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gh0vtzb1og · 9 days

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I have many thoughts about ghost or price coming back from a long mission and being a sub to reader cause they're too tired.. :3 specifically masc

Rockin’ horse. Bottom price / JOHN PRICE X MALE READER

You ask and I deliver.

(I didn’t know if you meant submissive top, so your getting submissive bottom price)

Notes; fingering, teasing, anal sex, degradin, jerking off, blow job.

(The whole time I’m writing this I’m thinking of ‘exit only’ boxers, LMAO)

Price leaned up against the doorway of your shared bedroom, his lips parted ever so slightly, his look was a beat up and exhausted one. He didn’t say anything to you, just stared in silence, waiting for you to speak.

“Long day at work eh?” You shifted against the bed, sitting in your boxers. Prices eyes shifted to your boxers.

“Very,” he murmured, creeping onto the floorboards without a word. He crawled onto the bed, the worn down look in his eyes as his met yours. He crawled on top of you now, the slightly bigger man looking down at you.

You weren’t gonna take this though. Quickly wrapping your leg around the back of his knee and pushing him onto his back. You grab his legs, pinning them to either side of his body, soft snaps of his bones being stretched out into a new way.

You had jerked him off in a dominant manner, but never this far. Hid jaw hung open as he laid there pinned. “Bloody hell. This what you’ve been, plannin’?” He gripped the bedsheets, his knuckles turning a white shade as he waited for your next move.

You move one hand down to undo his belt which kept his jeans clinging to him. as if they didn’t already compliment his lower half. You undid his jeans, moving your hands to his boxers. Using your palm to rub it against his ass. The captains eyes were filled with frustration, he couldn’t move to take a more dominant role. Now you were both in your boxers, slipping the captains off.

He was erect against his stomach, his cock leaking pre cum as you used two of your fingers inside him. Gently rubbing his inner walls and trying to find his prostate.

“Goddamnitt, I’m so gonna ruin you later boy.” He threatened. Groans and moans leaving his throat as you work on his ass. Your fingers neatly scissoring him and thrusting out of him. He growled softly and bit his cheek as he stared at you, a quiet pant leaving his lips as he tried to keep quiet. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction of him getting pleasure from your acts.

“Shh. You’re just so upset aren’t you price. A captain in the military getting fingered on his own bed, how pathetic.” You kiss his bearded chin. You pulled your boxers down. Staring at your older boyfriend, his cock red and angry. Desperate for relief from his rough day.

He gripped the bed harder, feelin you pull your fingers away and pushing your tip against his entrance. “Just a damn slag. Can Mr old man not fight against me? Is he gonna get fucked hm?” You sneer into his ear. Watching his jaw tighten as he glares at you.

With a quick thrust of your hips you were halfway in him. Listening to the older male groan out in pleasure. Gritting his teeth to his best advantage, drool was seeping out from his lips as you move your hips once more, slamming your cock fully into the other man. You wrapped your right hand around his cock, quickly moving it. You ran your thumb over his tip, playing with his slit.

“Fuck! Cmon darlin you don’t gotta I didn’t mean it. Just quit now and I won’t do anything to ya.” He pleaded, trying to hide his moans as you pound into him. Fucking him with everything you’ve got, long gravely moans left his throat, watching as he tilted his head back.

You push his legs by his head, pinning them there. Price was letting out heavenly groans and moans. All because of you, a feeling of pride filled you as you used your position to rub right against his prostate.

“Fuck lad! Cmon you don’t gotta, fuck!” He groaned out to the thick, hot air that wrapped around you both. Feeling his cock throb into your touch before a warm spurt of cum left it, hitting his stomach and dribbling onto his body, his cock throbbed for a few seconds more.

You had got the best of him. Pulling out and letting a low chuckle leave your own mouth.

“Not so hard hmm, though I’m still hard, suppose you can’t help can ya.” You tsk, watching his hazy eyes go to your cock. He moved over, grabbing onto your hips and letting his lips wrap around your cock, his beard tickling your skin. A quiet groan left you as he tasted himself on your cock.

Choking on it. You ran your hand through his hair, watching his teary eyes as he tried to take your cock. He’d certainly get you back for this.

