“Not really my thing,” he said with a slight narrowing of his eyes, his voice lowering.

Looking up at him through her lashes, the lump in her throat suddenly formed. She could feel the flush coming on and she held out her hand to formally greet him before she said something that might get her in trouble. “I’m Rory. Rory Sinclair.”

“John Price.”

Shaking hands, he held her tight in his grip and she could feel the calluses on his palm brush up against her. She couldn’t help but notice how tiny her hand looked in comparison to his, and suddenly the battle-ready brain went quiet. On her own, dressed in a cocktail dress and heels, the combat gear nowhere in sight, she licked her lips, her mouth opened, and a soft sigh drifted from her.

…

The bathroom stall door burst open as John pushed her back into the cubicle, pressing her into the wall, their mouths locked in a kiss. Closing the door, he fumbled with the lock for a moment before his hand returned to her waist, the other with a firm grip on her jaw as he tilted her mouth up to meet his. Breathless, her hands grabbed at his back as she held him tighter to her. “I never do this sort of a thing,” she mumbled between kisses. Nodding, he kissed her harder, his lips overtaking hers, and she moaned into his mouth. Hands slipping to his belt, she started to undo the buckle. Fighting with it, struggling, a nervous chuckle slipped from her as his large hands held hers.

Breaking their kiss, he gave her a smile and a wink. “Lemme help you with that, love.” With a quick motion, his belt came loose. He had deft hands, used to having to work fast while under fire. Taking a piss in the desert sometimes meant life or death.

Her hand rose to his shoulder, curling around the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss, and she purred as a hand drifted up the warm skin of her thighs, fingers trailing up the hem of her skirt to rest on the waistband of her thong. His fingertips just skimmed her flesh under the material, but it was enough to send a shiver through her. Looking down at herself, her dress hiked up around her waist, and his hands hooked through her panties, she weighed out her options. She was on the pill, but…

“Have you got protection?”

“A good soldier never goes in unprepared.”

She huffed out a laugh and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, shifting his hand to slip down the front of her panties, resting it against her mound. Heat radiated off her, building as his fingers began to stroke her folds. Swallowing thickly, her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips. Already aroused from them kissing, his touch was setting her on fire, biting her lip to hold in her moan as his thumb pressed to her clit.

“Already wet for me, Rory?” He purred, his northern accent getting thicker as he leaned down towards her, his mouth sucking on her neck, his tongue dragging against her thumping veins.

“I said you were handsome,” she breathed.

Chuckling, he pressed his free hand to the wall by her head, caging her in against the cubicle wall until she was pressed flush against it. Rubbing circles against her throbbing clit, his other fingers began to delve into her dripping cunt. Entering her, stretching her, sinking deeper inside of her. Pumping in and out. Slowly. His kisses became slower, deeper. His lips bruising hers, her pink pout made swollen and sore. With a lick of his lips, his tongue entered her mouth, and she could taste the smoke and liquor on his breath.

Sliding her hand down the front of his boxers, she wrapped her slender fingers around the head of his hard cock, and it throbbed against her touch. Her fist slowly lowering along his shaft to the base, dragging the pre-cum that leaked from his cock down it, and a groan fell from his lips. Stroking him over and over, squeezing slightly as she did so, her eyes were glued to his. A hungry gleam in her stare, watching as his brow furrowed and he started to pant, a low growl building in his chest as his kisses became rougher, trailing from her mouth down her neck, and further still to her collar bone.

His hand, once pressed to the wall, slipped down her shoulder and over her chest, sliding down the front of her dress, and in past the cup of her bra. He squeezed her breast, pinching her nipple until she whined. His other hand still fucking into her, making her a whimpering mess. She bucked her hips up against him, driving his fingers in deeper. Writhing up against the wall, her back arching as he brought her close to her climax. Mumbling against his kiss, “Please, fuck me.”

Looking up at her through his brow, he gave her a smile. His voice kept low, “Oh, I like the way you beg, darling.”

Her breath hitched in her throat, the knot in her core tightening and right on the verge of snapping under his touch. Her legs started to shake, her knees damn near buckling. “Please,” she whispers a little softer.

His hand fell to the underside of her thigh, clamping around it as he lifted her leg, her knee parallel with his hip. Pulling her panties to the side, he lined up the head of his cock with her entrance and thrust up into her, giving her a moment to settle around him. Gasping as he pushed up into her, stretching her more than his fingers did, she sank down onto his shaft and a low moan escaped her, her eyes rolling back at how full she felt.

“That’s it, love. You can take it, can’t you?” He cooed into her ear, praising her as he stroked her thigh gently with his thumb. Thrusting his hips slowly, he dragged the first few inches of his cock in and out of her, her arousal allowing him to slide easily inside of her with little friction. She could do nothing but nod, her mind too addled by the feeling of his cock inside of her to even think straight enough to speak. She hadn’t been fucked in so long, she barely had the time to masturbate if she wasn’t at the barracks or back home, and here was this fucking man to take her.

“That’s a good girl,” his gruff tone sent a shiver down her spine, and she grabbed at his waist, pushing him in deeper, forcing a grunt out of him. His brow quirked up, and his blue eyes twinkled. She wasn’t some weak, timid little thing. “You want more, darling?”

“Yeah, I do.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and encircled his waist with her legs. Lifting her up in his arms, her back was shoved up against the flimsy wall of the bathroom stall, a breathy laugh escaping them both as their exploits made a thunderous bang.

“I can give you more.” He let his jeans and underwear slip down his legs, wrapping around his knees and pooling at his feet, as he fucked up harder into her, filling her with as much of his length as she could take. His gaze fell to where his cock disappeared inside of her, watching as it stroked back and forth, in and out of her, glistening because of her. “Fucking hell. Your cunt feels fucking incredible. So fucking tight,” he groaned out.

She had no answer, no response, all she could do was moan. Her cunt clenching around him, dripping all over his cock. She kissed him, hard . Her teeth dragging against his lower lip as she curled her hips up towards him, rocking against him as he continued to thrust, bouncing her up and down as his hips met with hers. The smack of skin on skin clapping together filling the bathroom even as other patrons entered and exited. It didn’t matter now, wrapped up in his arms, her head spinning – the good Canadian girl had been put to bed.

Her head lolled back as she could feel the muscles in her legs tighten, squeezing around him, locking him in. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she growled, her nails dragging across his shoulders. The base of her spine felt like it was on fire, a quick stinging cramp, and suddenly she went rigid, fighting to get out words as she came, “You are so fucking hot.”

His laugh was warm and genuine, smiling against her lips as he kissed her, stealing what little of her breath she had left. “Much appreciated, love,” he stuttered between the bucking of his hips. “I’m getting close, you mind –?” He eyed down at his jeans on the floor.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry .”

His grin was unable to fade as she continued apologizing. “And to think I thought you were American.”

She rolled her eyes and loosened the grip of her thighs around his waist as he lowered her back to the floor. Bending down, he looked up at her, his glance drifting to her cunt and the sheen of her arousal on the inside of her thighs. His tongue dragged across his lips before grabbing the condom from his jeans and standing up.

“Yeah, you really don’t have a port in every storm,” she teased.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. Bringing the condom wrapper to his mouth, he tore it open and pulled out the rubber, slipping it down his still hard cock. His gaze drifted over her again, taking in her curves before focusing on her eyes. “You really are lovely.”

