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srvbryn · 3 months

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Luke Castellan. hands

Luke Castellan X Ares!daughter!reader

Summary: you've always like Luke Castellan, but his hands - gods. You love his hands the most

Warning: hands fetish, some suggestive jokes

A/n: I got inspo by this one Sebastian Sallow fic but made it PG-13 😰😰

By some miracle, Luke hadn’t noticed your unwavering eye contact with his hands yet.

The two of you had been kept preoccupied with taking care of the cabin and as a result, your only opportunities to spend time with him had been during sparring time.

Clarisse, one of your half siblings, was having none of it—clearly smarter than you gave her credit for. "You're always checking out Castellan, but it's gotten worse since we returned. Did he grow a second cock or something?"

"Clarisse! You can't just say that about him', you hissed, your face flushed beetroot red, another indication that you're staring at him, specifically his hands.

"well what got your knickers twisted since the past few days sister?" She snickered. You sighed. "Have you ever found other body parts attractive? Like-"

Clarisse gasps, "Are you attracted to his feet? You are telling me you were horny because of his feet?"

You abruptly denied her, flustered. "w-what? No, I'm talking about his veiny hands."

You nervously explained to Clarisse, "It's not his feet, it's his veiny hands. There's just something about them."

She raised an eyebrow, "Veiny hands? That's your thing?"

You nodded, feeling awkward but determined. "Yeah, they're... attractive."

Clarisse smirked, "Well, good luck with your hand fetish. Just make sure you don't drool in public."

As you continued your routine at the Ares cabin, you found yourself stealing glances at Luke's hands whenever you could. One evening, while sparring, he noticed your prolonged stares.

Luke chuckled, "What's got you so interested in my hands, (Name)?"

You blushed, stumbling over your words, "I, uh, just... noticed they're, um, nice. I mean, good for sparring."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking, "Oh, you like a guy with skilled hands, huh?"

And since that day, it became a running joke among your half siblings. Luke even started teasing you about his "magic hands." Despite the embarrassment, you found yourself enjoying the exchanges.

One day, as you and Luke were alone in the cabin, he looked at you curiously. "Seriously, what's the deal with my hands?"

You took a deep breath, confessing, "I just find them... attractive. It's weird, I know."

Unexpectedly, Luke grinned, "Well, (Name), I never thought I'd have someone crushing on my hands, but I'm flattered."

Your cheeks burned, but you both laughed it off. Your crush on Luke's hands had become a well-known joke.

During a particularly heated sparring session, Luke couldn't help but notice your lingering gazes at his hands.

With a sly grin, he remarked, "Enjoying the view, (Name)? My hands are pretty skilled, aren't they?"

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of embarrassment. "I...uh, they're just, you know, interesting to watch during training."

Luke chuckled, "Interesting, huh? Well, if you're into skilled hands, maybe you'd like a closer look."

Your heart raced as he extended his hand, teasingly offering it to you. Clarisse, shouted from the sidelines, "Go on, (Name), give those magical hands a touch!"

Blushing furiously, you hesitated for a moment before tentatively taking his hand. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and Luke's playful expression turned into a more knowing smirk.

Luke would purposely use his hands more during training, making sure you had a front-row seat to the display. The other campers caught on, and your crush became the subject of good-natured teasing.

You and Luke sat by the lake, he leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, (Name), there are other ways to appreciate skilled hands."

You shot him a questioning look. Luke's fingers traced patterns on your palm, sending a delightful shiver through you. "Just a thought," he whispered, his voice low and suggestive.

From that point on, your interactions with Luke took on a subtly flirtatious undertone. Whether it was a lingering touch during training or a shared secret glance.

The chemistry between you two intensified. Clarisse, sensing the change, simply rolled her eyes, muttering, "Finally catching on, huh?"

The flirtatious tension between you and Luke continued to escalate, turning each training session into a delicate dance of suggestive glances and teasing touches.

Clarisse and Annabeth (for some reason the both of them work together to tease you and Luke everyday), who had initially been the instigator of the whole affair, now simply smirked knowingly as the two of you exchanged moments.

Luke were sparring under the shade of the trees, he shot you a wicked grin. "You know, (Name), my hands aren't just good for holding weapons. They have other talents too."

You raised an eyebrow, playing along, "Oh really? And what talents might those be?"

He leaned in, the playful glint in his eyes never fading. "Oh, they're full of surprises. Want me to show you?"

Clarisse, observing from a distance, couldn't resist shouting, "Careful, (Name), you might not be able to handle the Castellan hand magic!"

That night, as you found yourselves alone in the Ares cabin, Luke leaned against the wall, his eyes locking onto yours. "So, (Name), any specific requests for my hands tonight?"

You pretended to think for a moment, then with a mischievous glint, replied, "Maybe a demonstration of their massage skills?"

He stepped closer, his proximity sending a thrill through you. "Well, if you insist."

#luke pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy spoilers #charlie bushnell #pjo spoilers #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson and the olympians #percy series #pjo #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #annabeth chase #annabeth pjo

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happilyhertale · 5 months

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Words of love – Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Despite your long-distance relationship, you leave no stone unturned to sweeten Aemond's time until you see each other again at Christmas.

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 800

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

Aemond steps into his dormitory room and carefully closes the door behind him. He stops for a moment and listens, but he hears nothing – and that makes him smile. His flatmate left early for the Christmas holidays, leaving only silence in his wake.

He walks over to his desk and holds a letter from you in his hand. Slowly, Aemond unfolds the letter. Despite the physical distance and the different universities that separate you, your commitment to maintaining this relationship is palpable.

Although you are miles apart, you write a 'good morning' message every morning, a thoughtful gesture to fill his day with warmth and positivity. In the evening, the sound of your voices on the phone is interrupted by a tender 'good night' message that he is only allowed to read when you have hung up. And he lets you have this fun that he only reads your message once your conversation is over.

But above all, the exchange of handwritten letters has become a cherished ritual. Aemond, who embodies a delightful blend of old-fashioned charm and romance, articulates feelings that touch the depths of emotion. His unique way with words, often moving to tears, transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary.

In his hands, he holds a letter that feels more substantial than the usual mailings. He has no idea that the thickness of the paper contains something to brighten up the run-up to Christmas. A smile crosses his face as he opens the envelope and slowly pulls out one of your lace panties. He recognises the panties... he loves seeing them on you.

He holds it gently in his fingers and immediately these images pop up in his head. Images of you wearing the panties, either with nothing else on or you wearing his shirt and walking around his room. Almost immediately, he feels his trousers getting tighter around his loins.

But before he does anything about this building pressure, he looks in the envelope again, hoping that there will be a letter inside – and he finds it. Slowly, he pulls the letter out of the envelope.

He begins with the usual sentences that always bring a smile to his lips. Sentences about how much you miss him and how you're looking forward to him being home with you again. He always feels a certain warmth in these sentences and also how much he enjoys them and his eyes dart across the paper, savouring the sentences, that you long for him, this time he is somehow looking for other sentences. And he finally finds them as he reads on.

His smile widens as the sentence jumps out at him "... Until I see you at Christmas, I wanted to sweeten the time for you..." – and Aemond bites his lip.

And with the next sentence, his hand slowly slips into his trousers before he really realises it "... Imagine how I wear the panties... how I stand in front of you, my back facing you... How I slowly slide the panties down over my bottom...".

Before he knows it, his fingers have grabbed his member and start sliding up and down. He holds your panties in his other hand as his hand moves faster and faster, his heavy breathing breaking the silence in his room. In his head, fantasies of you standing in front of him with just the panties on, which he clutches tightly – the thought makes him grunt.

His hand slides faster along his length, precum gathering at the tip of his member as his it begins to twitch in his hands. A loud moan follows as the thought of you pulling your knickers down, looking at him over your shoulder and biting your lip lightly, occurs to him. The thought of you leaning forwards slightly, your wet folds visible to him, follows and makes his member twitch violently again.

He closes his eyes and moans again as he imagines how he makes you moan every time you're together. How much he would love to thrust deep inside you right now. His fingers grip harder, sliding up and down faster, smearing your precum, his hips working against the motion to increase the friction as his other hand grips your panties almost desperately. Another grunt escapes him as he suddenly holds your panties to his hot member and it twitches dangerously. A loud moan lights up the room, ending in a grunt before he dresses your panties in white.

He watches as a little more cum lands on your panties with each pump. He breathes heavily, his hand slides up and down more slowly. The moans and grunts become quieter before he falls silent and leans back slightly in his chair with a smile.

He can hardly wait until he's back home to rip your panties off.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr @believeinthefireflies95 @snh96 @echos-muses @bellaisasleep @aemondsbabe

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w2soneshots · 2 months

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Can I request Harry x female reader smut based on the hide & seek sidemen challenge. Harry finds the reader and they think they can get a quickie in before anyone finds them but they get caught. Queue the funny hard launch and teases from everyone.

If you feel uncomfortable doing smut then Harry x female reader based on the holiday vs holiday vids. You’re invited to join them where a bond with Harry deepens, super cute moments that make it into the edit.

Hide & seek -W2S

Words: 0.8k+

Warnings: light smut, head (fem receiving).

In which the sidemen ask you to join their hide & seek video and you and Harry get up to no good.

a/n: I love this idea! (Also I know it’s not exactly like your request but I just started writing and sort of forgot lol)🤍

I've been with Harry for over three years now. We met during a YouTube event, exchanged numbers, went on a few dates, fucked, then he asked if I'd be his girlfriend, of course I said yes. Naturally I became good friends with the boys along with Talia, Faith and Freya. I've been in a few of there videos before and recently they asked if I'd be in a hide and seek, I immediately said yes.

Today is the day of the video. I woke up next to Harry. "Morning." I said groggily. "Good morning, sleep good?" He asked pulling me into his chest. I hummed "yea." We got up and out of bed soon after, got in the shower and got ready. I did my hair and makeup simple then walked into the kitchen to see Harry and grab some breakfast. He was fully ready, spreading butter over his toast. "Want some?" He asked over his shoulder. I nodded "yes please!"

Once we ate breakfast, we headed to the location of the shoot. When we arrived, after an hour and a half drive, Harry parked the car and we got out. "Oh my god, this place is crazy!" I said looking at the mansion. "Hey!" I said when I spotted JJ, me and him get along great, when I first started dating Harry he really made an effort to include me when we were at parties etc, which I really appreciated. "Hi, how are you?" He said pulling me into a friendly hug. "Good, good. You?" I responded. He smiled "Great!..." And went on to tell me all about some new music that he's been working on. Which I'm very excited to listen to.

They're filming "sidemen hide and seek in the most expensive house in London" so when everyone arrived the women who owned the house showed us around, also marking what areas were in and out of bounds. Then the camera men set up all of their cameras and filming began. "Ladies and gentlemen welcome to London's most expensive house, ever!" JJ began. "And we have a special guest, since we don't have Tobi we thought we'd invite someone else... y/n, since you loved her so much in the other videos!" JJ continued. The camera came up into my face, I smiled and waved. And everyone cheered. Then the video sprung straight into action, the boys immediately ran over to the massive zip line at the end of the hill below us. I stood next to JJ and laughed at their antics.

Soon everyone began hiding, I quickly found a spot in one of the rooms upstairs, it was small- a little bit like a wardrobe but could easily fit a few people. I sat on the floor, in the dark with my camera and waited. Soon I heard footsteps and stood up, then the door cracked open and I heard a gasp, "you scared the shit out of me!" Harry whispered. "Oh, it's you I thought you were JJ!" I said just as quietly. He stepped into the room. "You know... everyone's outside..." Harry said with a smirked. My mouth dropped into an O shape. "Harry!" I whisper, shouted and pushed my elbow into his chest. He slowly made his way down and onto his knees, then raised his eyebrows. I sighed then cheekily smiled "go on then." I whispered. His smirk grew bigger and he quickly pulled down my skirt along with my knickers. I gasped suddenly at the feeling of his tongue running through my folds. I grabbed his hair hard with my hand as he continued.

He stood up, smirk still plastered on his face. "Thank you, I'll remember that later." I said quietly into his ear and he groaned slightly. Suddenly the door swung open. Me and Harry both jumped back and our backs hit the wall. JJ along with Ethan and two camera men stood in front of us, thank god I'd already pulled my pants up. "Ha! Got ya!" JJ exclaimed. But Ethan looked at us with a funny face, "uh, what were you too doing in here?". I took in an unsteady breath "hiding?" I quickly replied. "You sure?" He said cocking a brow. "Yup." Harry said then moved past the boys and I quickly followed.

"Your hairs looking a little messy Harry." Ethan shouted after us with his signature laugh. After the video ended Ethan informed the rest of the group of what he'd seen and they immediately began teasing us. The teasing took a long time to die down but to be honest me and Harry both thought it was pretty hilarious.

