c'mon john

Paul and I had been together since he was fifteen and I was sixteen.
—  John Lennon, The Beatles: Anthology (317)

guys John Oliver just bought a bunch of wax figures.

John Oliver.


John Oliver. 

Sleeping with Murphy would include...


⋅ your bodies pressed against each other’s
⋅ forehead kisses
⋅ cuddling
⋅ a lot of late night talks
⋅ fighting over a blanket
⋅ both of you having nightmares on daily basis
⋅ both of you comforting each other on daily basis
⋅ him giving you random compliments
⋅ him letting out his better self
⋅ telling you things that bothered his mind and heart
⋅ massages
⋅ a lot lot sex
⋅ loud moans escaping your tent
⋅ treating his newest injuries before sleeping
⋅ him getting touchy
⋅ sometimes just a bit but sometimes he can’t stop touching you
⋅ “You are so perfect, every single inch of you.”
“You are such a good liar, John.”
⋅ telling him stories after stressful day
⋅ having to deal with his various moods before going to bed
⋅ being the only one who successfully could calm him down
⋅ you being the first one to wake up
⋅ then you trying to wake him which was harder
⋅ “C'mon, John. You have to get up.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Don’t calm me that.”
“Then get up or I will call you that whole day.”
“Fine, fine. I am getting up. Give me just two more minutes.”
⋅ stealing his shirt
⋅ knowing it turns him on
⋅ sometimes using it to seduce him
⋅ sometimes wearing it to feel his scent when he’s on watch
⋅ exiting the tent in the morning with a hickey that wasn’t there the day before
⋅ sometimes more than just one hickey
⋅ him sneaking his arm around your waist from behind after you two fight
⋅ you pretending to be asleep
⋅ “I am so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have said all that things. You were right as always.”
⋅ you still pretending to be asleep
⋅ him starting kissing your neck
⋅ you trying to stay angry with him
⋅ but eventually giving up as you’re too tired to stay mad at him
⋅ “You are forgiven. Now sleep.”
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, John.”
⋅ not being able to fall asleep without the other one

Eight Summers

pairing: john laurens x reader modern au
words: 7000 (yeah I got carried away a bit)
warnings: fluff
summary: follow yourself and John through eight summers as you become friends and mAyBe even fall in love.
a/n: I’ve been wanting to do this forever (I can’t believe I haven’t done a John x reader yet) so let’s see how this goes. the second summer contributes nothing whoops 

❇❇❇summer one❇❇❇

You sighed, flopping back onto your front porch. You had been so excited for this summer, and now, midway through June, nothing was happening.

“I’m so bored,” you said to the clear blue sky. As if by magic, your thinking aloud was interrupted by the rumble of a large moving van. Sitting up, you watched as it came down your street, trailed by a blue SUV. Both the vehicles pulled into the driveway of the house across the street and diagonal from yours. The house had been up for sale for the better part of the year, and only recently had a sticker reading “SOLD” been slapped onto the advertisement in the front yard. It was a large, spacious house that edged a forest, and you had often wondered at its slow sale.

The rumble of the two cars had dwindled to a stop, and two men got out of the moving van and proceeded to open the back of the large vehicle. Meanwhile, a couple emerged from the SUV. The woman had brown, curly hair and looked to be in her early thirties. Her husband, or so you supposed, looked to be a few years older and had the same shade of hair as the lady, except his was stick-straight and short. Both of them waved at you, and you waved back with a smile. Under normal circumstances, you would have gone over to say hi, but this was their moving-in time and you didn’t want to distract from that.

I wonder if they have any kids​​, you thought, and your question was soon answered when the back left door of the car opened and a boy stepped out. You couldn’t see very well since his back was to you, but he looked to be about your height and had clearly inherited his mother’s curls. They fell halfway to his shoulders, and you didn’t think you had ever seen a boy with hair quite like that. He exchanged a few words with his parents, and his mom motioned to where you were sitting. He turned around and looked at you before looking back at her, but his hesitation was ended as she pushed him gently. Now he was headed across the street and up your driveway. You stood up.

“Hi! What’s your name?” you asked brightly.

“John,” he answered, biting his lip before looking at you.

“D'you have a last name?” you inquired.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he pronounced the first word as if it contained no s.

“I think so. What’s yours?”

“Laurens. I’m John Laurens.”

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N). Nice to meet you.” You stuck out your hand and he took it with surprising firmness. You looked at him closer as you shook hands.