“Am I?” She said, with hands on her hips, pretending not to have fallen for his charms already.

He nodded, his hand collecting her chin before he kissed her again – slow, languishing, heated. “Why don’t you turn around for me,” he purred. A hint of a command in his voice.

She looked up at him and smiled, her cheeks blushing as she turned around and lifted up her dress for him once more. Glancing at him over her shoulder, he gave her another smirk as he dragged his fingers along his tongue and ran them between her thighs and across the folds of her still soaking cunt. Saddling himself up against her, grabbing her hips, he tucked up against her ass and pushed up into her still needy cunt. A tight fit at first, as he started to move inside of her again, penetrating her, she started to open like a flower.

Rory moaned, resting her forehead against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as he filled her to the brim. Slipping his hand down the front of her panties, he stroked her clit while squeezing her hip with the other hand. His thrusts were powerful, determined. Her nails dragged down against the wall with nothing to cling to, her breath fighting to leave her as she mewled, pressed up against it with nowhere to go. “Feels so fucking good. Jesus, god , your cock is amazing.”

His mouth fell to her neck, sucking yet more hickeys on her skin. Leaving his mark. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Mhmm,” her teeth dragged over her lip, and she was getting close all over again. Grabbing at his hand between her legs, she was forced to stop him as another wave washed over her and her knees nearly gave out under her.

“Easy there, darling.” He held her, his body pressed tight against her, keeping her safe. Protected. “I’ll be gentle with you now, eh?” He whispered, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his stubble burning her.

She wrapped her arm around the back of his neck, clinging to him as he kissed her. His thrusts slowing, getting deeper. Groaning against her, mumbling her name as he got closer to the edge himself. His grip got tighter on her hip, his pace no longer maintained, his breath huffing out against her in hot blasts, fanning against her neck. “So fucking pretty.” His arm snaked around her waist. His. “God, I’m so fucking close.” His fingers dug into her hip, hard enough to bruise and with the last few stuttering thrusts, he came inside her.

They stood there together, two strangers, only knowing each other’s name and occupation, and yet he held her tight. His hand trailing up her waist and letting her dress slip back down to cover her thighs as he slowly pulled away from her, trying to catch his breath.

Fixing her dress and running a hand over her forehead and down the side of her face, she turned around to face him. They stood there, staring, not sure what to say to each other. “Listen, I, uh –” she stammered and looked down at her heels as he grabbed his underwear and jeans from the floor, pulling them back up his legs. “I’m only on leave for a few weeks, I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“Not to worry, love. I’m in the same boat.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk.

“I mean, it was…” she exhaled deeply, “It was very good. I would totally call you again.”

He clenched his jaw and smiled at her, his brow creasing as he looked up at her from under it. “You don’t have to stroke my ego, darling. I get it.”

“Well, um, I guess if I see you out there in the field, or whatever…”

He kissed her again, leaning over her. “Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?” Hazel eyes stared at his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and gravely. “It was nice meeting you, Rory.”

“You too, John.”

Saying nothing more, he ducked out of the stall, leaving her there to clean up. She shoved the door to the stall closed and couldn’t help but giggle to herself. Syd was right, they were there to get bent over and railed after all.

That was certainly one way to spend her leave.

#skelly writes #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain john price #captain price smut #captain price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #cod fanfiction

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

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Sparring Session - Soap x F!oc

Just a Soap Drabble. I love this trope and I’ve not written for the Scottish god himself yet.

This is a self insert (kinda) cause god damn it I want this to be me. Descriptors of moi in here. Female reader.

Warnings - descriptions of violence, knife play, implied smut (I think)

The requested part 2

‘Good to see you again love’ Price’s warm smile welcomed you into his office. Smiling back you met the Captain in a hug ‘So good to see you John! It’s been ages, the boys still giving you trouble?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe’ he snorted as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You and Price went way back, when you were an inexperienced rookie. He felt so proud watching you blossom into the cut throat special forces op you were today. ‘Ready?’ He asked releasing you from his grip guiding you to the door with his arm. ‘Absolutely’ you smirked.

‘Lads, this is Raven. She’s come over from Alpha team to help out on our next mission. She’s an expert in close combat, so, she’s come to join your sparring session.’ Gaz, Soap and Ghost all immediately stopped what they were doing and looked over towards you and Price. ‘Riley’ you nodded, offering him a warm smile, ‘you’ve not changed one bit.’

Soap whipped his head around so fast his neck could have snapped. ‘You know her?’ He asked quietly. Ghost met his gaze in the corner of his eye and let out a grunt. ‘Raven.’

‘Oh come on Riley! You can’t still be holding a grudge against me?’ You laughed hiding your smile with your hand. Soap furrowed his brows, so you two had history. Like a dog with a bone he piped up, ‘what? Lt? What’s she talking about?’

Ghost remained stoic and silent, regarding you from across the mats. Stifling a giggle you explained that you and Ghost had trained together, worked on a fair few missions together which went exceedingly well. But you were the only person currently recruited that was able to put Ghost on his ass, in front of everyone. ‘Get tae fuck?!’ Soap burst out, ‘Lt? She floored you?’

‘Yeah I did. He looked magnificent underneath me, didn’t you Riley?’ He rolled his eyes and visibly tensed up, feeling sorry for him you sauntered over and punched his bicep. ‘I’m joking Riley. But you need to let it go, I won fair and square.’

Huffing he shook his head ‘it’s good to see you too.’ His shoulders relaxed and he appeared to adjust to your presence once again. ‘Right, Gaz, Raven, you’re up first’ Price ordered. Stepping barefoot onto the mat you and Gaz circled each other like vultures circling prey. Eagerly waiting for someone to make the first move, Gaz lunged forward arm already extended which you grabbed pulled him off balance. Gaz fell to his knees and within seconds you had your knife against his throat. ‘Predictable’ you tutted.

With your knife against his throat you flashed you eyes up to Soaps. He was already staring completely infatuated with what he saw before him. Removing your knife you placed it back in its holster and helped Gaz up. ‘Again’ you commanded. Shaking himself off Gaz once again tried to lunge for you but lower this time, being wary of where his stance was. You dodged and jumped on his back about the pull the knife again, Gaz quickly pulled you over his shoulder before you were able grip his waist with your thighs. Landing with a full thump on the floor Gaz tried to get the upper hand, but being as quick as you were the knife was already back at his jaw. The tip of the knife pressed into the fleshy underside of his chin. ‘Fuck sake’ he sighed.

You patted his cheek grinning at him ‘better, but you need to be quicker.’ Gaz got up before holding out a hand for you which your graciously accepted. Price laughed in the corner knowing exactly what you were like. ‘Soap, next.’

Feeling like a child at Christmas he stepped onto the mat, and flicked a brief glance over at Ghost who rolled his eyes. ‘Ready?’ You asked, tightening your ponytail. He nodded. He flew at you ready to land a punch but you managed to block it and landed a kick into his ribs. He came at you again, calculated punches and impressive footwork. Still managing to block them you threw a foot out to kick him again, but this time he caught it. A huff of surprise left your lips at you twisted your body and threw your other foot into his stomach. This caught him off guard and winded him briefly. Taking this chance you got in close to avoid anymore punches and took out the backs of his knees.

