#down to the specific shite anyway

[wp100]

felt really stupid today over dumb mistakes that shouldnt happen

[ilovehugslikealotalot]

Nine-ing Armor

(not my gif)

sum: Rebecca meets her ‘Shite in Nine-ing Armor’

WARNING: Rupert doesn’t own West Ham, WestHamplayer!r, confessions, r is kinda like Jamie, gay panic, injuries, blood

(Revision & finish)

Rebecca didn’t see this coming, at all.

She sat in her office, barely getting work done due to a certain West Ham player in her mind. Ever since the clubs have agreed to have a women’s league, Rebecca was beyond ecstatic. Now, she just wanted it to go away, she wanted you to go away. Not because she didn’t like you, no, it was the complete opposite.

The way your legs were so perfectly muscular, your arms looked like you could sweep her of her feet even though you were shorter than her. She would’ve loved if your skilled hands just made their way down to her-

“Rebecca!” Keeley screeched, barging into the office with a big scowl, Rebecca jumped, snapping out of her thoughts, “Yes?”

“What the hell is this?!” The woman growled, stomping over to the other blonde desk in fury. Rebecca raised her brow, a signal for the woman to explain, Keeley let out another growl, placing her phone on Rebecca’s fancy glass desk.

It was a text.

Y/n 😉 Hey Keeley! I was wondering if you could tell Rebecca that ‘y/n’s sorry if she’s upset you in anyway’? I want her to know that I meant it but, she doesn’t have to reciprocate it. Thanks! Have a good day :) It was you. After a few weeks of going out, getting to know each other more, you finally caved. You told Rebecca your true feelings during brunch. You really thought she would feel the same after everything but, you thought wrong. Next thing you knew, she was sprinting out the door of the food establishment, leaving you enough to cover the bill. At least she had the decency to do that. She left you, in the middle of brunch, alone, looking ridiculous in the sundress you specifically wore to impress the older woman. You felt horrible. You should’ve just left it alone, how could a woman as fabulous and stunning as Rebecca Welton even consider wanting you? What could you offer her that she didn’t already have?

Rebecca’s face dropped. This could not be happening. She already made a complete fool of herself the first time she met you. Blabbering about anything just to get you to look at her. It wasn’t her fault, there was something about you that made her lose her confidence and melt like a puddle of ice.

Now, she’s made a fool of you. All because she can’t talk properly around you. After you’d confessed her feelings, Rebecca began panicking. She wasn’t ready, at least that’s what she told herself.

She couldn’t talk to you without breaking down, your presence was enough to make her want to tell you her darkest secrets.

Keeley frowned, rounding her best friend’s desk, she would knock some sense into the woman just like she had many times before. “Look, it’s clear you are madly in love with her, why can’t you just say that?” Keeley said, her hands placed on Rebecca’s shoulders. The older blonde shrugged, “Because I’ll hurt her Keeley, I know I will. It’s better that I do it now.” The club owner pushed away opening her laptop once more and typing, Keeley knew better than to meddle in this little affair but, she read the message out loud, hoping Rebecca would listen.

“You and her are worth the chance, you’ll never know if to don’t even try it with her. Screw the press, you said it yourself.” Without another word the younger woman left. Leaving a conflicted Rebecca alone in her self pity. She wondered if this is how you felt. Alone and betrayed.

It was hours until the game between West Ham and Richmond. Yet, Rebecca could feel her heart lurching. Even if the game hadn’t started yet, she knew that the West Ham women’s team was in the building. It made her overthinking every turn and step she took as she walked around. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was looking for, just mindlessly wandering. Maybe she even hoped to see you.

That was when she had stopped in front of the guest lockeroom that she had realized, she was drawn to you. Peeking through the window, she heard footsteps behind her. “Hello, Rebecca Welton is it? We met at the Club Conference a few weeks ago” A voice said, the blonde woman turned around to see the owner of West Ham, the better, new one. Rebecca smiled, “Ah, Diana! What a pleasure, I hope your team have brought their A game.”

The two engaged polite conversation, Rebecca found Diana way more pleasant than some of the owners. It was nice not being the only woman anymore. The lockeroom door burst open, and out came the women all energized. Rebecca didn’t care who won of lost tonight, she just needed to talk to you.

You exited the lockeroom with your team, they hyped you up as you unzipped your hoodie revealing the number 9, flaunting it around. The team sang the ‘We All Follow the West Ham’ chant with pride, Rebecca looked over at you. The twinkle in her eyes was noticeable, even Diana saw it. “You love her, don’t you…?” The woman said softly, crossing her arms as she winked at Rebecca. The blonde woman felt her voice would betray her, settling for a nod instead.

——

The game was exciting, in the first half the score was Richmond 1, West Ham 3. Every time someone would try to get passed you, the effortless moving of your feet managed to swipe the ball. You had this grin all game, it pissed Richmond off badly. Even the players who were benched. It was no surprise that fans had began to compare your mannerisms to Jaime.

The way you had provoked one of the players and acting like it wasn’t your fault, hands up in the air with this smirk.

It turned Rebecca on, especially when the Jumbotron would zoom into you. Man, you looked so good in your kit.

During halftime, no matter how much the Richmond coaches didn’t want to, they had to press that big red button they really didn’t want at first. Their biggest weapon was their player named, Maria Sheridan. The woman was a darn good player, as Lasso would put it.

She just had too much attitude, it would’ve been the best to bench her until she got her act right. That was when Roy realized her attitude combined with yours might make it easier to win.

“It looks like, for the first time in two games, Roy Kent has decided to sub in Sheridan” One of the announcers said in disbelief, the other smirked, “This is going to be one explosive end. We already know how Sheridan and Y/l/n get along.”

They were in fact correct, Maria had stopped you from making 2 goals now, it was ticking you off and everyone knew it.

“She’s really hot in that kit, Rebecca” Keeley nudged the other blonde woman on the arm, she just sighed, “She’s angry because of what happened, I mean look at her on that field!” Rebecca gestured to the Jumbotron that had caught you bending your water bottle in half as the refs called a time out.

You aggressively spat out the clear liquid, throwing the plastic bottle onto a chair. Sheridan was gonna pay, you wanted to get another goal, the score was now even. The team didn’t want to lose, not when they were all so close. The whistle let out its shrill cry and the pitch was back into action.

You were close, so close to the goal, that was when you heard the loud pounding of feet. You tired, even when your body ached, you still ran, just when she had tackled you to the ground, your skin sliding against the turf and your head slamming into her shoe, you had kicked it.

You whimpered as you lay on the ground, you could hear the gasps of the spectators then cheering. You would be embarrassed later, not knowing why they were cheering. The buzzer rang through the stadium as you grasped your shoulder. It hurt from catching you after the impact.

You didn’t realize the red substance oozing out of your head. You noticed Sheridan had gotten up and propped up your head, she was screaming something at you but you couldn’t make it out. It was so loud and…why were the lights so bright?

You could feel the rumbling of feet, you grasped your head wondering why it hurt so badly. You could feel the thick wet liquid on your palm…oh.

Now you smelt the irony substance, it was sickening, you hated blood.

The medical team had brought you to the infirmary, checking you over. By then you had a sense of what happened, hoping nothing was broken, if anything was, you didn’t feel it.

They gave you some pain medication, cleaned up the burn and the small gash on your head. There was a bruise on your shoulder where you had landed. Lucky you.

Maria walked in with an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, y’know for being like that on the field, you alright?” She asked, softly sitting down next to you as you caught your breath. “It was a footing accident and I’m sorry, if it make you feel any better you’ve ruined my new boots” she laughed softly. You shook your head, you knew it was, someone her level wouldn’t mess up that badly, not if she completely lost her brain. “I thought I should tell you, your girlfriend went complete psycho on me but, I deserve it.” You raised a brow, “What girlfriend?”

“Uh, Rebecca?”

Oh, right. Your cheeks heated up quickly, rivaling the color of dried blood on your hands. Noticing it, you got up to wash the blood off. Maria watched you, “She wants to see you, she’s out there having a mental breakdown, weeping about how she’s stupid for something. You want her to come in here?” The Richmond player would make a good friend, maybe some day the both of you could get passed your differences.

Nodding, you sent her a smile, “You’re not all bad, Sheridan.” The other woman smirked, “Don’t get all sappy on me, still have to beat you during the championships.” She left without another word, missing your shocked expression.

That means you had made it in…

You felt overly happy with yourself, scrubbing off the rest of the blood on your face. “Darling?” Rebecca called out, her voice was always like honey, softer than silk.

“Why’d you do it? Run out on me like that.” You asked, trying to get the blood from under your finger nails. You heard her sigh, “I was scared, I haven’t loved somebody this much since…I don’t even know how long.” She chuckled bitterly, coming up behind you she stopped a little bit out of arms reach. “I understand if you don’t want me but, I can’t promise you that I’ll stop loving you.”

With a shaky breath, you shut the water off turning to her, “I do want you, Rebecca. That’s what makes it so hard to be mad at you, just promise me something” You turned to her, not expecting the tears stains and smudged mascara. She really had been crying, her face was a little red too. “Don’t let the media define you, you’re worth more than all of the diamonds on this world and more…”

“I promise.” She sniffled, looking at you with hurt eyes, she’d struggled a lot in her life. You could tell from how she carries herself. “Then I forgive you, stupid idiot…” You smiled, walking up to her and smashing your lips onto hers.

“You’re a real shite, you know that?” Rebecca laughed, pulling you closer as she wiped the new formed tears, except now, they were happy tears.

———

This was in my drafts as well, I thought I’d release when I had time! This was one of my very first fics that I’ve written! I drafted it for revision and never released it, hope you like it!

Not proofread :)

[hannahssimblr]

Seven on the button, and the doorbell rings. I hear it from the garden as I empty the contents on the lawn mower into the bin, grass stains on my new shoes, sweat on my brow. Dad comes to the back door. 

“Bell,” he says. 

“Is it someone for me?”

“I assume so. A young woman.” 

“Didn’t you let her in?”

“No. I spotted her from my office window.”

I scoff. He’s so weird. Why wouldn’t he just answer? I wipe the grass from my hands onto the sides of my shorts, kick my dirty shoes off on the patio, and head down the hallway to the sounds of Ivy plonking on the piano. 

It’s Evie, in her usual denim shorts and a thin green cardigan, hair straight and shiny and wearing a shy smile. Despite seeming slightly frazzled, she looks so nice, like she’s put in effort, unlike me, all grass stains, sweat, and hair that is no doubt sticking up at some wild angle. I run my fingers through it. 

“Oh, hi,” I say. “I didn’t think you’d come so early. I… still have to shower.”

“Oh, God, sorry, am I the first one here?”

“Yeah, but come in, anyway. My sister is just practising for her piano lessons. She hasn’t played all summer.” I roll my eyes as the door clicks behind us. “In case you can’t tell. She’s a bit shite.”

Evie doesn’t respond, but looks around her with those big green eyes taking in her surroundings, skating up the panelled walls to the Georgian coving, the ceiling roses around the lights, all restored, faithful to the original house. It occurs to me to wonder, for the first time, what her home looks like, and the differences between our upbringings that didn’t matter an ounce on our little escapist slice of the beach.

“Do you want tea or something?”

She nods, and I take her through to the kitchen. There, she perches on a stool at the island and rests her elbows, trying not to be so obvious to her gawking. This time, she takes in the kitchen, this bespoke, perfect show-house-like kitchen with all of its integrated appliances, the state-of-the-art hob that’s barely used, the skinny cupboard made specifically for all the herbs and spices that still have the plastic wrap on them. It’s nice, sure, it’s like something from a magazine, but I would prefer this was the type of house that had magnets on the fridge door instead. 

“I’m sorry I’m early,” Evie says with a rueful smile. “I thought you said seven.”

I drop a tea bag into a mug for her. “Yeah, I said seven in the text, but I suppose I should have been more specific.”

“More specific about…?”

“That seven doesn’t actually mean seven, you know? That it means, like, sometime after eight.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you expected me to decode your text.”

I laugh. The misunderstanding was my fault, really, and if I’d thought about it for even a minute, I would have known that Evie, a girl who likely doesn’t go to a lot of parties, wouldn’t know the procedure. I don’t mind that she’s here at all. I am happy to see her, but the fact that she is in my house at the same time as my family is awkward. Every time I hear someone moving about in another room, all my muscles tense up. I cannot bear for her to meet them, and be able to make some kind of judgement about who I truly am through the encounter, or worse, expose herself to their judgement and scrutiny. 

As though on cue, my mother’s heels clack through the hallway, increasing in volume until all I can do is mentally prepare myself for her entrance. I curse under my breath while I fill Evie’s cup with boiling water. 

In freshly pressed trousers, she strides into the room. All jangling keys, and an air of busyness about her, so self-absorbed that it takes a moment for her to realise we have a guest. She stops dead, and surveys Evie in dull surprise. She’s like some kind of wild, feline predator, and witnessing her interactions with people who don’t yet know her ways is excruciating. 

“Oh, hello.”

“Mom, this is my friend Evie. Evie, this is my mom,” I say. 

Evie fidgets in her seat. “Hello missus Turner,” she says, and it’s so polite that I squirm.

Mom lets out a short, percussive laugh. “Oh, no, darling. It’s just Colette. Are you one of those girls from the Holy Faith school?”

“No, actually, I’m not. I’m from Tullamore, in Offaly.” 

Mom’s eyes glaze over so immediately and obviously that I cringe. 

Pulling the tea bag out, I clarify, “She’s one of my friends from holiday.”

“Ah, Shane’s sister.”

Evie picks the mug from the counter and cradles it in her hands. “No, um… No, I’m not.”

“Ah.” She’s already rifling through her handbag. “Jude, have you seen my reading glasses? I haven’t been able to find them all afternoon.”

“Did you check the office?”

“Why would they be in there?”

“I’m just asking, did you check?”

She huffs. “Why would you suggest the office? Why on earth would I have left them there?”

“Because this is your house, and you can go into any of the rooms you like. Sorry if that’s an outrageous suggestion.”

“You know I’m never in there.”

“Well, maybe dad mistook them for his and took them in. I don’t know.”

Evie stares into her mug. I am aware of the atmosphere we’re generating here, my mom and I, but it’s hard not to descend into this childish bickering every time we speak to each other lately. Even seeing her ignites this rage in me, as she is a reminder of the injustices thrust upon me, and every time I see her smug face, I think about the position she has put me in. Dad too, obviously, but I mercifully don’t have to see him outside of occasional mealtimes, and whenever someone makes a noise that disturbs him.

Eventually, mom struts out of the room and flings open the door to the living room, curtly calling on Ivy to get ready to leave, and I thank God. I won’t relax until they do. 

“How’s your tea?” I ask Evie, and she responds with a grateful smile. “It’s lovely, thank you.” I know she’s lying. I don’t know how the nuances of creating drinks I don’t enjoy. There are rules about the correct amount of milk, and how long to brew the tea bag. Maybe I shouldn’t have bashed it around in the cup with such vigour, as though transferring some of my contaminated energy into it. I wonder if she can taste it. 

“That’s good,” I say, and we lapse into a long silence.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Lena!! ❤️❤️❤️

I finally thought of a request for my fav MPIND Matty 🤭

Maybe something with girlie using a toy on him? Maybe a vibrator? Overstimulation perhaps?