His curly hair was shiny and soft-looking, and it framed a face with a honeyed caramel tint which was covered with a liberal dusting of freckles. His eyes were a vibrant green, and they met yours with an unwavering gaze. The features on his face were well-shaped and defined, although his cheeks still carried a roundness that hinted at youthful innocence.

“How old are you?” he asked, releasing your hand.

“I’m ten,” you answered proudly.

“So am I!” he exclaimed, his first real show of enthusiasm, and the two of you grinned at each other. His mouth quirked up to one side, bespeaking a hint of mischief that was confirmed by the sparkling in his eyes that matched his bright smile. His whole face transformed when he smiled, illuminating his face and stretching his freckled cheeks adorably.

“But which one of us is older?” you wondered, and you compared birthdays.

“Yes!” John exclaimed triumphantly, pumping his fist in victory when he learned that he was a full two months older than you.

“It’s only two months, though,” you griped, crossing your arms as you felt some of the pride rubbing off.

“Yeah, but I’m older!” he exclaimed. “I’m always one of the youngest in my classes and now I won’t be the very last one!”

“Oh, stop,” you said, cuffing him playfully on the shoulder. “You’d think you won the Olympics or something.”

“Maybe I did,” he retorted playfully. “The being-older-than-your-neighbor event is my thing.”

“Whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“So this is your house?” he asked, looking up at it.

“Uh-huh!” you answered proudly.

“We’ll be almost right across the street from each other, then,” he observed.

“I know! We’ll have lots of fun,” you resolved.

“John!” A voice interrupted your conversation. The man was crossing the street. “Time to go. We need your help moving some boxes.”

“Okay, Dad.” he sighed. “This is (Y/N). She’s our neighbor and she’s my age right now, although I’m two months older.” Mr. Laurens smiled at you.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he said. “I’m Henry Laurens. Thanks for being so welcoming. I know John was a little nervous that there wouldn’t be any kids his age, but I guess that problem’s solved, right, John?”

“Yeah!” he responded. “Bye, (Y/N)! See you later!”

“Okay! Friends?” you asked.

“Friends.” He smiled at you again before going back with his father. You smiled as you sat back on the porch.

Summer just got a whole lot more interesting.


You didn’t hear the conversation that went on between John and his father. “She’s so nice, Dad, and friendly and pretty!”

“I could tell, son. I’m glad you made a friend.” Henry drew his son close to his side.

“Yeah, me too.”

John couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

❇❇❇summer two❇❇❇

You were lying next to John, your back against the firm wood of his tree house, which was really nothing more than a few planks nailed together to form a floor-like object which was placed in a crook of a tree. It was secured to the branch by nails and was surprisingly very comfortable.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told me about this yet,” you said, turning your head to look at him.

“Yeah. It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”
It was. The tree was a tall one and all sounds of other people faded, giving way to birdsong and the occasional humming insect. It was a hot day, but the heat faded, impeded by the canopy of leaves stretched out above the two of you. The sun would poke through at different times whenever the leaves would drift apart, lifted by the cool breeze wafting through the forest. All was peaceful and you smiled at the calm that filled you as you lay there, John by your side.

“Those leaves over there remind me of your eyes,” you said with all the innocence of an eleven-year-old, pointing over to a part of the forest that was dappled with shade. John hummed in agreement.

That was one thing about John. The two of you could maintain perfect silence without it feeling awkward or strange. You could still understand each other just as well through words than you could through none. He always seemed to know what you were thinking and vice versa, which was one of the things that made him your best friend. He always understood. Even at this young age, you knew that that was important in any close friendship.

John was special and you were glad to know him. He never failed to make you happy and bring a smile to your face. And as you thought of him, a stirring arose in your heart, a new, unfamiliar feeling that wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

You didn’t know what it was, but the future was sure to tell.

❇❇❇summer three❇❇❇

“C'mon, John!” you exclaimed, pulling insistently on his arm. John and his parents had come over for dinner, and now the adults were just talking on the back porch which served as an eating area. You wanted no part in it—the fireflies were out tonight, and you had never seen so many.

“Hey, that rhymes!” he quipped, smiling that smile you knew so well.

“Wow, great observation.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know. Aren’t you glad your best friend is brilliant?”

“You’re about as brilliant as—” you paused, trying unsuccessfully to think of something dull— “as, well, never mind. But let’s go, please? Those fireflies are just waiting to be caught.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Hey, Mom!” he called.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Mrs. Laurens replied.