He fell to the floor but managed to grip your waist and threw you under him. Seeing you go for your knife he grabbed your wrists and put them above your head. Nothing you couldn’t get out of, but seeing him squirm was too much fun. ‘Ooo down boy’ you smirked ‘isn’t this position reserved for the bedroom?’ He visibly stiffened, not quite sure how to take your comment. He slid his knee in between your thighs until it was resting just beneath your cunt. ‘Only if you want it hen’ he hissed back. Ever so subtly you let your hips move a fraction to grind on his thigh letting your eyes flutter shut.

He watched as your chest raised and lowered, lulling him into a trance. Your pulse on your neck clearly evident as it danced along your milky white skin. You bit your lip ‘don’t tempt me with a good time.’ Feeling his grip loosen slightly you pulled your wrists free as you arched your back, pushing your hips up throwing him off balance. As you did this you used your muscular thighs to push him sideways before you straddled his hips. Knife at the ready you pinned one of his muscular arms down over his head and traced your knife along his neck. You could feel how hard he was getting against you. Leaning into his ear you nipped at the lobe and whispered ‘you look so good underneath me Johnny.’

Sitting up you rolled off him completely brushing off what you’d just said him. ‘That was good Soap, again? Don’t lose focus.’ You barked. Soap got to his feet trying desperately to hide the semi now adorning his gym shorts. Luckily they were baggy enough to hide how much he wanted you. You began circling each other, a shit eating grin all over your face. Soap this time went for the element of surprise, he rugby tackled you to the floor. Causing you to drop the knife and land on your side. Before you could counter attack him he was on you, pushing you in the the floor in a prone position. He held your wrists behind your back and this time held your knife to your neck.

‘Fuckin’ naughty you are’ he muttered under his breath. Using your nails you pinched his skin causing him to flinch loosening his grip. With your arms now free you grabbed his Mohawk and pulled him closer to your face ‘yeah? What are you gonna do about it?’ He let out a whimper in your ear, you were teasing him. Your breathless question had him conjuring up imagines in his head of bending you over a desk and fucking you from behind. Winding his hand in your long black ponytail as he thrust deeply into your wet cunt. Feeling his erection growing further as he pressed against you, you moaned his name. It was barely above a whisper but it was enough for him to completely forget what he was doing.

Throwing an elbow into his ribs he fell to the side, once again you managed to get your knife and hold it to his throat. ‘Mmm good boy’ you drawled. He couldn’t take any more, he looked around questioning if anyone else was hearing this? Evidently they weren’t. Price was muttering to Ghost about the up coming mission while watching you both. Gaz was rubbing his chin where the knife tip had prodded him. You were in your own bubble on the mat.

Running your tongue along your teeth you smiled, a filthy, come fuck me smile. He stared up at your bluey green eyes, which contrasted perfectly against your porcelain complexion and black hair. His mouth fell open, laboured breaths escaped him as he tried to ground himself from what ever spell you’d cast on him. ‘Fuckin hell’ he muttered to himself as you climbed off and got to your feet. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched your hips swing as you walked over to Price.

‘This was fun. I’ll spare you the embarrassment Riley, same time tomorrow?’ you laughed.

#call of duty #cod mw22 #fan fic smut #john soap mactavish #john mctavish #tension #soap x oc #McTavish x oc #Soap x female oc #johnny mctavish #soap smut #soap mctavish

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nicromancytarot · 1 month

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Hey lads, sorry for the lack of readings today, I’m giving myself the day off lol.

I’ve noticed a few people have forgotten to repost the original tarot game post, so go back and do that if you haven’t already, that way I can make sure everyone gets their readings!!

I’ll be back to it tomorrow, I’m on my period and it’s been kicking me in the ass, so I just wanted to take a bit of a rest and write some songs. Decided I’m going to be an opera singer now (slash jay), opera is very fun.

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #free tarot #tarot witch

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louisupdates · 1 year

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MY FOOTBALL

The One Direction star has two principal loves: Ronaldinho and James Coppinger

FOUR FOUR TWO, MARCH 2023 (by PAUL WILKES)

Which was the first match that you ever went to?

I actually got into football quite late, when I started playing at around 11. There were a few Manchester United fans in the family, so the first match I ever went to was an unbelievable first game: the FA Cup fifth round tie against Arsenal in February 2003 - the match when Sir Alex Ferguson kicked the boot and hit David Beckham! My best memories come from Doncaster, who are the only club I support now. We had a fantastic League Cup run in 2005 - we beat Manchester City on penalties, then beat Aston Villa 3-0 and lost to Arsenal on penalties in the quarter-finals. That was my first real low as a football fan. I can remember walking back home absolutely gutted.

Who was your childhood hero and did you ever meet them?

James Coppinger is my club hero - he played at every level and really played for the badge. Everyone in Donny loves him and he’s a great bloke too. After I got into One Direction, I was lucky to meet him and played alongside him a couple of times in charity games. As a fan growing up watching him, that was amazing l. The best person I’ve ever met in football was Pele. I met him about four or five years ago and it was incredible - he had all these stories and we spoke for ages. He was lovely.

What has been your finest moment playing football?

I played in Soccer Aid and Ronaldinho tried to nutmeg me. I was all over his shirt, giving him no respect, and I just managed to nick the ball off him! There's a sick picture that I've seen of it.

The other moment was when I was about 15. I started as a centre-back, but didn’t grow any taller so moved across to right-back, and scored the only Sunday League goal I ever scored. I’ll never forget it.

What do you like most about going to the match?

The whole atmosphere, that magic. When you have those experiences as a young lad, there’s an element of nostalgia each time you go into a football stadium.

Which players do you admire even though they’ve never played for your club?

As some of my family supported Manchester United, I was never allowed to like Thierry Henry, but those grudge matches against Arsenal were amazing. He was a serious player.

Where’s the best place you’ve ever watched a game?

The Bernabeu - it was Neymar’s first ever Clasico for Barcelona against Real Madrid, which is pretty special. It’s one of the bucket list fixtures to go to. When I was young, Doncaster signed me as a reserve player and I went to a pre-season training camp in Portugal. As a supporter of the club, that’s not something you’re normally privy to, so watching how the squad trained and prepared was fascinating.

A few years ago, you filmed a music video with Bebe Rexha on the pitch at Keepmoat Stadium. What was that like?

It was really important for me and my career. The reason I’m sat here today is because of Doncaster - it’s played a huge role. It’s who I am as a person and it’s what I write songs about. The fact that we were able to film the video at the Keepmoat, where I’ve spent many days and evenings, made it so special. It felt appropriate.

What’s your favourite football book?

It’s not a book, but FourFourTwo! I used to subscribe when I was younger. I’m not a big reader otherwise. I should be, but I’m not.

What’s been your worst experience at a game?

I was playing in a charity match at Celtic Park. I got the ball and turned to my right, then Gobby Agbonkhor come through the back of me and I tore my medial ligament. A combination of the impact and me being very unfit meant I ended up throwing up all over Celtic's stodium, which I know will please a lot of Rangers supporters.

Have any footballers been to a gig?

Paul Pogba came to a One Direction show once, that's the one that stands out - he was really sound. I won’t lie, I don’t think many footballers listen to One Direction songs.

What’s the strangest place you’ve ever met a footballer?

