#John Sill

[typewriter-worries]

folk songs everyone should listen to at least once

I'll Be Here in the Morning by Townes Van Zandt 

One of These Things First by Nick Drake

Something on Your Mind by Karen Dalton

Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre

I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind by Vashti Bunyan

Love Is Our Cross To Bear by John Gorka

Talkin' Like You (Two Tall Mountains) by Connie Converse

Ventura Highway by America

I'd Have You Anytime by George Harrison

By The Time I Get to Phoenix by Glen Campbell

April Come She Will by Simon and Garfunkel

The Kiss by Judee Sill

[gifutosan-gptc]

Just a bunch of little guys running away from the horrors

[mymelodic-chapel]

Judee Sill- Judee Sill (Chamber Folk, Singer-Songwriter, Folk Pop) Released: September 15, 1971 [Asylum Records] Producer(s): Henry Lewy, John Beck, Jim Pons, Graham Nash

[kavalyera]

give me john wick characters and i’ll say how well they’d do in a filipino high school

[shadowland]

Bridget St John and Judee Sill LPs (front + back)

[i-am-the-oyster]

[kurtbrussels]

i often think i had a fairly normal childhood but then i mention how i had a massive hole in my house that i nearly fell through while sleepwalking, my neighbors truck didnt have flooring so id dangle my feet while watching the road go by, and that i befriended and brought home a homeless crack addict that my dad eventually let live in the second house we had

and everyone stares at me like im insane

[laststandx3]

Bridgens/Peglar Notting Hill modern au. Bridgens is the neighborhood librarian and Peglar is the handsome actor that finds refuge in the library. Bridgens that is older and doesn't follow social medias and has maybe saw Peglar's face on a magazine once but isn't sure. Peglar who feels like a real person when he's with Bridgens

[reddirttown]

Spirit of the Prairie

In honor of Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I am sharing the Prologue to “Spirit of the Prairie: The History of the Making of the Medicine Lodge Indian Peace Treaty Pageant.” “Spirit of the Prairie.” Contact me here to buy a book. October 1867. Smoke hangs over the valley like shreds of silver silk. The autumn dawn is perfectly still; no breeze stirs the chattery cottonwoods. The scent of coffee is…

[perfettamentechic]

15 settembre … ricordiamo …

15 settembre … ricordiamo … #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic

2022: Diana Maggi, Graziosa Maggi, attrice argentina di origini italiane, famosa soprattutto in Argentina e in Spagna. Nel 1938 entrò nel cinema come comparsa. Nel 1950 apparve in cinque film. Negli anni sessanta ebbe una relazione con l’attore spagnolo Ismael Merlo. Dal 1976 viveva con l’attore argentino Juan Carlos Dual (deceduto nel 2015). (n.1925) 2021: Gavan O’Herlihy, attore irlandese…

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes: Body Language/Idle Movement

Updated 26th May 2024 More description notes

That motion was the only betrayal of his emotions; his face told nothing.

Jane’s upset countenance pleaded to him to tell her that she wasn't crazy.

She whirled on her heels.

She pivoted on her heels.

Jumping up as if he had hit a red star spring.

Exhaustion drugged her movements, slowing her down by the second.

She moved forward with gentle strides.

He jumped down from the window sill, his shoes absorbing the shock.

His shoes scuffled across the ground, kicking up dust in the process of slowing down.

John’s fingertips traced along the ground where she had stood, longing for the space to be filled.

He clenched his fists, a silent declaration of his frustration.

Her shoulders slumped, a weight of disappointment settling upon her.

She tapped her fingers impatiently, a rhythmic drumming of annoyance.

His body language screamed confidence, every step oozing self-assuredness.

She fidgeted with her hair, a nervous habit betraying her anxiety.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a restlessness in his stance.

Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a shield against the world.

She leaned in closer, an intimacy in her posture.

His head hung low, a symbol of defeat.

She gestured with sweeping arms, as if painting the air with her words.

She hugged herself, seeking comfort in her own embrace.

He shuffled his feet, a sign of nervous anticipation.

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, lost in thought.

His fingers tapped a rapid beat on the table, an outward display of impatience.

She rocked back and forth, lost in her own world.

His gaze lingered on her, a silent admiration.

She waved her hand dismissively, brushing off the conversation.

As their faces got closer, Jane placed her hand down in order to keep her balance. Her hand landed on top of his, causing the spell to be broken as both of them looked down at the sudden contact being made.

[hier--soir]

heart to heart

john price x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: john takes you away for the weekend, and nestled in a cottage on the countryside, you show him just how much you've been missing him. warnings/tags: long term boyfriend!john, john price never finishes his cigars, explicit smut, a little body worship, oral [m receiving], fingering [f], unprotected piv sex, multiple orgasms [m], some overstim [m], come eating x2, brief cock warming, idiots in love, porn with minimal plot. word count: 4.4k masterlist a/n: this was born out of me being physically unable to stop thinking about that middle picture being john price, so here we go follow @hier--soirupdates if you’d like to be notified when i share my writing

It hasn’t rained in six days.