“(Y/N) and I are gonna catch some fireflies.”

“All right. Have fun, you two.” She gave you a sweet smile.

“I’ll get the jars,” you told John. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got two with holes already punched in the top.” You went inside and emerged in a few minutes, carrying a jar in each hand.

“We should make this a competition of who can catch the most,” John said, taking his jar and looking at you mischievously.

“Oh, definitely. You’re on,” you said, matching his grin. “Ready—” you drew out the word.


“Go!” you yelled together, running in opposite directions to spots where the insects illuminated the night with their flashes of light. You found a great spot right away, and you quickly grabbed the small bugs and let them crawl off your fingers into your jar, slamming the lid down when they had entered fully. The bugs tickled as their feet made their way down your fingers, and you giggled at the sensation.

“You’re going down!” you heard John yell from somewhere in the yard.

“Nuh-uh!” you retorted, continuing your mad dash through the grass.


As the two of you ran around the yard, your parents watched you with smiles on their faces.

“They’re such great friends,” your mom said.

“Yeah, they really have a special bond,” agreed Mr. Laurens. “There’s not a day that goes by that John doesn’t talk about (Y/N). There’s always something exciting with those two.”

“He better not steal her heart in a few years,” inserted your dad, jokingly but also with a hint of seriousness.

“Well, I’m afraid (Y/N)’s on her way to doing that with John,” Mrs. Laurens said. “He always tells me how pretty she is, although he’s never hinted at a crush.”

“Well, if I had to choose anyone for my son, it’d be your daughter,” Mr. Laurens told your parents. “She’s really a great girl.”

“We could say the same for John,” your mother replied. “That he’s a wonderful boy and all. Not that he’s a great girl!” The four laughed and turned back to watching you and John.


“Okay, I think that’s enough time,” you called to him, breathing slightly heavier than normal.

“Aw, are you just tired?” he teased, coming over to you.

“No, but I bet you are,” you shot back, trying to suppress your heavy breathing.

“Nope!” he boasted, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. His curls were long enough to be put back in a short ponytail now, and you teased him about it occasionally.

“Okay, well, let’s count the other person’s fireflies, and whoever wins gets the last two cookies,” you said.
“Sounds good,” he replied, and you switched jars and began counting, which was a tricky job since the bugs kept crawling around and many were on the bottom of the lid so you had to tip the jar up to see them.

“Fifty-one,” you said when you had finished. John was just finishing up, his tongue stuck out slightly as he counted.

“You have forty-two which means I won!” he shouted in joy.

“All right, good job,” you said, sticking out a hand.

“A for effort.”

“Effort starts with E, stupid. Now let’s go get your cookies,” you replied, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Sounds good to me,” he said, yelling, “I won!” when the two of you reached your parents.

“So he gets the last two cookies,” you explained, giving the prizes to him.

As he contemplated his reward in his hand, he looked up at you. “I’ll give you one,” he conceded. “I could never let my best friend go hungry.”

“I appreciate it,” you said, and sat down on the steps, setting your jar next to you. John sat down as well.

“We should probably let them go,” he said, and you agreed, opening your jar as he did.

The fireflies flew into the night, releasing light as they went, and you watched them go. John glanced over at you, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the bugs, and felt his heart expand inside him.

What a best friend.

❇❇❇summer four ❇❇❇

The August afternoon was drawing on to evening, and a coolness stole into the air, barely noticeable but still there. Fall would come soon, along with school, and you wanted to savor every last second with John.

He lifted his head from his sketchbook as a breeze blew through the trees at the edge of the forest, where the two of you were sitting on an old blanket that John’s parents kept for picnics and outdoor use.

You were still unaware of what he was drawing, and didn’t hear the quick scribbling of his pencil as you looked upward at a few golden-tinged leaves that had fallen due to the wind.

“It’s so pretty out here,” you said, turning back to look at him. He was drawing a long, curving line but that was all you could tell as he had his sketchbook tilted away from you.

“Mhm,” he replied absentmindedly, a look of intense concentration on his face. He had a certain habit when he was drawing—he would bite his lip on one side and poke out his tongue on the other. You never figured out how he did it, and it was one of the endless unique things that made him John. As you watched his pencil move, his eyes flicked upwards to yours and you looked away quickly, your heart racing inexplicably.