-Sugar-coat-it <3 <3 <3

@sugar-coat-it This was supposed to just be a short blurb but i got way too carried away xx. hope u like it!!

Rush! - Matty Healy

A/N: This was so fun to write!! MPIND Matty lives in a special corner of my heart i think i might never stop writing for him. @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff tysm for being my (half decent) beta reader and making sure this isn't totally shit. Enjoy!! (edit: this is non-canon, so it doesnt have anything to do with the plot of MPIND or its sequel, Before you go)

wc: 9k

content warnings: filthy, semi public?, but also not really, overstimulation, teasing, begging, dom! reader, most of the time, matty is a cocky piece of shite but we love him, grinding, bondage, marking, use of sex toys, specifically a vibrator, what else hmmm, both of them are high, so dubcon?, still in their right mind though, wow the content warnings are long

Everything reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, hints of Jimmy Choo’s ‘illicit’ lingering in the air around Matty. You scrunched up your nose at the scent, Matty obviously having doused himself in it while you were in the bathroom, straightening your hair. Soft music played in the background, Matty using his turn on the Ipod to put on some ambient stuff George had made (yup, George was a music producer now for some reason? Quarter life crisis vibes.) 

Adam was on his way, his little red Kia primed and ready for a good smoke sesh in some parking lot somewhere. It was nearly winter, which meant going outside was hardly an option considering neither you or Matty actually owned anything resembling warm clothing. 

“I'm not letting you wear my coat again. Remember what happened last time?” he says when he sees your ‘finished’ outfit; a pair of jeans and a sage green long sleeve top, adorned with white and beige rhinestones. How dare he even mention that day, the state you entered the house was completely his fault.

“That only happened because you booked it down the fucking street and left me there!” It was true. The two of you had been sharing his massive coat, both of your bodies easily fitting into it, up until he decided the last four blocks home were to be a sprint, and took his jacket with him.  

“Touché.” he grins as you shake your head at him. Fuck him, honestly. You tell him as much, his only reaction being a simple shrug of his shoulders, and his attention was back on his reflection in the mirror, carefully applying glittery purple liner to his eyelids, giving him a sort of emo-fairy look. Ross’d take the piss out of both of you, all dressed up to go smoke in a car on a wednesday evening, but you knew Matty already had some sort of comeback prepared, about how at least he groomed himself, and wasn't desperate to be a ‘proper’ lad (cue Ross chucking the nearest object he could pick up in Matty’s direction). 

Impatient as ever, you sigh loudly, trying to get Matty to stop hogging the shared vanity. You could always just go back into the bathroom, but his lightbulb was truly shit, and besides, most of the stuff he was using was yours anyway. 

Finally, you give up on trying to keep the piece, and promptly shove him off the chair 

“Stop doing yourself up and move-” he doesn't budge, hanging on to the edge of the desk for dear life, refusing to let you finish getting ready.  

“Violence is never the answer- Fuck off, christs sake, fine!” he whines like a child, getting up and throwing himself on the bed, and you cringe as it creaks loudly beneath him. 

“You love it when I hurt you, shut up.” you tease, watching the look in his eye dramatically change. “Not like this!” he shoots back, flipping you off before grabbing his Ipod, switching to something more punk, heavy drums and guitar filling the space. 

“Touché.” you repeat his own words back to him, and he rolls his eyes, sitting up. Taking the same brush, also using the same color, you frame your eyes with purple eyeshadow, trying your hand at a smokey eye. The two of you were matching more often than not, with Hann’s comments on it slowly getting on your nerves 

“You both look the fucking same, its like you’re clones.” he’d overexaggerate, just to get a reaction out of a easily riled up Matty. 

“D’you reckon Ross’ll have the good stuff this time? I can't deal with Hann’s bickering otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders, looking at Matty from the corner of your eye. Maybe Adam’s comment rang somewhat true, seeing as Matty was wearing the exact same color scheme you were. Green Jersey top, definitely stolen from George, paired with blue, seventies style jeans, white and red trainers peeking out from beneath the too-long pants.

“I dunno, but we could go to the shop if it's shit, maybe get some wine?” you suggest. It was always 50/50 with Ross, and bad weed always fucked Matty off to no end, making him unbearable. Almost finished, you look around for your mascara, hands rifling through the piles of makeup littering the desk. 

“Where’ve you put the mascara?” you ask, slowly getting annoyed. 

“Left.” he answered curtly, engrossed in the newest edition of vogue. Sure enough there it was, bots of product caked around the cap. Coating your eyelashes with it, you hear Matty stand up and walk over to you. Setting spray topped off your look, and you run your fingers through your hair, smoothing it out. 

Matty isn't particularly strong, but then again, neither are you, so the strong hand around your wrist was useless to fight against, and you let him pull you up. Face to face with Matty, you quirk an eyebrow at him. What was he playing at? 

“You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” you blush at the compliment, quietly telling him to fuck off, smiling as you see him grin at you. His brown eyes rake over your body, giving you a slow once-over, savoring the sight in front of him. 

“Stop looking at me like that-” he cuts you off with a tug of your hair, smashing his lips against you. Surprised, it takes you a solid few seconds to properly kiss him back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the kiss. His tongue immediately shoved past your lips, licking into your lips with fervor, drinking in every small gasp for air. 

“Taste like sugar as well, so sweet.” He pulls you back in, deliberately not giving you an opportunity to answer. You feel his hands wander, trailing down your back and under your shirt, caressing your bare torso. His fingers toy at the band of your bra, teasing the clasps. Refusing to let you go, he presses your body flush against his, and you can sense every inch of him on your skin, like electricity, the smell of him travels up your spine, intoxicating. 

The buzz of your phone snaps you back into reality. The guys, your plans. It takes every ounce of self control in your body to press your hand to his chest, effectively separating the two of you. Matty looks at you with a hurt expression, hands quick to cup your face, desperate to taste you again. Shaking your head, your voice is slightly as you tell him that the others are already outside. 

“I haven't seen George in like three weeks. You're not the only person in the world, you know.” George was up to his eyeballs in Uni coursework (yes, Uni), and hasn't been able to hang out since forever, making you really miss him. 

“I could make you feel like i'm the only person in the world, have all your attention on me.” he says with a wink, tracing your collarbones over your shirt. Matty was a hard person to say no to, with the way he peered down from above you, eyes wide, silently begging you to just stay.

“No.” you say firmly, grabbing your bag from the chair you were previously sitting on and slinging it over your shoulder. Instinctively, Matty takes it from you, holding it out of reach. 

“Can't have you carrying your own bags, what would people think?” he teases, pushing past you and out the door, his footsteps heavy on the carpeted stairs. You follow him, heartbeat finally starting to slow. Already at the front door, Matty waits for you to tug your boots on, leaning against the coat rack as you did. 

“What the fuck was that about, anyway?” The way he kissed you was passionate, hot, and definitely not something you just do on a whim. He tries to play innocent, raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders. 

“Nothing, just wanted a peck.” he answered, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair, still not fully dry from the shower he had taken a few hours prior. You scoff, looking at him in a ‘are you serious?’ type way. 

“You fucking jumped on me, don’t be a such a dickhead.” you feel around for your cigarettes and light, smiling fondly as you realize it's the one Matty had gifted to you. “What was your end goal? You know we’re about to meet with the others!” 

“I’m sorry for kissing my girl, jesus,” he exhales sharply, hand reaching for the doorknob, a loud honk sounding from the other side. Swinging the door open, Hann looks truly fucked off as the two of you walk down the driveway and climb into the car. Now usually, you would sit in the middle, between George and Matty, letting you comfortably lean forward to talk to Ross and Adam in the front, but it seems as though Matty had other plans. 

Shoving past you, he settled into the middle seat, setting your bag on the floor next to your leather clad feet. George looks over, slightly confused at the new seating arrangement, but accepts it, going back to rolling the first spliff. The car starts, sputtering before actually turning on, Hann letting out a sigh of relief. There had been multiple occasions where his ‘precious baby’, as he called her, refused to start, leaving all of you stranded until Ross somehow managed to find the problem and fix it. 

“See, this is what I mean,” Hann gestures to you and Matty, facing primarily Ross “They look like fucking clones of each other, its weird.” Matty reaches past the headrest and tries to smack him, causing the car to sway slightly as his hands leave the steering wheel.

“I’m trying to drive, fucks sake.” Hann mutters, pissed off now that Matty had almost made him crash the car. You set a firm hand on the dark haired boy's shoulder, lightly pulling him back into his seat. His legs are firmly pressed up against you now, and you feel a familiar tingling sensation blossom under your skin. 

“Try to go steady, ‘m almost done.” George has this legendary talent of being able to roll the perfect spliff in even the most impractical situations, making him a god in Hann’s eyes. The car slows down slightly, and you see George lick the spliff closed, admiring his work. Matty immediately snatches it out of his hands, grinning from ear to ear as he sniffs at it, the smell filling his senses. 

“God, you’re so fucking weird, mate.” Ross grimaces as he eyes Matty, watching him try to evenly light the spliff, failing miserably. Both you and Ross couldn't stand the earthy, stuffy smell of weed, constantly begging Hann to roll down the windows whenever someone decided to smoke in the car. Matty, however, had some sort of hash-fetish, and absolutely loved the smell of it, hotboxes being his favorite activity ever. He thought it heightened the experience, which was a load of shite, but he believed in nonetheless. 

You were almost there, the Mcdonald’s parking lot being your end destination. Taking the scenic route, the five of you passed the spliff around, partially skipping Adam so as to not get him completely off his tits while he was driving. Matty agreed to rolling down the windows, seeing how nauseous Ross looked, with you not being far behind. Wind raked through your hair as you leaned your head onto the edge of the car.

Feeling at ease, peaceful and very, very high, you don't even notice Matty’s hand trailing up your thigh. He was just like that, touchy and overly affectionate with everyone, not just you, though, the type of affection did differ slightly. Scratching your skin lightly, you feel his fingers claw at the thin material of your jeans, grabbing hold of your panties through them. Your eyes snap up to meet his, and he pulls suddenly, letting go of the elastic. It hits your skin with a muffled smack, and you jump, noticing Ross’ eyes on you, peering over his shoulder. 

Slightly disoriented, you don't even register Matty wrapping his fingers around the base of your neck, pulling you in for a hot, definitely too passionate kiss. Yelping in surprise, you sigh, almost inaudibly, into the kiss, letting him take control for a few seconds. George groans as he spots the two of you, dramatically shielding his eyes. 

Realsing where you actually were, you pull away, shooting Matty a look that can only be described as ‘what the actual fuck was that?’. His skin is flushed, matching the color of his droopy eyes. Hann doesn't seem to have noticed Matty’s little PDA stunt in the back seat, blissfully unaware of the reason Ross was grimacing right now. 

“I'd rather not see you snog, thanks.” Ross spits out, making a fake gagging motion as his eyes meet George’s, equally as unsettled as he was. Adam hadn’t seen the two of you, but the mental image was enough to make him join the other two in their disgust. 

“What, you jealous mate? You can ask to join, it's no problem.” Ross laughs sarcastically, taking the spliff out of George's hands, taking a deep drag. He could sense Matty wasn't finished yet. 

“You’d have to shave first, can't have you shedding all over my girl.” You still weren't used to him actually calling you that. It felt off, especially with your three other best mates staring at the two of you, silently wishing Matty would just shut the fuck up, for once. He was killing the soft, chilled out atmosphere with his incessant loud babbling, making George roll his eyes until you were sure they were going to get stuck there.

Ignoring the various groans of protest, he pulls you back in, basically climbing on top of you now. You giggle, partially because of the distinct floaty feeling clouding your mind, and partially because of Matty’s complete lack of shame, making him snog your face off just to rile up his mates, not really knowing how much it affected you. You pretend to be annoyed, shoving him off of you, wiping your mouth to really drive home the point. 

“For the love of god, Matty, stop humping her, she's probably sick of you by now.” Hann says, making sympathetic eye contact with you in the mirror. He knew how you felt about the kissing in front of the rest of the group, not wanting to alienate them from you and Matty’s dynamic. The whole thing was a complicated mess. 

His hand is still on your thigh as you squirm around a bit, you manage to gather your thoughts and speak for yourself. 

“I quite am, fuck off, Matthew.” he tenses. 

Now, to anyone else, you sound completely normal, if maybe a bit fucked off. Purposefully putting distance between you two, Ross reaches back and hands you the almost done spliff, and you inhale lightly, finishing it off. Matty is uncharacteristically quiet and you know he can feel your eyes on him. A warning. 

He was prone to acting out like this, loud and obnoxious, almost bratty. To Ross, George, and Hann, this was normal, his fits a cry for attention, wanting all eyes on him, but to you, it meant so much more. 

Stubbing out the joint, you throw it out the window, dangling your arm down the side of the car. George was calm, collected, and seemed to be enjoying life as Adam finally parked in your usual spot, turning the car off. Spreading your legs out more, you bump your thigh against Matty’s, making him twitch slightly, a soft smile spreading onto your face. 

“Matty.” you say, his eyes darting up to meet yours.

“Mhm?” nudging him, you lift both your legs up and onto his lap, draping yourself over him. George is a bit startled, but guides you over his lap as well, letting your feet settle against the other side of the car, pressed up against the door. 

“Fag?” George asks, holding out a pack of cigarettes in your direction. You happily take one, and so does Matty. Placing it between your lips, you watch George as he hands Matty his lighter after he lights his. His fingers fumble a bit, before finally flicking it on and inhaling the smoke, letting the nicotine mix with the weed, his face nothing but blissed out. It reminded you of what he looked like when he-

“Here.” he mumbles, holding the lighter in front of your face. 

“Do it for me?” you ask sweetly, leaning your elbows against the back of your seat and the headrest of Hann’s, making yourself comfortable. His breath hitches as you shift, the bottom of your thigh pressing against his crotch. Two can play at that game.

The flame paints his face in an orange hue, and you feel the world close on around you. The way his delicate hand holds up the light to your cigarette makes your head spin, and not just from the weed. You feel George shift beneath you on the other side of the car, rifling through his pockets, pulling out a small baggie and rolling papers, getting to work rolling another spliff. 

Hanns voice rings dully in your ears, asking George to hurry up a bit, saying he was nowhere near the level of high he wanted to be at right now.

“Let me do it, stop nagging.” George's movements are slower, his motor skills definitely more than just slightly inhibited. 

“Good?” Matty asks, your attention turning back to him. His eyes are glazed over, red and half closed, and his hair falls over his face, indicating he’s long overdue for another haircut. Mattys hands settle on your knees, rubbing small circles over the bone, warmth blooming underneath your skin wherever he touches. You refused to let it show, opting to lean your head further out the window, admiring the stars glimmering above you, the cold of the night biting at your cheeks. 

Matty can tell you’re cold by the way you shiver slightly, and he feels a bit bad, even if he did tell you to bring some sort of extra layer. 

“I’m fucking freezing.” you state to the car, Ross turning around to face you, lowering his seat back a bit despite Georges protests. 

“There's a blanket in the back, I think.” Hann nods in agreement, confirming his statement. Knowing you wouldn't be able to reach, Matty blindly feels around for it, fingers meeting a slightly scratchy, but still soft, knitted blanket. 