#fanfic #image #oneshot #sidemen #harry lewis #harry w2s #w2s #w2s imagine #w2s x reader #w2s fic #wrotoshaw #wroetoshaw #smut #request #hide and seek #sidemen sunday

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Sweet Nothings

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, smut. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: They had agreed to call it quits when Abraham's community moved on from Grantchester, however, the urge to keep in touch is too powerful for either of them to resist.

Author's note: Day five of the Smuffmas prompts - "letters and lingerie". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Abraham had kissed her fiercely, his lips pressed tightly to hers as though he meant to steal the very breath from her lungs. He’d kissed her like it was the last time he ever would, because the reality of it was just that - he was moving on, this would be the last time their mouths would meet with such passion.

She had always known that this was coming; six weeks prior when they had begun their little tryst, they had agreed when his time in Grantchester came to an end, so too would their relationship.

That doesn’t stop the ache in her heart when that day finally arrives though, but she does her best to hold back her tears as she watches him walk away, not wanting to make this any more difficult than it already is. She swears when he looks back she sees a hint of regret cast back at her in the blueness of his gaze. Perhaps that is just her seeing what she wants to see though.

Two weeks pass, and she does her best to carry on as normal, despite the void that Abraham has left behind in her life.

That is until the day a letter passes through the letterbox, landing softly on the doormat. It’s addressed to her, though she doesn’t recognise the handwriting. Tearing it open, a warmth spreads through her chest, recognising the sender as she reads it.

Darling,

I know we said that this is it, but I can’t stop thinking about you. The pillow on my bed that you laid your pretty head upon still smells like you. I miss the warmth of you, the way your body fits against mine. I can still picture your smile, still hear your laugh, and I think I’m going crazy without you.

I’m sorry if hearing from me is upsetting for you, I just can’t stand the idea that some other bloke will make you smile, make you laugh, make you moan like I used to. I don’t expect you to write back, but I’d be over the moon if you did. We’re camped up at a place called Yaxley, just outside of Peterborough. If you do decide to write back, address it to the Yaxley post office, and I’ll pick it up. I’ll check every day to see if you’ve written.

Yours, always,

Abraham

The penmanship is a barely legible scrawl, and the letter is riddled with spelling errors, yet she can’t deny it makes her pulse race to know that he’s missing her, so she snatches up a pen and paper and writes back straight away.

Over the following weeks they write to each other frequently, talking about their days, professing their yearning for each other, and with every exchange their words grow more heated and passionate.

She gets an idea when one of his letters states that he is “missing the pretty little pink thing” she used to wear for him, knowing exactly the lingerie set he’s hinting at.

Slipping on the satin French knickers and matching brassiere, the material feels silky soft against her skin. Butterflies flutter in her belly remembering how the last time she’d worn this, Abraham had peeled it off her, his bright eyes following the path of it as it had fallen away from her body.

Setting up the polaroid camera, she takes several photos of herself in various provocative poses - ones she knows will make his blood run hot - jutting out her hip, pushing out her chest, arching her back, accentuating her curves and all of his favourite places to touch her.

Once she is satisfied that she has an adequately arousing selection, she settles down to write.

Abe,

Enclosed are pictures of that “pretty little pink thing” you love so much. I hope it satisfies your longing, though it does little to sate mine. I ache for the feel of your big, strong hands against my body, and I’m saddened that when this comes off once more it won’t be you that’s removing it.

Remember the last time I wore this? I do. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of you on top of me, the feel of your lips against my skin, the wonderful ache between my legs as you moved against me.

I’d give anything for just one more night with you. I fear you have ruined me for all other men.

Yours forever.

The envelope she drops into the postbox the next day is thicker and heavier than usual, and she grins excitedly, imagining the smile on Abraham’s face when he eventually opens it.

For the next week, her gaze is fixed on the letterbox each morning, waiting for his reply to drop through, but nothing arrives and the disappointment she feels mounts by the day, sadness and embarrassment causing a heated feeling in her cheeks and a heaviness in her chest.

She has all but given up on the idea of him ever replying, thinking she has made a fool of herself, or worse still, that her letter has gotten lost, when one evening there’s a knock at her front door.

Strong arms wrap around her, and once more her breath is stolen away, as Abraham’s mouth descends upon hers, backing her up into the living room as he kicks the door closed behind him.

He cups her cheek, keeping her close to him when they eventually part for air, his chest heaving. “Couldn’t find the right words for what those photos made me wanna do to ya, so thought it best I just show you.”

She squeals as he throws her over his shoulder, carrying her towards the bedroom and depositing her onto the bed as though she weighs nothing. Propping herself up on her palms she looks at him in wide eyed excitement as he looms over, his darkened gaze roving over her form before moving to follow her.

He bumps her nose with his as he plants a hand either side of her head. She can feel how hard he is already through his trousers, as he presses himself against her, and it makes her core throb with want.

“First,” he whispers, “I want you naked, no flimsy underwear compares to the feel of you bare against me.”

She gasps, as he all but tears the clothes from her body, the barely audible pop of buttons and seams lost to the desperate need she feels for him as she pulls at his shirt and trousers in turn. Sighing in pleasure at the sensation of his skin against hers once more, she feels a sense of relief. Having him like this is like returning home after a prolonged absence.

He kisses her, and she whines when he pulls away, the gesture all too brief, though she is quick to giggle as his lips trail a path from her neck, all the way down her body until he’s positioned between her legs.

“Then,” he continues, eyes flitting up to meet hers. “I’m gonna taste you, see if you’re sweet as I remember.”

Her head falls back with a moan as he licks a line with the flat of his tongue from her opening to her pearl. The rumble of appreciation that growls within his throat vibrates through her, and she buries her hands in his hair, certain she is ruining the carefully waxed and styled coif, though he is making her feel too good for her to care.

His hands grip her thighs as alternates between lapping at her with quick precise movements, and fucking her with his tongue. As she feels herself on the crest of her pleasure, he pulls away, and she cries out in frustration.

He grins as he moves back up her body, his chin slick and shining with her arousal.

“Now, I wanna feel you squeeze around my cock until you peak,” he murmurs, lining the head of himself up with her and pushing slowly forward.

Her mind goes blank as he presses inwards, only able to focus on the stretch of him inside of her, causing her to arch against him.

“I want every thought to be gone from your mind, every thought but how good it feels when I fuck you,” he continues, keeping his thrusts slow and steady, “So that that’s what you’re thinking of when I leave again and ask you to come with me.” As she feels the pressure begin to build in her lower belly again, she knows there is no way she can say no to him. Letters just won’t be enough anymore after this, she needs all of him.

#abraham x reader #ewan mitchell #abraham grantchester #grantchester abraham #abraham x you #abraham x y/n #abraham imagine #abraham smut #abraham fan fiction #abraham fanfiction #abraham fan fic #abraham fanfic #grantchester fan fiction #grantchester #grantchester fanfiction #grantchester fan fic #grantchester fanfic

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zilabee · 3 months

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Living The Beatles Legend:

After a lifetime of self-doubt over body issues and inveterate shyness, he simply couldn’t control himself. “Big Mal was a demon for sex,” Tony wrote. “[...] Like sacrificial virgins, a lot of the girls willingly accepted that they would have to do it with Mal to get to John, Paul, George, or Ringo, and Mal knew it.”

“A couple of newspaper friends put on a private show involving several prostitutes for our entertainment, one of them being very pregnant.” As Mal recalled, “It was a little unnerving to have these ladies performing before our eyes with each other in one room, with Brian, George Martin and Judy, and the rather more staid members of the press in the adjoining living room.”

“I was being entertained by a young lady late one evening,” Mal wrote, “when George rushes into the darkened room, stoned out of his mind, tearing the bedclothes off, shouting, ‘My turn next—come on, give us a bit!’” Mal gave way to the Beatle, concluding that “apart from that, I was the one that got screwed.”

By this point, [Lily] wasn’t just finding “silly groupie letters” in his suitcase, but also the occasional stray pair of knickers and other telltale signs of infidelity. She recognized that Mal was being seduced—and had been for some time—by overwhelming forces, impulses with which she could hardly begin to compete.

After her brother returned from the States, June recalled that “Malcolm came home knackered, absolutely shattered from that tour.” [...] Her brother and the Beatles were living in a “totally unreal world—an extraordinary, horrendous, wonderful, terrible place that they were all existing in during that period. And they were all damaged by it. They suddenly could have anything they wanted.”

After sharing a convivial dinner with Victoria’s father, who retired early, Mal (31yo) and Victoria (16yo) returned to the hotel and went up to the twenty-seventh floor. [..] “Mal was very sweet,” she recalled, “and we talked and we talked, and we sort of made out.” And while she was unable to meet the Beatles the next morning to do an interview, she exchanged contact information with Mal. And later that year, the letters from her new pen pal began arriving, elegantly adorned with “this beautiful British handwriting.” *

Eventually, Mal would develop a vital relationship of his own with the Scruffs, although he had his detractors—namely, Carol Bedford, a peripheral member of their scrum and a George aficionado who later claimed that Mal tried to put the moves on her. Apparently, Mal had continued to approach women in the Beatles’ universe in the same transactional manner in which he and Neil had “auditioned” willing fans during the band’s touring years. Another Apple Scruff recalled a similar instance when Mal’s attempts to cozy up to the Scruffs went terribly wrong. Apparently, he had crawled under one of the girls’ blankets and “touched something he shouldn’t have.” With that, the offended Scruff came flying out from under the blanket yelling, “Who do you think you are, Paul McCartney?” **

Since leaving the hospital, [Arwen (21yo)] had reared Little Malcolm in her cramped lodgings in West Hampstead. At some point, around the age of six months, he was put up for adoption, leaving her care lock, stock, and barrel, with Mal’s teddy bear as the baby’s only consolation. Mal’s diary would enumerate lunches and telephone calls with the young woman at various points across 1969, but eventually, Arwen chose to move on, putting the whole painful episode behind her. ***

[For his son's birthday] Mal made a cassette recording in which he offered his sincere wishes for the coming year. [...] But any goodwill Mal hoped to deliver was quickly undone that morning as Gary listened to the recording over breakfast with his mother and sister. To his incredible pain and embarrassment, the tape didn’t end with his father’s birthday greeting. Apparently, Mal had recycled the cassette, and as Gary and his sister prepared to go to school, they heard the unmistakable sounds of Fran fellating their dad. The boy’s only solace was the knowledge that his eight-year-old sister didn’t understand the sounds emanating from the tape player.

[..]for the first time, Fran found herself afraid of her boyfriend, whose darkness had never been more acute. It all came to a head one night when Mal, drunk to the gills, began threatening her with his Colt Woodsman pistol, at one point placing the gun against her head before discharging it into the washing machine. When he sobered up, Mal couldn’t have been more apologetic, swearing to mend his ways and be the boyfriend she deserved.

____________________________________

Another quote under the cut, with trigger warning for rape and attempted suicide - and a few notes about some of it.

____________________________________

June 1964 - New Zealand

At the time, the official story involved a twenty-year-old female fan who, having secreted her way into the hotel, chose to slash her wrists in Mal’s room after being unable to talk her way into the Beatles’ suite. Fortunately, police caught sight of the young woman through a window and broke down the locked door with a battering ram. She was subsequently taken to a local hospital and discharged that same day.

[There are then some bits about how Derek tried to ensure it didn't link back to the Beatles in anyway, and the way the press reported it as "Girl Tries To Die For Beatles", and someone else claiming she'd actually had sex with someone and then got 'hysterical' because she realised he wasn't going to get her in to see the Beatles... but eventually it cuts to the quote from Mal's diary below.]

“On arriving back at the hotel at two in the morning,” he wrote, “I was greeted by a crowd of police and detectives as the elevator doors opened at my floor. On verifying that I occupied a particular room number, they very solemnly escorted me there, where to my horror on opening the door, I found the bathroom and bedroom covered in blood. Apparently, what had happened [was] several people had gang-banged her in my bedroom. She was so distraught, she took a razor blade from my razor and slashed her wrists, but was discovered in time and recovered in hospital. Obviously I was a prime suspect, but I had the best alibi in the world—I was drinking tea with her mother.” ****

____________________________________

* Victoria was 16, and Mal was 31. He wrote with her for a few years and met up with her again several times, and there's a quote where she says she "thought she was in love with him", and another where she was surprised to find out he was married. He's a grown man with a family and it's creepy as fuck that he was leading on/grooming a 16 year old girl - although I think according to the book they never had sex.