Late autumn spins the countryside in its grasp; a warm cloak that sends the leaves golden and the grass dewy. In a small, unfamiliar kitchen you drop teabags into mugs and gaze out the window. Admire the vast acreage that surrounds the cottage, and the marshland beyond that.

The early morning rays are bright and cool, turning the cabinets a washy yellow colour around you as you wait for the kettle to boil.

Everything is quiet, calm. If you listen closely, past the sound of birds chirping and water bubbling, you can hear John’s heavy snores down the hall; still catching up on sleep after a long few weeks away.

When he came through the front door two nights ago, you’d been quietly surprised to see him home so soon. After not hearing much for almost a month, you’d resigned yourself to getting on with things in his absence. A fairly covert operation, you knew, so you’d spent your days waking to an empty house. Working and eating and showering alone and never exceeding the appropriate number of messages you could send him in one day without stirring worry. Little Angus with his long orange tail and his soft whiskers your only company in John’s stead.

Home at last, he’d wrestled out of his heavy boots and draped himself over where you lay on the couch. Soap opera long forgotten on the tele, he’d slipped an arm around the back of your head, held you to his chest and said, Let me take you somewhere.

The kettle whistles and you pluck it from the stove, still smiling at the memory. Douse the teabags in boiled water and watch as the windows cloud with steam. You leave his black, just the way he likes it, but soften your own with sugar and milk. Your toes are numb against the cool tile, and you rub them against your calf in search of warmth. Inside, your body is at sleepy old war with itself. One half longing to be back in bed, or perhaps to have not gotten up at all yet; the other half taking great pleasure in the mundanity of doing things like this for him again, after so long of not. Tap tap tap of an impatient finger against the counter until his tea turns the perfect colour, and then you’re on your way back to the room.

Leant amongst paisley patterned pillows and white linens, John looks a little out of place knuckling sleep from the corner of his eyes. A little too rough around the edges, too big, too hardened for such soft surroundings. In your brief absence, he’s drawn the curtains and nudged the window beside the bed open a crack. A long arm stretches out toward the sill, ashing a cigar onto the small dish he’s balanced there.

Naked as the day he was born, he lifts the cigar to his lips and blinks drowsily at you. Stretches his legs out, the muscles in his thighs straining, curled toes skimming the end of the bed. Eyes wandering, you kick the door shut with your foot and slink to the end of the bed, holding out his mug.

“’Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. Accepts the tea with a soft smile, the skin beside his eyes crinkling as he watches you crawl in beside him. Hands full, he twists an ankle around yours, face pulling up at the feel of your cold skin against his. “Jesus, you’re like ice. I’ll shut the window.”

“Don’t move,” you hush, nestling your head against his shoulder. “You’re right where I want you.”

John laughs softly, warm body vibrating against yours. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You watch him tap his cigar against the dish, sipping your tea and trailing fingers through the dark hairs on his stomach. Enjoy the way his body draws tense beneath your cool touch, goose flesh sprouting across his skin. “Middle of nowhere… unfamiliar town… no one will ever find you. You’re all mine out here, Price.”  

“M’all yours everywhere,” he says, abandoning his cigar in the dish so he can tug on the neckline of your—his—t-shirt. “This proves it, yeah?”

“I suppose,” you smile, lifting your mug to hide behind a sip. He watches you move, calculating and quiet as he sips his own tea. You fidget beneath the intensity of his stare, painfully aware of how well he knows you. That your want, your need, must be painted across every inch of your face.

“Love you in my clothes, sweetheart, I do.” John’s fingers curl beneath the hem of the shirt then, rough callouses tickling over your collarbones. “But you’re makin’ me feel awful naked.”

Heat flares in the base of your stomach and you chuckle, matching smirks splashed across your faces as you sit up and drag the shirt over your head. He watches as you flick it to the floor, gaze darkening as he looks over your body, focusing on the thin grey panties that cover the skin between your thighs. A thick arm curls around your waist, tugging you back onto him, and as you settle there his fingers slip down to fiddle with the band of your underwear.

“Cute,” he comments airily, middle finger dropping under the band to caress the skin beneath it.

Mug discarded off the side of the bed, you put both hands to his stomach now. Tickling his soft skin, playing with the hair there as you lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. And then another, and another, with John simply humming, palm flattening against the small of your back to hold you against his side.

Your lips part, tongue dancing lazily against his nipple. Soft strokes until the flesh is stiffening and you’re practically purring against his skin, drifting across to the other one. You hear the soft clink of his mug hitting the side table, and then John’s hand falls against the back of your head. Thick fingers twist through your hair, playing as you kiss and lick over his collarbones, and the little tugs he gives have a low throb starting up between your legs.

“Feelin’ needy this mornin’, hey lovey?” John asks. His fingers come to the front of your face, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. Big blue eyes watch you pout, cheeks squished between his fingers as you nod.

“I missed you,” you say, turning to press your nose into his palm and inhale the smell of him.

His eyes soften, and all sense of teasing seems to slip out the window. “I know, sweetheart, m’sorry. Come here’n give us a kiss.”

His lips are soft against yours. Warm, and familiar, with a hint of Darjeeling. Pulling you up to straddle his waist, he coaxes your chest down against his and huffs into your mouth at the feel of your nipples against his skin, teeth sneaking out to smart at your bottom lip.