Draping it over you, his hands linger on your waist, goosebumps forming on your skin as his nails graze your tattoo. 

George is finally finished with the spliff, and hands it to Hann so he can light it. He greedily inhales, letting the feeling overtake him. A soft groan leaves his lips and you see the back of his head slouch against the headrest, lolling off to the side. 

“This is some good shit, no wonder Matty’s so quiet.” Hann mumbles, half to himself. 

“Told you, my guy’s the real deal.” Ross says with pride, like he’d grown it himself or something. Putting his feet up on the dashboard, he leans back, head craning to talk to Hann. Their conversation is quiet, meaningless, with Ross going on about his stupid bass instruments and chatting pure shit to a half dozed-off Adam.

George is in his own world, gazing out the window and off into the distance. He was tired, you can tell by the way the rings under his eyes were dark and prominent, evidence that he hadn't been sleeping much these days. Uni was truly kicking him in the arse. 

A loud sigh from Matty makes you snap out of your thoughts, flexing your toes a bit, trying to stretch without bothering George too much. You feel a tap on your leg, telling you it's fine, and that you can move freely. George smiles at you from across the back seat, stoned out of his mind and looking like he was ready to pass out in the next five seconds.

“Y’alright?” you ask Matty, who keeps shifting around beneath you. One particular movement makes your legs spread, his big palms gripping the side of your left thigh, kneading the flesh. 

His eyes flash up to yours, and the look he gives you is fucking delicious. Lips slightly parted, wet and swollen from his teeth gnawing at them for the past half hour, the sight makes your thighs clench, a cough escaping your lips.

The spliff makes its way to you, and you take a drag, your lips wrapping around it as you make direct eye contact with Matty. Your lipgloss rubs off on the filter, and you hand it to him with a smirk.

“I’m fucking knackered, I need to sleep.” George's deep voice cuts through the silence, and Hann nods in agreement.

“We’ve been here like an hour! We never hang out, let's stay for a bit.” Ross protests, sitting properly and trying to face everyone at the same time. 

“Yeah, let's.” you side with him. Matty’s eyes widen at your statement, and he goes to speak. A sharp look makes him rethink his actions, and he slumps backwards into the leather, pouting at you. You grin at him playfully, seeing him start to do the same, before pressing your leg down, right onto his crotch. Underneath the blanket, not one could see what you were doing, giving you the perfect opportunity to fuck with Matty 

“Fine, but I'm driving home in 20, whoever doesn't want to walk is coming with.” The tinge of annoyance in Hann’s voice is painfully obvious.

Time passes at a snail's pace as you continue your movements, thigh pressing down onto his steadily hardening cock ever so slightly, not wanting George to figure you out.

“D’you reckon Britney’s a good shag?” Ross asks, and you realize he’s holding a magazine, Britney Spears plastered onto the cover.

“Mate, maybe you shouldn’t-” George starts, but another voice cuts him off. 

“Probably, I mean, just look at her.” it's Matty speaking, you realize. 

His voice is drawn out and deep as he holds out his hand, silently requesting Ross to give him the paper. He’s taunting you, and fuck, is it getting to you. The way his eyes scan over the cover makes your blood boil, and you stare him down, warning him to stop. 

“She’s fit.” He says, refusing to look at you as he takes a drag from the spliff, passing it on. His eyes finally dart over to yours, reading you like an open book. You were jealous, and he knew it. It was his goal, after all, to rile you up enough so you knew how he’d been feeling since that moment in your room. 

“Hey Hann? I'm feeling a bit shit.” you lie through your teeth “Can we go?”. Ross tries to stop him, but with the vote being 4-1, he groans as the car sputters on, and Hann backs out of the lot. 

You go to sit normally, putting as much distance between you and Matty as physically possible, not even looking in his general direction. Not really speaking to anyone, you listen to the soft sound of the radio, the music distracting you a bit. Matty’s eyes are glued to you, watching your every reaction, you can feel it. He silently begs you to stop being mean, ignoring him like this. You almost cave. Almost.

The drive feels longer than it actually is, George being dropped off at his house first. He waves goodbye through the window, which is the only reason you turned to the other side. Eyes avoiding the boy next to you, you blow George a kiss goodbye, hoping he gets some actual sleep tonight. 

You and Matty were now both facing forward, chatting to Ross. 

“Must be great, having an whole fucking house to yourself.” Ross grunts out, clearly still fucked off that you decided to leave so ‘early’. 

“It is,” Matty answers, telling him how nice it was to live without his parents and with you, even if neither of you had the ability to prepare an edible meal, or clean the house every once in a while. You chuckle as his words, painfully true as you think back on the state you’d left your room in, clothes and books and various items strewn about the place.  

Matty turns to you, your small giggles at his story making him think he was off the hook. You shoot him a look, and he immediately retreats, knowing it wouldn't be that easy. Not that he didn’t like a challenge, especially from you.

“Alright, you two.” Hann breathes as the car comes to a halt in front of the house. The soft rumble of the engine was deafening as you opened the door, climbing out of the vehicle. Matty followed quickly, almost banging his head against the roof, narrowly avoiding a small concussion. You tapped on the window, waving goodbye to both men in the car. Flashing a smile, you turn to Matty, grabbing his hand and leading him up the steps. 

Inside the car, the conversation quickly shifted. 

“What's going on with them? They’ve hardly spoken since he stopped trying to jump her bones in front of us.” Ross just shrugs, mind spinning different scenarios of what could've gone down. 

“D’you think they’re fighting?” Hann nods, noting that you did look a bit pissed off towards the end. 

“I dunno, it's weird though.. them being a thing.” Ross hums in agreement. 

“Just leave them be, they’ll sort it out.” 

The click of the door unlocking was as loud as a jet engine, and you push it open with your shoulder, Matty trailing closely behind you. You take your time, taking off your shoes, setting your bag down onto the floor next to the coat rack. He fidgets on the spot, not quite sure what to do next. 

Without warning, you spin around, shoving him backwards into the door, both your hands on his shoulders. The tension is thick, his heavy breaths loud and desperate for you to fucking do something. 

A beat passes between you before he finally speaks, stuttering over his words. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t h-have fucked you off, not infront of everyone.” you raise your eyebrows at him, a condescending smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

“So you knew what you were doing then, trying to rile me up like that?” He nods, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. He mutters out another “‘m sorry”, like it was going to save him at all. 

Your hands trace his collarbones, just like he had not three hours prior, and you see his breath hitch when you dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind red indents. 

“You wanna kiss me?” you ask, tucking his hair behind his ear sweetly, letting your fingers run over his jaw. 

“Yes.” he gasps, your chest now fully pressed up against his, your bodies now flush. Mattys eyes are filled with desperation, lust, thoughts clouding his mind and the sight of you wasn't helping him think clearly. 

“How badly do you want to kiss me?” he tries to speak, but you shush him. “How much do you want to touch me?” 

A guttural groan leaves his lips, and his hands find your back, grabbing onto your waist for support. You look at him expectantly, tapping his face to get his attention back on you. 

“Please, I'm sorry, just– fuckk, please darling.” His voice is small, soft, filled with want and desire. He pulls you in closer, and you feel him, fully hard, pressed up against your upper thigh. Your hand travels lower, pushing his shirt up as you go down, fingertips ghosting over his bulge, leaking and painfully hard. 

“This all for me?” Matty looks like he’s going to combust, but still, he manages to force out a small, choked ‘yes’. 

“You think you deserve it?” He freezes as you squeeze him through his jeans, feeling him twitch in your hand. A desperate whimper rips itself from his lips, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing shallowly.

“I’m sorry, just– please. I’ll do anything, just fucking touch me please, please, oh god–” 

You mouth at the spot where his neck meets his jaw, sucking an aggressive hickey into the skin, simultaneously stroking him over his clothes. Trying to seem unaffected, you pull away from his cock, placing that hand over his chest, hearing him whine at the loss of contact. 

“Upstairs. Wait for me.” Those four words manage to leave him absolutely breathless as he scrambles to tug his shoes off, throwing them into the corner. One last look is directed at you over his shoulder as he walks up the steps, almost tripping. Catching himself on the bannister, he disappears from view. 

You use the moment to take several deep breaths, steading yourself. Matty might be the more expressive one, but he had this effect on you, even if he didn't know the full extent of it. Every reaction you elicited from him made your knees weak, your façade of control slipping slightly. Running your fingers through your hair, you glance at yourself in the hallway mirror, making sure you look good. Good enough to send Matty fucking spiraling. 

The house is silent, apart from the odd creak of the floorboards underneath your feet. The door to your room crashes against the wall and you push it open, eyes immediately finding Matty.

Jesus christ.

Sprawled out on top of crumpled sheets, Matty’s eyes rake over your body, his cock visibly twitching in his pants at the sight of you. He had already taken off his shirt, the material bunched up next to him. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, thick with lust and desire and want and every other adjective that could be used to describe the fucking wet dream of a man currently sitting on your bed.  

His hands trail up his chest, toying with his nipples as he bites his lip at you, a wild look in his eyes. Your feet take you to the foot of the bed, kneeling down onto it, not quite sure where to look. His skin is flushed a deep shade of red, the blush spreading from his face down his chest, which was rapidly moving up and down as you reached out to touch him. 

“How do you feel?” your voice shakes, and you know he can tell. Does it actually matter to you at the moment? Absolutely not. 

An indecipherable sigh leaves Mattys lips as he looks at you, curls sticking to his forehead and his cock rock hard against the fabric of his jeans.

“I feel–” he starts, words getting caught in his throat as you trace the inseam of his pants. You still, motioning for him to continue.

“I feel so good, please touch me, I need you so bad. So gorgeous like this, love you so much– jesus.” 

You listen to his rambles as his eyes screw shut, everything being far too much for him. It's delicious, the way he squirms under even the slightest touch, involuntary noises spilling from his lips.

He trusted you, and you knew that well enough. Your entire relationship was built on a foundation of trust, a promise that you would never, ever, harm each other. Your hand reaches up to clasp his, squeezing gently. He smiles softly, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected themselves on his forehead. 

Your eyes glance over to the nightstand next to the bed, the wooden exterior a stark contrast to the otherwise black furniture of the room. The bed creaks as you get up, slowly pulling the drawer open. Matty watches you move, fluid and sure, as you take out a vibrator, you hear a small gasp escape him.

“You want me, Matthew? Want to be good for me?” you grin at him, throwing one of your legs over his lap, settling right below his hips. The way his cock is straining against the zipper of his jeans couldn't be comfortable in the slightest, but you let him suffer longer, relishing in the way he whined whenever you shifted on top of him, just like he did in the car. 

“Will you let me use this on you?” That question is the final nail in the coffin, an animalistic groan ripping itself from the depths of Mattys throat as you palm him through his pants, beads of precum painting the front. 

“Please,” his voice cracks slightly, eyes silently begging for some sort of relief. 

“You know, you really shouldn’t have pulled that little stunt.” you speak, voice dripping with honey as you unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal making your heart speed up. Unable to speak, Mattys hands go to settle on your waist, gripping the fat of your hips. 

“No.” 

“W-what?” 

His chest heaves as you grab hold of his wrists, pinning them up above his head. The belt he wore with his pants, while usually completely unnecessary, suddenly proved quite useful. Your hands fumble a bit as you bring the leather up, binding his hands to the metal bed frame. The arousal plastered on his face was impossible to hide as he gives the belt a tug, sucking in a deep breath of air when he realized what you’d just done. 

“You’re so fucking– holy shit, you’re perfect.” his praises go straight to your core, and you grind down onto his thigh, feeling around for the vibrator that you’d placed somewhere next to you. 

Towering over him, you observe. 

It feels like you're daydreaming, the man in front of you just a figment of your dirty, vivid imagination. His skin glistened with sweat, and your eyes flicker down to the bulge in his black calvins. If there was a heaven, you’ve definitely reached it. 

Running your fingers up and down the vibrator, you grin at him, watching his thoughts run wild, every possible fantasy playing out right in front of his eyes. Clicking the toy on, you rake your nails over his chest, the loud vibrations filling the room. 

You had never done this before, but the utter look of devotion Matty gave you proved that he trusted you completely to do whatever you wanted to him. He follows your movements closely as you press the toy to the underside of his cock. Immediately, you see his eyes clamp shut, his hands instinctively pulling and fighting against the restraints. 

“You like that, baby? Feel good?” you coo at him, taking in every single twitch of his body, savoring it. He frantically nods his head as you move his boxers, letting his cock slap up against his stomach. The feeling of the vibrator straight onto his weeping erection felt like pure heaven, desperate moans spilling from his lips, unable to control his own actions. 

“F-feels so good, it’s so good, a-ah, fuck me–” he whimpers as you up the speed, your free hand cupping his face, smudging his eye makeup. Blissed out and shaking, Matty tries to hold off as long as possible, desperately wanting to be good for you.  

“I can’t– I'm so close, please, let me cum.” his eyes search your expression, begging for permission. Pleasure trickles up your own spine as a sudden movement of Matty’s thigh beneath you makes you grind against him again, a soft moan leaving your parted lips. You swear you could cum just from the sight of him alone, twitching and begging and so, so close to the edge he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

Shoving your fingers into his mouth, you watch as he chokes slightly, eyes welling up with tears. It's so unbelievably erotic, seeing him fall apart like this, all because of you. His dick twitches in the tell-tale way that lets you know he’s seconds away, just needing a little push. You lock your lips onto his neck, licking and sucking and biting marks into the skin, making him moan around your fingers. It's all too much for him, and his voice cracks once more before spilling into your hand, painting his stomach and the toy with ropes of thick cum, gasping and shuddering as you keep the vibrator against his cock, working him through his orgasm. 

You finally kiss him, fingers weaving through his hair as you lick into his mouth, his arms still helplessly trying to pull free. 

“That was– fuck– I can’t even describe it.'' His voice is raspy, sore. He looks utterly fucked out, a sly grin already adorning his face not ten seconds after you gave him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life.

“You dont think I'm done, do you? After the shit you pulled in that car?” 

Your sudden change in tone makes Matty’s eyes widen, his hips bucking up against you. The evil look in your eye as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss only makes him impossibly more turned on, fingers itching to touch you, a groan of frustration leaving his lips when he realizes he can't do anything but lay there and take what you give him. You move, one of your hands leaving his chest. 

“What are you–?” The click of the toy is impossibly loud as a wanton moan rips itself from his throat, his hips twitching away, the sensation overwhelming and raw, almost too much. You grin from ear to ear as you study his reactions, writhing and pulling at the belt holding him in place, eyes silently begging you to just let him go.

“A-ah oh fuckk, no- I can’t–” he cries, arching his back, exposing his neck even more, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to swallow down his sounds

“You can, I know you can.” you lick across the expanse of his collarbones, teeth grazing the skin harshly, the slight pain only making Matty thrash more, the leather of the belt digging into his wrists.

“It’s too much– jesus christ-” he chokes out as you tangle a hand into his thick curls, tugging his head forward, making him look at you.

“Look how desperate you are, you sure it's too much?” you press a kiss to his lower stomach, his muscles tense under the skin.

“I need you so bad, fuck,” he sucks in a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you.

“Look at what you do to me.” 

His sudden change in tone makes you take a second, truly taking in the sight before you. He smirks when he sees you staring, arching his lower back with the sole purpose of riling you up, knowing exactly how to get to you, and in turn, get what he wanted. 