** I've bolded a lot of the wording which fucks me the fuck off in that passage about apple scruffs, what a fucking weird piece of writing. Apparently apparently apparently - I don't even think he's using it to suggest it might not be true, I think he's just using it to make it sound a bit casual, oh turns out he was just treating them like shit like he used to! Oh he was just 'cozying up' ??????? The last bit also feels like the girl being able to fight her corner and tell him off is being used to suggest it therefore didn't matter - not to suggest that there were probably lots of other girls who didn't want his hands on them but didn't know how to say no. It's also quickly followed by a quote of another apple scruff saying he took care of them like a big brother and they all loved him. Which is fine. But teenage girls feeling as though the creepy guy who is being nice to them in order to take advantage is just being nice to them, doesn't mean much. It's creepy that he was trying to befriend the young vulnerable girls that idolised anyone who worked with Beatles, you've literally just said he was doing it in a 'transactional manner'.

*** The author used a pseudonym for Arwen - a young woman that Mal had an affair and a child with. He wrote in his diary when the child was born, and visited them, "gifting the boy with an oversize teddy bear from Harrods". Personally I think 'chose to move on' covers an awful lot of pain very glibly. Imagine having to give your baby away after six months, imagine what she went through. It is not a small thing that he carelessly got a young woman pregnant and then offered her nothing.

**** I think we all live in Beatles fandom knowing that the people we enjoy did awful terrible things, but sometimes it's good to confront how bad it was, even if we'll never know who was involved in this particular incident. Or how often it happened to other women. Whether Beatles were involved here or not, they were around this, they were inside it. They were influenced by and friends with horrible people. Imagine writing that in your diary like it's a good joke that you were having tea with her mum while she was going through that, and not how awful that would actually feel if you had a heart. The author adds that this incident affected Mal, saying, "His “demon” persona was still alive and well, to be sure, but there would be perceptible shifts in his outlook as the group’s touring days moved forward." I didn't really pick up on these, so I'm not sure how so.

#mal evans #beatles books #the beatles #george harrison

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Note

I am excited for ghost and helen car ride 👀 we need more sass and snark hehe

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Helen!Reader)

an: just a little something for a Saturday 🚘

He doesn’t elaborate on why he’s here instead of Soap, not when he loads the car, not even when the tyres hit the open road.

No explanation provided an hour in or after your two’s pit-stop-fuck. It niggled, tightened in the back of your mind that he was keeping things from you that he could tell you. Something he promised he’d never to do.

But then, you equally had promised not to put yourself in danger, and here you were accepting a mission not necessary for a medic.

You had ways of pulling information from Ghost, and even ways of retrieving it from Simon.

Both begin in the same way, following a similar pattern: indifference. You lull him into believing telling you would be better than whatever the fuck you’re doing. A bribe, an exchange.

Your chosen play was to keep messing with the radio volume and station until it wound him up. Watching his eyes dart in your direction, even if you never met them. His hips shifted periodically, making your eyes stare at the thighs you’d between your own only hours ago.

That was his play—his line of defence: his ridiculous body and his ridiculous way of knowing every inch of yours.

Except, he’d played his hand too soon. Your knickers are still in his pocket, and his cum is still very much inside of you. So, you turned the volume up another two notches, wondering how tight his jaw was under the thin fabric on his face.

You can’t assume you’re getting to him.

That’s how you fail. But, the volume is piercing your ears, so you have to wonder if it is for him. The songs neither of you know blaring, filling the small space with sounds both irritating to you, and him.

So, naturally, you turn it up again. Almost pulling your hand back when his wraps around yours, gripping it with enough purpose to tell you you’re getting to him—but not enough to hurt.

“You not like that song?”

“Enough, Helen. For fuck sake.”

You grin, keeping score as the sun sets. The ambient temperature lessens as the breezes rushes through both of your open windows. Allowing clothes to fall away from damp skin as the low light catches the metal in the car and the metal on his left hand—the evidence of your cover.

A story not far from the truth. One you’d supposed to be spinning with Soap, and not your actual lover.

Soap would also have been bare faced.

“I’d have been fine with Soap, if that’s what you were worried about.”

His hands tightens on the steering wheel. “Wasn’t worried.”

“And, as good as his singing is, it wouldn’t have swayed me from your broody nature. In case, you’re jealous that he’d get to spend two to three days with me.”

He shoots you a glare—eyes standing out due to the lack of paint around them. The same ones you see when he’s bare to you, all walls down, and willing to let you in.

Pieces of truth slide into place in front of your eyes, the puzzle almost readable—almost identifiable.

“How you going to be explain the balaclava, hubby?”

You watch for him tensing at the affectionate name. He doesn’t. If anything, he doesn’t react at all. Likely knowing it’s what you want—that right now the best the two of you have is fighting and fucking to make up for it.

He won’t tell you what’s wrong, and you’re already bored of him being difficult.

“Tell them I’m ugly. Warn ‘em I’m doing them a favour by keepin’ it on.”

You smirk, letting your head roll back on the seat as the breeze whips your hair around your neck. “Next to me, they won’t believe that.”

“Bit full of yourself, Helen.”

“If I remember, I’ma bit full of you.”

“Watch it.”

Snorting, you roll your head to look at him. “Or what? You’ll pull over and stuff more of yourself in me… cause I’ll tell you now, Simon. I’d like that too much for it to be a punishment.”

“You’re something else.”

“It’s why you married me, remember?”

“Engaged, Helen,” he snarls, and your eyes narrow at his side-profile and his tone.

Because you know that, know that the two of you haven’t quite crossed that line just yet. But for this… you’re married. A lie that you’ll need to spin when you reach the end of this particular half of the journey.

You almost saying that, it fermenting on the tip of your tongue.

But his hand takes yours again, clutching it, weaving his bare fingers in between yours. And you let the words die, wilt and fade. Beginning to maybe see what may have been bothering him.

Maybe.

#ghost x reader #cod ghost x you #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x helen #simon x helen #cod ghost x reader #ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod ghost #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod mwii #ghost mw2 #ghost cod mwii

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jonesyjonesyjonesy · 9 months

Text

Wildflowers (pt. xxi.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: nsfw

a/n: it's my birthday and it's julia's birthday and it's everyone's birthday! :)) due to my busy schedule, i'm going to start splitting up longer chapters into two more regularly so i don't have to keep y'all waiting 5ever. anyway. enjoy. and happy birthday, julia.

pt. xxi.i, horned poppy

“I’m afraid he’s taken a leave of absence and sent John Paul Jones in his place. Will that do?”

White lilies. Ugly things.

“Well, these are nice aren’t they?”

I looked at Annie and then back at the flowers. A small card stuck out from amidst the ivory petals.

“Well, don’t just stand there and gawk at it. See who it’s from, hm?” Annie nicked me on the arm with a knuckle.

I sighed and grabbed the card. “White lilies are funeral flowers.”

The flowers had arrived while I was on my morning school run. Bounteous lilies in a fine crystal vase. Expensive. But…deathly.

“You are a snob, Julia,” Annie sniffed. “You should be grateful he thought of you at all.

She was right about that. I had to be grateful that John remembered me on my birthday at all. I had to take it as a good sign.

I unsheathed the card and read it aloud. “Happy birthday, Julia. With love.”

Annie’s eyes bulged. “With love?”

I flushed. “It’s just an expression.”

“A very strong expression,” Annie grumbled.

While outwardly I remained calm, inside I was reeling. Love was not a word John and I had exchanged. Even “like” would have felt too strong to utter though everything between us would point to at least “like”.

As if sensing my spiraling, Annie floated toward the door to the outside. “Come on, laundry doesn’t dry itself.”

I followed her outside and sighed. 28 years old. Another birthday in another home that wasn’t my own with a family that wasn’t mine. One that I wanted to be mine more than I should have allowed myself to want.

Annie and I went to work on hanging the wash. Time dribbled by easily, approaching the next hour. A September breeze shifted all the dresses hanging from the clothesline; a row of ghosts wafted in the morning light.

My fingers were starting to ache from pinching clothespins over and over. Bloody dryer was on the fritz, leaving Annie up to her chin in wet laundry and nothing to do with it but hang it out on the lawn. The poles hadn’t been used in eons, as made clear by their chipping white paint.

And while the chore was a bit pedantic, it was also meditative. After the first line, I’d found my rhythm and technique, how to hang up tartan skirts, socks and knickers, blouses with tiny, undissolvable stains hidden on the collar.

Anything to distract me from the date.

“Help me with this, would you?”

Annie was trying to straighten out a damp bed sheet with her small wingspan.

I smiled and wandered over, taking one end from her and spreading it as far down the line as it would go.

“That bloody machine…wasting all my time.”

Hearing Annie curse made me giggle. “Repairman should be here sometime this week.”

“Laundry doesn’t stop for a repairman, does it, Julia?” Annie said with a sigh. She clipped a pin to her end of the sheet, then one in the middle. “Blast, I don’t have another one.”

“I’m afraid I’m out too.”

She grunted in annoyance. “Hold on.”

Annie skittered away before I could say another word, leaving me standing there with the wet sheet in my hand, its dampness dripping down my arm, underneath the cuff of my jumper. I tilted my head to the side and sighed, looking up to the sky. It was slightly overcast, but the peeks of sun through the clouds were generous and brilliant.

My birthday always was more introspective than I liked it to be, especially as I got older and remained unmarried. This being my first birthday in several years without Nick in my life, I was starting to wonder if maybe I should have just gone along with him to Paris and forgotten the whole lot of my freedom. I might have been engaged by now.

Now, now, Julia, you know that’s not what you want.

Nick so rarely crossed my mind since I’d ended things. Even more so once John became the object of my fantasies and affections.

I leaned into my hip. “Come on, Annie, my arm’s getting tired.”

I was met only with silence.

I groaned, my head dipping back.

Get on with it, then.

I dropped the sheet and marched over to one of the pairs of socks I’d hung, clasped the two of them together on one, and then returned to hang up my end of the sheet.

But just as soon as I clipped the end of the sheet to the line, the opposite side fell to the ground. I huffed, marching back over to hang up that end. I scanned the ground for the pin, finding it under the drape of white, pinned it back up and sighed. A job done.

Then, the other end fell.

I stared at the fallen sheet and started to laugh. This was getting ridiculous. I went back to the opposite end, pinned it up and –

The telltale flumf of the sheet falling on the other end.

I turned on my heel, laser-focused on the fallen sheet.

That was too many coincidences in a row. “Annie…” I said with a sly smile. “Are you being clever?”

I ran back to the end and pinned it up. Again, the other end, fallen.

“You think I don’t get enough cheekiness around here with three little girls, eh?” I snuck back to the other end. Instead of pinning it back up, I grabbed the sheet and poked my head around the other side.

No one was there.

“Oh, come on. This is ridicu –” I flipped around just in time to catch the shoe of my tormentor as they hid behind the curtain once again.

And that was not Annie’s shoe.

My heart pounded. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. I could have sworn that it was John’s shoe.

“John?”

Silence. Just the waving of the sheet in the wind. Taunting me. Reminding me what an idiot I must be to think for a second it would be John.

Still my heart stayed in my throat. I crept back to the other end of the sheet. “If you’re playing a trick on me…”

You’ll what? Leap into his arms and beg him to never leave again? Be realistic…

I grabbed the end of the sheet and took a deep breath. “I swear to god, I’ll –”

Two arms enveloped me from behind, absorbing me into a tight embrace. I screamed and squirmed, but before I could see who my laundry ghost was, their lips told me, pressed against mine in a tender, familiar kiss.

John .

My body broke into goosebumps as my heart soared toward the sky. Weightless, wrapped in his arms, I had to believe this was some fever dream. I pushed a hand against his chest, drawing myself away to see his face, make sure he was really real. “John, what are you doing here?”

If I hadn’t been totally infatuated with him before, I was certainly infatuated now. His darling smile, prickling at the dimples to see me had me swooning and the glimmer in his eye made me melt. A lethal combination to a girl trying to remain sensible. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“You – mm –” John interrupted me with a kiss. “ – know it is. But you wished me happy birthday on the telephone last night and –”

“That’s not nearly the same as wishing you a happy birthday in person, is it?”

I gaped, totally unable to comprehend what was happening. “This can’t possibly be happening.”

John grinned. “Aren’t I real enough for you?”

None of this felt real. John was touching me, kissing me, like some sort of dream I’ve had in the weeks since he’d left. “Yes, yes, but I really don’t –” I sighed and closed my eyes to get my thoughts straight. “You came out here to see me?”

John nodded.

“For my birthday?”

He nodded again. I brushed a lock of his hair back and tucked it behind his ear, grinning unbelievably wide. “Really?”

John threaded his arm around my shoulder, pulling me near again for what seemed like another kiss. His nose grazed mine as he whispered into my mouth, “Julia, you mustn’t be so surprised I came home to celebrate your birthday.”

But I was. Unbelievably surprised. Even more than that, I was surprised by his charisma. I’d noticed it coming more and more forward since Montreux, since we fell into each other’s arms. Now, though, it was heightened. Nearly theatrical.