“Thought about you every day,” he mumbles against your lips. “Missed you every second, love, always do.”

You feel something hot and sharp spark behind your eyelids at those words, and flick your tongue against the seam of his lips, pushing it away, not now not now. You go soft and pliant against him; let him guide you through the kiss, coaxing your mouth open with his long tongue as his fingers dance down your spine. When his hand reaches the round of your ass he grips your flesh there, kneading it between his fingers and pushing down so your clothed cunt comes flush with his cock.

“Feel that?” John says, pulling away an inch to nose at your cheek. His cock is heavy between your legs, thick and stiff where it presses against the gusset of your panties. You gasp as he rocks his hips up, grinding against you until the damp fabric slips between your slick folds and rubs over your clit. “That’s how much I missed you, sweetheart.”

As he talks, the hairs on his moustache prickle against your lips, and you find yourself opening your mouth. Breathy moans spill as you roll your hips against his, lathing hot opened mouthed kisses over his jaw.

“Looked at your picture every night,” he continues raggedly, breath hitching as you suck at the hollow of his throat. His cock twitches against you, the slide only getting smoother as more slick spills into your panties. “Thought about comin’ home ‘n’ never leavin’ again, just so I could play with this pretty little cunt whenever I like.”

Your hips stutter into his and you whine, a tiny glimpse of an orgasm fluttering through you just from those words.

“S’yours,” you whisper against his skin, the words he spoke moments before dancing through your mind. “All yours everywhere.”

Faster than he can stop you, you’re slipping off his lap and settling beside him on the bed. Continuing the onslaught, you lick hot, messy kisses over the skin of his neck, across the broad span of his shoulders.

“My big man,” you say tenderly, fingers itching their way across his chest. You skirt your teeth down the middle of his sternum, squeaking a little when he murmurs in enjoyment and presses a hand to your ass again. “I missed your body so much.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Show me then,” he goads lightly, grunting around a smirk when you sink your teeth into the soft flesh over his ribs in response.

His fingers toy with the material of your panties as you drag your tongue over the dip of his belly button, and when you kiss the soft curve of his lower stomach, nose buried in the dark hairs above it, you feel him grip the fabric tight. You can see his cock in your peripheral vision. Swollen and heavy against his hip now. The tip has turned a pretty shade of dark pink, accented by little streaks of white where pre-come oozes from his slit and glides down his throbbing shaft. With your mouth on his belly, you reach out and wrap your fingers around him.

“Fuck,” John grunts, head lolling back against the pillows.

You smile, stroking him slowly as you drag your nose through his thick happy trail, all the way down to nuzzle against the dark thatch of curls above his base. Insistent now, his fingers push beneath the edge of your panties and drag through your slick seam.

You whimper, forehead resting heavily against his skin as he slides two fingers through the wet mess of you. Lewd sounds of your arousal fill the room as John traces featherlight circles around your clit, and your face heats against his stomach, fingers returning to their lazy pace around his length.

The throb between your legs has become a second heartbeat now, so strong that you’re sure he must feel it beneath his fingertips. If he does, he just sighs softly. Lets the thrumming of your cunt sync with the pulse in his fingertips, heart to heart, and murmurs low encouragements as you tilt your head to the side and begin mouthing at his cock.

“Missed my cock.” Your voice is low and unfamiliar in your ears, mouth overrun with desire and spilling your guts before you can stop it. “So pretty, John…”

Circling your entrance with a thick finger, he just says, “I know, love, s’yours. Go on.”

As slow as you can bring yourself to be, you lay gentle kisses down the entire length of him. Wetting your lips and gliding them over his warm, silken skin, before dipping lower and sucking his balls between your lips. A harsh grunt sounds behind you, and, as if in retaliation, he sinks two thick fingers inside you. You moan around his sensitive skin, holding his balls in your mouth and jerking him off until he’s trembling beneath you, broad thighs straining as he tries to hold himself together.

“That’s good, love,” he murmurs softly, almost speaking to himself as he curls his fingers inside you, humming when you grind into his hand. “Need ta get my fuckin’ mouth on you.”

But you just shake your head. Let his balls slip from your mouth with a soft pop before sticking out your tongue and guiding the weeping tip of his cock towards your mouth. Hasty, too needy for your own good, you slip your lips around him and try to take him deep on the first pass. Out of practice after weeks away, your throat constricts and you choke a little around him. So big, so overbearing, you’re too eager to be filled by him that you push and push until you’re gagging and sputtering. Cheeks hot and eyes downturned, you draw back, skin prickling as you hear him say something past the rushing in your ears. Take a moment to catch your breath and ground yourself, fingers tight on his thigh as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“This what you missed then?” he’s saying, collecting your hair in his fist to keep it off your face. “Hm, missed bein’ all full of me?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, pulling back with a gasp only to press his head against your cheek. Eyes closed, you rub his ruddy tip against your chin, your lips, painting your skin with his precome. Feel the weight of him warm your skin and sigh in quiet delight. And when he groans, exhaling a heavy, ragged breath, you press your mouth around him again, desperate to hear him make that sound over and over again.

