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terrence-silver · 20 days

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Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

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I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

#high school sweetheart!beloved #terry silver #terry silver twig #twig terry silver #tw; vietnam #tw; soldiers #tw; military life #letters #tw; pow captivity #tw; vietnam war #john kreese #captain george turner #captain turner #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #fluff #dark fluff #angst #ponytail

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toomuchracket · 3 months

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love potion (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

george's gf gets a new perfume and he's obsessed. short and sweet. day 2 of valentine's week. enjoy <3

you drop your bag onto the desk before you slide into your seat. yawning, you pull your textbooks and pencil case from the bag, taking out a pen and tapping it against the front of your exercise book while you wait for the rest of the class and the teacher to file in.

well, while you wait for one specific person to walk in. it doesn't turn out to be a long one, though; luckily - and characteristically, you suppose - he's on time.

“i recognise that rhythm, you little thief,” george's smile is audible as he walks behind you to get to his own seat, and a big one appears on your own face at the sound of his voice. he winks at you as he stands and pulls his books from his bag, and you can't help but grin. “sorry for making you sit through band practice for so long on saturday that you memorised my drum part, baby.”

“s'ok. i like watching you play,” you turn in your chair as george sits next to you, leaning on the back of your seat and looking adoringly at him. “i think it's hot.”

your boyfriend smirks at you, shuffling his chair closer to yours and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “i think you're hot. morning, angel,” he leans in to kiss your cheek, but snaps back to look at you almost as soon as his lips meet your skin, eyes wide. “what is that?”

“what's what? have i gone patchy?” your brow furrows, and you rifle in your blazer pocket for the compact mirror you know you picked up before you left for school. strange - you thought you'd done a decent job with your makeup, for a monday morning. “seriously, g, is there something weird going on with my face? tell me, please.”

he doesn't answer, just closes his eyes slowly and lightly nods the way he does when he's processing.

it makes you panic. “george!”

your boyfriend jumps. “hmm? nah, you're gorgeous. sorry, angel, what i mean is… what's that smell?” george practically shoves his whole face into your neck and inhales deeply. you giggle, slightly nervous of being caught engaging in pda, and gently shove him off you; he sits back and smiles at you, eyes dazed. “did you get new perfume, or something?”

“oh,” you touch your neck almost self-consciously, nails grazing the pulse point you'd spritzed onto just under an hour ago. “yeah, when i went into manchester with mum yesterday. gucci.”

“ooh, posh,” he smirks, laughing when you elbow him and leaning back in his seat quite attractively. “smells amazing, though. i really like it.”

“yeah?”

george nods. “yeah,” he sits up again, nuzzling into you and inhaling the fragrance a second time. “gonna stay like this for the rest of the day, thanks. maybe for the rest of time, in fact.”

you giggle. “you're an idiot, babe.”

“only cos you're irresistible,” george takes a final sniff of your perfume before moving to sit properly. “you and that perfume. gonna be a struggle keeping my hands off you all day.”

“nah,” you ruffle his hair. “ the novelty'll wear off soon. you’ll be fine.”

oh, how wrong you are.

that first class - the only one you actually have with george today - is fine, albeit your boyfriend constantly leaning closer to you “just so i can see the board without that guy’s massive head in the way, babe”, despite him never having complained about an obstructed view before. you don't say anything, just nod and bite back your grin and do your best to focus on your work; easier said than done, when george’s lips are only inches from your own. if you just turned your head…

jesus. what is up with the two of you?

he does kiss you, though, when the bell rings at the end of class. that in itself isn't unusual - despite your aversion to pda, you know everyone's too busy rushing to shove everything back in their schoolbags and make it to next period to be looking at you and george - but you do let yourself linger against his lips for a little bit longer than usual before pulling away.

actually, it's george who breaks the kiss first. “you're trying to kill me, aren't you?” he breathes, helping you up from your seat and wrapping you into a hug. “wearing that perfume, kissing me like that. and here i thought you were a nice girl.”

you laugh, leading him towards the door. “well, babe, you know what they say - always the quiet ones.”

“yeah,” george hugs you again when you reach the corridor; you giggle when he, yet again, deliberately takes a breath of your perfume. “see you later, angel. don't miss me too much.”

“i should be saying that to you!” you scoff, ruffling his hair. “bye, baby.”

you pass your boyfriend again an hour later, on opposite sides of the art corridor. a cheeky grin appears on his face when he spots you from a few feet away, and judging by the warmth in your cheeks you reckon there's a flush forming on yours. it's busy, two parallel currents of people coursing up and down to their respective next classes, but george still takes a second to lean over and kiss your head when you get near enough to each other. “you smell amazing!” he shouts, as you separate again.

“oh my god, stop it!” you call back, elbowing your suddenly-hysterical friends and turning to walk even faster towards the languages department. george’s laugh is audible, even as you move; he shuts up abruptly, though, and you hear (in quick succession) a bashing noise, your friends’ giggles turning to gasps, and the stern voice of the head of art. you're too far away to hear what she’s saying, but it can't be anything good. you wince. “someone tell me what just happened. i can't look.”