“Now you two have ruined a perfectly clean sheet!” Annie yelled from the house.

I flushed and pointed at John. “His fault!”

“I should have known you’d be a snitch,” John teased, unrolling us from the sheet. “She should be grateful it’s not ruined in other ways.”

I gaped at him. “John.”

John grinned mischievously as he balled up the sheet. I still couldn't believe he was right in front of me. “Come along, dear.”

I followed at John’s heels, trying desperately not to spend too much time looking at the way his trousers squeezed his backside. “Where are we going?”

“A surprise.”

“At least let me change,” I argued, pulling at the cuffs of my sweater.

“No time,” John smiled over his shoulder and grabbed me by the hand. “You look perfect for our purposes anyway.”

I didn’t think so. I’d thrown on a frock and tried to cut the chill with a ratty old sweater that I’d acquired at the farm, an inheritance from dead Uncle Donal. Not to mention a pair of old leather boots that needed a good shining.

John and I waltzed into the kitchen where Annie was waiting with a hamper in her hands. “Alright, be good you two.”

I stared at the wicker hamper as she held it out toward us. “Where were you keeping that?”

She shrugged, a sly smile to match John’s on her face.

“Thank you, Annie dear,” John said, taking the basket and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You made that for us?” I asked in shock.

“No, I made it for the Queen of England,” Annie said with a roll of her eyes. Her sass turned into a smile. “Go on, birthday girl.”

I could barely believe it. The woman who’d admonished us for so much as kissing was now encouraging us to venture into the wide world together. I threw my arms around her neck. “You knew everything, didn't you?”

Annie chuckled and patted my back. “It was all him, I just aided and abetted, alright?”

“Julia, come on!” John called from the front hall.

I felt dizzy with joy as I ran through Warren House and out the front door, only to be gob smacked again by the sight of a darling Rolls convertible, which I was able to identify by the ornament on the hood. “What is this?”

John dropped the basket in the backseat. “You like it?”

“Is this yours?”

“Oh, God, no,” John said with a scoff. “I got rid of mine years ago. Borrowed this from Bonz. So, we have to be good.”

I smiled and approached the car carefully. “I’m even afraid to touch it.”

“Oh, well a lady should never have to touch the car,” John said, opening the passenger door for me.

“Thank you,” I said with a genteel look over my shoulder.

He was so smug as he shut the door behind me. And I’d allow it, considering everything he’d done to surprise me this morning. If it all ended right here and he said this was all there was, it would have been enough.

John rounded the car and leapt into the driver’s seat without opening the door as if he was some sort of Hollywood dandy. “You ready, then?”

“Who are you and what have you done with John Baldwin?”

“I’m afraid he’s taken a leave of absence and sent John Paul Jones in his place. Will that do?”

I reached over and grabbed his chin. “You smarmy, little –”

“Prick?”

I smashed my lips against his as answer. Yes, obviously.

John sighed into my kiss as if tension from all the work he’d done was melting away just at my touch. What a far cry this all was from our first meeting. Him hiding his identify from me, trying to be an average widower. Now, here he was, flashy and bold, strutting around like a peacock.

I was charmed. I won’t lie.

Breaking the kiss before it went too far, John straightened up. “Alright, one more thing.”

“John, no more things. No more surprises,” I said.

“Just a little thing.” He reached down and tapped the glovebox. “In here.”

I took a deep breath and opened the glovebox as John slid on a pair of aviators. Handsome arse. Burnt orange flashed from inside the glovebox. “No.”

John didn’t reply, revving the engine.

“No, John, this is –” I snatched the small box and admired the small Hermes logo. “Please, this is much too much.”

“Just open it would you?”

I lifted the lid and undid the wrapping paper as John swerved the car out of the driveway and down Warren Lane. Inside was a silk scarf, decorated with periwinkle loops and golden birds.

“Since I wouldn’t let you cut up the curtains,” John said.

I lifted the scarf out of the box, watching it flutter delicately in the breeze. “I hate to even think of the absurd amount you paid for this.”

John smiled. “Put it on, Julie Andrews.”

“Ah, you're Robert in John’s clothing, are you?” I started to fold the scarf into a kerchief shape for my hair.

Wordlessly, John turned on the radio. A jazzy melody wafted through the speakers.

I delicately knotted the luxe fabric at the base of my skull and peered into the wing mirror. With my bare face and frumpy sweater, I didn’t feel like I was a girl who belonged in a Rolls with a silk scarf in her hair. However, when I felt John’s hand on my knee, I knew I just had to accept that this was my reality. He nudged me closer to him. “Let me look at you.”

I flipped around to face him, smiling maudlinly. “The hills are alive…” I lilted.

John grinned. “Looks perfect with your eyes.

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek, teeny bristles of hair against my lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome darling.”

Where had this smokey-voiced, Casanova come from? Had Bonzo given him some midland pointers? Maybe Pat had really pulled all the strings. Or was this the man John was far before the broken heart?

I bade myself not to think about it too hard and to enjoy it. It was my birthday after all.

“Where are we going?” I asked, tucking my chin on his shoulder as we mazed through Crowborough.

“Well, we’ve got a hamper courtesy of Annie and you’ve got a kerchief ala Fraulein Maria, the Alps perhaps?”

I smacked him on the arm. “Cheeky.”

“Always.”

I couldn’t ignore how wonderful he smelled. How much I’d missed him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also heightens the senses. And everything about his touch, his smell, the way he looked…

Made me absolutely feral.

“I thought I’d take you down to the shore. Is that alright with you?”

I smiled. “I haven’t been to the shore in years.”

“Obviously you’re overdue for a visit then.”

“Yes,” I replied, the open road curling out before us. “Yes, I am.”

The shore at Normans Bay was nearly an hour’s drive, but the time ticked by quickly at John’s side. We had much to catch up on, things we couldn’t get from our nightly chats. Closeness, the kind I could only get from hearing his breath through the phone.

We didn’t have to talk. It was that simple at this point. The radio crooned, the English countryside plowed by, and we simply existed in the same space.

It was as close to love as I had felt the entire time I’d been falling for him. Dangerous. Unavoidable.

“Seems like old times…” the radio sang.

“So how’d you sneak away?” I murmured to John.

“Having you to walk with…”

“Zeppelin’s four members, isn’t it? All I have to do is throw a fit now and then, disappear, and then I’m welcomed back with open arms. Can’t get on with only three.”

“Seems like old times, having you to talk with.”

I pushed my face into his shoulder. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming here to see me, did you?”

“No, of course not. They’d have a field day with that.”

Acceptable, especially based on the way I’d asked the question. Still, I would have loved to have been sung from the rooftops.

I moved back to my side of the car and leaned on the door, letting the wind whip through my hair and kerchief. “This was quite a surprise, John.”

“That was my goal.”

I grabbed the hem of my skirt. My legs felt light as arousal crept up my thighs. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I’ve missed you, Julia.”

I had been trying to understand all this time if our relationship was more than just physical to John. And now, here I was, struggling not to feel turned on. My body hadn’t expected him. I was taken off-guard, each and every part of me.

John leaving was like a withdrawal from my system, the way it felt when I went from doing cocaine everyday after school to hiding myself on the farm while I was with child. Shakingly needy. Touching myself in the late hours, the early hours, the in between hours.

Now, here he was in the flesh.

And we’d already gone far too long without touching each other in the deepest ways.

I curled my fingers under the hem of my skirt and spread my legs.

“Julia…”

“What?”

“You know what.”

I pulled my fingers further up my thigh.

John fiddled with his glasses. “God dammit, Julia. You want me to run the car off the road?”

“I’ve barely done anything.”

John took a deep breath. “I can fucking smell you from here.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

The car abruptly veered off the road into an embankment. I nearly screamed before realizing John was responsible for the change in direction. He ripped the keys from the ignition and dived toward me, pressing me up against the door, lips on mine, ravenous lips, tongue ripping into my mouth. I braced myself, one hand against the headrest, the other against the dash.

His sunglasses knocked up against my face. He trembled to grab them throwing them onto the ground without another thought.

I wrapped my leg around his hip, pulling him flat against me. My entire body bucked against him, his touch utterly enthralling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

“I was trying to be good,” John growled, moving his lips to my neck.

His teeth sunk into my skin. I let out a long sigh in response.

“I was going to wait,” he went on.

John’s hands slid from my calves and up my thighs, jerking my skirt up to my waist.

“But you and your fucking…” John shook his head like he’d just been hit with an anvil. “God almighty, Julia, I can’t control myself around you.”

I bit my tongue through a smile. “You never have to control yourself around me.”

John pushed my panties down (also not attractive, to complement the already dowdy outfit), then ducked under my skirt, his mouth sealing tight to my center.

My head dipped back toward the sky, jaw falling open as I welcomed his lips to my groin. I could barely even calculate the things wrong with this situation. In a car on an open road, a convertible with the top down, an employer with his children’s nanny.

A continued dance between secret and broadcast. This was the thing that plagued me while I was away from John.

But while I was with him, it drove me fucking mental.

John moaned into my dripping core. I jerked in response, hooking my hands over the window well at my shoulders. “Oh my god…”

His tongue slid from my perineum up to my clit, snaring the sensitive pearl with a snap of his lips.

My body seized, then collapsed again. A whimper, a moan, a breath.

I felt a drop of rain square between my eyebrows and was immediately snapped out of my reverie. I could only think about Bonzo’s car. The leather interior and anything else that might be ruined by the rain. “John, it’s –”

He locked his hands under my ass, pressing his mouth harder to me.

I bucked again. “John, the –“ A few more drops of rain. More suction of his mouth. “Please, we have to – oh god, I have to –”

John’s mouth was unyielding. I had to give into him. The warmth of his mouth, the cool kiss of the rain, the same amount of opposition that had been in our dynamic since the very beginning.

I grabbed onto his shoulder as best I could. John moaned once, twice, three times, each one building, shaking my sense free until the orgasm trembled free. I keened, raindrops tumbling onto my tongue, down my throat. “John, please,” I begged, gripping his jacket. “John, I need –”

John reemerged from under my skirt and slid up the length of my body to catch my mouth in another longing kiss. I tasted myself on his mouth.

Fit perfectly in the cradle of my legs, John rested, catching his breath against me. His fingers curled around the door. “Fuck,” he growled. “What do I do with you?”

“That. Again and again, please.”

John coked his head against my chest, smiling lopsidedly, a sheen across his lips and cheeks.

The rain intensified, from a drizzle to a steady cadence which finally snapped John back into gear. “Shit, the top.”

“I’ll help you,” I said, dragging myself out of the car and into the rain.

Like a sketch out of a Marx Brothers movie, we managed the top of the Rolls about halfway before it stuck. We switched sides a couple of times, trying to figure out what we’d done wrong, until John realized the fucking thing was automatic and went up and down with the push of a button . “How do we keep up with these newfangled gadgets, eh?” he asked, settling back into his spot with a damp squelch.

“It’s alright, you old fuddy-duddy,” I cooed.

“Says the girl celebrating a birthday.”

“Twenty-eight, over the hill, I know.”

“Well, it’s a very beautiful hill.”

I smacked him on the arm. “Drive, you.”

We set back off on our trajectory to Normans Bay, quickly leaving behind the patch of rain we’d been hit with for cooler temperatures and wider blue skies. The closer we got to the sea, the more I could smell it in the air and eventually, see it in the distance.

“Oh, wait, wait. I have to pull over,” John remarked.

“What for?”

The car rolled to a stop one more. He nodded back over his shoulder toward a flower cart at the side of the road. “Flowers. For you of course.”

I screwed my forehead together. “More flowers?”

John’s forehead matched mine in confusion. “What?”

“You already got me flowers. You sent lilies. This morning.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Didn’t you?” I asked.

John shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t send you flowers.”

“Then who…” I trailed off, my heart beating with anxiety. “Please don’t joke with me, you didn’t send me those flowers?”

John half-smiled. All of the charisma he’d rode in on, suddenly caput. “I know I’m not the only man who admires you, Julia.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was still horrified to think of who could have possibly sent them. It was a short list, but none of the options were desirable. Nick Westerling being the first three names on the list.

John hurried off and fetched a spray of wildflowers from the seller. I watched through the wing mirror as his coat and hair whipped in the wind as he handed over a generous couple quid for the bouquet. He returned as quick as he’d made off, bashfully handing over the flowers. I took them with much more tenderness than I’d received the lilies this morning, pressing my nose into the fragrant spray. “You mustn’t give me anything more.”

He merely smiled.

Before he could start the car for us to finally make off to Normans Bay, I leaned over and slid my lips across the lobe of his ear. “You’re the only man I care to be admired by. I promise.”