“Such a slut, fucking begging for attention, aren’t you?” he nods slowly, winking at you provocatively as his eyes follow your movements. The name made his breath hitch, and the return of the toy back on his hardening cock feels like pure ecstasy, moans and whimpers spilling from his lips as you continued speaking. 

“Was it worth it?” he cocks his head at you, asking what you meant. 

“Was it worth it, fucking around in the car, embarrassing me like that?”  

“Absolutely, if it gets me this.” he purrs, trying to provoke you once again. You were going to make him eat his words if it was last fucking thing you were going to do.

“You have a lot of confidence for someone who was grinding against my leg under a blanket not even an hour ago.” A small laugh comes from Matty as he playfully tugs at the restraints, the sound morphing into a moan when you press the toy down harder, feeling him getting close again. 

“Gonna cum again, make a filthy fucking mess of yourself?” Matty is so far gone, his cocky persona falling away in bits as he bucks his hips against the vibrator, chasing his high. You watch him, sweaty and out of breath, his hands straining against the leather, the mix of pain and pleasure making his head spin. 

“I love you so much, please let me cum, please i’ll do anything, just let me cum–” there it is. Anything. He doesn't know the weight his words hold, willing to say everything and anything for you to let him fall over that delicious edge.    

“Cum for me, let me see you.” your voice shakes, one hand planted firmly on his chest for balance, while the other holds the toy to his cock, twitching and leaking all over himself and you as he cums, screaming your name loud enough that it echoed through the whole house. 

You watch as he shakes, gasping for air and writhing against the sheets, so overstimulated he could barely form a coherent thought. 

“Again.” you whisper as Matty shakes his head violently, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Do you want to stop?” he shakes his head again, hips bucking up against the toy, desperate whines and groans filling the room. His chest heaves, lungs expanding as far as they could go to try and bring some oxygen to his brain. Breathless and exhausted, he looks at you, eyes wet and pleading, the mix of pain and pleasure driving him insane. 

“Don’t s-stop.” he begs, voice sore and hoarse. Thoughts run widely through your mind, wondering how much more he could take before tapping out. “If you need to stop, tell me.” you say firmly, his frantic nods telling everything you needed to know. Clicking the toy back on, the reaction is immediate, visceral as he jerks under the warm feel of your lips on his jaw, pressing hot kisses down the skin, mouthing at his neck. 

Pulling back, you admire the deep purple marks you left behind, tracing them with your free hand. 

“You’re fucking glorious- I- I could look at you forever, so pretty on top of me, fuck, like a fucking wet dream, so perfect–” you listen to him babble through curses and moans, eyes drooping shut as he bucks up into your hand. 

“Yeah? You’re so gorgeous for me, taking everything I give you.” you whisper back, pupils completely blown out with lust, the high you were still yet to come down from heightening every feeling, every sensation, until you were grinding against his thigh, desperate for him. 

“I see you, baby,” your eyes snap up to his, a filthy smirk spread onto his face, “C’mon, use me like a toy, use me to get off.” his voice is sultry and low, working hard to bite back screams as you finally give in, sparks of electricity shooting up your spine as you increase the pressure on your clit, soft moans and gasps spilling from your lips as Matty tenses his thigh, lifting it slightly to meet your movements. 

“Don’t cum until I tell you.” you warn, refusing to give up power, even if Matty made it incredibly fucking difficult to not give in. His eyeliner was smudged, tears streaming down his face, your fingers wiping them away sweetly. You bring your tear soaked hand to your mouth, licking it clean while making direct eye contact with Matty, the expression on his face making the salty taste on your tongue completely worth it.

It didn't take much to bring you to the edge, the warmth in your core blooming everywhere else in your body, your blood feeling hot as you balance yourself. Being met with Matty’s smirk as you look up, the smugness quickly morphs into white hot pleasure when your hand finds his nipple piercing, giving it a small tug. 

You had convinced him to switch it out, the black metal ring being replaced with a purple barbell. It shimmered if you looked at it from a specific angle, a perfect contrast to his milky white skin, suiting him well. He gasps when you don't let up, tweaking the metal and rolling his nipple between your fingertips, an indescribable feeling radiating from his chest, making all the remaining blood in his brain rush down south. 

You were so close, you could taste it. Matty knew this, doing his best to get you there, just as you were doing for him, holding off his own orgasm. Filthy words leave his mouth, making you feel dizzy with pleasure, the feeling of his jean clad thigh against your clit making your legs shake on top of him. 

“So good, you’re so good– fucking marvelous, I could write a thousand songs about you like this.” he groans, eyes never leaving the spot where your core met his leg, watching closely. 

“I’m so close, fuckk.” you whine, your high pitched voice like music to Matty’s ears, his cock visibly twitching against the toy. 

“Cum for me darling, wanna see you fall apart on top of me.” he coos, and you feel your control slipping. It was all consuming, the pleasure making time slow as you barely manage to slow down to speak. 

“You first.” A relieved sigh leaves Matty’s lips, hips bucking violently, precum bubbling from his tip, coating your hand where you held the toy against it. One last arch of his back and he cums onto his stomach, painting his skin white. 

You groan at the sight, your own orgasm hitting you like a freight train, vision whiting out as you buck against Mattys thigh, his eyes burning a hole into your skin. He watches in awe as you gasp and stutter, the visual of his third climax too much for you to handle, carnal desire overtaking your body. 

Collapsing on top of him, your chest heaves against his, everything blurry and disoriented. He tried to move his hands to your back to hug you, but realizes he’s still tied up, the leather really digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks. 

“Darling?” you look up, apologizing profusely as you undo the belt around his wrists, kissing the burns it left behind. Matty chuckles quietly, running a soft hand through your hair, pressing your face into his chest. 

“That was..” he starts, eyes still wide in disbelief. 

“Okay?” you offer a hint of insecurity evident in the way you speak.

“Fucking amazing, visceral, undescribable, life chang-” you cut him off with a firm kiss, silently telling him to shut up. He giggles into the kiss, his other hand pressing against your lower back, pulling you impossibly close. 

“It wasn’t too much?” you ask, gesturing to the marks on his wrists. He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He assures you it doesn't hurt at all, and besides, “You know I like it when you hurt me.” The cheesy wink that follows his statement makes you roll your eyes, leaning down to breathe in the scent of him. Fucking Jimmy Choo, ugh. 

“You have to stop using my perfume, you smell like a woman, it's unsettling.” you complain, wishing he’d use some sort of musky cologne instead. 

“I thought you liked it when i'm girly? Remember that time when I wore that skirt and you fucking mauled me–'' he tries to tease, being rudely interrupted by you digging the heel of your foot into his leg, making him yelp in pain. 

“That was different,” you mutter, avoiding his taunting gaze. 

“Was it?” 

“Absolutely, yes, now come here.” you grip his jaw, crashing your mouth against his, biting his lower lip, enjoying the small gasp he lets out. The kiss is hot, filled with love and trust, your heart swelling up in your chest. 

“Don’t ever pull that shit again, George could have noticed and that would've been a complete shit show-” you shudder at the thought of your mates knowing anything about your sex life, gagging inwardly.  

“You were the one grinding your leg down on to my dick, don’t act all fucking innocent!” he protests, a playful tone to his voice. 

“Imagine Ross knowing anything about what we do, he’d lose his mind.” you comment. Knowing him, he’d physically throw up and never speak to either of you ever again, the mental image having scarred him for life.

Matty is oddly silent, his hands fidgeting. Your eyes widen in realization 

“Dont tell me you fucking– Matty!” you shut your eyes, embarrassment flooding your body. 

“He’s my mate, and he asked. Who am I to deny him?” you hit his chest, propping yourself up as you laugh in disbelief. 

“Ross asking doesn't make it any better!!” you screech, watching him pull back at the sheer volume of your voice “For fuck’s sake Matty, what did you even tell him? I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again, fucking hell.”  

“Just about the camera, nothing else, I swear!” you cup your face, letting out a frustrated groan. 

“You know I can never speak to him ever again? The fucking camera, are you taking the absolute fucking piss?!” you throw curses at him as he giggles into your hair, muttering apologies and promising to never say anything again.

“‘M sorry darling, i won't give out the details of our sex life anymore.” he jokes, earning a choked giggle from you, unable to stay mad at him. 

Looking up at him from your spot on his chest, anger fades as you take in his features. You could look at him forever if he let you, drinking in every inch of skin, committing it all to memory. Your fingertips touch the top of his cheeks, wiping away any left over make-up, smiling fondly as you do so. 

Love. That's what you see in his eyes. Pure love, utter devotion. His breathing is slow, the soft sound of his heartbeat comforting as you lay back down onto him, nuzzling your face into his skin. You could stand the permeating stench of Jimmy Choo if it let you hold him this close to you. 

“You’re mine.” he mumbles into your hair, stroking up and down your spine, pushing your shirt up. 

“I’m yours,” you answer, this overwhelming feeling of adoration taking over your whole body. Matty was yours, and you were his, from the second he said the words ‘I love you’ that night on the terrace, overlooking the glowing city. 

Life with him seems so real. Growing up properly, getting your own house, getting married. It was all possible, still, it felt far away, a distant future. You let your thoughts spin in your mind until the exhaustion won, your body going slack against Matty, soft snores filling the room.

Matty lays awake beneath you, the darkness of the room enveloping his senses. 

“I love you so much,” he mutters under his breath, knowing you couldn't hear him anyway. That was the moment he knew, the moment everything solidified.

You were just kids, the pair of you, young and free, life filled with infinite possibilities. So much was uncertain, but he knew one thing without a doubt. Eyes flickering over to his coat, they fell on the outermost left pocket. It wasn't about the pocket itself, but what was inside. Dark red velvet, the same shade as your favorite color. A box. 

A small one.  

read part two here xx

[itsohh]

Ghost and Price Soulmate AU

A/N: G/N reader, posted as seperate fics on ao3 with each specific tag relating.

Warnings: Angst, self-mutaliation, reference domestic abuse

AO3 Masterlist

Ghost

He never believed in soul mates. Not in the matter that most people thought. Sure, they were real, sure there was someone out there destined to be ones other's match. Ghost just didn't believe it meant anything. Not really.

He of course had seen what it lead to.

His mother, destined to be with his father. They were soul mates and yet he treated her just as bad. His father loved his mother, sure, but he loved himself so much more.

So when that fated day came, that one when a bullet hit Ghost directly on his thigh, he couldn't help but be a little relieved.  The nurses had been so sympathetic, the doctors too. They hadn't been able to save the soul mark. Now replaced with a gunshot scar. A blessing in disguise. It was a weight off his shoulders.

Escaped. He had escaped destiny.

-

Legs rather comfortable on Soaps lap, you hand your arm over your eyes while you quietly rest. "How'd you get this one?" He poked the scar just under your knee. If anyone else had asked, you would have given them a piece of your mind. Asking about a scar wasn't a line that everyone could cross.

"Some dude tried to go for my kneecap and missed."

"Ouch."

"Didn't even hit me hard enough to shatter my kneecaps regardless of his shit aim."

The door clicked open and you heard the quietest of footsteps enter the room. "Sergeants." Ghost.

"Hey LT, what's the sit'?"

"Price's put us all on mandatory vacation leave." Your arm lift from your face at his voice as you stared at him.

"For real?" You asked, disbelief written across your face.

"Two weeks." You heard a huff from his voice as he sat down opposite to you. There was almost a relief in his eyes. He had been working hard. Too hard.

"Well gives the pair of you a perfect amount of time for a honeymoon huh-" Soap's tease was cut off by your kick but only made him laugh harder. Your relationship with Simon wasn't a secret, not to Soap anyway.

"Alright, alright I was joking. Shite."

"Perhaps you could use that two weeks to learn how to be funny." Your eyes narrowed at him.

"You wound me." He jabbed a finger next to a scar. "Speaking of wounds, How'd you get this one?" You looked over to the exposed skin just under your shirt.

You froze for a moment and your eyes didn't go to Soaps, but to Ghosts. The pair of you had never brought up the matter at hand. Soul marks, it never seemed important. So many people so dedicated to finding that person that the world designed for them, it just didn't seem to matter for you. You loved Ghost, you didn't want to know it was because of an outside force. You loved him and nothing would change that.

"That's my soul mark."

"Damn, that's rough. Not a pretty one." Soap looked down at the nasty scar.

"No, I mean it was. Alright, so when I was a kid I was totally in love with this girl at school called Lilith."

"Oh yeah?" He raised a brow while Ghost continued to watch.

"But she had a different soul mark than mine and wouldn't even look at someone who wasn't her soul mark. She was only gonna date her soulmate."

"What happened?"

"I figured I couldn't have the same one as her but maybe she would date me if I didn't have one. Like how would she ever know if I lost it."

"So you burnt it off?" Soap looked at you with slight horror.

"Cut actually. It uh, really fucking hurt but man she was really pretty." Soap straightened his back slightly and you swallowed.

"I presume it didn't work out."

"We started dating happily and were together up until right before I joined the military. Until her actual soulmate showed up."

"Ohhhh, rough." He gave you a look of sympathy.

"At the time? Was not happy. But I think everything worked out okay." Your eyes locked onto Ghosts for a moment.

"Cute. What about this one?" Soap asked and you looked at the scar on your hand.

"Think that was when I burnt myself making an omelette." Soap barked out a laugh and you could have sworn you saw Ghost's eyes squint from a smile.

"For fucks sake, Soap!" A grumble turned into a yell and the pair of you froze at Price's voice. In all honesty, Price didn't shout like that very often, especially at one of you. Normally it was more akin to a tired sigh.

"Whaddya do this time?" You removed your legs from his lap.

"Better go find out." He jumped up and cracked his neck. "If you don't hear from me in three hours then I want stripers at my funeral." He gave you a wink and headed out the door. The fact he locked the door after him wasn't something you missed.

Silence settled between the pair of you. Eventually, Ghost spoke up. "Can I see it?" Your eyes lift up and met his. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure. It's just a scar now, nothing special." Ghost stood up and towered his way over to you. He replaced Soap and your feet settled on his lap. Carefully, Simon removed the mask from his face and placed it on the coffee table next to you. You watched as he bit the top of his glove and slid it off his hand for it to join his mask.

His hand gently grazed the old scar. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Not really, to be honest after things didn't work out with Lilith I didn't think I would date again."

"Why did you?" His brown eyes settled on yours while he continued to stroke the scar.

"Well, we spent what like three months skirting around each other?"

"Four."

"Mmm, I mean you're an attractive man Simon. Enough to make someone change their mind."

"You couldn't see my face."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for tats." You grinned and he raised a brown. His curled lips betrayed him and you let out a small laugh. "Honestly blame Soap, dunno if he did the same to you but god fucking dammit was he a persistent wingman. I enjoy your company and he didn't let me forget that."

"Hmm, seems he played matchmaker for the pair of us."

"Are you really surprised? It's Soap, he loves to meddle."

"Probably why Price is ripping him a new one," Simon muttered and his eyes sent back to the scar.

"Does it bother you?" Your voice was small, quiet and concern drew across your face. "That I don't have a mark anymore. That we will never know if we were made for each other." Simon paused and then suddenly got up from the chair only adding to your uncertainty. He placed his leg on the coffee table and started to pull up his trouser leg.