I really hope this doesn’t look as bad as I see it bro. I can’t tell if my writing is boring (lmk how I can improve)

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty #captain john price #captain price #john price #price call of duty #price x reader #smut writing #writers on tumblr #cod modern warfare #call of duty headcanons #male reader #fanfic

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sapphire-weapon · 7 months

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feelin like i want and we deserve some soft eagleone today, lads

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scapegrace74-blog · 1 year

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The Man from Black Water, Chapter 8

A/N Here’s one more (long) chapter before I return to the salt mines tomorrow. From here on in, I can’t promise the updates will come as frequently, but I promise that they’ll come.

In this chapter, we see both the good and the bad of Jamie and Claire’s temperaments.

Previous chapters are available on my AO3 page.

Thanks for reading!

The next morning, Claire came across Jamie in the stables. She heard his voice before she could see him, low and melodic as he spoke to the colt in an unfamiliar tongue. Gaelic, she surmised.

“Tha thu breagha, a charaid,” his deep voice crooned, and while she didn’t understand the words, the affection he felt for the animal was clear.

“What is it you’re saying to him?” she asked as she leaned against the stall door.

The big Scot paused his rhythmic currying of Hamlet’s dark coat to peer over his withers at his unexpected visitor.

“Mostly nonsense, but I was jes tellin’ him what a handsome lad he is,” Jamie confessed with a grin that transformed his stalwart face. Hamlet wasn’t the only handsome lad in the stables that day.

Lips as soft as rose petals tickled Claire’s palm, searching for a treat. She dug a sugar cube out of her pocket and offered it to the colt, who gobbled it up.

“He is a sweet thing,” she remarked as Jamie finished his task and came to join her by the door.

“Aye, there isna a mean bone in his body,” he agreed.

“Curly will find one.”

“Curly! Dinna tell me tha’ bas-, baw-, good-fer-nothin’ is responsible fer breaking this animal?” Jamie struggled to find a word to describe the brute that was fit to be uttered before a lady.

“You’ve got to be firm with a young horse,” Claire opined, secretly relishing the young man’s ire. It felt good not to be the only one angry at the status quo.

“Aye, but no’ cruel.”

“Are you saying you could break this colt?” she challenged.

Jamie narrowed his eyes at the single-minded lass before him, at war with himself. He hated the idea of the colt, or any horse for that matter, being mistreated by the likes of Curly. His pride, still smarting from being left behind during the muster, longed to have a task at which he knew he could excel. And there was no denying that spending time in the company of a beautiful young woman with spirit and intellect held its own appeal.

“What about yer father?” Jamie inquired, sensing there was more to Claire’s motivation than the desire to see the colt well-treated.

“He’ll be gone for at least two weeks. If Hamlet is broken before he gets back, what can he say? Of course, if you think it’s too much for you…”

Looking back, Jamie realized he’d never stood a chance. When given the opportunity to show off to a pretty lass and thumb his nose at his intolerant employer, there was never any question that he would walk away.

***

It was Brian Fraser who had taught his son how to break a horse to saddle. The trick, Jamie’s father had explained, was to work with the animal’s natural disposition to please, while slowly introducing them to the foreign sensations of pressure from the girth, the feel of the saddle, the guidance of a bit across the tender bars of the mouth, and finally, the weight of a rider upon their back.

Jamie was fortunate that Hamlet knew and trusted him. Despite that, he refused the urge to skip steps, unwilling to scare the young horse in his rush to master him.

“What does the blanket do?” Claire asked from the rail of the paddock where they met each day after their respective obligations were dispensed with: Jamie to the other Netherton livestock and Claire to whatever domestic activities at which a genteel lady was expected to gain proficiency.

“It gets him used tae feelin’ somethin’ upon his back, and tae catching sight of it in the corner o’ his eye,” Jamie explained as he scratched the colt behind one ear.

“That makes sense, since horses have near three-hundred-and-sixty-degree peripheral vision.”

Seeing the Highlander’s look of bewilderment, Claire hastened to explain.

“That means they can see almost directly behind…”

“I ken what it means, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted. “I’m jes surprised tae hear ye say it. Why do ye ken sae much about horses, if ye dinna mind me askin’?”

Claire considered lying, used as she was to male ridicule when she mentioned her interest in veterinary medicine. Instead, she decided to trust Jamie with her covert passion.