John gratefully accepted my kiss, leaning back in his seat, a hand against my waist. I grabbed a yellow poppy from the bunch, remembering the poem from our Flower Fairies book. Only grows on the seashore. I tucked the flower in his hair. “There. Now everyone will know.”

He flushed, laughing bashfully like a schoolboy. “Damn this long hair.”

“I think it’s darling,” I said, sitting back in my spot.

John looked me over, considering each and every part of me. The yellow flower over his ear added a warmth to his face blush couldn’t seem to encapsulate on its own. Then, he smiled, put the car in gear and took a deep breath. “Next stop, Normans Bay.”

And though I laughed and sang along on the radio, I held my tongue back from what I really thought. That I never cared if we ever got to the shore at all. I could die happy in this moment.

Not even noon and this was already, most certainly, my best birthday to date.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @digitcc, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

#john paul jones #wildflowers #led zeppelin #julia morgan #wf #john paul jones x oc #jjj

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agaypanic · 9 months

Note

could you do benny x male! reader where the readers an exchange from england and benny has a crush on the reader and to sort of cover it up he makes fun of readers accent but everyone can tell that hes crushing (idfk sorry im rlly bad at explaning) and one day reader sort if overhears benny talking to ethan or someone about him and realises benny likes the reader

if u dont wanna write this thats totally fine anyway thanks for reading :)

Benny Weir With a British Exchange Student Boyfriend Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: despite having been to england before, i know basically nothing about what it’s like to live there so pls bear with me lmao also all the british slander is just jokes teehee. another thing, i’ve just realized how many times i use ethan’s house for the confession parts of fics, hope that doesn’t annoy you guys, it’s just that i feel like everything happens at his house lmao

***

The gang had taken you under their wings the minute they saw you

They were a group of outcasts in one way or another

You were the new kid from another country with an accent that was bound to get poked fun at

You fit right in

Kind of

Moving to Whitechapel on an exchange program seemed to be a lot less worrisome than you initially thought. For the most part, the town and the people around you seemed nice. You had even found a group of people who immediately decided to befriend you.

“Why do you talk like that?” Rory asked, staring at you while waiting for an answer. Ethan, whom you met first in one of your classes, answered for you.

“Rory, it’s a British accent. He’s from England.”

“British people are real?” Rory asked with complete sincerity. Everyone groaned while you tried to stifle a laugh.

“Wild, I know.” You responded.

They became some of the best friends you’ve ever had

Occasionally, they’d mock your accent or repeat something that you had said, but it was all in good fun

Benny, however, seemed to make mimicking your accent his favorite new hobby

It sucked a bit, having a cute guy making fun of something you couldn’t really control, even if it wasn’t ill-intentioned

At least you hoped it wasn’t ill-intentioned

“When is this due again?” You asked, not looking up from the partner project you were working on with Benny. You could practically feel the grin forming on his face.

“I reckon it’s chews-day, innit?” Benny responded in an over-exaggerated and loud accent, making you groan.

“I don’t sound like that, Benny.”

“Sure you don’t, bruv.” You kicked his leg under the table, and the two of you laughed, although he did so with a wince. “Don’t worry, I’m only taking the piss, Y/n!”

“Jesus.” You shook your head, going back to your work. Benny was a bit funny with his impressions, but it could quickly get annoying.

“Bloody hell.”

“Benny.”

“I’m real knackered if I’m being honest.”

“You’re a real wanker, you know that right?” You rubbed your eyes in exhaustion, both from this project and from Benny. “You probably think you’re being cute, but you’re being stupid.”

“No need to get your knickers in a twist.” You happened to miss the blush spreading across Benny’s cheeks.

It was getting to a point where you wondered if Benny even liked you

He was nice to you and everything, but his making fun of how you talked was getting on your nerves

You had no idea why he did it; none of your other friends did it nearly as much as him

Before trying to confront him about it, you decided to ask Ethan about his best friend’s behavior

“Ethan, can I ask you something?” You asked as you and your friend walked to class.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Does Benny not like me or something?” Ethan looked confused, about to laugh at the question as if it was ridiculous. “I’m serious, Ethan! He’s constantly taking the piss out of how I talk.”

“Y/n, trust me, Benny likes you.”

“Well, he has the strangest way of showing it then. Can you at least talk to him for me? I’m really getting sick of it.”

Ethan sighed, waving his head back and forth as if considering his options.

“Fine, I’ll ask him.”

You decided to eavesdrop on Ethan and Benny when he went to talk to his friend

You wanted to hear the truth because you didn’t know if Ethan would relay Benny’s exact response to you

But the conversation took a turn that you were not expecting

You felt a bit bad for listening in on a conversation between two of your friends, but at the same time, it revolved around you. Of course, you wanted to hear what Benny had to say about your concerns.

“Hey man, so I was talking to Y/n-“Ethan was cut off by an excited Benny.

“Really? What were you guys talking about?”

“We were actually talking about you. Y/n-“

“Me? What did he say? Tell me, E.”

“I was getting to that, Benny! Y/n thinks you don’t like him. He thinks you only hang around him to make fun of him.”

“What? That’s crazy! Of course, I like Y/n.”

This was relieving, but it still didn’t explain his mocking.

“Yeah, Benny. Everyone knows that you’ve got a big fat crush on Y/n. Except for him, apparently.” You froze. That was definitely not what you were expecting. “Look, if you don’t wanna drive him away, maybe don’t make fun of him.”

“But I don’t want him to know that I like him.” Benny sounded defeated. He sighed. “Feelings are embarrassing, E.”

“You’re embarrassing, Benny.”

You didn’t know what to do with this new information

Obviously, you were happy that he had a crush on you

But trying to throw everyone off by mocking you? That made you not so happy

So you decided to finally clear the air with Benny

“Benny, can I talk to you?” You didn’t wait for an answer, already leaving Ethan’s living room. Benny looked at your friends nervously before following, finding you sitting on the staircase.

“What’s up?”

“I know you fancy me.” It was better to be direct because if you tried beating around the bush, neither of you would get anywhere. Benny froze, so you took it as a sign to continue. “Lucky for you, I like you back. But I’ve gotta tell ya, imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery, Benny. It’s honestly rather annoying.”

It took Benny a while to form a thought, let alone a response.

“... I’m sorry?”

“Are you asking me if you’re sorry?” You snorted.

“No! No, no, no. I am sorry. Really, I am.” Benny rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, moving to sit next to you on the steps. “It’s just… feelings are weird and, like, kind of embarrassing, and I didn’t know how to act around you.”

“You’re kind of embarrassing, Benny.” he had a look of recognition, probably remembering his conversation with Ethan. But before he could say anything about it, you patted his thigh and, feeling bold, kissed his cheek. “Luckily, you’re cute. So I’ll let it slide.”

#benny weir x reader #benny weir headcanons #benny weir x male reader #benny weir #my babysitter's a vampire x reader #my babysitter's a vampire #agaypanic

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pedropascalunofficial · 7 months

Text

STORY TIME - THE FANDOM STAIN

My response to THIS post from stainsofpascal/thesweetestdecline earlier today

@thesweetestdecline

I am going to number these since you’re going to get tired.

1. FAKE IG ACCOUNT

You said I made a fake account in your name on IG? No. That fake stainsofpascal account isn't me. I'm in Ireland. We don't have Threads in Europe. And a VPN can't get around that. Please check your receipts before wasting all of our time with this bullshit narrative you're trying to deflect with.

2. LONG POSTS

You complained that my posts are long. That's because your bullshit is prolific. I don’t mess around. I like to give detailed accounts of what’s happening with receipts to back it up so ppl can clearly see what's going on in the fandom they're now ashamed to be part of. It's also to prevent ppl like you from deflecting by saying your accusers are "crazy" or "obsessed" with you. The receipts don't lie even though you’d like ppl to believe they do.

3. “BOT ATTACK” ON IG

You accused me of attacking you on IG? No. I haven’t done shit on IG. I haven’t attacked your stainsofpascal or thesweetestdecline accounts. You realise I’m just the loudest of many, many ppl who wonder why you're in the fandom?! Getting you suspended would only feed your need to be seen as an underdog. I’d rather watch all this play out as ppl wake up to your clout chasing. It's not me or my friends who will be your downfall. You'll manage that just fine by continuing your bullshit.

4. FOLLOWER COUNT ANOMALIES

You’re gas. Always playing the victim to deflect from your own misdeeds. Are you ever going to explain any of the unusual increases in follows or would you like us all to ignore the fact you can get 400 in a matter of hours and drop 500 the next day? Should we believe your version of accounts because you're...... an upstanding member of this community? Stop trying to compare your jumps in followers on your stainsofpascal IG account with other ppls. Your account numbers go up and down faster than a whores knickers on Paddy’s Day in Times Square. No one else has this but you and your dodgy minions who hid their dodgy numbers in a recent attempt to hide their ratios.

5. COME CLEAN

What have I done in this fandom? I'll admit it (again). I bought Pedro’s white pages and socials info via a website. That was stupid. I regret doing it. What was really stupid was that I shared some of it thinking it was for a laugh and your mate, (let's call her Ms Peacock) used it to trade with ppl across the fandom to gain clout and to gain more information about Pedro. I've tried to make amends but it's far too late as it snowballed into much bigger information getting traded. So to attempt to make amends, I decided to get closer to the psychos and report back. Shitty, I know, but at least the right ppl know about the stalking bullshit and Pedro can protect himself better.

6. MS PEACOCK AND STALKER REDDIT

After sharing his old info with you and Ms Peacock, I realised neither of you were looking into Pedro's old info just out of curiosity. You were tracking him and his friends around like they’re characters in a story. It’s my bad for not noticing the crazy when it was staring me in the face. I shared info which was traded from person to person in exchange for info that has been used to help Ms Peacock not just stalk Pedro online but get physically closer to him. First, driving past his old house and now, three years later, she’s living "#twoblocksaway" from his gym according to a recent post. Zero shame.

I shouldn't be surprised since she used to frequent his actual neighbourhood even though it was a three hour round trip from her town. Before all that, she told us she used his personal email for a project where a group of us had raised money to adopt an elephant for his birthday. I never did get the info on the elephant since she dipped on the group chat after getting what she wanted. Ms Peacock traded info some of us had given her with others in turn for more info and clout. Just like a fandom Gollum. We didn’t realise that stuff we shared was being traded so it could be added to in order to feed her need to feel near him and grow her influence here. You’ve been part of supporting that behaviour too. When Ms Peacock asked you to find out where Pedro was one day, you went straight to the airline staff and lied about possibly being on the flight in an attempt to get the flight details. You ran right back and gave her what you had. I hope you realise we’ve all been played. Some of us learned our lesson and tried to be better but you stayed with her and you guys took it to another level. When you ran out of info, you created a stalker reddit where you share info you gather through lies and deceit with some real psychos in the fandom. I hadn't realised what I fed into until I saw the levels you guys cranked it up to. Now I see what a bit of info in the wrong hands can snowball into. I have a lot of regret about that. (I also have receipts)

Do you regret being part of that? Have you even stopped tracking him?

7. CHASING CLOUT

Some of us did some of the stuff you continue to do but we woke up and realised this shit isn't a game. YOU and your shitty friends levelled up and are fucking with ppls lives. You treat him like shit for clout and not because you want him to be a successful human being. You need to grow up and admit that to yourself. Impossible though right?! Coz then you might lose clout. That is why you're here right?!

If it's not, then why?

TO CREATE COMMUNITY?

I've seen screenshots of your IG posts and what type of community you're cultivating in your comments. Ppl who shit on Pedro's career, his sexuality, his physical appearance, and you've collected a fine assortment of fandom psychos all sharing your posts. You feed them with likes even when their comments are hate filled. Ppl have noticed.

TO STALK PEDROS FRIENDS?

You've posted about contacting Pedro's friends through social media. Going so far as to add trackers to your Tumblr and watch their online status on Instagram. (I’ve got receipts)

TO INTERFERE PEDROS FRIENDS?

You’ve admitted reaching out to Pedro’s old friends. They’re said they’ve unknowingly given information to stalkers they've had to add extra layers of security to their social media. They aren’t there to be used as “sources” during playtime. (I’ve got receipts)

TO STALK PEDRO?

You guys contact his friends, hotel and airline staff for more info on his whereabouts. (I’ve got receipts) If that's not stalking then what do you call it?

TO SUPPORT PEDRO?

Pedro is the punchline of your account. You encourage ppl to drag him by liking their hate filled comments. What’s that about? It would be cute if you weren’t also stalking him but publicly negging the fuck out of you’re victim is a bit tasteless, no?