Confused you watched him until he pointed to a particular scar. "See that there?"

"You got shot?" You raised a brow.

"That there's where my mark god before it was shot. Lucky bullet. Can't be upset with you an't having one if I don't have one now."

Simon let the trouser leg fall and sat back down on the couch. This time he grabbed your legs and pulled you up onto his lap. It was a swift movement that had you automatically let out a small laugh. He had that adoring look on his face. The corners of his lips all crinkled up. Now with you in arm's reach, his bare hand caressed your face. "Couldn't give a flying fuck about that shite. I'm with you because I want to be, not because some destiny bullshit tells me to. But because I choose to love you."

Price

It had been a completely innocent moment that he saw it. That mark on your torso. A cropped singlet showed it off while you played netball with your squad. A particular game that Gaz had joined. Price wasn't even supposed to be there, he was only getting Gaz. Yet he froze when he saw that mark. The one that was identical to the on his wrist. Just under his watch.

Gaz forgotten about, Price had a call he had to make.

"Look, Kate, doesn't need to be somewhere safe or dangerous just anywhere but where I am."

"John I can't just have people reassigned for no good reason. Are you trying to sabotage their career? Is this a personal thing?"

"No, fuck, I'm not trying to fuck with their career. I'll be compromised around them, it's not a problem now but it might be in the future."

"Are you in a relationship with this person? Or were you?" Kate asked and John let out a sound of slight frustration through the phone.

"They're my soul mate Kate. They don't know it but I saw it." The line went silent. John eventually heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'll do what I can."

-

After that phone call, John hadn't heard from you again. Despite the desire for companionship feeling deep down inside of him, he knew he did the right thing. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't his. Yet he had decided to override date, to override destiny.

Laswell never told him where she sent you. On any other day, he would have said that was for the better.

Any other day.

Gaz sprinted alongside him, guns firing about near them. "Fuck!" He could hear Gaz as the building nearby crumbled down into dust, a building they had just come from.

The pair of them were overrun and for a moment he looked at Gaz and regretted bringing him to his death. There were just too many from too many directions. With no proper cover, the pair of them were fish in a barrel. Bullets came from in front of them but not at them. By some miracle, a door opened while gunfire continued to cover them.

The door promptly shut behind them as both Gaz and Price fell to the ground in their hurried movement.

"Well, I'll be damned, long time no see Gaz." You held a hand out for him and Price watched as you pulled Gaz off the ground.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Didn't expect you to be here." Lieutenant? Price never knew you were promoted. Then again it's not like he wanted to hear about you, it was easier pretending you didn't exist.

"Yeah well, not the worst place to be at. I presume you guys are here due to the attack three days ago?"

"Affirmative on that." Price finally spoke up, he could pretend at least now that you weren't his soul mate.

"We have been here since then, then you two were running through dead man's land."

"Are you guys stuck here?" Gaz asked while you lead them over to a table with a map on top.

"Of course not. We have an underground pathway in our access. But they don't know that. They think that we are stuck here, they tried to push a could of times but Katey up in the best keeps taking them out."

"Are they hoping to starve you out then?" Gaz asked and you nodded.

"Yup in the meantime we have been setting up."

"Setting up what?" Price asked and you gave him a big grind.

"Fireworks show of course. The tunnels below here are far more extensive than everyone originally thought. It goes directly under their set up so we are going to hit the supports."

"Have it crumble from beneath them." Gaz breathed and you nodded.

"Only problem is that there's a high chance that our tunnels will collapse too, we are right on a cliff face so it's gonna be close." Your Sergent popped up next to you.

"This is Sergeant Lawyerson. Demolitions and structural expert."

"The idea is we will evacuate everyone first. " You explained.

"Speaking of, we should get to that. I onto have one set of charges left."

"Right we have to be quick then, when they realise that we don't have people at their posts they might push."

"I'll go get them in place now. Captain, Sergent do you mind looking after my men? There's a side path on the mountain we need to take, it goes from tunnel to straight cliff face. It's pretty risky but KitKat knows the way."

They both gave you a nod and started to work with the squad to leave. Yet Price's eyes lingered on you for a moment. You were a storm, not one to be trifled with. You spoke with certainty and confidence. The perfect leader for your squad. He could see the trust in their eyes.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Katey?"

"Fuck, they got a tank out here!" Price watched as you froze for a moment then sprinted to the exposed gap then swore.

"Right, everyone evacuates now. KitKat eyes front."

"What about Attorney?"

"I'll get Lawyerson, the rest of you go." Price was swept up with the small crowd and followed KitKat down a tunnel. He only had a glimpse of you before you ran down a different path away from him.

"Captain, this way." KitKat had a kind smile on her face but he couldn't help but feel the pit in his stomach form. Was this a result of the bond? Or was this a gut feeling? He couldn't tell.

With Gaz in front of him, he was led through the path until he reached outside. It was an old climbing path, the bridges were old and wooden while the actual path was thin. It didn't allow for fast movement.

A few minutes later his head whipped around to see you following your Sargent. "Blow it." You commanded as the pair of you expertly hurried down the path. Far faster than everyone else had. He couldn't help but wonder how many times the pair of you had travelled it in the last few days.

"We're too close to the blast!" Price's eyes went to the entryway as more voices started to echo down.

"We can't let them reach here else everyone's dead. There's no cover here."

"We can handle some!" She protested.

"Some, not a goddamn army." You were right. She glanced at you over her shoulder then hit the detonator.

A rumble echoed it as the pair of you continued to sprint. Echos of your enemies' screams carried through the tunnel and out into the open. True to Lawyersons suspicions, the tunnels on your side had started to collapse too.

Unfortunately, not all your foes were caught. A brief area by the exit was reinforced rather well and they survived. Meanwhile, the path around you started to crumble. Gaz lit up his gun in an attempt to cover the pair of you.

Price snapped to action just in time for the wooden bridge to collapse under both you and Lawyerson. She managed to barely leap over to safety but your jump, slightly further back didn't make it.

But he caught you.

Price's hand found yours as he dove prone to the side. With one hand off the side, you dangled to his hand. "I got you." His eyes bore into yours as the pair of you tried to pull you up. Yet the wood that you used cracked under your weight and all progress was lost. Lawyerson recovered and went to help pull you up but a bullet in her leg had her cry out.

A curse left John's mouth as a gunshot hit his shoulder. They were getting lit up trying to save you. Your eyes turned to see the small group that had survived. They were aiming for the three of you.

"Let go, you need to leave." Your voice came and for the first time in a very long time. He froze.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You will die if you stay and I'll die regardless. Don't water your life like this. " He felt your hand go limp against him and he used all his strength to continue holding on.

"I can't."

"They always said you were such a level-headed man. Let go. Don't put the weight of your death on me. Lawyerson will need help with that leg of hers. Save her."

His eyes glanced at the small mark on his exposed wrist, your eyes followed him and you gave him a weak smile. John couldn't say it out loud, that he was your soul mate. A man you only knew from word of mouth.

"I already knew. Gaz showed me a picture of the pair of you, your wrist was showing." His lips parted.

"You didn't say anything."

"Love wasn't an option for me. Soulmates? That's a fantasy for civilians to have. Not us. But for what it's worth, if there was anyone worth being cosmically tied to, your a pretty damn amazing man to be it."

He shouted your name and with your free hand, you pried yourself from his grip. "Go!" So John watched as you fell, a love finished before it had even started.

[lady-quen]

[Edit: Already an outdated artstyle for him X) my scribbly anime style does not work as well here.]

Got back into Guild Wars 2, specifically into my Commander of 9 years - *coughs* did somebody order YET another severely unwell tree man for the gw2 community? I got y'all covered. Presenting my Harbinger-Reaper, (I swap) Maelmordha. I can't draw sylvari for shite, but slowly getting there.

Gonna get a bit rambley about his design under readmore, I have moots who aren't that far in the story yet so spoilers for Heart of Thorns and Path of Fire down below. Bonus: ingame screenshot spam because I love him very much.

A thirdborn of the Cycle of Dawn and born diplomat, it was quite unusual for the kind Maelmordha to be awakened with a talent for necromancy and curiosity for all things morbid, but that would only come in handy with the initial parts of his Wyld Hunt. There's very little canon-divergency up until PoF here.

If you're wondering where the monster hand comes from, that'd have to be the last mission of HoT - resisting Mordremoth took its toll, leaving Mael with a mutated Vinetooth left arm - stronger, but less dexterous, and occasionally covered with Kas' mesmer magic.

Now the ill-fated duel with Balthazar is where things really went wrong, even compared to canon. Having been cornered and killed - in a deliberately humiliating and painful fashion - The Commander, filled with anger and fear for Aurene's life, sought to come back to finish the job. He slew and took the Eater of Souls' life force for his own, forever replacing his red glow with a ghastly cyan. Subsequently, he was not really alive anymore; Closest to a lich than anything else and capable of surviving most otherwise lethal injuries. Unfortunately, the act of rising from the dead rendered him Soundless.

Being killed is also, ironically, how he acquired his Harbinger talents, having learned to utilize the energy of negative emotion (both his own and of those around him) to empower his necromantic magic. As such, he's at his most fearsome - and least stable - during large-scale battles, relying on his allies to not be overwhelmed by channeling vast amounts of pain and death. While still kind where it matters, he has since developed an outwardly cold and sassy personality.

Maelmordha's hand cannon, Thorn from Destiny the Bellringer, was also forged from the Eater of Souls.

(I'm currently up to LWS4 Long Live the Lich in my story playthrough and would appreciate if spoilers for anything further could be avoided 🫡 anyway say hiiii if you're a sylvari main too 💜)

Bonus pre-PoF pic :)

[lundenloves]

that’ll do, johnny

This was a request, put in via submission. “Soap x soulmate au? Any au” I ran with my words a little here, I find it easy to write for Soap as he’s dead fun. Hope I proved this man worthy of the hype he deserves. Happy reading, kids.

↳ no warnings | gn!reader | 1.1k

good ‘ol johnny boy. apologise in advance for the scots words, they’re pretty self explanatory if you read between the lines. wain is a child.

At the end of the day.

You and Soap, or Johnny rather, were joined at the fucking hip. That duo who always showed up together, never apart for as long as they could help. It’d been that way since childhood, rainy days in Paisley after his parents had moved back down to the central belt. Pushing and chasing one another around the dull streets, name calling and loud laughs all the way through till late adolescence. Absolutely fuck-all came between you aside from his burning love for Rangers and yours for Celtic.

Match days were a fight, no doubt.

When he joined the Army it pissed you off. You’d known he was going to, christ, it’s all he’d yapped on about till he was old enough. But saying that last goodbye to him selfishly kicked up a storm in your stomach, willingly forgetting to recognise it was all he’d ever wanted. His dream, if you will.

But he wrote you letters, regardless of your sour faced send-off. Letters you’d dampened with tears, allowing the ink to run free across the page, now barely legible. His handwriting was barely legible anyway, but the tears certainly didn’t help.

Didn’t stop you from stashing them into a box under your bed though. An Adidas shoe box titled: ‘Fucker.’ You never were one for warmth.

And over time that box filled with all sorts of shite. His letters, patches, some photos — fuck even a few sticks and random fabrics he’d sent in envelopes with loads of ‘ha ha ha’s’ written on the back. When he got home you’d showed him said box and he still laughed with himself at the sticks.

“Got that in Azerbaijan, I mind picking them up.” His voice would rise in pitch, defending his past self.

Not that he had anything to defend. You’re the one that kept them.

Different story when he’d found the letters. Fuck, that was a day and a half. “You kept these aye?” He’d skimmed through the crumpled paper, “Greetin’ on them too.” A nudge of your shoulder

And that right there was the hour your friendship had transcended into something more. The whole hour actually, feelings were shared and truths came out. Johnny knew. Of course he knew. But you confirming his thoughts felt like getting into bed after a long day. Banging.

After that his deployments were all a routine. You’d cry, hate him for a maximum of a week for leaving you behind in the shithole that was Glasgow, receive a letter and then miss him. Repeat.

Above all else though, you were soulmates and that was absolutely undeniable. Finishing one another’s sentences, laughing until your sides hurt, speaking in silence by exchanging looks across rooms and dining tables. You’d even share your work gossip with him any chance you got, and he’d match your drama with his own, forever the menace even in such a serious profession. Additionally, letting you test your chances against wrestling him from time to time. Never did let you win though.

“That’d be you cheating.” He’d say as his arms pinned you down, “You’re no even tryin’ are you?”

Windup. Merchant.

“How’d they even let you in, you’re a big wain.” You’d frown at him, attempting to kick his stomach only resulting in a grapple to the floor.

“They let me in ‘cos i’m class.”

There wasn’t anything specific about Johnny that made you love him. It was a mix of everything, time included as you’d convinced yourself it was love from the ripe old age of thirteen. And actually, so did he. Whether it was a platonic love he’d recognised or something more — he told you all the time. Forever the emotional soul, Johnny. “I love you, y’know, kid.” Even though you were the same age. “You’re the one darlin’, marriage!” All slurred whenever you’d picked him up from a drunken night out, allowing him to crash in your bed.

He was a softy, really.

Again. Not that it was a secret.

You loved the way his eyes turned soft whenever listening to you, always finding yours in a room full of people. The hand he instinctively placed on your lower back when walking you through a crowd. His dirty cackle. The smile he produced enough to cover for both of you, the story-teller in him and the proud compliments he gracefully gave you in public.

But Johnny loved even more about yourself.

He loved your attitude and the way you stood up for yourself. ‘Bite n Fight’ as he liked to call it. He loved your eyes and how expressive they were, your brows that never failed to host a frown you weren’t even aware of. Each and every one of your habits, ones he’d always take for granted before leaving for months at a time. Your gorgeous smile and that dip on your bottom lip that was only reserved for his. Your roaming hands, the way they wandered up toward his hair whenever you’d kiss him deeply, pulling at the roots lightly but still tight enough to provoke a growl from him.

He just loved you.

So that night last Summer when he’d finally got down on one knee and fumbled his way through a speech, making himself (and you) laugh in the process. It was fucking emotional. “I ‘adn’t prepared one.” He’d smile with his teeth together, lifting his shoulders up toward his neck in laughter. “Yes or no. Christ, my knee can’t handle this.”

“Yeah. Yes, obviously yes.” You waved your hands in a gesture for him to stand up, laughing loudly into the night sky when he had lifted you up and kissed all over your neck.

Soulmates were an odd concept.

You never thought you’d meet yours, not until Johnny had stuck around and practically taught you the definition of the word over years. Landing the MacTavish name and unlocking endless boring stories about his family history and the clan.

Although, you’d be lying to say you didn’t enjoy the way his face lit up when telling you about it all. As if you weren’t Scottish yourself, and hadn’t heard his stories over a hundred times.

“You’re no even listening, mate.” He’d quirk a brow, stretching over the table to bosh your flat palms with his own.

“Don’t fuckin’ mate me. And I do listen, thanks. All Highland and…” You’d drag out the last letter before a long pause. “Stuff.”

“Yer a minx.” He’d push a hand through your hair to purposely mess it and wind you up, receiving a smack to his still outstretched palm. Loud laugh filling the room as well as your heart.

taglist? fill out this form.

[milk-ly]

Fuuta and Wind

I was reading this post (super interesting btw!) and I want to address Fuuta’s connection to wind!