I was in this bar in South America and, purely by chance, Bryan Robson was there with a few friends. He was a bit drunk. We went straight over and he was nice, but it was one of those times where you think, “What is he doing here?!” [Laughs]

What’s the greatest goal you’ve ever seen live?

I was at Zlatan Ibrahimovic's debut for the LA Galaxy, because I spend some time over in Los Angeles. The LAFC keeper launched the ball upfield and it was cleared back to Zlatan about forty yards out. He watched it bounce and then smashed it over the keeper’s head - an unbelievable goal. I love him - I like a bit of s**thousery in my footballers, and he's always had that.

Who’s your current favourite player?

The obvious answer is Erling Haaland, because any fan seeing him rack up the goals this season has been totally in awe. Even if you support Manchester United, you watch him and think he's superb. But for me, Jude Bellingham. I’m so excited by Jude - he's been in brilliant form this season, even before the World Cup.

If you could drop yourself into your all-time five-a-side team, who would you be playing next to?

Well, I play at the back, so I want me and Rio Ferdinand. I'd pick Edwin van der Sar, he was a top keeper in his day, then in midfield I'd have Ronaldinho - I grew up loving his football. Up front, I'll go for Cristiano Ronaldo.

What’s the most important piece of memorabilia that you have?

I had a Doncaster home shirt as a kid that I associate with growing up. A few years ago, I bought the same shirt in my current size - it's special to me, and when I met Pele I asked him to sign it. That was the pinnacle.

[Thanks to TeamLouisMedia for the HD photo.]

links to fourfourtwouk’s posts about Louis on Twitter and Instagram

#four four two #louis tomlinson #louis press #fourfourtwo #transcript #transcription #2 february 2023

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autismsupermusicalassassin · 4 months

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A day at the museum with daddy little one 🌙

plot: Steven decides to take Isaac to the museum dispite his ex manager going to berate him for what Marc did from his fight with a demonic jackal…

a/n: This is the second fic the single dad au of Oscar’s moon knight and im sorry for my Jewish readers if I messed up on certain parts

prev. Next

They were bickering about today plans again but this time they keep accidentally switching controlling the body , “Steven you can’t just take Isaac out to the museum now” Marc complained in control of his own body before switching to Steven to clap back his reason and making Isaac laugh at the switching “but Marc I wanted to show him all the Egyptian things and history of how the civilization went through and such” Steven retorts while cleaning up his breakfast and gets isaac clean up from the baby food mess, then looks at his reflection of a grump Marc. “and it’s your fault that you made me to take control of the body and made me look like I destroyed the loo that night!” Marc just made a face at Steven, “you’re still not over that incident!?!? How many fucking times I have to tell you that I’m sorry?!” “AY WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?! I AM TRYING TO SLEEP HERE IN THE HEADSPACE” Jake shouted he was exhausted from all the people he had to cabie drive around London last night for some high schoolers homecoming dance or something before letting going to do some Moonknight shit. Isaac meanwhile tries grabbing the Star of David around his dad(s) neck while continuing to bounce around in his high chair cooing, “well marc if you don’t like it then you don’t have to be co fronting for today” Steven said putting his foot down and points at his reflection accusingly when taking Isaac out of his high chair and getting him dress in a onesie for the cold autumn month ahead of them in England “ I’m just saying I don’t think it’s wise to take Isaac there okay” Marc looks at his son through the reflection of the fish tank tank “I just want to keep him safe” “we all do Marc…” Steven said reassuring him reminded him that the death of Randell wasn’t his fault. A small coo drought them back to reality as Isaac get put in the stroller while he kicks his tiny little legs up in the air in excitement “all right,all right lad we’re going on a trip are you excited” Steven said gleefully as he booped isaac’s little nose as they head out of the flat and heading to the museum. Dispite having a Jewish background, Steven can’t help but admire the big Christmas tree and decor in the lobby of the museum as he smiles at Isaac who apparently is taking a little nappy in the stroller he was pushing towards the Egyptian exhibit while he takes out a tiny straw cover out of the miniature pyramid of Giza and starts talking to Isaac telling him all about the history of Egypt about their gods /goddesses and its culture. “You see Isaac the Egyptian believed you needed your heart to be judged in the underworld. Only the worthiest would be able to pass through Filed of Reeds , believe it or not i and Marc were there for a bit when we-“ suddenly the rudest woman voice interrupted him “Oy , Stevie is that you you lout?” Steven goes pale and turns to see Donna, he’s ex boss that he and Marc thought that she might be fire due to a lack of empathy or emotion , not to mention Jake wanted to scare her or curse at her back when Steven was working for her. “Hello Donna” he kindly greeted her while trying to avoid her annoying gum chew which steven swears that she’s gonna blow up a bubble and pop it to scare him and wake up Isaac from his stroller nap “ and it’s Steven with a v Donna” Donna who is odlivous to see the baby stares at him with disgusted expression while holding a box of what looks like a Anubis plushie wearing a mini Santa hats on them while putting them down on the gift shop area “if this about rehiring you just to be a bloody tour guide then no your not gonna happen you dult” she’s said to him hurting Steven’s feelings like when he worked in the museum gift shop

“ well actually Donna that’s not the case here . I’m-“ he gets cut off by Donna again while Steven knows that Marc and Jake are trying to hold it together not to take control of the body and slap Donna hard in the face or for Jake see her choke on her own chewing gum as karma “then what is it then? You auditioning for a tour guide again?” She asked “because you aren’t ever going to be one” Steven frown deepened his also heard Isaac starting to stir awake from his mini nappy “well, That’s actually more crushing to hear now because I’m actually here with my baby son.” He replied with a fake smile while trying to sue pressed Marc or even take control over the body as his son rubbed his eyes and looking at them.

Donna looks at the newly awaken baby with a scoff a sign that she didn’t believe him “you’re joking right? Stevie Grant , a 30 year old virgin somehow managed to impregnated a gal and decided to raise the babe?” She remarked as Steven wince “well actually we-i mean uh…“ Donna cut him off again “so who is that lass that made a baby with without knowing they’ve unintentionally made a mistake making you this lad a Mistake …how are you even paying bloody child support when you don’t have a job? ” After hearing that Steven heart broken at that question …he doesn’t know why jake doesn’t tell them who the mother of their son is or why she decided to leave him in the care of them as Isaac started to babble as he was trying to say something to defend his dad(s) from Donna verbal abuse but he fail and starts to cry slowly, “Donna please you making the little lad cry” he started ‘or maybe he’s hungry or need a diaper change?’ Steven thought “besides I already paid half of the amount to fix the loo damages and which by away still wasn’t me” but as usual Donna doesn’t listen and start to berate Steven and at which point calls , little do they know Marc was watching through the glass reflection on a glass coffin clearly getting piss off at Donna and the fact Isaac isn’t liking the situation that Steven is in “damnit” Marc muttered and feeling like he has enough and he decided on what to do.…as Steven was about feel like he was about to have a panic attack, Marc Spector finally gain control of his own body and give Donna a cold expression “I suggest you stop there Donna” Marc said making Donna startled almost choking on her obnoxious gum chewing at Steven’s sudden American accent that just came out. “Excuse me-“ started but gets cut off by Marc “now listen here you woman, you may act like you own this fucking place and treat Steven like he worthless but he is not! I know people like you Donna Gertrude Oswald , people who don’t know that they are treating people with limitations poorly weather it is a sleep condition or someone going through.” He was anger “and don’t you ever call my son a mistake! I don’t have the answer why or who his mother is but no matter what the reason, That baby is my son and you Donna should have been fire from all the things you said and did to me and other coworkers in this museum, so I’m just gonna give you a warning …if you ever, ever do mistreat anyone like this again, I will not hesitate to give a call to HR about how you been abusing your job title” and with that Marc grab the stroller and starts walking the other direction switching back to a baffled Steven unware some guests filmed the whole encounter .