8. OBSESSED

You say I'm "obsessed" with you and you've "done nothing to my friends"? No, try, a lot of other ppl in the fandom and I are sick of your holier than thou act when we’ve seen you abuse and attack ppl competing accounts who did nothing to you. You can't fuck up ppls lives and expect to skip off into the sunset. You do shitty things, refuse to acknowledge them and continue to be the best example of what's wrong with this fandom and why it has the reputation it does.

9. WHY DO I "COME FOR YOU"?

I challenge you because you came at others first and like magic, shit hit the fan for them.

Early on you were copying Aude’s style of posting. It's undeniable that your posts were very similar. No one really cared but ppl talked about it in forums and someone sent an anon to @pedrohub who decided to post it for some reason🤔. You decided to attack her in a reblog and accuse her "friends" of sending poorly spelled hate. Then you gaslight her all because she had....stopped liking your posts as much as before. Like wtf?

Then you blamed Arte for hateful anons you were getting. You said it was her because she had blocked you. You said it was definitely she because she's from Ohio (btw Arte doesn’t talk about being from Ohio so how did you know that?), ignoring the fact another fan is from Ohio and is well known in the fandom to send vicious hateful anons (let's call her Wendys License-Plates Girl). You didn't like Artes reason for disliking you and your account. She blocked you so she just didn’t have to see you. She had never said anything bad about you at that point. You produced screenshots of conversations which were had after you accused her but you ran with them as your "evidence" that she had it out for you in dms and was directing a campaign of hate against you. When nothing came of that, you then blamed her for getting you blocked by Sebastiano Mauri because you.....liked her dog pic? Again wtf. There's a trend brewing here.

You created these monsters in your head and you took your anger out on unsuspecting fan accounts. Meanwhile, you were posting shit ppl just weren't feeling and stalking SM in dms. You were tracking him and baiting him to speak to you so you could see his activity tracker in IG. I was the one who got you blocked for your fucking stalker bullshit coz you bragged about it.

You blamed Arte and Aude for bullshit you made up in your paranoid mind. You were told they were innocent by the person you suspectdd of ratting you out but you chose to doggedly go after both of THEM AND NOT ME. Talking shit in dms with whoever would listen. Spinning your usual holier than thou victim routine.

Now, let’s see….

Who has magically lost their account – pascalisfrenchpunk

Who has magically received a death threat – artedepascal (also runs mh_creatives on IG)

Who was bore witness to your bullshit, Known to be friends with Aude and Arte, Known to have connections to get info to Pedro?

Me.

Why didn’t you ever target me since you had vague posted about me being a rat? You knew I got kicked out of the stalker reddit once the Fleetwoods-rumours blog got published for the guys to read.

But...

I don't use IG so I guess you didn't see me as a threat to your clout chasing on there. You only went for ppl with competing IG accounts because all you want is to be noticed by Pedro and to be the Queen Clout Chaser of the fandom.

NO ONE WAS RUNNING A CAMPAIGN OF HATE BUT I SURE WAS COLLECTING A COLLAGE OF YOUR BULLSHIT TO HELP YOUR VICTIMS.

If you have missed who the fans are that are giving this fandom a reputation for being psychos, please see the Story Time series (so far) below✌️

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #storytime #ms peacock #ms green #col mustard #thesweetestdecline #stainsofpascal #themandadlorianbod #a7estrellas #stalker reddit #pascalisfrenchpunk #artedepascal #reddit #story time #pedro pascal stalker #deuxmoi #pedro pascal deuxmoi

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ladymarycrawley · 2 years

Text

Give me love - John Stones

Request: Please can I request one with john stones where you tell him to cum in you for the first time and he absolutely loves it, smut and fluff please if possible!

Warning: a lil smutty but also a lil fluffy

Tag list: @masonxomount @chelsealover @stonesyy

John meeting your parents was something huge you were perfectly aware of, something that could have changed the direction of your relation turning it into a more meaningful bond.

Precisely because you knew how important it was, it also resulted as something kind of scary but you were ready and you felt he was ready too.

He made the best impression ever on your parents, since the moment he walked through their front door.

During the meal you were sharing, you couldn't stop touching being as if you needed each other's support, not only mentally but physically as well: small touches exchanged in the most subtle way as your fingers would travel on each other's thigh, your fingertips stealthily brushing over his upper arm or over the back of his neck as you were standing behind him.

Loving and knowing glances were exchanged between the two of you as if you were in your own bubble.

The fact that your parents liked him, even though they were kind of skeptical at the beginning, made you even more relaxed as you didn't have to live in fear they might have done something like taking you aside to warn you about the cons of dating a footballer.

They really got along with John and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

After spending a good part of the day with them you two felt the urge to say goodbye and have a little time to yourselves.

It looked as if those innocent and sweet touches you had been reciprocating led to more compelling needs, as if you two couldn’t get enough of each other, wanting more and more.

John stood behind you, moving his hands softly up and down your arms causing goosebumps to form over your skin. The thin straps of your dress fell over your shoulders so the piece of clothing you’ve been wearing for that special occasion dropped to your feet, leaving you with just the blue navy lacy underwear that perfectly matched what you had over it.

Next thing you felt were John’s lips glued to your neck, sucking and biting in a painfully slow but sensual way, eliciting whimpers and moans coming from your mouth.

You tilted your head, basking in all those sweet but dirty cuddles, while his hands would slip under your bra and massage your boobs, his thumb brushing over your hard nipples. His big hands cupping your small breast was something that always turned you on no matter what, because he’d perfectly know how to touch it in the best way possible, to make you feel appreciated as it was one of the body parts you were most self-conscious of.

It wasn’t your first time with John but you had the feeling that time was going to be special, magical.

His hands, resting on your hips, moved forward so his fingertips were playing with the waistband of your knickers.

“Can’t believe I just took you home to my parents and you’re already all over me” You giggled as he moved his hands upwards to massage your boobs. He moved away from your body to get undressed.

“Not my fault you’re looking so beautiful” He mumbled over your lips, his right hand holding your face as he pushed you backwards towards the bed.

John started kissing his way through your breasts, taking your nipples in his mouth as his hands were busy toying with your underwear, that soon reached the other clothes on the floor. You helped him taking your bra off and throw it somewhere in the room.

You lied in missionary so John could stay between your parted legs. His hands were placed either side of your thighs to keep you in place. He was so caring he put a pillow beneath your back so you could relax more and get comfier while going down on you.

He liked to make eye contact while eating you out so he could experience your face scrunching up in pleasure firsthand and see if you’re okay during the act.

His plumpy lips started leaving wet kisses on the softer skin of your inner thighs, leaving small bites here and there.

You were trying to focus on him and him only, leaving all the other thoughts that crowded your mind outside. Your eyes were closed shut thinking about how good your hand fit in his curls and how good his mouth felt over your body.

John raised his gaze to look at you, waiting even for a small gesture that would spur him on. He found it in your mouth ajar, teeth biting on your lower lip, and in the way your hands were desperately reaching for him.

“You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now”

His praise made you blush and you swiftly took your left hand away from him to hide your facial features in embarrassment.

Your boyfriend found your shyness so cute, it made you look like the most innocent soul ever and that drove him crazy, even though you had nothing to be embarrassed of. So he stretched his arm out to move your palm away from your face, smiling at you.

You smiled back but this time you kept his hand in yours, running his pads along your lips before taking his forefinger in your mouth: your tongue gently swirled around it before sucking on it lightly.

John hissed in a low voice and got back to his previous task, sinking his face between your legs. His tongue started moving in circular motions over your labia, changing the pace and the direction every now and again, alternating it with small bites and kisses.

That stimulation made you whimper, asking for more and John was absolutely pleased to comply with your wish. He took your clitoris between his lips, making you moan even louder than before.

The both of you were so at ease with each other you took the chance of the intimacy of your bedroom to explore each other’s bodies and try something new. John blew softly on your clitoris, tickling it with the tip of his tongue after.

“Oh God” You whimpered, tears about to fall down your cheeks due to the intensity of the moment you were living. Your hands still gripped around his as well as your lips around his finger.

His green - blue eyes looked up at you once again, to see if you’re alright. He carefully moved his hand down, his thumb circling your nipple. He then pressed his palm over your belly, the warmth radiating from it gave you a pleasurable sensation that matched the one forming at the pit of your stomach.

His thumb took his tongue’s place, in a continuous stimulation of your clitoris.

“Oh John…fuck” Your voice sounded so desperate as you were begging for him to go on loving every inch of your body.

Your hands went from his curly hair to his broad back, feeling his tense muscles beneath your touch was like fire making your passion and lust escalate.

“I’m close” You panted, earning an hiss from him as you tugged on his hair. “Don’t stop”

John got up to admire you as his fingers went on thrusting inside of you.

"God if your parents could see how much of a good girl you are"

The killing blow arrived when he took your right nipple in his mouth, doing the same with the left one going then down south to add his thirsty mouth to his hand. That touch made you squeal as your climax hit you.

“I need you” You whined even more desperately, your back arched as the pleasure was controlling every fibre of your being..

“I’m here, baby” He repositioned himself on top of you, giving his dick a few strokes before entering your body.

You wrapped your hands around his head to draw him up and closer to your face so you could kiss him with everything you had.

As usual, he let you adjust to his length before starting with his thrusts that were at first gentle, increasing his peace every time he moved in and out of you.

"You feel so good, love"

The way he moved on top of you made him even hotter: his pelvis’ keeping the pace as his hips were thrusting inside of you, how his arms flexed to stay in balance over your body, his shoulder blades highlighted by the dim light peeking through the curtains. He wasn’t real.

“I’m close” He muttered, one hand on the left side of your head while the other one rested on your thigh wrapped around his waist.

“Cum in me” You whined loudly, begging him,

“What?”

“I need you to cum inside of me” You had the feeling that that time together would be special and so it was, as the love you felt for him was so strong you needed to feel him in a deeper way, you needed to become one.

John was a bit shocked at the beginning but then he felt happy with your request.

As you sensed from the beginning, that time was special because he was making love to you, you were making love for the first time. Your bodies were communicating some deep and significant messages your words couldn’t and it felt so perfect like an unearthly experience.

In a matter of minutes he released his hot loads in you, sending shivers over your body as if an electric shock just hit you.

You never experienced something that strong, so intense it was too much to take.

When he came down from his high, John’s body collided over yours.

You didn't want to open your eyes fearing the magic of that moment might have disappeared. The only thing you wanted was to live in that moment forever, with John’s curls tickling your damp skin, your ragged breath and his arm over your stomach.

He was lying then next to you, face to face. You closed your eyes, your hand pressed against his nape so your foreheads could touch. You couldn't nor wanted to open your eyes as what you lived through was so emotionally strong.

Silent but meaningful tears started dampening your skin. As John realised it he opened his eyes, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing" In fact nothing was wrong, you’re just overwhelmed. After a deep breath, you tried to explain to him how you’re feeling.

"It's just…what we just had was amazing, I felt all the love we have"

John smiled and took your hand away from his neck to kiss it.

"I love you so much"

"I love you too" He let his lips brush over yours before you could kiss them.

Those words were enough for you as a comfortable silence wrapped you up before falling asleep in each other's arms, dreaming of all the things that could’ve been better thanks to your love.

He touches his lips to her skin and she feels holy, like a shrine (Normal People)

#john stones #john stones x reader #john stones x y/n #john stones imagines #john stones fics #john stones fluff #john stones smut #john stones oneshots #mcfc #manchester city #manchester city imagines #manchester city fics #england nt #england nt imagines #england nt fics #football imagines #football fics #football writing #football oneshots

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hannahssimblr · 3 months

Text

Chapter Sixteen (Part 3)

We’re the last customers in the local Centra before it shuts, and even though we aren’t that hungry, we buy Pringles and a sharing packet of Minstrels, both agreeing that the idea of becoming suddenly ravenous back at the beach house with nothing but those those stale rice cakes to feed us is a harrowing concept. We get toothpaste and toothbrushes, and at the last second I grab a bottle of white wine. Jude teases me about it when we step out onto the footpath.

“What’s all that you said at the restaurant about not wanting to drink anymore?”

“Well, I didn’t say that, I said I’d like to drink more like the Italians. I thought maybe we could try it out.”

“Civilised drinking?”

“Yeah.”

Back at the house we put the snacks in little bowls as though we’re expecting guests, and I grab a pair of wine glasses from a cupboard above the fridge. I turn on one of the little lamps in the living room and pour out a glass for us both.

“Are you feeling civilised yet?” Jude asks me after my first sip.

“I’m always feeling civilised.” I’m lying, I have no concept of what that feels like, but after half of the glass I at least feel relaxed. The wine sits in my belly and heats my cheeks, and the fact that I cannot have more than this, just this one glass that I’ve limited myself to, means that for once I actually think about what it tastes like. I always drank wine because it was cheap and strong, but never asked myself if I really enjoyed the flavour, and all of a sudden I’m not sure that I do. I must pull a sour face after one of my mindful sips, because Jude laughs at me.