You had noticed that you seemed more shy around John. He was still your best friend and closer to you than anyone else, but something was changing. He wasn’t the same boy anymore. His cheeks were still sprinkled with freckles, but they had lost much of their roundness, showing hints of defined cheekbones. His hair had grown out to a bit longer than shoulder length, and was usually tied back in a ponytail. He had grown nearly a foot in the past three years and now stood a full head taller than you, a fact he never failed to tease you about. He’d call you “small one” often, to which you would cross your arms and pout. He was growing up remarkably, and you couldn’t help but think that he was getting handsomer every day. Although you didn’t want to believe it, you could feel yourself becoming attracted to him and hated yourself for it. He’s your best friend, you’d think. What’s wrong with you? But all the berating in the world couldn’t stop your feelings from developing more and more.

“They’re still not right,” you heard him mutter, breaking you out of your thoughts.


“The eyes. They’re not right.” He turned his sketchbook towards you and you gasped.

There on the page were five sketches of your head and upper body in different positions, and they looked as if they could have come from real life. Everything was perfectly proportioned, and you marveled at how he could add such reality to the images with just a few lines of shading.

“John,” you breathed. He looked at you, hopefully, a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

“Do you like them?” he asked, genuinely nervous.

“Oh my god. They’re beyond words,” you said, still looking at them with awe.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I just couldn’t get your eyes right on this one,” he said, pointing to a sketch of you looking up. “There’s a certain light in them that I just can’t duplicate.” You looked at his face next to you, inches away.

“I think they’re amazing.” He smiled at you, no hint of cockiness or self-assurance, just a warm smile that heated your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No, thank you,” you answered. “Wow!”

“Ah, it was nothing, just a few sketches.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he tapped his pencil almost nervously on his leg. “I’m just glad you like them.” Hit with a sudden impetuous desire, you threw your arms around him. He hugged back after a moment, clearly surprised, and you smiled at the feeling, the rightness of it.

“You’re the best,” you whispered.

“No, you are.”

“I’ll fight you.” A laugh, a change in tone.

“Whatever you say, small one.”

❇❇❇summer five❇❇❇

“But it’s so cold,” you complained.

“(Y/N), it’s sixty-three degrees. That hardly qualifies as cold,” John answered you with a shake of his curls.

“It does when it’s summer and there’s no sun. It feels like forty degrees and I don’t care what you say it really is.” You crossed your arms and shivered, even as you were standing on John’s screened-in back porch.

“So you insist on not coming.”

“Not if I’m going to freeze my butt off!”

He sighed. “Fine, wait here. I’ll be right back.” He vanished into the house and you stood there alone, tapping your bare foot on the wooden boards. You heard him coming down the stairs a few moments later and he came out the door with something in hand.

“What’s that for?”

“You. It’s just one of my old sweatshirts you can wear so you’re not as cold. It’s got fleece on the inside, see?” You felt the shirt and agreed to put it on, your heart warming even as your body did. It smelled like John, a hint of lemons swirled in with cotton. It came well to your mid-thigh area and the sleeves enveloped your hands, forcing you to push them up a bit.

“Thanks, John,” you told him.

He was looking at you in his sweatshirt and seemed to snap out of a trance as you spoke. “Oh, yeah, anything for you,” he said, ruffling your hair. “You look nice in it.”

“Yeah, right. As if I look nice in anything,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“You do. Y'know, I almost got you a pair of my sweatpants since you seemed to be the most concerned with freezing your butt off, but somehow I deemed that inappropriate.” The soft look in his eyes was briefly replaced with a hint of their usual roguish gleam.

“Perv. Now let’s go look at the freaking stars because you wanted to.” You bumped him with your shoulder and smiled at him.

“I think you secretly want to look at the stars as well,” he teased, holding the patio door open for you.

“Thank you. And maybe, maybe not. You’ll never know.” (You did.)

The two of you stepped into the night, shivering slightly as you did so. The stars were bright and shed a soft light on John’s wide backyard. You picked a spot and lay down on the grass.

“Ooh, look, the Big Dipper!” you cried softly, pointing at the constellation above you. John smiled at the wonder reflected in your star-lit eyes.

“There’s the North Star,” he replied, and thought that even though he had seen these basic constellations a million times before, they had never been quite so shining and clear as when you were there next to him.

After a few minutes of picking out the images in the sky, you remarked, “I’m still cold.”

“C'mere, then,” John answered, and drew you close. The warmth from his body seeped into yours as fingers of electricity washed over your body at the contact. He felt amazing and right, and you closed your eyes as you leaned against him. ​​​​​His heart was beating; you could hear it, and his chest rose and fell gently.