“Easy, darlin’, lemme see you,” John chokes out, thumbing sliding over the apple of your cheek. “So pretty with your lips around my cock.”

Heat floods your chest, and you drool around him. The words seem to trigger something in your mind, some insatiable desire to please, to make him feel good, because you’re relaxing, sinking your mouth down further on him. A low, drawn-out curse falls from his lips, fingers curling in the hair behind your ear.

Gaudy sounds of sucking and slurping fill your ears, and you would be self-conscious if it weren’t for the way John’s growls met them in the air. Wordlessly, he slips a third digit inside and the stretch brings a dull burn that has your mouth slowing against him.

Your eyelids flutter as his thick fingers stroke at your walls, searching for the spot that makes you spill every time, but your wanton cries of desperation are muffled by the heavy weight of him on your tongue. In slow, measured movements, he begins to shift his hips in time with your head. Feeding his cock to you and grunting when he feels your throat go soft and easy around him, letting him slip further in until your nose buries in the hair at his base.

John watches you, the blue in his eyes almost entirely swallowed by desire fattened pupils. Rakes his gaze over the way your lips stretch around his thick cock, tears dancing on your lashes as you take him in your throat. The heady taste of him is intoxicating, and you can only hold his gaze for so long before your eyes are rolling back, stomach pulling tight as you swallow around him.

Stuffed to the brim with John, John, John. He’s everywhere, filling your mouth, your aching cunt; it sends your heart racing, thighs trembling as your orgasm begins to crest.

Molten heats swims in the base of your stomach, curling and bubbling there as he you ride his long fingers, moaning his name around his cock. But just as you feel everything begin to go tight and tingly, John’s pulling on your hair and dragging you off him.

A thin strand of spit dangles between his tip and your mouth and he snarls at the sight, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he huffs, squeezing insistently at your shoulders. “Wanna feel you on my cock when you come for me, yeah?”

Mind a hazy blur, you let the weight of him fall from your mouth, the hinge of your jaw still burning as you peel your underwear down your legs and spread yourself over his lap. John doesn’t pull his hand away though. No, he keeps his fingers between your legs, pumping them in and out, slowly, as you hover over his cock.

“My girl,” he says, eyes focusing on where the puffy lips of your cunt almost touch his cock. “My filthy, sweet girl.”

“John,” you puff his name, abdomen tensing when he rubs his thumb against your clit. Balanced on your knees and the tips of your toes, your legs shake a bit. Fingers dance forward to touch his shoulder, desperate for an anchor.

You frown a little, swollen lips parted in a torturous mix of desire and confusion, but he just offers a filthy grin and says, “Tell me you missed me again.”   

“Oh, fuck off,” you smart instinctually, lips twitching when he barks a laugh and slips his fingers from your wet clutch, grasp drifting to your waist. “Please.”  

“There she is,” he rumbles, jaw tensing as you glide his tip through your folds, coating him in your slick. A heavy rush of air spills from his nose. “My impatient girl.”

Once he’s got you on his cock, it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart.  

He lets you keep having it your way for a bit. Watches, gaze heavy, as you bounce on his cock, hands gripping his shoulders for leverage. You squirm on him, face twisted up as you adjust to the thick stretch of him after so long. It burns and aches between your thighs, but you can’t help but keep coming back for more, sinking down on his length faster each time. He tilts his head forward to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, moaning against the plush of your breast when you arch your back, crying out at the feeling of his teeth on the sensitive bud.

After a while he slots his greedy lips against yours. Presses hot, sucking kisses to your mouth, swallowing down every gasp and moan that crawls its way up your chest. The bristles of his facial hair scratch at your cheeks, your nose, and you love it. Have desperately missed the way it warms your skin as he presses his tongue inside your mouth and tastes behind your teeth.

Using his hold on your hips, he rolls you against his lap. Meets you thrust for thrust until you start to soak his length, jaw going slack as he growls into your open mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love, that’s it,” John groans, fingers tightening on your waist as your cunt pulls tight and hot around him. Thighs shaking, you let your forehead fall against his chest and ride out the flood of your orgasm. “I know, darlin’, I know, I’ve got you.”

Fingers fly up to grip the back of your neck, his other arm snaking around your waist as he continues fucking up into you. His cock presses hot and heavy into that soft, gushy spot deep inside you and you shudder against him, helpless little moans slipping from your parted lips. Face smushed against his hairy chest, you drool a little. Feel it pool between his pecs and smear across your cheek as your eyes roll back, dopamine pounding in your veins as he pushes you relentlessly through the high.

“Gonna let me fill you up?” he’s panting, feet planted on the bed now as he bucks into you, hips stuttering as he sinks closer and closer to his end. “Fuck, I’m gonna make a right mess of you, darlin’. That’s it, lovey, show me that pretty face.”

“John,” you mewl, toes curling against the sheets. “Shit, oh shit.”   

“Christ,” he grunts when you meet his eyes, jaw pulled tight. “So tight, m’ gonna come—”

“Wait,” you mumble suddenly, senses sharpening despite the way your thighs still shake against his hips. John stills immediately, grip tightening on your waist. “In my mouth, I want you in my mouth.”