“You really didn’t have to do that Marc” Steven responded after calming down Isaac while sitting on a bench in the exhibit feed him his bottle and looking at the reflection in front of him “but I did and I was pissed at what she said about Isaac” Marc defended himself looking down, but instead of a mini speech from Steven but what he heard was something unexpected “thanks mate, I too didn’t like what she said about Isaac being a mistake” Steven told him “ though what you said will probably not change Donna behavior though it but you defending speech was amazing Marc.” That made Marc happy and Isaac coos reaching for a piece of the exhibit which was a mini figurine of Khonsu depiction in Hieroglyphs but give a hiccup when Isaac gets put back into the stroller and sucks on his pacifier.

After that Steven continues his explaining the stories and history to Isaac and goes to head home when it’s starting to give Isaac a bath and give a call to get him a babysitter for tomorrow night, When Steven check his socials, he froze when he saw a viral video of him (well marc) giving Donna a taste of her own medicine while the caption read “Karen gets exposed and puts in her place”.

tags: @guruan,@forwantofwill,@melodygatesauthor @ominoose

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marvel #moon boys #moonknight #Singledad au #Donna is a bitch to sweet Steven with a V #moondads #moon knight system #moon baby #Son of moon knight

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bucky-boychik-barnes · 8 months

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Ages ago, @awrubyblue made some fanart with Bucky finding a pocket size version of Steve. (Sadly I am unable to find them now, or I would link to them.)

My shipper brain immediately ran wild with a new type of Soulmate AU. Where you get a little version of your soulmate to carry around - I called it Pockets AU. And after blabbing on and on and on and on and on to my friend @subluxate about it, they made this AMAZING fic.

I finally remembered to ask permission to post it. I hope you enjoy. (Let me know if you do, they also wrote a fic about Steeb after Steve gets the serum.)

---

Characters: Sarah Rogers, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Steeb, Booky

Timeline: 1910s, very pre CA:TFA

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Genre: Soulmates, Kids, Wholesome, Shortfic, idk genres anymore just tropes

Word Count: 898

Steven is still snoring away when Sarah walks back to the bed they share. He’s rosy-cheeked, not fever-flushed like he tends to be when he makes noise like that, but then it’s getting to be autumn and his allergies do kick up around the middle of September.

“Wake up, love,” she says over the monstrous sounds coming from her wee lad. “Time for breakfast.”

His ready alertness, such a trial when he’s ill, is a blessing the precious times he’s well. He pushes himself up and smiles at her, covering a yawn with his hand. He thinks she doesn’t know he’s lost a tooth a bit before it was ready to come out, which tells her all she needs to know about how he lost it.

The yawn ends on a tiny squeak. Steven stares at her, his eyes huge in his narrow face.

“Got a pet mouse, have you?” Sarah asks for lack of anything else to say.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t do that.” He drops his hand from his mouth, and his thumb brushes against his pocket. A moment later, he’s yanked the pocket open--oh, she’s glad he didn’t pop a stitch, she has enough patching to do already--and is staring down into it. “Mama?”

Steven hasn’t called her ‘Mama’ since he declared himself a big boy on his birthday. “What is it?” she asks, already resigned to a dying kitten he found and forgot to mention.

He dips his other hand into the pocket. His fingers wiggle, and then he’s got hold of whatever it is and is drawing it free of the fabric. It whines and rolls over in Steven’s hand, burying its face against the ball of his thumb.

Sarah’s seen smaller, but not in some years, not since her younger sister woke to a similar little being sleeping under her hair. “That’s not a mouse,” she tells her son.

He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the Pocket curling up in his hand. “It’s a Pocket,” he breathes. “Mama, I have a Pocket!”

Every house should have at least one, Sarah thinks as she leans down to kiss Steven’s forehead and get a better look at the pajama-clad little Pocket in her wee lad’s hand. “You’ll have to name your Pocket,” she tells him.

“I gotta think about it.” He sounds more congested, but he’s alert and still not fevered, so she stands and doesn’t stop him following her out to breakfast.

“I’m sorry we haven’t a thing for you to wear,” she tells the dark-haired little Pocket before she leaves for work, while Steven yanks on his short pants. “I’ll try to make you something tonight. Steven, mind the hems!”

The Pocket gives her a wide, sweet smile. He’s missing a tooth himself, the lower right front. She knew lads with smiles like that when she was a child herself, always either the most trouble or the most loyal. He babbles at her, a wash of playful happiness in the sounds, and Sarah wishes she could kiss his head.

Not that it would bother Steven or his Pocket, of course, but something always feels wrong to Sarah when she touches someone else’s Pocket. That seemed more common at home, but maybe it’s just living in the tenements and crowds that makes people so indifferent here. Half the time, they never seem to notice their hand has passed through a bit of someone’s love and soul.

“Make sure he names you today,” she continues to the Pocket. “He’s a mite stubborn sometimes, so you make sure he understands if you like a name, all right? Don’t go letting him run all over you.”

“Ma,” Steven groans at her. He finishes buttoning his shirt. “You’re giving him a bad impression of me!” His voice sounds thicker than it has the rest of the morning, enough that it takes her a moment to understand his words.

“A bad impression it might be, but an accurate one,” she says. “Remember your handkerchiefs, mind your teacher, I love you.” She kisses her boy’s head and lets herself out and does not worry about him making it to school on his own, just as she hasn’t worried since his first day.

She should have worried, she realizes when she gets home to find her son with a bruise rising on his jaw, a sturdy dark-haired lad about a year older than him, and the mending basket pulled out between them.

“Oh, Steven,” she sighs, since he’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t. “Who’s your friend, then?”

“Ma, this is Booky.” He sounds even worse than when she left, but it’s nothing a bit of steam won’t help. “Booky, this is my ma.”

“Booky?” she asks the lad, since she’s certain she hasn’t heard Steven correctly.

Possibly Booky hops to his feet. “Bucky, ma’am.” He smiles at her, sweet and wide and missing a tooth. “James Buchanan Barnes. I go to school with Stevie.”

“Steeb,” Steven grumbles, but he doesn’t do more than that.

“Nah, remember? That’s Steeb,” Bucky says, pointing to the tiniest Pocket Sarah has ever seen. He has wispy blond hair and looks as though he’s trying to climb Steven. “An’ that’s Booky.” This time, he points to the one rummaging through the mending.

“He’s not Booky!”

“He’s Booky,” Bucky confides to Sarah.

At least she can kiss the top of his head.

#marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sarah rogers #stucky #soulmate au #pocket au #steeb and booky

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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Six

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, World On Fire spoilers,

Word Count: 4.5K

Note: Hello hello! The war is really upon us now. A few characters from previous chapters pop up here, best to read back if you’re not familiar. I’m excited about where the story is going to go from here, I hope you all like the following chapters!