Instead of responding straight away, he continued to caress the colt, a far-off look in his seafaring eyes. A nod, as though striking a bargain with some invisible arbiter, and he replied with,

“Aye, that’s grand.”

“Grand?” Claire stuttered open-mouthed. “You don’t mean to lecture me about how it’s unsuitable for a woman and that I’ll never secure a husband if I pursue a profession?”

Jamie shrugged away her rhetorical concerns.

“I reckon ye ken better than anyone wha’ yer suited for or no’. And as fer a husband,” he added with a boyish grin, “ye’ll jes have tae find a man wi’ a herd o’ sickly beasts.”

***

Hamlet flourished under Jamie’s thoughtful care, each day seeing the young colt grow more and more comfortable with the accoutrements of being a saddle horse. Within a week, he was accepting the bit in his mouth and surcingle around his ribs with only a few placid flicks of his expressive ears.

“He really is a handsome lad,” Claire commented as they sat on the paddock fence watching their charge canter about after his lesson, enjoying his renewed freedom.

“Aye. Does yer father plan tae race him?” Most days, Jamie managed to forget that the horse he was working was worth more than a lifetime of his labour, but just then it was making his wame a bit queasy.

Claire scoffed. “My father neither knows nor cares the tiniest jot for horse racing. He only bought him so that some other wealthy landowner could not. For Henry Beauchamp, it’s the appearance of things that matters, nothing else.”

Despite his own feelings about his employer, Jamie felt compelled to defend the man, if only to erase the forlorn look from his daughter’s face.

“I’m certain he cares fer ye greatly, Claire,” Jamie declared, reaching out to initiate contact with the petal-soft skin on the back of her hand for the first time.

“I used to believe so. Now I know I’m just another one of his objects on display.”

***

It rained in miserable torrents for the next three days. Claire was confined to the manor, and Jamie, Donas and Rollo were occupied moving the estate’s livestock to drier pastures. Accustomed as he was to the docile longhorn cattle native to the mountain glens, the Highlander had his hands full with Netherton’s herd of Angus cows, wily and fractious beasts that delighted in escaping any enclosure. He ended each day tired, waterlogged and as irritable as the animals he cared for. The fact that he missed spending time with Claire and Hamlet only added to his sour mood.

On the evening of the third night, he stood in the stables beneath the orange parabola cast by an oil lamp, carefully wiping Donas dry with a cloth rag. The gelding leaned into his touch, whickering softly. Claire stopped, undetected, just inside the door and watched the stable hand’s strong features caressed by flame and shadow.

In Victorian society, men styled their hair and grew elaborate facial hair. By contrast, the Highlander’s natural russet waves and closely shaven beard were an anachronism, but no less appealing for it. His body was tall and lean, with the tautly coiled intensity of a cat, and his hands as he groomed his horse were a juxtaposition of rough and gentle. Despite the chill of her damp clothes, she could feel prickles of heat rising beneath her skin, foreign and delicious.

She must have made a noise loud enough to be heard over the percussive rain on the metal roof, or else he could sense the heaviness of her stare, for he looked up and their eyes met for the first time in days. She watched his lips part and expel an indistinct word that nonetheless echoed in her rushing pulse.

“Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head as though waking from a daydream. “What are ye doin’ out in this uplowsin? Ye’re fair drookit.”

Claire turned the unfamiliar words around in her mind, searching for their meaning. Considering the weather and the miserable state of her hair, uplowsin and drookit were easy enough to work out.

“What’s a sass-en-ack? You’ve called me that before.”

Jamie blushed so fiercely that he was surprised steam didn’t begin rising from his damp clothing.

“Tis a Highland word fer a Lowlander, or an English person such as yerself,” he prevaricated, leaving out the part about the word being a close cousin to an expletive. Based on the shrewd gleam in Claire’s golden eyes, she’d already guessed.

“Well, I suppose I cannot fault your observations,” she conceded graciously, letting him off his self-baited hook. “But I’ll have you know I was born on Scottish soil, somewhere along the road between here and Dundee.”

An expression of timeworn grief darkened her pretty features, and Jamie didn’t have to ask how a gentlewoman came to be born on the route to the nearest doctor.

“Would ye like tae help me feed the horses their supper?” he asked instead.