His face crumples at that, a guttural noise sputtering from his lips as you lift off him and slip down to rest between his legs. He nods, brushing hair back off your face as you sink your mouth down on him, slick tongue hungry on the underside of his pulsing cock. He mutters your name, tells you how perfect you feel as he rocks his hips forward, tip nudging the back of your throat with every careful thrust.

“My sweet girl, doing so good for me,” he breathes, a coy grin on his face and a firm hand at the base of your skull. He holds your head in place as he fucks your mouth with slow, steady strokes. Groans every time you swallow, warm wet throat drawing tight around his swollen head.

“Look at me, let me see those eyes,” he mutters urgently, tugging on your hair until you’re blinking, focusing blurry eyes on his face. He thumbs at the teary streaks on your cheeks and gives a rough, prolonged groan as he begins to spill down your throat. “Fuck, fuck.”

You bob your head as his cock twitches and jerks against your tongue, sucking until he’s filled your mouth with warm come and it starts seeping from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down his shaft. You catch the spill with your fingers, swallowing his thick spend down and then licking what’s left from your trembling hands.

John watches on, chest heaving, and tuts fondly when you whimper, head spinning with the salty taste of him on your tongue.

“Bloody hell,” he exhales after a moment, dragging his knuckles over his face. “We’re never goin’ home.”  

You laugh, drowsily nuzzling your cheek against the inside of his thigh as his cock softens against his stomach. John cards his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, legs still twitching and eyes drifting closed as he tries to catch his breath. Lips slick with spit and come, you lay soft pecks along his sweaty skin. Smile when he shudders, fingers tightening against your scalp, but doesn’t pull you off.

There’s a hot flush of red splashed across the skin of his neck, his cheekbones, and his stomach is still warm to the touch when you reach out to graze his soft flesh. Sated and sleepy, he wets his lips and continues to play with your hair. Lovingly curls strands of it around his fingers and tugs gently before letting go, only to pick a new strand and do it again.

Overcome with emotion, and unable to stop yourself, you lean forward and take his soft cock back into your mouth.

John hisses through his teeth in surprise, eyes flashing open.

You don’t do anything crazy yet. Just let him feel the warmth of your mouth around him, the soft glide of your tongue against the ridge around his head. When he doesn’t pull you off after a second, you give him a little suck. Not hard—just enough to make his hips flinch down into the mattress and his legs pull tight at your sides.  

“Fuck,” he exhales, face pinched. His hand trembles against your head. “Fu—hang on, fuckin’ hell, love.”

You peer up past his stomach to where his mouth hangs open and his eyes are shiny and wide. His nails scratch against your scalp. Needy little nudges that blur the line between too much and not enough. You hum in pleasure around him when a choked sound falls from his mouth. Feeling a little mean, though, you pull back, licking your lips and smiling apologetically.

“Sorry,” you murmur, face hot as you squeeze his thigh. “Just want to love on you a little longer, that’s all.”

He hums deep in his chest, brow creasing a little as he brings his big hands to cup your face. His thumb swipes at your chin, smearing the saliva there, and you part your lips for him. He makes a sort of pained sound as he slots the digit into your mouth and watches you hollow out your cheeks out around it, swirling your tongue and sucking like you’d done to his cock just moments ago.

“Christ,” John breathes. Something needy and desperate glints in his eye, and he slips his finger from your mouth. Grips the back of your neck and gives a short nod. “Gonna be the death of me, ain’tcha?”

Guided by his hand, you take him back in your mouth and sigh in relief. Your eyelids flutter closed, and you rest your face against his hip, taking deep breaths through your nose and just holding him like that for a while. You can hear the way his breathing goes haggard above your head; short sharp bursts of air huffing from his nostrils. Sensitive as he must be, John lets you have your fun, shivering and spiting low curses as your touches get increasingly needier. And when you begin to suck softly at his length again, he seems unable to help the way his strong legs writhe against the mattress.

He says your name, rough and urgent, when you pull back only to snake your tongue out against his slit. Eyes fluttering open, you look up at him as you lathe your tongue down his length, smiling at how red his face has gotten, at how he seems to be holding his breath. John’s cock starts to swell and stiffen beneath your touch.  

“D’you want me to stop?” you whisper, tracing the blue vein that pulses down the side of his length with your tongue.

“No,” he pants, head lolling from side to side. “Fuck no, gorgeous. Just go easy on me, yeah? It’s ohh—” he winces “—s’a lot.”

You nod understandingly and press a kiss to his tip, smearing the fresh pearl of precome there against your lips. He’s fully hard now, throbbing when you wrap your fingers around his thick base and wrap your lips around his head. A guttural sound rips from his chest and he’s tugging at your hair. For a moment you pause, unsure, but then he’s pushing a little on you. Nudging you closer, further, so you take him deeper and deeper until his tip is nudging against your throat.

“Fuck,” John gasps, hips stuttering against your palms, sensitive cock twitching against your tongue. “S’too much, love, it’s—oh fuck.”

With a ragged grunt his cock pulses in your mouth, and a little spurt of come dribbles from his head. You moan, eyes closed, and swallow tight around him, milking every last drop of spend from his cock until he’s winded and clumsily pushing you off of him.