Thank you again for the comments and messages, it means so much!

Bess sat warming her feet against the fire grate, Albie’s uniform jacket draped across her knee. On the lining that would sit above his heart, she embroidered six small words in green cotton.

Fergal Etta Cora Elizabeth Albert Dorothy

No-one would see the words there, but he’d always have his family with him, no matter where he went. The wireless crackled from its place on the mantel. Music today. With the lads going to war so soon, Bess didn’t think she could face hearing what was to come their way. A knock sounded on the kitchen window and looking up, Bess saw the pallid, hopeful face of Frank Smith.

“Christ,” she muttered, nodding towards the door. He opened it and stood sheepishly in the doorway. Bess didn’t look up from her stitching.

“Alright, Bess?” He removed the cap he wore and wrung it between his hands. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Is Albie around?”

“He’s at work.”

“Oh. Right.” Still, he stood in the doorway.

“Did you want something, Frank?” Bess at last looked at him.

“Er, well. I just found out that me, Walter and Albie are gonna be in the same regiment. Just wanted to swing by and tell him that us Longsight lads will be together.” He smiled.

“Ah right. Well, it won’t be the Germans you’ll have to look out for then, eh?” Bess resumed her sewing. The stupid look that always adorned Frank Smith’s face intensified.

“What do you mean?”

She looked at him again. “You’re happy that you’re going to be in close quarters for God knows how long with a man whose sister you bullied? When he’s armed with a gun?”

Frank looked like his heart had fallen out of his arse.

“Piss off, Frank. I’ll tell Albie you popped by.”

While having Frank Smith simper over her made her skin crawl, Bess revelled in the power she had over the man. Something of her old, steely self returned. She had missed it of late. Bess had woken up that morning in a foul mood. The reality of war had led Fergal back to drink. It all came to a head the previous night when Cora announced she had a date the following day, and Fergal asked her to give Bess some tips on “dressing and acting like a woman.”

“You could pop over and ask Douglas how to act like a gentleman.”

He flew from the house and hadn’t been back. When Cora laid the places for breakfast, Fergal Bennett’s remained empty. Word came that he was already at the dockyard.

With Cora, Dot and Fergal already at work, and Albie visiting friends, Bess planned to make the most of her day off. After breakfast, she had gone back to bed and relished being able to stretch without kicking Dot by mistake. Lying in the morning sun, she thought of the times Tom used to sneak into their bedroom before she gave him a key. Of how he attacked the man at the dancehall for being vile about her. Her hand wandered beneath her nightdress.

Satisfied and a little ashamed, she took a bath with the last of the Cadbury’s chocolate before settling in front of the fire with Albie’s uniform. The afternoon was hers. At least, until another knock came at the door. “What now!?” She shouted, standing from the armchair and stomping towards the door. “I thought I told you to piss off!?” Near pulling the door from its hinges, Bess flung it open only to utterly lose her breath.

His blond hair had been shorn shorter and forced into neatness, hidden slightly by the stiff ratings cap he wore. The boat neck, trimmed in blue, and navy collar only highlighted the elegant strength of his neck, and it took all Bess’ might not to watch the bob of his Adam’s apple. As a follower of fashion, Bess had always thought the British military uniforms lacking. Why not go back to the regency, when even the lowliest foot soldier or seaman looked elegant? The naval uniforms of today however, she could get on board with, especially when they highlighted the lustre of Tom Bennett’s impossibly blue eyes. Simultaneously, Tom looked like he was made to wear the uniform, and a little boy playing dress up. If she could freeze time and keep him there, she would.

“Bess?”

“You never call in the day.” Bess blurted out.

“Well, I have need of your services,” Tom grinned and stuck a leg out. “Trousers are a little on the large side.”

“In the lounge,” Bess instructed him. She ran upstairs to fetch her things, grabbed the wireless from the kitchen and when she returned, Tom was studying the photos on the mantelpiece. “Over here, sailor.” Her tailoring stand was out and ready from him. He smirked and hopped onto it with boyish abandon. Bess clicked on the wireless, the voices quiet in the background, and turned to begin her work. She picked up her measuring tape and tailor’s chalk. Shit. It dawned on her what she would be altering. “Just the trousers you need doing?” She swallowed thickly. Tom was oblivious.

“Yeah, I have three pairs. But I suppose, once you have these measured the others will be the same?”

She could do nothing but nod. Heat was rising fast up her body, and how Bess wished she had worn a dress rather than her slacks. Coming to stand in front of him, she tried to eyeball the length of the bell bottoms. It was no use. Imagine he’s a client.

“Right. I’ll have to measure your legs and take the hem up. You’re lucky I’ve got this job with British Battledress. You’ll be the best dressed sailor without breaking regulations.”

“Can’t be getting in trouble straightaway,”

“No,” her answer was faint as the moment she was dreading neared. Imagine he’s a client. Tom’s eyes widened, though she didn’t see. Slowly, Bess lowered to her knees in front of him. Taking the tape measure in hand, she looked up at him and whispered, “Could you lift your tunic a little?” He did so and held it around his waist. Imagine he’s a client. Tentatively, Bess placed the tape measure flat against the plain of his waist. Holding it on the waistband of the trousers, her fingers grazed his pale skin. The muscle beneath her hand tensed and she took a deep breath. It’s Tom. Just Tom. Pulling it taught, she ran the tape along the length of his leg, trying to forget how close her face was to his groin. Once again, she repeated the movement along the outside of his thigh. She could see the firmness of his buttocks through the fabric and mentally slapped herself. Maybe she was jealous of Cora’s date?

“Right, I’ve got your measurements, it’ll only need taking up an inch or so.”

“Could you have a go at the waist too?”

“Hmm?” Bess felt faint.

“The waist is a little loose.”

Jesus Christ. “Could you-could you-” her voice was hoarse and she swallowed. “Could you lift the tunic higher please?” Again, Tom did as he was told. Above the high waist of his trousers, Bess saw the definition of his lean torso, the freckles decorating his stomach and the trail of hair leading downwards. Eyebrows straight, eyes focused, Bess licked her lips. Raising herself on her knees, she leant forwards so that her face was by his hip. Tom held his breath. She passed the tape measure behind him, bringing herself indecently close to his body, and crossed it over his waist.

“Your hands are cold,” he whispered. She let go.

“If you leave the trousers here, I’ll have them done in within the hour.”

“Good job I brought a spare pair,” he winked and hopped off the stand. She left him to change in the lounge and carried her things back to the bedroom. Setting them down on the bed, she went to the vanity table she shared with her sisters. Her cheeks were flushed pink, dark auburn hair falling loosely from the bun she had hastily pinned that morning. What was wrong with her? When did Tom Bennett, of all people, start having this effect on her? She pulled her jumper over her head and unbuttoned her slacks, fishing a dark dress out from the depths of the drawer. Perhaps it was the worry of him going to war. Each moment she had with him could be the last. She was simply committing him memory, every fibre of him there for her to memorise, just in case. Yes. That was it.