The stables grew warm from the body heat of their occupants. Jamie tossed sheaves of hay down from the loft while Claire gamely scooped rations of grain into feed troughs and topped up pails with cold water from the well. All the while, stories were traded back and forth about two childhoods lived not forty miles apart and yet so vastly different they may well have been from different centuries.

With Jamie’s chores completed and the hour growing late, the pair ran out of excuses to remain sequestered away in the refuge of the stables. Rain continued to lash the roof and Jamie cast his gaze about for a means of protecting Claire from the elements as she returned to the manor.

“Take my coat, Sassenach,” he offered when no other alternative presented itself.

“What are you going to wear?” she protested. “As far as I can tell, the rain is just as wet between here and the bunkhouse.”

Gracious the lady of the manor might be, but submissive she was not.

“I’m from the Highlands, lass. A wee bit o’ rain doesna bother me.”

This was an outright falsehood, but Jamie felt gallantry justified the lie.

“I’m not some fragile bauble made from spun sugar who will dissolve into a puddle. It’s just water, Jamie.”

“And tis jes an overcoat, Claire.”

They stood staring at each other across ten feet of stone floor. Even in the dim lamplight, Jamie could make out the pretty flush of anger on Claire’s skin, the rapid rise and fall of her bosom and the inky dilation of her pupils. It stirred something in him he was used to suppressing, something base and a little bit feral.

“I suppose,” she conceded when their stand-off showed no signs of ending, “you could come with me to the manor. That way, I could return the coat to you straight away.”

Jamie consciously loosened his shoulders. Provoking the lass was counter-productive, no matter how lovely she was in her pique.

“An’ I suppose we could drape it o’er our heads, so we both dinna get wet,” he allowed.

Like a fast-moving storm, the clouds of Claire’s ire parted, and her laughter rang out like a ray of sunshine.

“Well, that’s one calamity averted. With our combined intellects, no petty obstacle will stand in our way!”

“Aye,” Jamie chuckled as he huddled as close to her shoulder as he dared and stretched one coat tail over her head with his long arm. “We make a braw team. Stubborn as oxen, the both o’ us.”

“The trick is to ensure we’re always pulling in the same direction.”

***

After two weeks of preparation, the day Jamie would attempt to ride Hamlet finally arrived. He first lunged the colt in endless circles, trying to exhaust his youthful energy. With Claire holding the bridle, he then carefully lowered a saddle onto the glossy black back and tightened the girth in careful increments. Sensing the nervousness of his handlers, Hamlet pivoted his ears forward and back but was otherwise still.

Aunt Rosemary and Mrs. Crook had both come down to the corral to witness the momentous occasion. Even Rollo had joined them, his head cocked to one side in apparent interest. It seemed fitting to offer some form of encouragement, but the addition of onlookers to their usual trio made Claire shy. Instead, she joined the other women outside the fence, fingers gripping the top rail, as Jamie led the colt over to the mounting block.

With a surprising amount of nimbleness for such a large man, the stock hand lowered himself onto Hamlet’s back for the first time. Bending low, he spoke softly near the horse’s ear. Although she couldn’t hear the words, Claire knew they would be in Gaelic, the language Jamie spoke in his heart.

With a gentle nudge and encouraging cluck, Hamlet began a sedate walk around the enclosure. As he rode by, Jamie took a moment to send a cockeyed wink in Claire’s direction. Everything was going exceptionally well, and he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit smug.

Pride goeth before the fall, as any good Presbyterian would concur. After several easy laps of the corral, Jamie encouraged the colt into a trot. Less at ease with fifteen stone of man bouncing on top of his sensitive spine, Hamlet’s ears flattened against his poll and his tail began to swish violently. The afternoon breeze conspired to blow an oak leaf from a nearby tree, and that was all it took to send the anxious animal into a panic.

From her spot beyond the fence, Claire watched the whole scene unfold like a savage pantomime. First, Hamlet veered sharply to his left, causing Jamie to clamp down on the colt’s flanks to maintain his balance. In reaction, the frightened horse broke into a gallop, but the tight confines of the corral hemmed him in. By that time, Rollo was barking, and Mrs. Crook was crying out in fright while covering her eyes. With every instinct urging escape, Hamlet spun once more, ran straight across the ring at a gallop and sailed over the five-foot fence that separated the corral from a neighbouring field. With the sickening thud of a bag of bones hitting the ground, Jamie fell face down into the dirt and didn’t rise again.