That post brings up that Fuuta’s Twitter name is “Pazupazu_Soccer” and if you didn’t know, Pazuzu is a God of wind.

More specifically, Pazuzu is the king of wind demons in Mesopotamian religion. He is believed to help and protect humans from other dangerous wind demons.

Now, that’s already painting a connection between Fuuta and Pazuzu. Some powerful and heroic person/creature that’s protecting the common folk from evil! But there’s MUCH more.

V more below the cut!! V

What is wind? Well, it’s a natural force that represents power. When it’s a simple breeze, it’s pleasant, it can bring about change such as the weather! But what happens when gusts of wind become too powerful or intense? Destruction.

Despite Pazuzu being a creature that wards of other wind demons, he too is still a wind demon. Specifically, one that was known to be destructive and powerful.

Fuuta wanted to be a hero that protects others from evil like Pazuzu! And yet, Pazuzu is a personification of the southwest winds, which associated with droughts, plagues, locust and famine.

Fuuta ends up being not much better than the people he’s attempting to punish. He is a wind demon too in the end. Like wind, Fuuta was powerful, causing destruction and ultimately, the death of a young girl.

And remember Fuuta’s whole fire symbolism? Keep in mind that Pazuzu is the personification of the southern west wind. So hey, what does wind do to a fire? It helps fire spread.

Fuuta wielded a fire sword, the fire being used to symbolize his justice and judgment. Fuuta, being the representation of wind, spread the flames until they were out of control.

Pazuzu also had an arch rival named “Lamashtu,” known as the goddess of monsters/demons.

I’m not sure of my interpretation here but since she is the Goddess of Demons, I believe she might be a representation of those who Fuuta believes have wronged in general. Lamashtu is often associated with very evil deeds. The most famous is how she would pray on children and pregnant woman and eat them.

BUT THERES MORE.

Kajiyama Fuuta written in Kanji is “梶山 風汰”

The “ta” (汰 )in “Fuuta” is pretty straightforward. It means "select," or “scour.” Scour means to clean something by rubbing it really hard. Pretty much what Fuuta is trying to do in a way. Trying to remove the scum, the dirt, plaguing society.

Bring it On quote: “I give up. Need to make it clean since it’s so dirty.”

However the “Fuu” (風 )in Fuuta’s name means “wind.” Sound familiar?

Another fun fact I want to share! From my knowledge, I believe in Japan, “Fuu” is the sound of blowing on something to cool it down. Hmm, now where have I heard that?

Salamander!!

A part of the lyrics in the song is

“Make sure to cool it down so you don’t get burned!”

And in Romaji, it’s:

“chanto fuu shite yakedo shitakunai nara”

Yup!! The Fuu used here means to blow on something to cool it down, the same kanji as Fuuta’s name.

And I just think that’s really neat even if it was probably only half intentional lmao.

Another thing is that that “Yama” (山) in “Kajiyama,” Fuuta’s last name means mountain.

In a lot of written sources, Pazuzu climbs a great mountain and fought other powerful wind demons, coming out victorious. It was a show of his power.

Anyway, kind of an abrupt ending but I just thought this was really interesting!! Thanks for reading!:D

Edit: somebody pointed out that it’s Pazuzu and not Pazupazu. Completely my bad, that is incredibly embarrassing💀I’ve fixed it all now, thank you for the correction @moibakadesu !!

[whorangi1104]

Ghoap AU: Frozen Hearts and Electric Souls

Chapter 5: Tea

(I didn’t update last week so y’all can have this a day early)

“Mactavish.”

Shite. Soap’s face burned as he turned around and saw his lieutenant looming over him, probably the very last person he’d like to find searching their room, and a crash came from under the bed where he was looking.

“Uh, how ye doing, LT?”

“The fuck are you doing in my room?”

“Well, Cheeto ran out and went through yer cat flap, and-” *Another crash came from under the bed.

“I see. Can you not get him out?”

“He’s really far in there, and I can’t reach him.”

Soap watched as Ghost sighed and lay down on the ground, reaching under the bed and gently pulling out the reluctant prowler and handed him to Soap. looks like long arms really help in this situation. 

“Thanks, Simon.”

“Don’t call me that, sergeant.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Anything else you need, or are you done invading my room?”

“I’m finished here, sir.”

“Then you may go.”

Soap left his lieutenant's room, to see Gaz leaning against the wall a few feet away with a harpy eagle on his shoulder, grinning at him.

“You went into the lieutenant’s room, and you came out perfectly fine. Told you he’d warm up to ya.”

Soap snorted, “he paid me a visit and threatened me for lying, that’s called being warmed up to?”

“Don’t sweat it, he investigates all the recruits he has to interact with, it’s normal procedure for him by now.”

“Great, it’s real comforting that he’s got all our files memorized.”

Gaz snickers, “Well, I actually came for you to meet my prowler, Zephyr. She’s a harpy eagle.”

“Does she ever fly off?”

“Rarely, and usually only for a good reason, so she hangs around with me most of the time.”

“Does she get along with… felines?”

“Some of ‘em. Just hope for the best.”

“Yeah, my cheetah prowler is Cheeto.”

Gaz looks down at the cheetah in Soap's arms, and raises an eyebrow with a smirk, “A tiny Cheeto Puff you’ve got there, I see.”

Soap chuckles, “Maybe I should make that his last name.”

“Yeah maybe you should.”

—

Ghost checked his emails and found one with specifications on the next mission in Mexico. They were going to enlist the help of a local team along with Shadow Company, since there had supposedly been over 65 attacks by the ‘Apollyon prowlers’ as they were being called. The surprising thing was, even with so many attacks, there was little information. Appearance: blurred darkness. Speed: unknown. Size: changeable. Destruction power: limits unknown. Type: | Shadow / Mythical / Soul / Mind / Absorption / Control / Matter / Multiply / Illusion / Mystery / Shifting / Possibly More | Ghost had never seen a singular prowler with so many assets, the most basic prowlers had one, as with 78% of all prowlers, while only 13% of prowlers had 2-3, and 8.9% 4-5, and 0.1% with more. This was unheard of, even with the ability to add assets on a prowler through a difficult and long process which often took over half a century. Victims of the Apollyons were found either dead yet perfectly untouched, living as a shell of themselves, or vanished completely. No blood was ever found at the sites, the only trace left behind by the Apollyons were the cold air that they were surrounded by. Ghost considered this information, unable to connect it to any sort of leads to why they had suddenly appeared, or how the hell they were even supposed to dispose of them. What they might need was a light gifted to combat the shadow, but light only shines so far, and he didn’t know any such people anyways. His thoughts wandered to Johnny, electricity and light were similar enough, and electric bursts were more powerful than light. The fuck Shadow Company was gonna do he didn’t know, but Johnny was something, and maybe the Mexican forces could be enough. He pondered for hours before seeing that it was 1650, and went to the kitchen to make tea, where he coincidentally saw Roach, their animal gifted, also preparing his own cup with his lion prowler, Simba.

Ghost grabbed his cup from the cabinet and started filling a kettle with water, “Hello Roach.”

Roach got the tea leaves and honey, nodding in acknowledgement.

Ghost boiled the water and poured it into their cups, while taking a spoonful of honey and dissolving it into his tea. He scratched behind Simba’s ears and sat down at an empty table, rolling up his mask to his nose to enjoy his tea, 1700 on the dot. Roach sat at another table with Gaz and Price, listening in to their conversation. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor was heard as the chair opposite him was pulled out, then occupied by the new sergeant. 

“Having some five-o-clock tea, are ye?”

“Best part of the day.” Ghost eyed Soap’s drink, “Can’t say I like coffee as much though.”

“I’d say the same fer yer tea, ye fucking brits.”

“My tea doesn’t taste like shit, for one.”

“Oi! Me coffee don’ taste like shite, ay dinnae call yer tea shite tae yer face, dae ay?”

“English, Mactavish.”

“Go fuck yer tea, coffee’s great.”

“To you Scots.”

“An the res’ o’ the fuckin’ world, ye sulkin’ bastard.”

Ghost resisted the urge to roll his eyes and went back to enjoying his tea while Johnny discussed his thoughts and theories on the upcoming mission, most of which Ghost had already considered, but it was good to hear it from another perspective. Since they weren’t informed if the Mexican forces had prowler, Ghost spent most of the time listening to speculations about what kinds of prowlers they might have, including- 

“a taco lizard, why not?”

“Johnny, that’s not an animal.”

“My ma said if ay didn’t finish my food, a lizard would steal it. Legends and myth class, ya know.”

“There’s no taco lizard legend.”

“Said who? Ye an expert on legends and myths now are ye?”

“What do you even call it?”

“A taco lizard?”

“A walking taco.”

“...please no.”

“knock knock.”

“No-”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

“...who’s there?”

“Interrupting ghost.”

“Interrupting ghost who?”

“....”

“...wow. This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it.”

“Feeling stressed? Make a nice, big cup of hot tea. And use your enemies as a tea bag.”

“...what the fuck?”

“you know my dad is in the garden.”

“Really?”

“You’ll have to dig to find him though.”

“Si-”

ending on a happy note 😊

[itstopplingdomino]

paper bird | fred weasley x reader

In which Fred Experimentalist Weasley convinces you to test his products and you, owed him a debt, reluctantly agrees. You don't get along with him but being in his debt is more irritating than his presence. Well, it's just testing products.. then he'll be out of your sight.

tags: gn!reader (usage of 'you' instead of specific pronouns), usage of pet/nicknames, strong language/cursing, potion mishaps, light angst, developing friendships.

"Ugh! What did you put in that? That tasted disgusting! " You cover your mouth, trying to suppress a gag. A moment ago you downed a bright yellow potion that is supposed to make you incapable of uttering any negative words; supposedly your subconscious will replace it with a nicer version of it.

Clearly it is not working.

"Another failure.." Fred says as he hovers over the cauldron. He takes the quill that's tucked neatly behind hIs ears and began to jot down something on his book. He mutters absentmindedly, "I wonder if I put too much Troll's snot-"

"YOU PUT WHAT?!"

You stand rigidly with your hands in fists, true disgust creeping up your spine as you watch the red-head idiot pretends he didn't just make you drink something awful.

But as he turns away, you could see his shoulder shakes.

This little shite.

He turns around wearing a shit-eating grin, taking in your red face and goosebumps along your arms with delight.

"Come on, I'll lose customers if I use ingredients like that." He says with a shrug.

You roll your eyes in chagrin. Ohh, one of these days he's going to get it.

"Whatever. Consider the debt's paid, Weasley. I've drank three potions, ate fifteen different pastries, and swallowed a pill. I am surprised I haven't vomited once the past two hours. What with your inventions tastes extremely-" You felt a hiccup coming but didn't quite release it.

Horrible.

"-unique." Huh? You try again, "I mean, tastes extremely-" Another rising hiccup that didn't pass. "-interesting."

You stand by the desk, confused, head tilted to the side as your eyebrow knits downward.

Fred looks up, eyes sparkling brighter than a muggle's fireworks. He ran to you and shakes you by the shoulder, "IT WORKS!"

Fuck. Great.

"How wonderful." You spat. Though the potion's effect makes your tone sounds sweet as if you are as happy as the creator of this potion. You shrug off his gripping hands. "How long will the effect last?"

Fred takes his book, forgotten for a moment on the floor, and flips through the pages. "Hm.. about an hour or two? Frankly I'm not sure," He shuts the book, a smug smile plastered on his face. "But that's what you're here for. I'll hang around you until the effect disappears."

"What? Not sure? It's your-" damn "-potion!" You hissed, yet again the potion's effect ensures your tone as soft as fwooper feather pillows.

"To be fair, you agreed to test it out. That includes finding out how long the effect lasts.." Fred raises his hands in surrender.

"Ugh. Fine." You say with the 'Ugh' sounding a little too close to Aww.

ꕀ ꕀ ꕀ

Gossiping has never been an interest of yours. There isn't anything worthwhile listening to anyway. All rumours bred from the same genre; romance - who's seeing whom, who had their heartbroken by whom, who's the most eligible dating partner, who's the most eligible sleeping partner, and the list goes on..

As you are stuck with the older Weasley twin, his younger twin (the one you could tolerate better) inconveniently away, you are drag into Fred Weasley's social life.

Which basically consists of bro-ly greeting between his quidditch mates, extorting money teasing the younger students and generally being friendly to everyone else.. Well, obnoxious Slytherins aside.

That's why currently you stand awkwardly behind him as he sips the latest 'dating theory', as he calls it, from three Gryffindor girls whose name you don't know - two blondes and one black-haired. Pretty sure they shares some classes as you but none of them ever exchange greetings with you and you aren't exactly the social butterfly of your year.

Obviously that title belongs to Fred Weasley.

"So.." Blonde One begins, "Who will you ask out this time..? I'm free for a night. I'm sure Andrew won't mind.."

Ah.. it's like that, huh.

Her friend, Blonde Two, lightly shove her. "You're terrible. How about me, Freddie? I learnt tricks from a scandalous muggle book. It doesn't have to be serious.."

The three of them giggles now. Quite honestly the sound is sickening. Personally what people get up to in their own time is no business of yours, like how some needs requires satisfaction, but you rather be spared from the details- and the proposition of it.

"Honoured, truly." Fred lets out a chuckle, albeit you could hear the slight waver at the end. Whether it's from nervousness at the prospect of potential three way, or the uncomfortableness of it, you can't tell. He continues, a bowing a little, feigning chivalry. "But you know I have rules; no taken ones and certainly no one my dear friend fancies."

"Ugh, if only Lee knows when to shut up.." She sighs.

Then Fred gives them an excuse, something about meeting Professor McGonagall for transfiguration assignment; which you actually knows he had finished and submitted the hour before you two met.

So he's uncomfortable. Interesting.

Once you two are far enough from prying ears and eyes, you ask him. "Why did you lie?"

He plays pretend.

You ask him again, with a little push. "You could just reject them, you know. What, you're afraid of hurting their feelings?"

He ignores you, choosing to point out the owls that flew outside.

Another push.

"Or did you actually want to do it with them both but couldn't agree because I'm there?"

Fred stops in his track and looks at you. His lips stretches into a false grin. Fake smiles eerily settles on his face. "How low do you think of me?"

"It was never high, Weasley."

You continue to walk past him, he follows suit.

"Alright, I'll bite." He says, falling into step with you. "The only image I care about is being the best prankster Hogwarts has ever seen. Having a threesome is no-way helpful in achieving that."

You bark out a laugh. "Please, Weasley. I think you and your twin have done enough to leave a lasting imprint as mischievous-" sods "-duo."

A groan escapes you which fuels joy for Fred. "So the potion still works.."

It's been an hour, you note.

"You know, you're a good company when you don't swear as much."

"Bold of you to assume that I want to be a good company to you in the first place."

Fred stays silent for several beats, then he stops in his tracks again forcing you to shift around to look at him when he didn't continue following you.

"I've been wondering.. what exactly do you find displeasing about me? You seem to talk to George normally. I actually didn't believe him when he said you didn't curse once at him until I saw it myself."

"Are you.. sulking..?"

Fred looks away and back. "Humour me."