When she came downstairs, she found Tom smoking on the front step. Bess sat beside him and he passed her his cigarette. She placed it between her lips, Tom watching as she did. He didn’t comment on her dress, though admired it all the same. Her rosy face glowed in the low afternoon light and the smoke she exhaled cast a shadow around the plump lines of her face. Her long eyelashes were bare, as was the rest of her face. Youth exuded from every pore but, as always, her eyes were dark and focused. Bess seemed to have lived a million lives before she was given this one. When she passed back the cigarette, Tom suddenly remembered something. He laughed, and Bess gave him a sideways look.

“Who were you telling to piss off earlier?”

“Oh,” Bess smiled coyly. “Frank Smith popped round to tell Albie they’d be in the same regiment.”

“And get a good look at you, no doubt.” Bess shook her head and Tom continued, teasingly. “Him and Walter have been fighting over who can get a dance with you first.”

“I’d rather stick tacks in my eyes. “

“Don’t do that.” He said it seriously, as though Bess had actually been considering it. She turned her head to him and for the second time that day, she lost her breath. His blue eyes gazed into her dark ones, and he smiled. Not a smirk but a gentle, affectionate smile.

“Thanks, Bess.”

“What for?”

“Just, thank you.” He stood from their little perch on the front step and made his way to his own house. “I’ll see you later.”

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

The trousers were done in no time, and thank goodness. When her sisters arrived home from the factory, Cora was beside herself with worry.

“I forgot to iron my dress,”

“I’ve done it-”

“And I haven’t even started dinner,”

“It’s all sorted Cora-”

“We’ve only ever danced, really. What if we have nothing in common?”

“No one’s expecting you to marry him-”

“Will you help me, Bess?”

“Of course I will, darling.”

From the bed, Dot watched her older sisters prepare Cora for the night ahead. She could remember watching their mother applying lipstick when Fergal took her to the picturehouse. As they grew older, Cora and Bess so reminded Dot of Etta and sometimes, if she closed her eyes, Dot could hear her in their voices.

Bess stood brushing out Cora’s curls while she finished her lipstick. She’d chosen a dress of Bess’ making; dark blue with a silver brocade. Velvet, of course. It was more form fitting than her usual style and showed her slender figure off to perfection. The gentleman, Robert, was to pick her from the Vaughns’ and take her to the picturehouse, followed by dinner. Downstairs, Fergal was waiting. None of them had spoken to their father when he got home, nor had he made the effort to speak to them. Someone knocked on the front door. Dot squeaked with excitement and ran downstairs. Bess kissed Cora’s head.

“You look beautiful, come.” She led her by the hand from the room and together they descended the stairs. Bess watched as Roger’s eyes widened at the sight of Cora, and smiled. He was just as nervous as her. Cora moved to stand next to him and whispered a hello. Albie must have let the man in as Fergal was still seated by the fire. When he stood, each of them fell silent. He moved towards Roger and held out a hand.

“Have her back by eleven.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have this from me. For your drinks,” he passed Roger a bank note.

“Thank you, sir.” They shook hands, and Cora and Roger made for the door. They made a handsome couple, Bess thought. Before they left, Fergal spoke directly to Cora.

“Be careful, my girl. And have fun.” There was a sorrow in his voice, and Cora simply nodded before stepping into the night.

“I’m off too, Dadda,” Dot was pulling on her coat. “Mrs Mason’s got a late shift so I said I’d help with the children tonight.” Fergal nodded.

“And you, my girl?”

Bess shrugged. “You know me, Dadda. My company is my own. No one else will have me-”

“I am sorry, Bess. For the cruel things I said last ni-”

She didn’t want to hear it. “I know, Dadda.” There was a pause where neither spoke.

“Why not come for a drink with Albie and me? Hey?” She shook her head, knowing how important this time together was for him and his son.

“Ok,” he sighed. “I best go, or he’ll think I’ve forgotten him. Why not go and see the girls soon too?” He left her in the kitchen with a promise to be on best behaviour. Bess looked about the room. The only light came from the fire and the candlesticks on the piano. Tom’s trousers were folded on the kitchen tabletop. As she did on these evenings alone, she drifted toward the piano. She’d pop the trousers over tomorrow. Tom on her brain, she began playing Mack the Knife. When Bess was eleven, the Threepenny Opera premiered and one day, great aunt Iris came home with the sheet music. Together, they sat at the piano, Bess watching Iris’ hands caress the keys and joining in the easier sections. When they had finished playing, a small voice came from the open window.

“What’s that, Missus?” The roots of his cocky charm were already sprouting.

“That was Mack the Knife, Tom. All about a criminal,” said Iris. Tom had whistled lowly and run back to his home. To this day, when Bess heard it on the wireless, it reminded her of him. She played it lazily, mind wandering as her fingers adorned the notes with ornamentals.

“Thought I heard my song-”

Bess shrieked in surprise and jumped from the stool, clutching her chest. Tom doubled over with laughter at the sight of her.

“I’m sorry, Bess,” he huffed between laughs.

“Fuck,”

“I’m sorry!” He entered further into the kitchen and rubbed her shoulder, still chuckling. “I just came to get my trousers,”

“At nine o’clock!?”

“Yeah. And to listen to you.” Bess blushed. Thank God for the dim light. If he said anything, she could blame the flush on the fright. “Will you play a little more for me?” There was a distant look in his eyes.

“Are you ok, Tom?”

“Course I am,” he sat in the armchair and lit a cigarette. Bess watched him before getting back at to the piano. Mack the Knife, ‘Deed I Do, Summertime, April in Paris. She was just beginning Honeysuckle Rose when Tom whispered into the kitchen.

“I don’t know when I’ll hear you play again.”

Bess eyes didn’t move from the keys, but her fingers stopped. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? They’re true.” Bess looked at him with shining eyes. His were unfocused, staring into the fire.

“Tom,” she whispered to him, and when he looked up, he saw her hand extended towards him. He moved from the armchair and took her hand in his. Bess shuffled along the piano stool and he sat beside her. “Let’s play together.”

Nudging her shoulder playfully, he rested his long fingers on the keys. He could only play one thing, the right-hand part of Joplin’s The Entertainer that Bess taught it to him years ago. Quite truthfully, he thought he was dreadful at it, but Bess never said. For Bess Vaughn, this was her favourite thing to play. Together they sat at the piano, giggling when Tom’s fingers slipped. Occasionally, their laughter would cause Bess to go wrong and, in turn, Tom to shout with glee. They played the jaunty tune on a loop, the ragtime raising their spirits and fending off the dread of the coming days.

On the street beyond the window of the Vaughns’ kitchen, Lois smiled.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

The air was tense beneath the high rooftops of Manchester London Road. People drifted between billows of engine steam, ghosts of families torn apart. Boys in uniforms, young women in their best coats, fathers looking proud and mothers trying to hold back their tears, as though one sob would set off a chain reaction and turn the station into a melting pot of grief.

On platform two, the Vaughns were gathered around Albie; Cora straightening his uniform, Dot holding his hand, Bess clinging to her father’s arm. Other families bustled around them, hurrying soldiers onto trains and kissing them goodbye.

“You make sure you write, Albert Vaughn.” Cora said sternly. He only chuckled, shouldering his kitbag with excitement in his eyes.

“And tell us when you leave for France!” Dot’s eyes were watering. Albie enveloped her in a one-armed hug, and he brought the other to wrap around Cora. She kissed his cheek and let go, to be replaced by Bess. She pressed a hand to his chest and kissed the breast pocket of his jacket, beneath which sat the stitching of all their names.