***

A loud, repetitive noise dragged Jamie from the abyss of dreamless sleep. Keeping his eyes shuttered against the pain of the morning sun, he gathered his cloudy thoughts. His mouth was as wooly as an old sock. His head, the apparent source of the clanging noise, felt like the anvil of a busy blacksmith. Everything from his eyebrows to his toenails ached. It reminded him of the one time he’d drank too much of Murtagh’s whisky.

“Good morning,” Claire greeted far too loudly as she entered the bunkhouse carrying a tray of food. “It’s nice of you to rejoin the living.”

Painfully aware that he was in his bunk wearing only his workshirt and that he desperately needed to take a piss, Jamie gingerly lifted himself to a seated position beneath his blanket. The wood paneled walls of the room swam in his vision.

“What happened?” he croaked as softly as he could manage.

“You don’t remember? You came off the colt and hit your head. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Ignoring Claire’s attempt at being a nursemaid, the Highlander took stock of his own injuries. His whole right side was bruised to the point that it hurt to breathe. Possibly a broken rib or two. Judging by the tenderness of his cheek, he’d lost some skin as well. Worst of all, though, was his dignity. He’d undertaken the breaking of the young horse as a demonstration of his manhood, and here he lay abed like an ailing bairn.

“Where’s Hamlet?” he finally thought to ask. God help him if Beauchamp’s thousand-pound horse was wandering the vale of Ericht for anyone to steal.

“We caught him,” Claire replied, sounding very self-satisfied.

“Is he alright?”

“Flighty, but not otherwise harmed. The drovers are expected back tomorrow, but he should be fine by then. If not, we’ve decided how to handle my father.”

Jamie rolled onto his side with a grimace, needing to look directly at his erstwhile co-conspirator.

“Who’s we?” he asked, already knowing the answer and hating it.

“Mrs. Crook, Aunt Rosemary and I. No-one else knew you were working the colt, and as far as my father is concerned, he could just as well have been set off by a pack of wild dogs or a thunderstorm.”

“Aye, but he wasn’t, was he?” Jamie growled, suddenly much less pleased to be deceiving his employer if it meant being complicit in a web of lies.

“Well, what would you have us do? Tell him his Highland labourer took it upon himself to endanger his prized colt?”

“Took it upon myself?!” Jamie felt his shame, fear and vexation congeal into raw fury. “Ye damn near goaded me tae break tha’ horse, woman. An’ now ye expect me tae cower behind yer skirts like I’m the one who’s tae blame! I’d sooner swing from my own noose, ye meddlin’ wee besom!”

As his voice rose, so did the twin flames in Claire’s fierce gaze. By the time she reacted, he could practically feel their heat singeing his skin. The tray of food landed with a crash on the floor between them.

“You are a foolish boy, Jamie Fraser.”

With those damning words and a swish of her skirts, Claire left him alone with his self-recrimination and a pile of broken crockery.

#my writing #outlander #fanfiction

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criptidcat · 1 year

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Everybody Likes You

Alex gets called to comfort Sun when he's having a meltdown.

Sun has a small panic attack but its not very detailed.

Also tried to write a scottish accent while making it legible

Everyone liked Mr. Sunshine, the helpful daycare attendant. Every one liked Sundrop and glitter glue and playing with toys. Thats what Sun had thought, what was wired into his code.

Then a kid, in the midst of a tantrum, said something horrible.

"I hate you!" The young boy had screamed. "I hate you and I hate this place!"

"B-but everyone loves daycare... friend please calm down and maybe we can-"

"No! I don't want to be in this stupid baby place!" The kid ran off to sulk. Sun's fans began to buzz as he tried to process the child's statement.

Alex got the alert that something was wrong with Sun and grabbed his tool bag. So much for his nap, but if Sun needed him he wasn't going to keep him waiting.

He had been expecting a broken ray, a pulled wire, glue where it shouldn't be again, not this. Not Sun curled in a ball making strange noises as he rocked back and forth. There were a few kids watching, unsure what to do. Then ran to Alex and tugged at his shirt as the begged him to help. No one else knew what to do.