He looked down at your form and sat there with you, the girl who made the stars shine brighter.

❇❇❇summer six❇❇❇

You looked at John warily. “You want me to ride in this? You literally got your license two days ago.” Your voice was teasing.

“And it was well-deserved. C'mon, (Y/N), just for a bit? It’ll only take a few minutes and the sun will start setting soon anyway.”

“I’m just kidding. Of course I’ll go.”

“Ah, so you do trust me.”

“Shut up and drive, Laurens.”

He made his way to the passenger door and held it open for you, making a sweeping gesture that was coupled with a mock bow. “My lady,” he said.

“Oh, stop.” Your heart was secretly bursting within you at the chivalrous action, however lightly it was meant. John closed the door after you and walked to the driver’s side.

“Are you ready for the time of your life?” he asked you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you told him, and he turned the key in the ignition.

“Then let’s go.” And with that, he pulled out of his driveway.


​​​​​​There was a road near your neighborhood that was mostly used for drivers’ ed purposes. Since it was nearly school, classes in your community had ended and the road was empty. It was surrounded by trees on both sides and a few faint birds could still be heard deep inside the trees. As John turned onto the road, he looked at you with a smirk before stepping on the gas.

“Oh my god, John!” you screamed as your hair was whipped every which way. “You’re going sixty miles an hour!”

“I know.”

“Just be careful!” you cried, even as a joyous whoop escaped you. John looked over at you again, and his heart flipped over.

You were laughing, mouth wide open, and your hair was blowing around your face, tinted slightly by the now-setting sun. As you turned to look back at him, your cheeks were flushed and your hair was a mess, but John had never seen you look more beautiful. His gaze moved down your face, and he was unable to get enough of you.

“Eyes on the road,” you quipped.

“Ah, yes, right,” he nodded. “But I’d rather look at my beautiful best friend than a black stretch of asphalt.”

“Shut up,” you told him, shocked inwardly at the compliment. “Watching the road will actually keep you alive.”

“Maybe I need you to live as well,” he murmured.



❇❇❇summer seven❇❇❇

Every year, the Mulligans and Motiers, two families in your neighborhood, would get together and have a huge party. They would play music cranked up as loud as possible, and was audible on the other side of the subdivision, where you and John lived. Miraculously, none of the numerous complaints would deter them from their fun, and so the whole neighborhood suffered in unison for one long night.

Tonight was the oh-so-joyful occasion, and you had invited John over, knowing that having him next to you was the only thing that would keep your sanity in one piece. He had had dinner with your family and the two of you were out in your backyard, where an old swingset stood. You were sitting on one, swinging your legs softly back and forth while John sat next to you, listening absentmindedly to the music while catching glimpses of you whenever you weren’t looking.

The current song ended and another began. “I love this song!” you cried, instantly recognizing “I Saw Her Standing There” by the Beatles.

Well, she was just seventeen
You know what I mean
And the way she looked was way beyond compare

“You’re seventeen. Fancy that,” said John. “And I must admit that you do look nice tonight.” You looked down at your old clothes with a skeptical glance.

“Yeah, right.”

“May I have this dance?” He held out a hand to you.

“Of course.”

So how could I dance with another
When I saw her standing there?

You giggled as John twirled you around the yard, slowing when you were out of breath. He stepped with you slowly, your speed rapidly decreasing and then stopping altogether as you looked up at him to see him gazing down at you.

Well she looked at me
And I, I could see
That before too long
I’d fall in love with her
She wouldn’t dance with another
Oh, when I saw her standing there

“(Y/N),” he whispered, softer than you knew anyone could ever speak.


“May I kiss you?”

A shocked silence.

“Of course.” You finally overcame your shock.

He bent down and you felt his breath on your cheek. And with a soft tilt forward, he captured your lips with his and the only thing that existed was him. It was pure and perfect and everything you had imagined and wanted it to be. As you pulled apart, you whispered, “I love you.”

“I think I loved you ever since I saw how adorable you were when you were mad at me being older,” John confessed, rubbing his thumb gently over your bottom lip. You looked into his eyes, saw the love, the pure emotion, and knew you needed him, needed him desperately.

He drew you in again, and the music was forgotten.

❇❇❇summer eight❇❇❇

“I can’t believe this. Summer reading? Especially Shakespeare summer reading?” John lamented.

“Well, some people actually like Romeo and Juliet and consider it a literary masterpiece,” you commented. “And I happen to be one of them.”