“It’s not you, Evie. It’s the wine. It’s shit.” He says, and I give him my glass so he can take it into the kitchen and pour it down the sink.

When he comes back to the couch we sit and talk for ages. He’s very good at articulating himself, at telling stories and painting a picture with words, to the point that I always feel like I can imagine things perfectly. He tells me about America, the dry brush of the Chihuahuan Desert and the way the rocky mountains might look under sunset skies on the train to Denver, and in exchange I tell him about things that happened to me back when I lived my flat, midlands life, which I always thought was unbearably boring, but he settles the full weight of his attention on me when I’m speaking to him, and I feel, as I always do with him, like I am the most fascinating girl with the most fascinating stories he’s ever heard.

He touches me all the time, to emphasise a point he’s making, to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, or fix the strap of my bra as it slips down my shoulder, and every time he does I feel the imprint of his warm fingers on me for ages. When we kiss again his touch is gentle and soft. Even as he does more daring things, like cup my breasts or suck on the skin beneath my ear, nothing about it feels wrong. I didn’t know it was really possible for such things to feel natural and right, when before I’ve always felt a little bit put off by them, objectified or slightly violated.

We must kiss for at least an hour, and even when we aren’t kissing we’re lying there and lazily stroking each other’s skin and talking about everything we can think of, and it slowly occurs to me that he’s not asking any more from me. He’s not just getting the girly stuff out of the way so that he can earn his way into my knickers, and it’s far easier to relax when I stop waiting for the moment he starts peeling away my clothes and asking me to put my hand into his trousers. What’s funny though, is that with the pressure to do those things stripped away I find myself wanting them all on my own.

I don’t know when the kissing gets desperate and more urgent, but it must have been sometime before I put my hands inside his T-shirt and he slung my thigh over his hip so that we’re lying with our bodies pressed together. The bare skin of his stomach lies flush against mine, as my vest rides up a few inches above my trousers, and I mustn’t be thinking straight at all, because I don’t do anything to halt our slow grinding against each other, which feels so good even through two layers of denim that stars fly across my vision. I whimper in his ear, which draws a low groan from him, a hot rush of air against my neck, and his fingers grip my hips for better friction. I tangle my fingers in his hair and throw my neck back against the cushions and everything is suddenly a hundred times hotter than it was a few seconds ago.

“No.” He’s saying now, pushing my hands away and sitting up. “It’s time to go to bed.” For some reason I think that I might die because of this. “Can’t we kiss for another while?”

He closes his eyes for a moment and when I accidentally brush his thigh with my foot his nostrils flare. “Sorry, I need a timeout.”

I look at him and wonder, “Have I tempted you? Are you that turned on just from kissing?” I don’t know why I’m teasing him, as though I’m not twice as turned on.

“Evie,” He sounds agonised. “I’m very clearly horny for you, are you surprised?” He gets up very slowly. “I’m not going to pressure you into things you don’t want when you said you aren’t ready, but I can’t keep on doing… this with you for any prolonged amount of time. We had to stop. I’m going to show you where you can sleep.” He goes into his bedroom, which suddenly feels like a very sexy, forbidden place to be, and gets me a t-shirt. It swamps my body and comes halfway down my thighs, and has something on the front about Kasabian. Like the last t-shirt he gave me, it is ancient and worn and soft, the kind of thing once loved, now relegated to the summer house wardrobe. I hope that he’ll never ask for it back.

After we brush our teeth, I take my makeup off with the hand soap by the sink. When we go towards our separate rooms, he blocks the door with his body. “Goodnight, Evie.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I’m genuinely sorry that I wouldn’t kiss you all night.”

“How dare you.”

He drifts in towards me and stares at my lips, and even though he doesn’t kiss them again, the way that he is reacting to me makes me feel like some kind of seductress, a siren that he can hardly resist, and I shiver with pleasure. Me. In the last second, the corner of his mouth twitches up with humour. “I’m just too afraid that I’ll drive you wild and you’ll corrupt and befoul my innocent body.”

“I get it. You’re just a man.” I shrug.

“I am. A human man.” He pecks my forehead and knocks my hands away from him so he can shut the door on me. I slink off to bed on my own.

I lie awake forever in the bottom bunk in Ivy’s bedroom. I am cold, as the heating went off hours ago, and my mind is alive and buzzing. Each time I close my eyes, or even drift away for a few minutes my dreams, memories from the day, are so vivid and real that they wake me in an instant. The house is too quiet. The blinds are too thin to block out the moonlight. I’ve been up to pee already, and to have water. I get up a third time and go to his room.

“Hello.” I whisper as I open the door. I hear the covers shift.

“Evie.” His voice is alert, and I know that he wasn’t asleep either.

“Can I come in for a minute?”

“Yeah.”

I feel around in the dark until I touch the side of his mattress, and then I crawl boldly under the duvet with him. He isn’t wearing a t-shirt anymore, and his skin feels hot.

“I can’t sleep.” I whisper.

“I haven’t been sleeping well either.” He tells me. “Usually I stay awake for most of the night.”

“You’ve seemed tired these last few months.”

“Well, that’s why.”

It’s a bit odd not being able to see him. The blinds in his room are so much better than Ivy’s, but it’s interesting to feel for him in the dark. I trace my hands over his shoulders and his neck until I find his face, and I don’t know why I want to touch him, like I think I’m going to be able to feel the expressions that I can’t see, but he doesn’t mind it. He must have recovered from his earlier affliction because he’s permitting skin on skin contact again. He finds my arm and my wrist and gently links his fingers with mine.

“I’m cold.” I say.

“I can feel that.”

“It’s okay, you’re so warm, you’ll heat me up nicely.”

“Yeah I get that way.” I like the way that his foot snakes its way up between my calves and hooks our legs together. My hand leaves his face and settles above his heart.

“It’s beating quite fast.”

“Only because you’re here.”

“Oh.”

“I hoped you might come back.”

“I didn’t like being on my own without you, not when I knew you were here, in another room, it felt wrong to be apart for some reason.”

“Me too, but only because I’m scared to lose you again.”

“Again?”

“All I’ve done is lose you and push you away. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“I’m afraid you’ll run away from me.”

“I won’t.”

I tuck my head beneath his chin and wrap my arms around him. “Okay.”

“Maybe we should try and sleep.”

I shut my eyes and let his body envelop me in cosy warmth, but I am still not tired. His hand smoothes a slow path from my hip to my ribs and back, and his heartbeat never slows. I’m a bit edgy. I keep anticipating that he’ll do something bold and daring, but he doesn’t, he keeps things very chaste and innocent, and eventually I begin to feel mildly infuriated, even though I’m the one who said I wanted it this way. Now I want him to touch me, so I take matters into my own hands, grab his wrist and press his hand firmly against my breast, hoping it’ll make it obvious enough.

His voice is tight, surprised. “This is what you want?” His thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin t-shirt material. I can hardly see him in the dark, only his outline and the glow of the moon on the curve of his shoulder, but I feel his breath quicken on my skin as he shifts closer to kiss the side of my neck. Then he moves to my mouth, and before I know it he’s leaning over me and kissing me so slowly, so deeply that I feel a bit dizzy.

“Yes please.” I gasp into his mouth.

Apparently this is what he really wanted too. He pushes his T-shirt up my legs and puts his hands underneath it to stroke my bare skin while I arch into him. I don’t really care how I seem, or what I might feel about this tomorrow, all of these ideas I have of what I would or wouldn’t do according to my own personal rule book of what sort of behaviour is acceptable for me, none of it really seems to matter as much as these urgent feelings in my body that plead with me to do something.

“I really think that you’re lovely.” He says, a surprisingly sweet thing to say considering he’s groping my bare chest and hard inside his boxer shorts, and it makes me feel a little bit shy.

“Well I think the same about you.” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I curl my hand around the back of his neck and kiss him with everything that I have, and when he yanks me closer to him and slides his thigh between my legs. I grind against it instantly as my body goes on ahead without my brain. I would never ordinarily do things like this, and yet, the way that he’s kissing me, the way his hands urge me on and the sound that escapes him, like some small yelp or moan serves to melt all apprehension out of my head. “Like this.” He says, and puts me on top of him so that I can feel him desiring me, right against the place that I want him. I feel my heartbeat in every inch of my body. “Is it okay? Or do you want to stop now?”

I no longer care about the things I said this afternoon. Since then he’s dated me, danced with me, kissed me and shared with me the bad wine that’s still warming my belly, and his body is hot and real underneath me and now all of those things I thought I knew before seem so wrong. “Do you want to stop?” I whisper.

“No, not at all.” I bury my face in his neck while he hauls me against him and rolls my hips against the solid ridge inside his boxers. Without the restriction of the denim it’s a hundred times better, and my whole body erupts with sensation, like there are sparks shooting through every nerve ending and bursting out of my fingertips. Jude’s hands are everywhere, under my t-shirt, inside the back of my underwear holding me, encouraging me in a way that draws pleasured sighs from us both, and I wish that we had the light on, just to see what he looks like when he sounds like that. I bet that he’s twice as pretty.

His heart is thumping beneath me. “Do you want me to get you off now?”

I lift my head from his pillow, drag my hair out of my face and look down at his outline. He smoothes the sides of my thighs from my hips to knees and back again while I consider it. I really shouldn’t want that. It might not be a good idea, I’m too self conscious, but when he strokes me through my underwear to give me a teaser of what he could do to me, all reasonable thought dribbles straight out of my ears.

“Yes.”

“Get on your back.”

I roll onto the sheets, and he shoves my t-shirt up to my chin. I gasp with surprise and delight while he trails kisses from my belly to the hollow of my neck. “Tell me what you like.” He says.

“Whatever you want.”

He chuckles. “I’m just trying to make you come. Can you tell me how?”

How direct. “Oh. I don’t… I don’t really know. Is it weird that I don’t know how to say it?”

“Do you want to show me yourself?”

If the lights were on he’d see my face burning bright red. “You want me to… do that in front of you?”

He holds my wrist and slips our hands beneath the waistband of my underwear, his atop mine. “Together.” He says. “Just show me what you do to yourself.”

For a wild moment I wonder if this is some kind of joke, if he’s going to take his hand away and say ‘just kidding, I can’t believe you thought I’d want you to do that!’ But laughing at me appears to be about the last thing he wants to do, so I chase away my hesitancy and show him what to do.

It must be about the most intimate thing I’ve ever done. He touches me, touching myself while he kisses my mouth between my deepening sighs, and then I move my hand away and let him take over on his own, and say things like “Do you like that?” in this rough, sexy voice that makes me feel like I truly might combust.

He says other things too, whispers the kinds of words into my skin that will make me blush when I think about them tomorrow, but for now I let them wind around me and push me until I let out staggered, breathless gasps and all I can do is feel the loveliness of these sensations. I begin to reach the brink, but immediately worry about it as soon as I start thinking about what he’s witnessing.

He seems to understand. “You can just let go,” He tells me. “It’s just me.” and I do. He takes me straight over the edge with a curl of his fingers as he hurls me into a kaleidoscope of euphoria, and I’m tumbling, freefalling into sweet oblivion until I land back in his arms.

I lay there just breathing for a while, and he brushes strands of hair from my forehead, kisses my neck and rests his hand on my belly, which reminds me that my t-shirt is still bunched up around my collarbone. I quickly readjust it to cover myself, because even though Jude can’t see me in the dark and he had his fingers inside me two minutes ago, some things don’t just change in an instant, and I’m still embarrassed to have my boobs out.

He’s touching my face like he’s trying to memorise my features, smoothing his thumbs over my cheeks and tracing the shapes on my nose and my lips and then pressing his own lips against all of the same places and the attention is so soft and warm that I could turn to liquid and melt right onto the sheets. “That was hot.” He says. “Did anyone ever tell you that you make the sexiest little sounds?”

I would burst out laughing if I hadn’t already melted. “No. Nobody has ever told me things like that.”

“Well those other guys are losers, then.” He lies back onto his pillows and I automatically follow, nose to nose in the dark. “Do you want me to, um, touch you back?” It’s not like I have a lot of real, valuable experience with sexual things, but I have learned enough to know that nothing is given freely without reciprocation.

He just hooks his elbow around my neck and rests my head on his chest. “Yeah, I’d like that. Next time. Not now though.”

“Then what would you like?”

“To try and sleep.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I just want to be here with you.” His heart beat finally slows beneath my ear and I shut my eyes while he traces slow, dreamy shapes with the tips of his fingers against my hip.

“You liked that?” I whisper. “Just touching me?” It was enough?