He had dealt with Roxy having a panic attack before. It was just after her first big show. She went from happy to sobbing in just a few minutes and Alex had to help calm her down. He let her vent about how she felt and Alex helped show her how her fears were valid but untrue. She was loved and there was a whole gaggle of kiddos waiting to see her when she was ready to come out again.

Unfortunately the red haired man had no clue what happened to set this off.

"Did someone get hurt?" He asked, letting the kids pull him.

"No. A new boy came and yelled and Mr Sun got sad."

"Will you help him?"

"Is Mr.Sun ok?" The questions piled on and Alex knelt down with a soft smile.

"Don't worry little stars, Dr. Alex is gunna make sure Ol Sunny is happy and healthy as always." He asked the kids about the boy, trying to figure out what he said or did that triggered this reaction.

To everyone's surprise it was Sun who spoke up.

"He hates me... they hate me... they-" Alex's heart ached when he heard a crackling sob and wrapped his arm around the animatronic.

"Oh Sun... that really hurt yer feelins di' it?" Alex pulled the bot into his arms, ignoring the sun ray poking his cheek. "Thats a cruel thing to say to such a sweet lad. Some folks might not like ya Sunshine but, I like ya. And these kids 'ere like ya." Sun stopped whining and Alex waited for a response. Long arms wrapped around him and Sun finally spoke.

"You like me?" He sounded as small and shy as one of the kids.

"Of course. You don't cause a ruckus an' I can actually get some rest around ya." Alex laughed. He looked up at the worried stares of the nearby kids and smiled at them. He gestured for them to come over and Sun was swallowed up in a pile of love and hugs. "We all love ya, dont' we children?" The kids erupted with praise and affection.

"You're the bestest ever!"

"That kid is a meanie butt don't listen to him!"

"We luv you misser sun!"

Sun curled into Alex tighter and for a moment the Scotsman was worried Sun would cry again.

"I'm sorry my stars. Iwas so hurt by that one comment I forgot how much the rest of you care." Sun laughed.

Alex stayed through naptime. He talked to Moon about giving Sun some encouragement and some tips for helping calm him if that happened again. In turn Moon made Alex go take a nap. He could tell the man was exhausted. Alex pat Moon on the head as he went to lay down. He was definitely going to wake up with nail polish and glitter in his hair.

#fnaf sun #fnafsb #fnafoc #Scottish man #alex is a robot therapist #put that on a resume #comfort

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pacifymebby · 5 months

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my bloody valentine // chapter two

That night I slept uncomfortably. It was a restless sleep which gripped me, dragging me in and out of strange dreams which threaded together so blurred and disjointed that when I woke I could hardly remember a thing. Only that I'd been scared, only that I'd had the overwhelming feeling of being followed through each and every dream into the next. As if a shadow had been lurking in the back of my mind, drifting with me in and out of each strange memory.

By the time my alarm went off the next morning I felt all kinds of shaken up. My memory of the evening before a little hazy so that for a moment I'd completely forgotten the strange encounter from the evening before. The man who had attacked me and the unfamiliar lad who had known my name when he'd saved me.

I rubbed my eyes as I rolled over and nuzzled into my pillow, reaching out to silence my alarm only to realise that it wasn't my alarm at all.

I saw Alys' name on the screen, the little circle which held a photograph of her like a locket all lit up. My stomach twisted into a guilty knot as I remembered the promise I hadn't kept.

"Hey," I yawned into the receiver pushing myself up on one elbow, stretched to look out the window only to realise that I'd slept into the early afternoon. I let out a little whimper and fell back into bed defeated before I'd even gotten up.

"Hey sorry Johnny made me phone, para as he is," sighed Alys, "how're you feelin? I was surprisingly hungover this morning but Johnny brought me a Greggs on his way back from his run and honestly it saw me reet..."

"Lucky you," I pouted debating whether to tell her the full details of my night, wondering if I even knew all the details to share with her. "I feel shit," I said, "you woke me up Aly," I whined shocking her though she really shouldn't have been shocked.

"What? Dude it's like 2pm what the fuck?"

"Yeah," I sighed rubbing my eyes, my head still feeling heavy and thick, "I don't know man, I feel rotten though, not even like hungover either just fuckin... Rough..."

"Huh," she said so that I could hear the sound of a frown in her voice, "maybe you're coming down with somet I don't know..."