Breathless, you fall flat on the mattress beside him, feet dangling off the end of the bed. John’s broad palm cradles the back of your head still, a comforting weight as you wipe your face against the sheets.

Ears pricking, you realise it’s begun to rain outside. Soft patters of liquid that knock against the window, thin rivulets that drip down to splash and splutter against the sill. Long forgotten, his cigar sizzles and dies beneath the spray.

“Another tea?” you murmur finally, pushing up onto your elbows.

But with a soft, startled laugh, you find that John’s eyes are closed, chest rising with steady breaths; already back to sleep. Shaking your head a little, you smile fondly at his lax form, and consider closing the window. You settle instead for pulling the duvet from the corner of the bed. Curled against his thick side, you settle the blanket over the two of you and lay an arm over his stomach, content to have a proper lie in after such a busy morning.

thanks for reading, i'd love to hear what you thought x

[angelsdean]

mary having a complicated relationship to motherhood and not actually being the perfect mom and really struggling with wanting to continue hunting to ensure her family's safety VS wanting to be out of hunting and keep her family far from that world is so so interesting and important to me. like, just imagining her carving protective sigils under the welcome mat. salting the window-sills. putting little protective charms on her babies. trying her hardest to fit into the mold of "mother" all while aching for her own mother to be there and help her and teach her what to do. her sucking at cooking and feeling a little bit like a failure every time she reheated a store-bought pie. dean never knowing the difference until she tells him years and years later. her wanting so desperately to keep her family safe and yet still sneaking off to continue hunting here and there because she can't stand knowing what's out there and doing nothing. yet she vows to never ever tell her kids about any of it, even though it scares her that in their ignorance they'll get hurt by something. the war inside her as she writes out pros and cons lists in the dead of night wondering if she's doing the right thing by keeping them and john in the dark. and her becoming increasingly more and more distressed and conflicted as the decade runs out on her deal. she doesn't know what the demon will come for, though looking down at sam in her arms she's starting to suspect. so she puts up more protections. the months pass and the demon never comes. she thinks her efforts worked. she thinks maybe her family will be spared.

[menlove]

can you direct me to any good fics set in the hamburg days or just anything pre-beatlemania?

oooh yeah ! i loooove hamburg & early days fics so certainly :) i didn't include any paris fics in this even though it technically fits the bill of pre-beatlemania just bc that's a totally different vibe & genre of fics tbh

hamburg:

I Need My Love to Be Here

explicit. 8k. After John gets his first panic attack in Hamburg, he starts to realize that Paul might be the only person who can bring him back to himself.

Put My Heart Around the Bend

explicit. 60k. He nodded and they sat across from each other on the window sill, the clammy air from outside kissing their cheeks. John watched Paul as he lit their cigarettes, as he had done so many times before. They held eye contact, and John just knew Paul could hear how hard his heart was beating. But he wouldn't say anything. Neither of them ever said anything.

Like Love, The Archers Are Blind

explicit. 22k. He wants to push Stuart out of the way, not even with a violent yank of his collar like he sometimes imagines. Just to melt into his place like butter sliding in a pan. Have it be an effortless breath of fresh air when John looks up at him and sees it all reflected back in his eyes. It’s you. Hamburg, 1960.

Running with Scissors

explicit. bluewater9: Hannah, a smutlet idea… So just what happened AFTER John cut the clothes off that girl in Hamburg? What a conversation and, ahem, J/P consequence that must have been!

No More Situations

explicit. 14k. Set during the Hamburg years. John gets jealous of a German guy who likes Paul.

Everything's Different in Germany

explicit. 4.5k. It all feels upside down, like the door to that shop was an entrance to some parallel universe or Wonderland-like rabbit hole. He isn’t hiding under the covers with a flashlight in one hand, his throbbing cock in the other, and some meticulously-posed bird’s chest spilling over the pages and onto his lap. Instead he’s in some Hamburg back alley, the concrete chilly beneath his bum and his best mate warm by his side, while he gazes over naked men and pretends not to feel the unexpected interest in his trousers.

ageless children, animal sweat

mature. 5k.

Paul is sitting close enough to see properly, one elbow on the bartop, hand tucked beneath his chin. His eyes are beetle black and his long spidery eyelashes are twitching under the harsh club lights. It makes John sort of sick to look at him. Pale face in stark chiaroscuro, gleaming with animal sweat, Paul looks otherworldly, like something neither man nor woman. Hamburg, 1960. John and Paul go to a gay bar after a late show.

general early days:

Above Us Only Sky

teen. 1k. Nowhere to go but up.

Some Girls Will Make You Shiver

explicit. 4k. “How d’you suppose,” John said, in his normal John-voice, “how’d you think two girls go at it?”

On The Way To Work

explicit. 14k. How could Paul have so many dreams and one of them not come true? Paul and John, Hamburg and Liverpool, December 1960.

two of us (burning matches)

explicit. 6k. It won't stop raining. Paul doesn't know what his feelings are doing. John's practising his right swing. Somewhere along the way, they fuse together.

The Drainies

mature. 11k. Written for the prompt: John bullies Paul into wearing tight drainies and the result awakens something in both of them (Can also include some John vs Jim stuff since Jim didn’t approve of Paul wearing tight clothes).