“I liked it so much.” His voice is thick with sleep. “I like you so much. So much that I don’t know what to do. You’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.” I start to protest. “I’m about the furthest thing from it, actually, I’m a bit of a mess, and-” He’s shushing me now and turning me over to wrap himself around me and deliver more of those sweet soft kisses to the back of my head. “I know you’re not, you just seem that way to me right now. Go to sleep.”

“You want me to stop talking?”

“Mm. If you want.”

“Alright, that’s fair enough.”

“Night, pretty girl.” he murmurs, and drifts away in an instant.

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#lucky girl part 3 #tw: sex #sim spice

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charmsandtealeaves · 2 years

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@jilytoberfest | 31 prompts | prompt 12

Prompt: sharing favourite books

James Potter had watched curiously as Lily Evans hadn’t moved other than to turn a page in close to two hours. Whatever she was reading had her throughly engrossed in the tale.

“Leave her. She’ll be there til she’s finished” Marlene had said stifling a yawn as the other girls drifted upwards to their dormitories for bed.

The exit of her friends seemed to unphase Lily. If anything she was still unaware of anything going on around her. James tilted his head at a slight angle to see if he could get a glimpse at the front cover, but it was to no avail the way the book was propped up in Lily’s lap.

“She only got it this morning. I saw it turn up in the post.” Remus remarked. “Must be good.”

“She’s always getting bloody book in the post.” added Sirius.

It was true, at least once a fortnight a flurry of owls would drop several books onto the table at breakfast.

“Her dad sends them. He reads them and if he thinks they’re good he posts them on.” replied Remus.

“How’d you know that?” James asked.

“I think you sometimes forget we’re friends. She told me. She’s also leant me a few.” Remus chuckled.

James stared back across at Lily again. He was curious to know what had taken her fancy so much. But it was also likely that if he disturbed her immersion she’d be likely to jinx him again. So he waited. And waited. Until finally his friends had given up on him and gone to bed themselves, and the fireplace dimmed to small amber flames. Lily turned the final page and sat up stiffly, stretching out her limbs that had remained in place for so long.

“Good book?” He asked. Lily jumped, slightly startled.

“Bloody hell!” Lily squeaked, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” James mumbled.

“But yes it was quite good. I didn’t realise it had gotten so late.” She checked her watch and tutted at the time displayed.

“What’s it about?” He asked.

“Hmm? Oh it’s a new one by an American author. Apparently it’s doing quite good at the moment so dad bought it and said it’s a must read. I have to say I quite agree. It’s a murder mystery.” Lily stood and handed him the novel.

The cover was white, the authors name in red and the title in black, The Thomas Berryman Number. James turned it over in his hand and gave the blurb a quick once over. Three terrifying murders in the South culminate in a relentless manhunt in the North that centers on a ruthless assassin, the woman he loves, and the beloved leader he is hired to kill with extreme prejudice.

“I didn’t know you liked crime thrillers” James commented. “You ever read Miles Milton’s works?”

“Can’t say I have.” Lily answered.

“I’ve got a copy of the first in the series upstairs if you wanted to borrow it. It’s about an auror who goes around catching dark wizards and solving riddles.” James offered.

“Oh go on then. I’ll need something new to sink my teeth into after that. I’ll loan you that one in exchange.”

“Sounds like a deal Evans. I’ll bring it down to breakfast.” From then on it became fairly standard for the pair to trade novels. Peter even started joking they’d be making their own book club soon. Not that James much cared. Their shared love of thriller mystery novels opened a new avenue for him to venture down when it came to Lily. Discussing the books after they’d each read them made for an easy conversation that could last for hours without bickering or jinxing. It made it much easier for them to befriend one another and start to have common ground. There was also the added benefit that their new “book club” seemed to somehow unintentionally cause a front to Severus Snape. “It’s because she sometimes lets you read them first.” Remus explained.

“She never loans books to anyone without having read them herself first.”

“Is it really that easy to get his knickers in a twist?” James asked.

“Apparently.”

#Jilytober 2022 #31 prompts #jily #james potter #lily evans

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wierdartistmarcell · 4 months

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Crowley clearly revelled in his verbal sparring with the older Winchester, and betwixt them, the crossroads became a metaphorical battleground for Dean's conflicted desperation, and Crowley's sadistic delight in toying with the hunter's weakened resolve. The air practically crackled with the untamed, uncertain bond between the two. A highly reactive chemistry that could only end in one of two ways.

Dean grimaced as he watched the King of Hell's expression.

"You are enjoying this too much." He sneered, only for Crowley to step closer, his eyes gleamed with a cruel, sadistic glee at the opportunity to play with Dean's desperation to such a delicious degree.

His smirk widened at Dean's words.

"Oh, Squirrel, always the straightforward little businessman. Now, let's see... what do I want in exchange for returning you to your demonic state?" He tutted, clearly already knowing exactly what he wanted Dean'send of the deal to be. "Ah! How about...your most cherished memories? Copies only, of course. I'd love a peak into that soap opera mind of yours."

Dean's expression hardened at the mere thought of the invasive act. Exposing his innermost thoughts to the king of Hell himself, having his mind entered in a way he would be unable to control. But what he feared most, however, was the question that lingered upon his tongue.

"Why? What the hell would you want with my memories?"

Crowley grinned, and once again stepped closer. Dean could feel the hair on his arms and neck stand up, as the demon was so close, they were practically breathing the same air.

"It's just for some assurance, darling. They're for my eyes only, that is, as long as you don't try to double-cross me. Plus, you do fascinate me terribly. I wish to know what moments haunts you and what joys keep you going in spite of them." Crowley purred, his voice low, vibrating directly from his chest in the raspy, near barratone tone which made others throw themselves at his feet with fear or want, or at times both. Situation dependant.

Dean hesitated, trying his best to grapple with the idea of baring his memories like a surrendering wolf, baring their underbelly.

"Fine." Dean barked. "Copies of my memories. What else?"

Crowley smirked, eyes narrowed, and he looked up into Dean's face, head slightly cocked. The way he held himself practically removing the 4-inch height difference between the two.

"Clever boy. You know I want more out of the deal. But It's more abstract, what I want. I simply want your loyalty. I dont want you to be some lap dog or glorified assassin. I simply want you to keep doing what you are doing. But you will, when needed, be loyal to me. You will not be physically able to harm me. Nor give away any information that would directly bring me harm."

Dean scowled at that but nodded reluctantly.

"Deal. My innermost memories, and my loyalty."

The King of Hell chuckled as he revelled in the clear desperation in the human's voice.

"Ah, Dean. You do drive a hard bargain, but it's a deal. My dear, I must be honest, I was waiting for you to return to me with this request. To become a demon again. This was your inevitable future. You were always fated to be a powerful demon.

Dean gritted his teeth at that. But Crowley was right. He was a natural at being a demon.

But that was still such a terrible thought.

"Whatever," he sneered, unwilling to dwell on the thought. "You want my memories, Crowley? Fine. But I warn you. They're not pretty."

"Oh, I am certain that they are much prettier than you give them credit for."

"If you dare taking photos of the kiss, I will rip your balls off." Dean warned, remembering, with a shudder, the photo Crowley had taken during Bobby's deal.

"Oooh, kinky~ But there's no need to get your knickers in a twist. This isn't a normal deal. We don't have to seal it with a kiss. Sorry to disappoint, Squirrel."

Dean blinked and nodded. He was definitely not disappointed. Nope...

Not at all.

Crowley smiled and pressed his thumb to Dean's forhead. He concentrated, and the both of them entered a standing sleep, making it a lot easier for Crowley to enter Dean's dreams and, most importantly, all his memories.

Dean's mind was like an abyss of sin and agony. Most of his memories seemed to be blurred with alocholism and self-loathing. But Crowley was a persistent being, and he finally managed to pull a happy memory from the ocean of despair. The warmth it radiated made it clear that this was indeed a very happy memory. Crowley concentrated further and ebtered the memory.

He found himself standing on a stained, wooden floor, loud, yet unrecognizable music dulled the back of his mind as he spotted two people at a table.

It was him. Them. The two of them. Him and Dean, sitting in a pub, dressed in cowboy hats, and Dean was laughing at something Crowley had said.

How the Hell is this guy allowed to be this handsome. And funny as fuck as well?

The echoing voice that was Dean's memory bounced in Crowley's own mind.

This had Crowley taken aback slightly, before leaving that memory.

After a bit more searching, Crowley found and entered another memory, this one was burning. Like a bright star amonst the abyssal masses that made up the memory pit.

He entered the memory, and found himself in a place that was quiet, and tranquil, bathed with the very first rays of the morning sun through a window.

It was a motel room. Not just a motel room... the motel room. He looked to the bed, he knew that would be where the two of them were. And indeed. But to his delighted surprise, the memory took place at a time where he himself had been sleeping, but, it seemed Dean had been awake still. Dean didn't say, or think about anything with any substance. All the hunter did, was laying with his head on the memory-Crowley's chest, fingers threading gently through his dark chest hair.

Was that truly all which made Dean so happy? Did this somehow create such a radient memory? Just a quiet, domestic moment?

Well, he ought to look for more memories for his hypothesis.

Indeed...that was the only reason for why he reached out for more, searching for the happiest, oh-so deliciously human memories of the man.

But finally, he untangled his figurative tentacles from Dean's mind, and once more focused his gaze upon reality, blinking away the red smoke at the corner of his eyes.

"Well, well, Dean. I wasn't expecting a stroll down our shared memory lane." He said with a grin threatening on his mouth. "Not that I would complain. I am glad you cherish our summer affair as much as I."

Dean scowled as Crowley spoke. Why did the british asshole have to make everything sound dirty? Having his happiest memories from the last decade, the moments that had allowed him to forget the horrors of the world, the horrors of himself, looked at through such a perverse lense. It sullied them.

"Yeah, yeah, real cosy times. Happy now?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Excstatic, darling. I must say, our little adventure sure seems to occupy a special place in that hunter heart of yours. You sure know how to make a girl swoon." Crowley teased.

Dean grumbled under his breath, having realized that Crowley was revelling in his new-found leverage.

Dean looked at him, frustration evident in his entie being.

"Get the fuck on with it." He sneered, whilst Crowley simply stood there, hands in his coat pockets, savouring the satisfaction which Dean's discomfort brought him. He leaned in closer, eyes half-lidded.

"Oh, I intend to, Dean." He purred.

As Crowley extracted the copies of Dean's memories, the crossroads echoed with the laughter and banter of of their unconventional partnership.

The two men looked at eachother, as their ongoing wardance on the crossroad battlefield seemed to slow in its rythm, as the silvery essence of the memories entered one of the rings on Crowley's hand.

Dean took a step closer, as he inhaled a deep breath. Frustration and defiance radiated off of him. He surprised the both of them as he grabbed the back of Crowley's neck, his fingers sliding between short strands of black hair.

"I don't trust you, Crowley." He hissed, making their eyes meet. "Seal the damned deal." His voice was heavy with something neither of the men were willing to acknowledge, before Dean, without another word, grabbed the front of Crowley's black coat with his free hand, and pressed their lips together in a heated kiss. A collision of conflicting emotions - desperation, defiance, and, though both once again ignored it, something deeper.

Crowley had initially been taken aback. But fuelled by the nostalgia of the memory lane, he soon responded with equal fervor, his arms wrapped around Dean's waist.

Though the crossroad was used to the infernal contracts which were sealed upon it frequently. The intensity of the moment between the two had it figuratively shudder.

As they broke apart, Dean's breath heavy, the charged energy still lingered in the air surrounding them.

"There. You can't weasel yourself out of your part of the deal. Now, do what you need to do." Dean said, lips swollen and pulled into a sneer.

Crowley wore an amused yet intrigued expression as he nodded, his smug expression hiding any hints of the unexpected kiss having affected him at all.

"If you wanted a kiss, you had only to ask, loverboy." He teased, his hands still resting on Dean's waist.

Their gaze lingered on each other as the intensity of the kiss faded into the night, leaving Dean to long for the hellfire heat, which always radiated slightly from Crowley's vessel. before Crowley stepped back. A triumphant expression formed on his lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, a small, black box appearing in his palm.

"The full transformation will not be immediate, but within the month, you will reach complete conversion." He said, opening the box. Within it was a vial that contained a small, black swirl of smoke.

"Is that part of a demon?" Dean asked, looking at the thumb-sized crystal vial.

"Yes." Crowley smirked. "Part of your demon soul." He smirked, uncorking the vial, allowing the demonic soul fragment return to Dean. "I trapped it before you betrayed me. This will graft itself to you and corrupt the rest of your soul."

The dark smoke made its way down Dean's throath and grafted itself over his heart.

"There you have it, Dean. Welcome back to the fold. Your new life is about to begin."

#digital art #character art #fanart #fandom ships #gay ships #supernatural crowley #supernatural fanart #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #dean x crowley #drowley #crowley #fergus macleod #corruption arc

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