"I'm not one for jokes-"

He whispers your first name in a pleading tone. The tone didn't catch you off-guard, you'd seen him use it playfully during his interactions with other students, it's the fact he uses your first name - generally preferring ill-suited nicknames he deems worthy like dear, sweetheart, and crassy (usually when you throw a lot of curses at him than usual).

It is probably the first time he ever calls you that.

You sigh, "Remember third year? You and your brother pranked me."

"Yeah, we jinxed a paper bird to peck at you. And what? You hold a grudge since then..?"

"No," You say firmly, moving to close the gap. "The pecking as annoying as it is isn't the reason. It's what happen because of the prank."

Closer now.

"That paper bird attracts the attention of a stray falcon, gods knows how it was there, and dove in to hunt it. Subsequently, attacking me too."

Fred eyes widens, "I remember.. George said you got into the Hospital wing for that. But they say you were fine?"

"I don't know where you got that information but I was in the hospital wing for the entire weekend."

A beat.

"George visited twice each day. He even brought some sweets from honeydukes and all. And you? You were nowhere. Even when I saw you in the next class, you didn't apologise. Merlin were you-" heartless "-indifferent."

He stays silent.

"Whatever. I don't resent you at all, especially not for the falcon - nobody knew it'll end up that way. But the way you act like it didn't matter if a falcon pokes out my eyes were infuriating. I just couldn't help but get angry looking at your stupid face."

Fred opens his mouth to say something but the realisation of the potion's effect no longer taking place jumps into you faster than he could get the words out so you speak first, "It's gone."

You touch your lips as if you could feel the effect physically fall off. "Fuck you," You tested, smiling at the success. "Yes! Thank fuck! Right, see you never then, Weasley."

Then you turn in your heels, speeding towards your common room. Fred remain stuck his spot as if you just casted a stunning spell on him.

Gears turning in his head and instead of the usual product ideas, he's thinking of something entirely different. He hears the door behind him opens and see a couple of first years ducking into the corridor now. He moves towards the door as he recalls back.

It amuses him that you never fall for his charms. Certainly there are others that don't, too, but that usually comes from house prejudices or blood status thing and typically if he's disliked so does George. It only piques his interest further than you laugh and smile, genuinely so, around his younger twin but rarely him.

At one point he did aim to find out, and found out he did. He isn't eased at all by the discovery of your animosity towards him. The real reason hits him harder than any bludger he took during Quidditch practices and actual matches.

Guilt trickles down and slowly enveloping him.

He groans audibly, surprising the first years that are passing by.

He looks at them with a half-smile.

Fred Weasley knows many sees him as a good friend, he's been made aware more than a couple occasions. Your crassness didn't bother him then.

But now?

Now he wants you to see him as one too.

Let's start with an apology.

--- A/N: There will be part two...

[emwritesfootball]

Conversations With My Future Self | John Stones

Description: John Stones sits down at a dinner table to eat with an unexpected guest

A/N: This is a bit different than anything I think I’ve written recently, but credit to @knockmeforsixkmeforsix for her lovely idea.

Warnings: none. This isn’t really a pairing piece, but there is a magical element to this so suspend some belief please xo

Tags: @bluemoonstonesy @stonesyy

- - -

“You look familiar.” John can’t help the words that come out of his mouth, but the man in front of him warrants the statement. John doesn’t know where he knows him from, but he’s sure it’ll come to him later.

“So do you.” No clues from the man’s response as he gives John a once-over and pushes his glasses back up his nose. There’s a hint of salt and pepper in his hair and some crows’ feet around the eyes, but John has no idea how old the man actually is. “John Stones?”

John can’t help the pride that swells in his chest at being recognized, but this feeling is a little bit different - kind of like running into an old friend. “That’s me. Would you like an autograph?”

“Nah. Got plenty at home.” The man shakes his head and waves the comment away with his hand, which is when John notices the watch. It’s the same watch he’s wearing on his own left hand, but the man’s suit makes the watch look vintage. There’s no way it’s the same exact watch, though, because John had his custom-made after City won the league in 2021, engraved specifically for him. 

The two men stare at each other awkwardly until the familiar man cracks. “John. May I call you John?” John nods and the man continues. “Sit, please. I haven’t had the pleasure of eating with anyone in a while.”

John takes a seat across from the man, his curiosity peaked. “Any reason why?” He grimaces, realizing his error. “Sorry, that’s a bit personal.”

“Don’t worry about it - talking to you feels a bit like talking to a younger version of myself.”

The comment makes John feel off-kilter, but luckily the waiter shows up. John orders a pint of his favourite beer, and the man does too.

“Hope that’s not too awkward, us ordering the same thing. I was going to order that before you said it - it’s my favourite.”

“Mine, too.”

The beer arrives, and the two men take sips of their respective pints before picking up the conversation where they left off. “So, about your question. I haven’t had the pleasure of eating with anyone in a while - not since my wife and I split up.”

It’s then that John notices the tan line where a ring used to be on the man’s finger. “When was that?”

“A few years ago. We just…grew apart. She was there for the majority of my career and after my retirement but then it got complicated. You married?”

John shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got a girl, though. She and I are a bit off at the moment, though, but I’m sure we’ll be back on again soon.”

“I see.” The man mutters something that John doesn’t quite catch, but it sounds like something along the lines of Oh yes, that wouldn’t happen yet anyway - still got a few more years.

“What was that?”

The man takes a sip of his beer. “Nothing. Just reminiscing.”

“Any advice for me for the future?”

“Mm, that’s a tough one. What are you struggling with the most right now?”

John thinks for a moment, his brain scrambling for an answer. “Probably the UCL this year. The pressure is really on, and I want to be the best and help the team win the Champions League at the end of the season.”

“This will sound cliche, but you just have to believe in yourself. You’re only twenty-eight; there’s still a lot more time left in your career and you’ve worked hard to redeem yourself since the 2020-2021 season. You’re a different man now, John, and something tells me you’re going to retire with Manchester City, so there’s many more years left to become who you’re destined to be.”

“I’m twenty-nine, actually,” John grumbles, aware of how petulant he sounds, but the ‘advice’ he was just given sounds like a load of utter shite. “What do you know about the man I’m destined to be?”

The man shrugs, smirks, and takes another sip of beer. “You’re on your own with that one, kid.”

“Whatever.”

The waiter comes back around and once again, the man orders the same thing as John for an entree. 

“Let me guess: also your favourite?”

“Yes. My ex-wife and I would go here every Tuesday for date night and order the same thing every time. Got so frequent that our food was practically on the table the moment we sat down.” The man chuckles fondly at the memory, and John makes a mental note to start bringing his girl here when they’re back together. He wonders why he hasn’t already; it’s right up her alley in terms of food and atmosphere. 

“What was your ex like?” John has long-since abandoned any form of nuance when asking this man questions. John feels like he knows the man, and just wants to know as much about his life as he possibly can. Something tells him that this man holds significance to John.

“Gorgeous. Older woman. Gave me my second and third children. We got married when I was thirty-two; divorced when I was forty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Fifty.”

“Have you retired already?”

The man nods. “Retired at thirty-five.”

“Why?”

“Injury took me out. Never fully recovered after that and my wife and I decided it was time for me to retire. I’d made enough money to where I could take care of us without having to find another job, but I was truly lost after walking away from my career. The five years leading up to our divorce were hard and it was ultimately why we ended things.”

“Do you still love her?” John realizes he has to know the answer to this, and the man obliges.

“In a way, yes. She’s the mother of two of my children, and I harbor no ill will towards her. Our children are past eighteen now and I know they’re well-adjusted because of her.”

“Does she still love you?”

“Yes, but it’s different now, too. We co-parented well, and we’re still good friends, but I don’t know if I would say she’s the love of my life - nor I hers. I want the best for her and I know she wants the best for me, and we just know now that we aren’t best for each other, even though we thought so at the time.”

The food comes and there’s silence as the two men dig into their entrees, enjoying each other’s company without words until they’re done. John mulls over the other questions he wants to ask, but waits until they’ve put in an order for dessert before doing so.

“Do you have any love in your life now?”

“Nothing serious. I can still sweet-talk a lady, but I don’t have anyone I want to marry again. Not sure I will.”

“Do you still keep in touch with the people you worked with before you retired?”

“Some of them, yes. I’m sure you probably already know who from City you’ll be keeping in touch with once they leave, and I know you already keep in touch with a few.”

“I do. And there’s a few on Three Lions as well.”

“Ah, yes. How is Harry Maguire?”

John doesn’t even want to know how the man knows he texts Maguire occasionally. “Still got his head up his arse playing for United. But good, as far as I know.”

“Sounds about right.”

Dessert comes and there’s more silence until the plates are empty. 

“Got any more questions for me, John?”

The bill comes and the man pays for the both of them, ignoring John’s offer to pay his share. 

“No, I think that’s it. Will we see each other again?”

The man stands and John does, too. They shake hands, and John gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“No matter what I’ll always be thinking of you.”

John is stunned into silence, watching the man walk out of the restaurant and disappear into the night. He runs a hand over the fabric covering the tattoo bearing those exact words, wondering if he just met a future version of himself.

He quickly dismisses the thought, though. 

After all, that’s impossible.

[eyedelater]

let's study japanese by reading golden kamuy.

specifically, let's look at how noda-sensei added a bunch of lines to the scene where ogata hyakunosuke kills his father. i have included the pages in question here for your reference. he added quite a lot of dialogue. the anime goes by the volume version of the manga, so i believe most of these lines were spoken verbatim in the anime, but japanese is so full of homophones that it can be hard to learn new words just by listening. so let's read.

this is not the beginning of the scene, but this is where the dialogue additions begin. i wanted to make a post about this because EH scans never covered these lines-- at this point in the story, they were using magazine scans, not volume scans. as far as i know, only viz and various anime subs have translated this part. and i don't think viz did a very good job. so i wanted to put my translation out there for people who want to waste even more time thinking about ogata hyakunosuke and what he Really Said. but i'm not going to bother with a typeset version of just 5 pages. and i'm not going to go find this scene in the anime to compare the translation of the subs. and keep in mind that i'm a novice.

here are the lines in order, starting at the top of the first page. yes i really typed out and analyzed them one by one like this. (i typed them out so you can copy-paste the kanji to look them up if you want... i hate having to look up kanji radical by radical...) a slash indicates a split in a compound speech bubble. these slashes may or may not indicate the end of a sentence. (japanese uses punctuation sparsely and you have to kind of feel out where the sentence ends sometimes, so speech bubble breaks are worth noting.)

raw: 父上と本妻との間に生まれた息子さん…… / 花沢勇作少尉が高潔な人物だったことも証明している気がします phonetic: chichiue to honsai to no aida ni umareta musukosan...... / hanazawa yuusaku shoui ga kouketsu na jinbutsu datta to mo shoumei shiteiru ki ga shimasu my translation: The son that was born to you, father, and your real wife... I think the fact that Second Lieutenant Hanazawa Yuusaku was such a noble character is proof of that. viz's translation: That's why your legitimate son… / …second lieutenant Yusaku Hanazawa was such a principled individual. notes: when he says "proof of that," ogata is using yuusaku's virtue as evidence to back up the claim he just made that a child born to parents who love each other is blessed. also, this line wasn't an addition compared to the magazine version, but rather, it was changed. however, i lost track of the magazine version raw of this chapter for comparison.

raw: 入隊して初めて会いましたが / 面をくらいましたよ phonetic: nyuutai shite hajimete aimashita ga / men wo kuraimashita yo my translation: I met him for the first time when I enlisted, / and I was taken aback. viz's translation: I met him when I joined the military… / …and I was stunned. notes: it seems the usual way of phrasing "men wo kuraimashita" would be more like "menkurau" so the "wo" stuck in there confused me... anyway it means "taken aback" or "bewildered."

raw: 「規律がゆるみますから」と何度注意しても部下の俺を… / 「兄様」と呼ぶのです phonetic: [kiritsu ga yurumimasu kara] to nando chuui shitemo buka no ore wo... / [anisama] to yobu no desu my translation: Even though I warned him many times that it would "weaken his discipline," / he called me, his subordinate, "big brother." viz's translation: I warned him that it was bad for discipline… / …but he called me his big brother. notes: i think it's notable that ogata refers to himself as yuusaku's subordinate ("buka"). that was omitted by the viz translation, probably in the name of dumbing it down clarity. the fact that yuusaku outranked hyakunosuke is really important to the relationship between them. obviously it made hyakunosuke feel even worse about himself, but he hides that.

raw: 「ひとりっ子育ちでずっと兄弟が欲しかった」と / 俺にまとわり付くのです phonetic: [hitorikko sodachi de zutto kyoudai ga hoshikatta] to / ore ni matowaritsuku no desu my translation: He said, "I was raised an only child, so I always wanted a brother," / and he clung to me. viz's translation: He'd always wanted a brother… / …so he clung to me. notes: matowaritsuku, "to coil about; to follow about; to surround; to cling to." maybe this line was added just to be heartbreaking.

raw: あの屈託の無い笑顔…… phonetic: ano kuttaku no nai egao...... my translation: That carefree smile...... viz's translation: He had an honest smile. notes: kuttaku no nai means carefree, and it doesn't mean honest. don't make a mistranslation and then bold it. they bolded it! isn't that embarrassing? also they vaporized the powerful double ellipsis. lame.

raw: 「ああこれが両親から祝福されて生まれた子供なのだ……」と / 心底納得しました phonetic: [aa kore ga ryoushin kara shukufuku sarete umareta kodomo nanoda......] to / shinsoko nattoku shimashita my translation: "Ah, so this is a child who was blessed from birth by both parents……" / I accepted that deep in my heart. viz's translation: I realized deep inside that here was a child blessed with the love… / …of both parents. notes: nattoku "understanding; satisfaction (e.g. with an explanation); being convinced​." so seeing yuusaku's carefree smile and affectionate behavior, ogata took that as evidence affirming his theory about being born blessed; he accepted that yuusaku was blessed and took it to prove that he, by comparison, must not have been blessed.

raw: ところで / 花沢勇作少尉が二〇三高地でどうやって亡くなったか… // 父上は本当のことをご存じ無いはずだ phonetic: tokoro de / hanazawa yuusaku shoui ga nihyakusan kouchi de dou yatte nakunatta ka... // chichiue ha hontou no koto wo gozonji nai hazu da my translation: By the way... / About how Second Lieutenant Hanazawa Yuusaku really died at 203 Hill... // You probably don't know the truth of the matter. viz's translation: Do you want… / …to know the truth about how he died… // …on 203 Meter Hill? notes: here the // indicates that it was two separate speech bubbles, because even though i was giving each speech bubble its own entry, the viz translation combined two separate speech bubbles into one sentence! so i had to put them in one entry. anyway, it's plain to see how much viz dumbed it down... try to keep some of the sentence structure, maybe?

raw: 俺が後頭部を撃ち抜きました phonetic: ore ga koutoubu wo uchinukimashita my translation: I shot him through the back of the head. viz's translation: I plugged him in the back of the head. notes: listening to this line in the anime, i was chilled by how ogata conjugated the nasty verb "uchinuku" (to shoot through) with the polite verb ending "mashita." he's using mostly polite speech to speak to his father in this scene, despite everything. so that's one reason i don't like how viz used the nasty slang term "plugged" here. yes, both lines are nasty, but the politeness is what is striking.