"Fuck sake I hope not," I grumbled pushing myself out of bed, wandering into the kitchen to flick the kettle on.

"Hey," she said with a teasing smile, "nothing a shitty instant coffee won't fix eh? You'll be better for tonight yeah?"

For a moment I frowned, a little confused as to what she was referring to. That was until I remembered exactly what I'd agreed to that evening.

"Fuck," I breathed remembering the Halloween party they threw every year at the bar Johnny's best mate ran.

"Oh no don't you dare missy!" She gasped defensively, not that I would dare to stand her up anyway.

"Don't worry," I said with a soft self sympathetic little smirk, "I'll be there alright..."

"You'd better be."

"I will!" I giggled getting a little defensive myself then because I'd never let her down before. That was why me and Alys were friends, because we were the two lassies left standing at the end of the night, never ones to turn down an afters or another drink. We were the two who would nurse a hangover with a pint at breakfast. I wasn't the kind of girl who passed up on a party, ever. Alys knew that. "When have I ever let you down before eh?" And when I asked her that she was forced to agree and apologise for ever doubting me.

"So you should be sorry," I grinned pushing myself out of bed with a small sigh, wandering through to the kitchen to put the kettle on and make myself one of those shitty instant coffees Alys had recommended. Not that I was entirely sure caffeine was going to get me through.

"Turn up early and I'll share the fancy wine Johnny got for me birthday," she sang down the phone in an attempt to tease me out of my flat as soon as possible. I knew what that meant though, if I showed up early enough she could rope me into helping set up.

"I'll see what I can do..." I said thinking about what I was going to wear because I hadn't planned my costume and I had no idea what I was going wear. Johnny was always very particular about making sure we all kept to his no costume no entry rule.

"Hey Ally who are you dressin as?" I asked as I sipped my shitty instant coffee, hoping she might be able to offer me a little inspiration.

"Wendy from the Shining," she said with a smile, "Johnny is going as "here's Johnny" obviously," she added with a smirk, "like literally the door," she scrunched her face up trying not to laugh as she went on explaining how he'd had her brainstorm ways of making a wearable door on the walk home last night.

"God what I wouldn't give to take a walk through that boys mind for one day," I sighed dramatically as Alys dropped another detail from their journey and the unhinged rant her boyfriend had gone on. But as she talked about their walk home my mind drifted back to the end of my evening and a shudder ran down my spine.

Not at the memory of being threatened by that stranger who wanted my wallet and phone, but by the memory of standing on my doorstep talking to Sam.

How one minute he'd been there and the next he'd vanished. How I'd felt so lonely when I realised he'd gone.

"Alys..." I said not thinking twice about cutting her off midsentence because id been too lost in my own thoughts to realise she was still talking.

"Aye pet?"

"Do you and Bonds know a lad called Sam?" I asked chewing my cheek, trying to remember exactly how he'd looked when he'd been stood opposite me on the rainwet road.

"Fender?" She asked but I could only shrug.

"I don't know I don't know his second name..." I said a little wistfully, raising my coffee to my lips and taking another sip. Gazing through the condensation on my window out at the carpark down below, picturing me and the lad in question standing there in the middle of the night.

Where had he gone when he'd disappeared. There were no corners to flit away behind, no shadows to swallow him whole. He must have travelled so fast for me not to have seen him.

And why hadn't he stopped to say goodnight.

"Tall?" She asked biting back a laugh when she realised, "though I guess anyone would be standing next to you..."

"I'm not fucking short!" I gasped horrified by the accusation, which wasn't true. I was just more short that Alys because Alys was supermodel tall.

"Uhuh," she grinned enjoying the spark she'd ignited in my temper, "you know Fender though," she carried on, "you must do he's one of Bonds little besties..."

"I don't know..." I hummed taking my bottom lip between my teeth thoughtfully, "I don't know I mean, that's what he said too..."

"Aye you must have met before, he'd have been at a gig with us or somet, definitely been down the pub with us before..."

Still despite her certainty I couldn't be sure. Something felt strange to me, because I was sure I'd have remembered that face, that presence of I'd ever met him before. There'd been something so captivating about him. I'd not been able to get him off my mind all night, not even through my sleep. And now there I was still thinking about him... So how could I have met him before without ever really noticing him?