“What was that?” Albie said, for Bess had murmured something into his chest. She looked up into the dark eyes that mirrored hers.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

“I’ll be home by Christmas,” he whispered back. A hand lay on Albie’s shoulder and they all turned to Fergal.

“Oh, dadda,” Dot sobbed as she took in his pale face and glassy eyes. Albie put out a hand to shake his father’s. In one swift motion, Fergal batted it away and swept his son into a crushing hug. It was too much. Panicked breaths ripped through Bess’ chest. She felt as though she were drowning. She couldn’t let Albie see her scared. He needed to go to war strong. What if her sadness seeped into him? She took the kitbag from his shoulder and stepped onto the train, placing it in the rack above his seat. Through the window, she could see Fergal still clutching at Albie, Cora stroking Dot’s hair. Once more, the sight made her shudder, and she turned way to hide her tears. What she saw through the opposite carriage window made her heart stop completely.

Tom Bennett, swinging his arms agitatedly by his side, was stood at platform one. He looked bored and ready for war. The uniform made him broader, taller, prouder. It was not his dress uniform, but a dark blue jumper, the same high waisted trousers and cap. His camel overcoat was pulled up at the collar, the hem cutting across the carved angle of his jaw. Lois appeared by his side with a brown bag of what looked like food for the journey, Douglas not far behind her. Tom smirked down at his sister and said something that made her hit his shoulder.

A whistle blew.

“Bess!” Cora held out a hand to help her jump from the train. Steam was pumping from the engine room and doors began slamming up and down the carriages.

“Don’t forget to write!” Dot called up to Albie as he took Bess’ place in the compartment.

“Yes, yes, yes-” He smiled down at them all. Slowly, and far too quickly, the train began moving from the station. Fergal gripped the hand Albie waved from the window and walked alongside his son. Cora followed, a hand on the back of their broken father. Dot broke into a run as it sped up. Bess remained still, watching her family splinter. The train left the station, turned the corner and existed in their world no longer. Cora slowly walked Fergal to the exit, Dot holding his hand. As they passed, Bess wrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck; it had come undone in his effort to keep up with the train.

“Go ahead without me,” Bess whispered in Cora’s ear. “I’ll meet you at home in a bit.” Cora’s gentle face looked tormented by worry, her cheeks hollow, eyes gaunt, and she nodded solemnly to Bess. Who was she to question Bess’ manner of coping?

Bess watched her family leave the station as she took the stairs to platform one. As she grew closer to the Bennett’s she could hear Tom’s cocky voice above the chatter.

“Give over, Lois, it’s just basic training.” His sister had him wrapped tightly in her arms.

“Yes, and then you’ll be off to God knows where!”

“Make the most of the peace and quiet, Lois.” Bess joked lightly from behind them.

“Oi!”

“Bess,” Douglas touched the tip of his hat. She explained that they had seen off Albie, and that Cora and Dot were walking their father home. “I might pop by later,” Douglas said quietly, putting his own son’s kitbag on the train. She suddenly felt stupid, intruding on their last moments as a family untouched by the war, and Bess didn’t notice the glance Tom cast his sister, or that Lois had taken a few steps back from the pair. He took a step towards her, and felt himself shrink a little under her sad, serious gaze. Tom looked to Lois, but she was kindly glancing around the station, leaving him to say whatever he needed to Bess.

“You’ll get a bit of peace and quiet too, not have me keeping you up all night.”

“Tom Bennett, people will get the wrong idea!” Bess said lowly. His embarrassment dissolved as he winked at her, puffing out his chest and stepping just a little closer as she blushed. He put his hands out and held her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Getting a good look at you,” he smiled a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If I’m ever in a spot of bother I’ll close my eyes and think ‘What would Bess Vaughn do’?” He watched as her pupils dilated a fraction.

“You make me sound like a school matron,”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t love the power.” Bess tried to push him away at his impropriety, but he pulled her shoulders and embraced her. Cigarette smoke, coffee and sandalwood. Bess took a deep breath as she felt Tom’s hand rub her back and slide down her sides. He moved away and gripped the sides of her coat, pulling it round her front.

“You’ll get cold.”

“Come on, Tom,” Douglas said. “Get yourself settled.” They shook hands, and Bess saw Douglas wipe his eyes as Lois launched herself at her brother once again. She clung to his neck and kissed his cheek.

“Be safe and keep out of trouble! At least, trouble of your own making,” Tom saluted, making her laugh through her sniffles, and said his goodbyes.

“Ta-ra, Bess.” He was about to board the train when she gripped his arm and kissed his cheek, as Lois had done.

“See you soon,” Bess said. Tom winked and disappeared into the carriage. Just as Fergal did with Albie, Douglas walked alongside the train as it pulled away from Manchester and sped to Liverpool. Lois’ hand slipped into Bess’. A tear was falling down her round face, and Bess rubbed the back of her hand with her thumb.

“It’s Tom,” she tried to sound reassuring. “He’ll survive out of spite.”

Lois laughed. “The boy’s a stubborn one.”

It rained as Bess walked home with the Bennett’s, and she was glad of it. The sun would have been an awful afront to her feelings. The house was dark when she entered. Fergal was slumped in his armchair, and Bess thought he was fast asleep. When she rounded the table to walk upstairs, she saw he was staring wide-eyed into the fire.

“Douglas said he might pop over later, dadda.” He said nothing.

In the bedroom, Cora and Dot were cuddled under the duvet, and Cora wordlessly held back the blanket for Bess. She shrugged off her coat and lay it by their dresser, emptying its right pocket of her cigarette case and matches, the left of her small change…and an envelope?

Bess

The scrawl was untidy, the final letter a little smudged.

“Hurry up Bess, I’m freezing,”

Bess flipped over the envelope and withdrew the contents. A piece of paper, folded in half. Something else fluttered to the floor. Bending down to pick it up, Bess stilled. Tom Bennett was looking up at her from the floorboards. He wasn’t smiling in the photograph and, as always, his hands were in his pockets. It looked more like a mugshot than a portrait. The thought made Bess smile. She read the short letter.

Bess,

The photograph you asked for. Cost me a few bob so I expect compensation!

Write to me. Send letters with my name and the ship’s to the victualling department or the auxiliaries, we’ll get post when the ship resupplies. I can’t guarantee I’ll reply, don’t want Adolf knowing where we are! Don’t tell dad or Lois either. I’ve told them I’ll try to write, but you know, I’m useless at this sort of thing. Don’t want to let them down.

In a few months we’ll all be down Belle Vue. Look after yourself,

Tom.

Bess flipped the note over, but there was nothing on the other side. Placing the photo of Tom inside the book on her bedside table, Bess slipped into bed with her sisters. Cora gripped her hand, and Bess reached across her for Dot.

“I love you.” Dot sniffled. “So much.” Cora squeezed her sisters tighter. Bess didn’t know how long they lay there, but when Cora and Dot drifted off, she slipped Tom’s photo out from the pages of her book and kissed his handsome face. “Keep them safe. Please.”

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

Note: Angst is coming, angst is coming. There are some unexpected friendships coming up, yearning and a deeper look into Tom’s experience at sea in the next few chapters. See you soon!

Also! If there’s anything you would like to happen, or any predictions, send me a message! I love hearing them 😊

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