raw: 少尉殿に対する妬みからじゃありません / 父上を苦しませたい…というのともちょっと違う / ただひとつ確かめてみたかった phonetic: shouidono ni taisuru sonemi kara ja arimasen / chichiue wo kurushimasetai... to iu no to mo chotto chigau / tada hitotsu tashikamete mitakatta my translation: It wasn't because I held any jealousy toward the second lieutenant. And it wasn't quite… that I wanted to make you suffer, father. There was just one thing I wanted to check. viz's translation: Not because I was jealous… / …or because I wanted to make you suffer. / I wanted to check something. notes: based on the way he said it, i think he did want to make his father suffer just a little. he said it was only chotto chigau.

raw: 勇作さんの戦死を聞いたとき… phonetic: yuusaku san no senshi wo kiita toki... my translation: When you heard about Yuusaku-san's death in battle... viz's translation: After you heard about his death in battle...

raw: 父上は俺を想ったのか.../ 無視し続けた妾の息子が急に愛おしくなったのではないかと... phonetic: chichiue ha ore wo omotta no ka... / mushi shitsuzuketa mekake no musuko ga kyuu ni itooshikunatta no de ha nai ka to... my translation: Did you think of me, father? / I thought you might suddenly come to love your long-ignored son of a mistress... viz's translation: …did you think of me? / Did you suddenly feel for the son you had ignored? notes: the phrase "itooshikunatta" is key here. it's from itooshii 愛おしい, "lovely; dear; beloved; darling; dearest," and the "natta" is "became." so it's along the lines of "suddenly became beloved" or "suddenly became dear to you." also he uses the past tense verb "omotta" (thought) but instead of the usual 思 kanji, he uses 想, which jisho.org says "has connotations of heart-felt."

raw: 祝福された道が俺にもあったのか… phonetic: shukufuku sareta michi ga ore ni mo atta no ka... my translation: Was there ever a blessed path for me, too? viz's translation: Was a blessed life ever even possible for me? notes: it's "path" in the metaphorical sense, as in the path you take in life. so translating it as a "blessed life" is acceptable here. and the "too" is probably referring to yuusaku, the blessed child.

now here is something worth noting. hanazawa's last words in this world were changed! well, you'd know if you watched the anime, but anyway, instead of the magazine version, "貴様の言うとおり,冷血で出来損ないの倅じゃ" (It is as you say; you are a cold-blooded and worthless son) it becomes as follows:

raw: 貴様の言うとおり何かが欠けた人間… / 出来損ないの倅じゃ // 呪われろ phonetic: kisama no iu toori nanika ga kaketa ningen... / dekisokonai no segare ja // norowarero my translation: It is as you say; you are missing something as a person… / You are a worthless son. // A curse upon you. viz's translation: You're right. You are missing something. / You're a rotten son… // …and I curse the day you were born! notes: the phrase "dekisokonai" is really cutting. it means, according to jisho.org, "failure; defective article; dead loss; botch​; good-for-nothing; worthless person; flop​." so "worthless" might be an understatement. what it doesn't mean is "rotten," but i digress. the phrase "reiketsu" (冷血, literally and figuratively "cold-blooded") was removed and replaced with the clause about missing something as a person. hanazawa's very last word, and this was added in the volume version as a new speech bubble, is literally "be cursed" (a command). i thought it could've used an exclamation point, but maybe hanazawa didn't have it in him.

the face that hyakunosuke makes immediately after his father's last words was also added in the volume version. what a treat!

i've been reading through the raws and analyzing them like this for a few weeks now. i mean i don't type them all up like this, but i do try to give the more interesting lines a deep read and try to learn a bunch of kanji while i'm at it. there's nothing like trying to read raw manga to make you feel like your 650-day duolingo streak is actually fuuucking worthless. so i'll make more translation notes posts in the future with some interesting lines that may have been translated strangely or incorrectly. specifically i might make a post similar to this one when i get to some more scenes about hyakunosuke and yuusaku (because i think lines were added in later scenes too) and his long talk with usami (where lines were also added). and maybe some scenes with tsukishima and koito. we'll see how long my hyperfixation lasts.

i guess i'll note that the phonetic transliteration of each line is based on my own arbitrary standards and not on any actual standard of writing out romaji (e.g. i tried to put spaces between words... mostly? i typed "wa" as "ha" when it's written with a "ha" hiragana, for no reason in particular... etc.). sorry if it's confusing.

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 11: Surrogate

So the thing about imagination, right, is that it’s not the same for everyone. We mostly all have the same tool, but we don’t all use it just the same. If we had a contest to see which couple of people can draw a tree exactly alike, nobody would win if we couldn’t compare notes, because we’d all be thinking of the same thing in different ways, with different styles. It’s tough to counterfeit a painting even if you’ve got the original in front of you. Even tougher if there isn’t an original yet.

No, look, calm down, I promise I’m going somewhere with this. Just calm down. No need for Blades right now, the problem’ll take care of itself.

So this gets easier if you are both copying the same real thing. Just thinking of a tree? That’s not much. A specific tree you’ve both seen and gotten to take notes on? That helps. We both saw the same image and we’re thinking of the same thing. It’s not exact, but – sorry, can you pass me that canvas over there? Your hands are shaking. Right, anyway, our imaginations are sort’ve synced up with each other that way.

Thanks. Go ahead and have a seat – no, I’m not worried. Honestly, this is good advertising. I’ll explain.

I didn’t plan on getting into this field, you know. I liked art and pictomancy studies seemed like a good way to get my Archon tattoo so I could get a real job somewhere else. What you studied in Sharlayan hardly matters if you’ve got that tattoo somewhere. Job interviews can get pretty invasive up there.

The texts on the subject are mostly from one lady, and she was convinced the most important thing was channeling your imagination into the paint through your brush and using that as a focus. You wave your brush and slop some magic paint everywhere, and hey you got a rendition of a Fire spell that really burns. I hear black mages weren’t in vogue at the time, but if they were I bet they would’ve been seething at her for being a copycoeurl.

Me, though, I wanted a little bit more utility. Her methods work great for something in the moment, but paintings last. You can do something with that – no, I don’t know what they wanted. Somebody’s always pissed at me for something. What are you so upset about? They weren’t even pointing the swords at you.

...Huh, yeah, I guess you are a witness. Don’t worry, it won’t be a problem. I gave them what they wanted.

Anyway, some shite went down and I had to leave the island in a hurry and set up shop and experimented a bit, and it turns out that – I mean, you know how arcanists always have to have fanciest and best magic ink for the books? Same principles apply to paint. You make a portrait, you apply the ink, you imbue it with your intent, and then maybe somebody looks at it and thinks about it later, and it goes off.

Look, don’t ask me about the particulars, I just do the work. You want somebody who can lob a bunch of metababble at you, tickets to Sharlayan are available elsewhere. Now, for example, if, say, you had prepared a portrait of a bomb floating around minding its own business with the right inks, and some pricks came in with swords demanding their money’s worth for whatever, and you gave them that portrait -

Yeah, there we go. Took them a while to take a look, I guess. Could you pick up those pots? Hate it when they fall off like that. They were closer than I thought, too.

Anyway, if you go outside I think the results’ll speak for themselves. Now, you still want a commission? Tell me what you want and make it quick. Pretty sure I’m gonna have to move soon.

[valhala90]

Tashigi not stuck with babysitting duty and is with Garp and the other SWORD members rescuing Koby?

She's not SWORD member, because she would be introduced or re-introduced (like X-Drake and Koby) as such.

Tashigi would go with Garp to save her colleague and friend as simple as that.

My thoughts are that we don't know anything about her relationship with other members of the marines except what we saw with Smoker and G5, but Tashigi probably has strong bonds with other marines off screen/manga, (remember how Doll talks with her or that one who was infatuated with her forgot his name gives me the creeps) there's one cover where she's shown with Koby and Helmeppo if my memory serves me and I'm too lazy to search more, so there is a friendship/bond there, and it's only natural that she goes after someone she cares for, especially if that someone shares the same views of "justice" like Koby. So yeah, I think she caved in when she saw Helmeppo and the others moping around and decided to go with them.

I also think Garp was probably a mentor figure not to Tashigi specifically, but most likely to Smoker, and they respect him in a similar way they respect Tsuru and Fujitora.

Smoker is not shown, which worries me a bit. But, he could be a member of SWORD unlike Tashigi since he always did what he wanted to from the start, and he implied that he doesn't want Tashigi to go in that direction, possibly having the same sort of feelings/relationship as Koby and Garp, thinking how Tashigi is the future and he doesn't want to risk her getting involved in some shady shit, shown on PH when facing Vergo etc. I think he's probably on some mission and ordered Tashigi to stay with the kids thinking she'll be safe there but shit happens and Tashigi does like to rush into dangerous situations especially when someone she cares for is involved so, we shall see. My predictions are always shite but meh, I write them anyways. Maybe Smoker had some super secret talk with Aokiji when he saved him from Doflamingo, so Smoker may appear on the Egghead or where Aokiji is, if he's also where Garp and the co are, shit's about to go down.

I think Aokiji is one of the BB commanders. The tenth one.

I wonder what Tashigi's role will be? Will she strictly be a support, or will she have some bigger role?

Also that ending!

Will it be Garp, SWORD members potentially Moria and Perona vs 4 BB commanders

[stelly38]

Progress is being made on The Initiate, albeit slowly.  Guess that’s better than nothing.  Currently, I’m wrangling with timeline... specifically, the order of events that must occur before the conclusion.  (Yes, the conclusion is in sight, but it’s waaaay down there at the other end of the tunnel.)  Anyway, certain events have to happen in a certain order, and I’m finding that there are different ways these events can happen--which in turn would affect the events that follow.  So I have to figure out how I want it all to line up, and in which way.  It’s kind of like Choose Your Own Adventure, but annoying, because I have to know which “adventures” to choose, and then I have to write them.  (I just dated myself with that reference, didn’t I?) 

In any case, here’s an excerpt from the work in progess.  It’s safe for work, so no worries about a dick popping out.  

When Demelza opens her eyes, they focus on the shaft of sunlight working its way through the gap in the curtains to pool on the rug next to her bed.  It’s unusually bright outside for this hour.  She stretches under the covers and twists around to see the clock on her bedside table; it reads 8:47.

Shite. She’s overslept and is late for class. She’s sure she set the alarm to allow herself plenty of time to make it to her first class at 9:00, but it didn’t go off. Still bleary with sleep, she scrambles out of bed, pulling her top and jeans from the hamper where she threw them last night. With one arm in a sleeve, she dashes to the bathroom to brush her teeth and push her hair into something resembling “done.” In three more minutes, she’s out the door, clutching her bag and jogging to campus.

When she reaches the classroom, out of breath, her heavy bag sliding down her arm and choking her with the neck of her shirt, it’s nearly twenty past. She peeks through the narrow, rectangular glass window on the door, into an amphitheater classroom with stadium seating.  The students have filled the first several rows of seats, nearest the front.  Demelza takes a few steadying breaths and opens the door, the hinges squealing an introduction. The professor is in mid-sentence, but breaks off when he sees her enter. Several heads turn to look at up her, standing at the top of the staircase.

The professor consults a notebook on his desk and looks at her again.

“Miss—Carne, is it?”  There is something oddly familiar about him, the dark curly hair, the scraggly stubble on his face.

“Yes,” she begins.

He takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk. “As I said at the top of the hour, I will not tolerate tardiness—“

“I’m so sorry, sir, my clock—“

He limps around the desk to stand in front of it, and interrupts her. “Save your excuses, I’m not interested in hearing them,” he snaps.  There’s a cane leaning against the wall in front of the whiteboard.  

Demelza colors, turning red from her hairline to her toes as the realization sets in. She recalls the day she went up to the English department. Oh my god, it’s him, she thinks, that asshole that hit me with the door. Shit.  

A sneer creeps into his voice as he continues. “There’s one other thing I don’t like, Miss Carne—”

She snaps back to attention when she hears her name being spoken in the deep baritone of his voice.

“I hate having to repeat myself, and your tardiness requires that I do. That’s two things I despise, and you’ve brought me both, in the span of just a few moments. Well done.” He inclines his head for emphasis. There’s a snicker from the front row.

“I apologize—” she begins, half-heartedly.

“No apology necessary. You’ll take a zero for today. Have a seat.”

The injustice of the situation, paired with his refusal to listen, galls her.  “Ridiculous,” she mumbles, taking a seat near the back.  

“What was that, Miss Carne?” He is surprised that she’s responded; usually his students are too cowed by his manner to do anything but slouch in their seats and wait for him to continue lecturing.

“Nothing,” she says, opening her bag to retrieve a notebook.

He doesn’t let up. “No, I’m certain I heard you say ‘ridiculous.’ By all means, please—share with us whatever it is you find ridiculous.”

She looks at him, resentful that he’s still pursuing the argument. He’s burning holes into her with his eyes. Anger roils in her gut. She knows the easiest way out is to answer ‘no,’ and apologize, but he’s challenging her, and her competitive nature makes it impossible for her to refuse.

She raises her voice and says, “I find you ridiculous. I made an honest mistake and have apologized for it, twice, and you refuse to even consider accepting it. A zero on the first day for tardiness is so far beyond unreasonable, it’s downright cruel. I thought it would be better to show up late than to skip your class, but I may as well just leave and have a free hour, seeing as how I’ve already got the zero!”

Several students crane their necks, looking up at Demelza as she stands, wanting to get a glimpse of the new class rebel.

He glances at his watch. “Actually, you would only have about 35 minutes free,” he states, his lip curling in a one-sided smirk. “And if you leave, you’ll take a zero for Wednesday’s class as well. Sit down, Miss Carne,” he commands, his voice echoing off the back rows of the auditorium. He picks up the whiteboard eraser and turns his back on the class, wiping away the points he’s already addressed.  Her words reverberate in his mind as he works; he can’t remember the last time a student so boldly challenged him.

She huffs and stares daggers at him, but holds her tongue. Slowly, she sinks back into her seat, and opens her notebook. Who is this guy?

He clears his throat and begins discussing his syllabus once again.  Everyone is following along on laptops and handouts.  She doesn’t have a paper copy, but it’s the least of her problems at the moment.  Still seething, she considers dropping the course and taking a different one.  She’s so upset that she doesn’t hear much of anything he says for the rest of the class.  She looks up from her notebook to watch him pace unevenly behind the desk as he’s talking.  Her eyes drift from his dark curls and square, scruff-covered jawline to his muscular forearms, visible below the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down. Good-looking guy, she thinks, too bad he acts like an ass.  She flips through her papers until she finds a copy of her schedule.  Her professor’s name is Ross Poldark.

[fagcrisis]

if the people saying wrestling is the scourge of the earth are only familiar with wwe/american mainstream wrestling i could almost see where they're coming from (wwe treats wrestlers like shite) but like. ALL wrestling??? everywhere??? opiate of the masses to slam down a muscled opponent????? huh???????

nah i mean i genuinely get where theyre coming from but it should be applied as a broader criticiam of spectator sports and the entertainment industry (which are already entwined without bringing wrestling into the mix) and like, the criticisms u can make about the wrestling industry dont stop at wwe/american tv wrestling as a whole. if we got into the problems puro has wed be here for a week at least

but anyway yeah its a little unwarranted to single out wrestling specifically man cmon. theres no industry under capitalism that is free of its inherent faults