Boy, You've Been A Naughty Girl

explicit. 49k. John makes Paul a bet. Paul takes him up on it. Crossdressing shenanigans and angst ensue, and ~feelings come out in the wash. 1961.

now and then (there's a fool such as i)

mature. 30k. users only. John and Paul on their trip to Caversham, Berkshire. April, 1960.

christmas lights (keep shinin' on)

mature. 12k. (prompt: paul takes john to the family christmas party in 1958) "I'd have you," Paul said, eventually, and John felt the air being knocked out of him. "If it was different. If we were different."

Come And Go With Me

mature. 94k. When two oblivious teenage boys meet for the very first time in the summer of 1957, a transcending bond to be passed on through decades to come makes its initial formation; a sanctuary, a home, a secret, a storm, a song, and a love to surpass the regular circumstances of time itself; it all starts in a city called Liverpool - but where will it take them from there?

also not to be that person but i WILL also whore out the first part of the series i'm writing w @forthlin here that's early days/getting together: i want you (every time that you're near)

[ljz002-world]

Verdun and Somme, Part 1

“Have you heard the news Tommy?”, Michael asked as he stood besides his cousin in front of the Canal. “What news Michael”, Thomas asked rather coldly, starring into the distance with a grim look painting his features as his hands were in the pockets of his pants. Michael had his arms crossed over his broad chest. “A girl arrived on the trains this morning.” “And? A lot of people arrive on the trains.” “A German girl.” “So? Germany lost the war, its people want a live worth living. They have better chances outside of their own country.” “A girl that claims to know you.” “A lot of people claim to know me.” “She said she’s here to kill you. Bold words considering that she’s in the heart of your city. You control all of Birmingham and Small Heath. Nothing happens without you knowing, no person steps foot into Birmingham without you knowing. She’s been claiming to want to kill you since she’s set foot on English soil. And until now, nobody lived this long while claiming to want your death. What are you planning?” “During war-times I did things I’m not proud of Michael. I did dark things, very dark things.” “So you’ll let her go around, possibly armed to kill you?” “If I die, I die. I could drop dead any given second Michael, if she’s wanting to kill me then I want to know why I’ve done to make her curse me through several countries.”

“So we shouldn’t deal with her?” “No.”

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ here?”, Harry asked as he saw the girl stepping through the doors of the Garrison, “I’m looking for work. Are you in need of a barmaid?” “The last one didn’t end so well-“ “Am I the last barmaid you had? No.” “Look, all I’m saying is that working here in Small Heath is dangerous on its own but here in the Garrison? You must be suicidal.” “I have nothing to lose, if I get killed I might as well with a few pounds in my pockets.” Harry smiled to himself, “You’re brave, I could use some help around here, just gotta talk with the owner first.” “You’re not the owner?” “Not anymore. This shack here belongs to the Blinders.” “The Blinders?”

Y/N was working behind the bar, pouring drinks, mostly beer and whiskey as the windows for the snub opened a young man around her age faced her, taken aback by seeing her he took a minute to compose himself. “What can I bring you?”, she asked, rolling her r quite heavily as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Whiskey, scotch.” “How many glasses?”, she asked as she grabbed the bottle and faced the young man before grabbing the glasses, “Seven.” “Seven glasses, then you’ll need two bottles”, Y/N spoke with a small smile as she grabbed a second bottle of the whiskey before placing them by the window-sill as Harry spoke up behind her, “Don’t worry charging them. It’s on the house.” Y/N nodded as she gave the boy behind the window a small nod, “Have fun.”

“Who’s that?”, John asked, opening one of the whiskey bottles as Michael had sat everything down onto their table, “Seems like a new barmaid”, Michael answered and Arthur nodded, “She came in today, asked Harry for a job. He told me she was persistent about it.”

“What’s her name?”, Michael asked Arthur who had already emptied his glass of whiskey, going for a second one, “Y/N or something like that.” “Y/N doesn’t sound particularly English. Where’s she from?” “Germany, I’m assuming”, Arthur answered Thomas’ questions and the second oldest Shelby looked at Michael who had stilled. “You think that’s her Michael?” “You tell me Tommy, you know who enters your city.” “The bloody hells going on?”, Scudboat asked as he glanced at his boss. “We’ve got a little German lady in Small Heath swearing she’ll kill me”, Thomas spoke nonchalantly as he lit himself a cigarette, John spoke up after wiping his nose, “And we’re just … not doing anything  ‘bout it?” “Why would we?”, Thomas asked, “She won’t kill me, how many people have tried to kill me now?” “Too many”, Arthur stated coldly and Thomas nodded, “And how many have succeeded?” At the silence in the snub Thomas took his whiskey glass into his hands, “Exactly.” “Still, the only two women in all of Birmingham daring to threaten you are aunt Pol and Ada”, Finn said, “It should stay like that. Only family, we should at least find that lady and give her a little scare.” “If you find her”, Thomas said calmly, “But where would be the fun in that, eh?”