"What's the matter you got a big girly crush on him?" She asked giggling when I tried to respond and my words caught in my throat, "I don't blame you like he's fit as fuck," she said gasping on the other end of the line when someone - presumably Johnny - threw something at her. "You want me to reintroduce you the neet?" She grinned, I could hear it in her voice, that wicked formulating a scheme sort of grin she often wore at times like these. When she was teasing me.

"He's gonna be at yours tonight?" I asked suddenly a little uncertain, my stomach twisting with nerves at the thought of seeing him again. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him again it was the thought of what I would say to him. I had to thank him for saving me but all I really wanted was to ask where and why he'd gone.

"Like I said," she shrugged, "he's one of bondys little besties..."

So I was forced to accept my fate. Forced to accept that in a few hours time I would come face to face with the man who had saved me and then abandoned me on my doorstep. Forced to accept that I was going to have to look up into those frozen eyes once again and try to think of something good to say.

I wasn't exactly the painfully shy type, not when I was with friends anyway, but there was something about Sam which left me feeling all kinds of on edge.

By the time Alys had relented her teasing and put the phone down I'd finished one shitty instant coffee and made myself another, sipping it slowly as I sat in the middle of my bedroom floor trying to think of a decent costume.

"Fuck it," I mumbled pushing myself up off the floor heading to my wardrobe to grab the creme vneck sweater I'd bought only a few weeks before and a pair of low-rise blue jeans. I tossed the jeans on my bed and took the sweater to the kitchen where I stabbed it through the middle with a kitchen knife watching as the knit tore and the knife cut through leaving a whole I could poke my fingers through and rip a little wider.

I stained it red by soaking it in wine and stood back to admire my less than artful attempt at a creative costume. I left it to dry and dragged myself to the shower to attempt to get ready.

I knew that somewhere in a box I had a blonde wig from last year's shite attempt at portraying Courtney Loves role in Straight to Hell, so I could cut that shorter and be Drew Barrymore easily.

It wasn't exactly the best idea I'd ever had and it certainly wouldn't be the hottest I'd ever looked but it would do. Johnny wouldn't deny me entry and that was all that mattered.

And in fact when he saw me he grinned laughing that me and his girlfriend had matching accessories.

"What possessed you to carry a big fuck off kitchen knife up the road with you pet..." he grinned as he made a show of telling me off for being irresponsible and setting a bad example to the bairns.

Though being one of his younger friends I pretty much was one of the bairns in his eyes.

I hadn't arrived late but I'd arrived late enough to avoid the gruelling process of setting up with Alys and though she poured at me and accused me of being late on purpose she still swept me off my feet in an excitable hug, squeezing me tight before dragging me off to her bedroom where she'd hidden her fancy wine.

In typical Alys style she uncorked it and took a swig straight from the bottle as she began recounting the drinks her and Johnny had already taste tested that evening. Bond had a knack for making cocktails and the general rule of thumb was that the later you asked him for one the more wild the concoction was.

But it wasn't really wine or to tell me about the espresso martinis he'd whipped up for them that she'd taken me to her bedroom for.

"You still feeling rough?" She asked with a cheeky smile, a light gleaming in her eyes, "cause I've got something that might perk you up..." she smiled as she took out her keys and a little bag of white powder.

"Well I'm not gonna say no to that am I," I bit down on my smile as I watched her do a bump herself. She laughed when she caught her reflection in the mirror and saw the powder dusted on the tip of her nose. "That's just sad Ally," I smirked reaching across to take the keys from her, grinning because I knew I wasn't about to do any better.

This wasn't exactly regular practice for me and it was only the third time I'd ever done it, but I knew it would wake me up, knew it would make it easier to face the room full of half strangers half 'friends' in Ally's living room. Because although I was her trouble making best friend from uni I was much quieter, more reserved than her.

I was the girl who'd inexplicably managed to get a reputation for being cool simply by being quiet. By watching and holding back in conversation instead of taking center stage. Not because I was cool but because most of the time I felt shy to talk to people I didn't really know well enough to call my friends.

It meant that whilst Alys and Johnny had hundreds of pals between them, Alys and Johnny were my only close friends. So the living room full of people I'd probably met once or twice before was an intimidating thought when I was sober and a little tired from my sleepless night. It wouldn't be however for very long.

#sam fender fanfiction #sam fender imagines

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