“i think,” jodie's shoulders are shaking, a telltale sign of her trying to keep from laughing. “george might have just walked straight into the door because he was too distracted by you, and miss malone's giving him shit for it.”

“what?!”

“and yet,” saira smirks. “he's still trying to look back at you.”

you shake your head, trying your best not to smile. “idiot boy.”

and you're sure to call george that to his only slightly bruised face at 3pm, when he swans out of the music corridor doors towards you, waiting with folded arms, cocked hip, and knowing smirk. you pull him into a hug. “i can't believe you walked into a fucking door.”

“don't you fucking start,” george groans, doing his best to lean down and hide his face in your hair for a second, before leading you towards the gates. “s'your fault i did it, anyway. and also that i fucked up in double music.”

“oh, piss off, it was not my- wait,” you stop dead in your tracks, turning round to gawk at your boyfriend. “did you just say you fucked up in music?”

he frowns, only speeding up his walking to the point he's less holding your hand than dragging you behind him down the street. your jaw drops. “you fucked up in music. you? george daniel? you fucked up?”

“if you mention it to literally anyone, i'm never giving you a lift anywhere ever again.”

you kiss his cheek. “alright. i'm sorry, baby. but… how?”

george sighs. “kept falling out of time because i got distracted thinking about your new perfume.”

“you being serious?”

“dead,” he nods. a tiny smile appears on his pretty face. “teacher kept asking me if i was ill. that's how bad it was.”

“oh my god,” you sling his arm over your shoulder, looking up at him with a grin. “maybe you are. maybe you're having some weird allergic reaction to it, and it's giving you brain fog.”

“but then why would i want to keep snuggling with you?”

you shrug. “seeking comfort because you're poorly? i don't know.”

“hmm, you could be right. maybe i am ill,” george ponders. without warning, he turns you in towards him and begins pressing kisses all over your face and making you giggle. “i think i'm lovesick.”

you shove your bag further up your shoulder and wrap your arms around george's neck. “god, how awful. what's the cure?” you sigh dramatically.

he grins, one of the shit-eating variety. “a snog from my girl.”

“oh, i think we can manage that,” you lean up on your tiptoes and press your lips to your boyfriend's, sighing into his mouth when his tongue traces your lower lip. george’s kisses always leave you dazed, and this is no exception - he has to hold your hips to keep you from wobbling too much when you break apart, breathing heavily. “wow. you cured?”

“nah, think i need a second dose when we get back to mine,” george smiles. “once my homework's done, that is.”

your eyes widen. “ok, maybe you are actually genuinely ill.”

“i'm serious!” george tugs you onto his street. “get all the distractions out the way first, so i can focus on what really matters: snogging you.”

“right,” you nod, biting your lip so you don't laugh, as george digs around his pockets for his house key. he kisses your cheek as he ushers you inside, and you preen at the sweet gesture. “well, we'll see how much we get done, babe.”

“all of it. i'm determined. even chemistry.”

you kiss his head as he bends to unlace his shoes, unconvinced he’ll have the willpower. “sure, sweetheart, whatever you say.”

for the second time in a day, though, you're proven wrong. george powers through his work in a couple of hours, sliding everything off his bed once he's finished with the most smug face you think you've ever seen. “time for my lovesick meds, i think.”

“alright. but you better not be thinking about me in one of those slutty nurse halloween costumes,” you say, getting up from the bed to grab something from your bag.

there's a muffled noise from behind you, which you figure is george face-planting into a pillow. “well, i am now,” he sighs, leaning round to look at you, and sits bolt upright when he sees you spritzing perfume onto your wrists and neck. “is that…?”

“it is,” you wander back over to the bed, climbing onto your boyfriend's lap and resting your arms on his shoulders. his make do with rubbing your thighs through your tights. “your favourite.”

george smiles. “nah,” before you can even react, he flips the two of you so you're lying beneath him. “you're my favourite. i love you.”

“i love you,” you pout your lips, and george takes the hint. he kisses you, long and slow and sloppy, teeth pulling at each other's lips, tongues licking into each other's mouths, hands trailing and cupping and squeezing and caressing, brains getting hazier by the second as the oxygen leaves and the dopamine sets in. you gasp when you feel his lips move across your jaw and down your neck, pressing soft kisses before settling on a recently-discovered spot that drives you mad, while his deft fingers work to remove your tie and unbutton the top buttons of your blouse - he pulls the fabric aside slightly and continues to trail kisses down, soaking up the drip trail of your perfume and gently biting when he reaches the edge of your bra. softly moaning, you card your fingers through his hair. “george.”

quick as a flash, he's hovering over you again, stroking your cheek. “you alright, angel? is there something you want?”

“yeah,” you breathe, twisting to kiss the tip of his thumb - and savouring the way his breath catches in his throat - before smiling your sexiest smile. “close the door.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #valentine75 #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfic #george daniel x reader #george x reader #george daniel fluff #sweetheart!george

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