A bit later the same girl entered the snub to take one of the whiskey bottles away, it was empty, the second one half-way empty, “Need more whiskey? Or beer?” “Whiskey, irish”, Thomas said sternly as he eyed the girl up and down, she wore her hair so that it covered the upper half of her right ear, the side-pony-tail flowing barely over her shoulder. “I’ll take a beer.” Scudboat said and Isaiah nodded, “Me too.” “Should I just bring a bucket?” “Do that”, Arthur said to the girl who gave a small smile and left the snub before entering it again roughly ten minutes later with the bucket of beer and the bottle of whiskey, “Apologies for the delay gentlemen, it’s a bit overflowing out there. Game day.”

“Are you German?”, John asked Y/N who stilled in her actions before looking at him with wide eyes, “The r gives me away, eh?” “Partially”, John stated, “Which part of Germany are you from?” “Austria”, the girl said with a small smile, “Not exactly Germany but-“ “But Austria fought against the British”, Thomas interrupted the girl who gave a shy nod, “But we lost, so who cares?”

“Did you lose someone in the war?”, Arthur asked, “Father, brother, uncle, cousins?” Y/N gave him a sad smile, “I never knew my father or my mother, or brother. I grew up with my uncle, and even he only took me in because I was his blood.” “Why’d you move here?”, Thomas asked and the girl quirked and eyebrow, “Is this an interrogation? I’m supposed to tell you all about me but don’t even know your name. Unfair.” Thomas just lit himself another cigarette, “Thomas Shelby. Those three over there are me brothers, Arthur the oldest, John my younger brother and Finn our baby brother. Then we’ve got Michael, he’s my cousin and Isaiah is Finn and Michael’s friend and my employee, Scudboat is one of my best employees. You know us now. So answer my question.” “I moved here for a better future. My uncle kicked me out when I turned eighteen, he’s a scientist, I’m not too interested in science, learnt just to make him happy.”

Y/N gave the men a smile before leaving the snub again, she couldn’t bear being in the same room as that man, as Thomas Shelby, but he hadn’t recognized her.

[ghost-bxrd]

I’ve been getting really into magical stuff recently and also DC so I’m just gonna drop this here:

Fae Dick Grayson

F A E

okay so fae stories are special to me because I grew up on hearing pagan folklore and fairytales about fae and fae adjacent creatures as good night stories so hooo boy yes I adore that trope! (I mean, I made Dick a Banshee in my fic Shuck so… hehe)

Anyway, Fae Dick Grayson! There’s just so many things you can do with it ✨

Robin appears from one day to the next, following in Batman’s shadow like a mischievous sprite, so honestly rumors have been going wild about him since day one. Robin actually being something non-human doesn’t really come as a surprise!

The fae folk are known for being awfully good at blending in with regular humans when they put their mind to it, the only thing that puts them apart (in most stories) is their otherworldly beauty, and Dick Grayson? Well, he’s definitely got that in abundance.

Just sometimes, when the light reflects off a surface in just the right way, when someone pours a glass of water and you happen to look right through the spray, or when you think you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye and you spin around— but there’s only Dick Grayson, even if a second ago you could have sworn you saw eyes where there weren’t supposed to be any; colors that aren’t supposed to exist; feathers where only skin has any right to be.

And, gods, all the talking. Dick is terrifyingly good at talking to people without actually saying anything, to the point where you walk away from the conversation feeling utterly drained after spilling your entire life story but when you think back on it— you can’t remember him ever telling you anything about himself. You know there were the usual pleasantries of “hi” and “nice to meet you” and “how are you doing?” but anything beyond that just kinda… seemed to spill out of you? It’s very strange. It’s very unnerving. By the end of the evening you other convince yourself you’re overreacting or you simply push the incident out of your mind altogether.

And there’s another thing about Dick. His name.

He only ever introduces himself as Dick Grayson/Robin. Never Richard. Never. Especially not Richard John. Names are sacred for the fae folk, names have power, so while Richard John Grayson may not be Dick’s true name, he treats it as such to honor his parents. None are allowed to use it. None except Bruce or Alfred on special occasion.

Of course, Dick’s “true” name isn’t exactly a secret so when someone does happen to use it… well, Dick may be… other… but he’s still intrinsically good in a way many of his kind don’t have the patience to be. Dick judges on a case by case basis, just like his parents and Bruce taught him. And usually people do not mean it maliciously when they use his name so he kindly corrects them and that’s that. But oh man, if they still insist on calling him “Richard”? Well..

“Oh no, it seems your credit card is being declined, sir!”

“Sheesh, you tripped over a root? In Gotham?!”

“What do you mean ten birds flew into your window last night? You live on floor level!”

“Dude I’m telling you that rash doesn’t look normal.”

“I… don’t think crows are supposed to follow you like that.”

It’s little things (most of the time, unless you really pissed Dick off) but they keep piling up, slowly driving you insane. You feel like you’re being watched, but it’s just a bird sitting on the window sill again. You feel like someone moved all your furniture just slightly to the right even tho you checked all the cameras.

The fae are kind, but they are also vindictive when crossed.

(Thanks to Bruce, however, I think Dick’s bouts of “vengeance” rarely go much farther than that though.)

Dang ok that ended up being an entire rant… wow. Anyway, yeah. Fae.