“My own girlfriend,” he groaned. After a year of owning that title, it never failed to give you butterflies when hearing it.

The two of you were sitting in a clearing of his forest, and the sun shone in a dappled pattern on your languishing forms.

“You should really get started on it,” you told him.

“I suppose you’re already done.”

“I, for one, do not procrastinate.”

“Well, then, you leave me no choice but to begin.”

“You should read it to me.”

“Anything for you,” he said, cupping the back of your neck and kissing your forehead before lying down and placing his head on your lap. “It’ll be more comfortable this way.” And with that, he began to read, and you listened to the voice you loved best read the classic tale of love.

After the first act, your hands were begging for something to do, and so you gently pulled at his hair tie, releasing his long, bouncy curls which floated freely at their leisure. You wove your fingers through them, feeling their lush softness and kissing his shiny locks every now and then. After a few minutes, you parted his hair into three sections and began braiding, picking a few flowers to finish off the woven hairstyle. He was now at the balcony scene, your favorite part, and he paused.

“You be Juliet. I’ll read Romeo,” he said. You laughed and held the book with him, your fingers entwining. The words were interrupted often for a kiss or two, and he smiled at you, thinking that you were the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth.

He finished the scene, and sat up slightly, running his fingers along the curves of your neck while you kissed his freckled cheeks.

“How’d I ever get you?” he asked in pure, breathless wonder. You simply smiled before kissing him deeply, eliciting small noises from his throat. The book was pushed aside as he sat up fully, setting you on his lap.

“I love you,” you said.

“And I you.”

And there you were, young and with your lives ahead of you. The future was yet unknown, but you could face it together as long as you were by each other’s side.

You looked into his eyes and both of you thought that you had never felt such perfect happiness. 

The Breakfast Club (1985)

Allison Reynolds: I’ll do anything sexual. I don’t need a million dollars to do it either.

Claire Standish: You’re lying.

Allison Reynolds: I already have. I’ve done just about everything there is except a few things that are illegal. I’m a nymphomaniac.

Claire Standish: Lie.

Brian Johnson: Are your parents aware of this?

Allison Reynolds: The only person I told was my shrink.

Andrew Clark: And what did he do when you told him?

Allison Reynolds: He nailed me.

Claire Standish: Very nice.

Allison Reynolds: I don’t think that from a legal standpoint what he did can be construed as rape, since I paid him.

Claire Standish: He’s an adult.

Allison Reynolds: Yeah, he’s married too.

Claire Standish: Do you have any idea how completely gross that is?

Allison Reynolds: Well, the first few times…

Claire Standish: The first few times? You mean you did it more than once?

Allison Reynolds: Sure.

Claire Standish: Are you crazy?

Brian Johnson: Obviously she’s crazy if she’s screwing a shrink.

Allison Reynolds: Have you ever done it?

Claire Standish: I don’t even have a psychiatrist.

Allison Reynolds: Have you ever done it with a normal person?

Claire Standish: Didn’t we already cover this?

John Bender: You never answered the question.

Claire Standish: Look, I’m not going to discuss my private life with total strangers.

Allison Reynolds: It’s kind of a double edged sword isn’t it?

Claire Standish: A what?

Allison Reynolds: Well, if you say you haven’t, you’re a prude. If you say you have you’re a slut. It’s a trap. You want to but you can’t, and when you do you wish you didn’t, right?

Claire Standish: Wrong.

Allison Reynolds: Or are you a tease?

Andrew Clark: She’s a tease.

Claire Standish: I’m sure. Why don’t you just forget it.

Andrew Clark: Oh, you’re a tease and you know it. All girls are teases.

John Bender: She’s only a tease if what she does gets you hot.

Claire Standish: I don’t do anything.

Allison Reynolds: That’s why you’re a tease.

Claire Standish: OK, let me ask you a few questions.

Allison Reynolds: I already told you everything.

Claire Standish: No. Doesn’t it bother you to sleep around without being in love. I mean, don’t you want any respect?

Allison Reynolds: I don’t screw to get respect. That’s the difference between you and me.

Claire Standish: It’s not the only difference I hope.

John Bender: Face it, you’re a tease.

Claire Standish: I’m NOT a tease.

John Bender: Sure you are. Sex is your weapon. You said it yourself. You use it to get respect.

Claire Standish: No, I never said that she twisted my words around.

John Bender: What do you use it for then?

Claire Standish: I don’t use it period.

John Bender: Oh, are you medically frigid or is it psychological?

Claire Standish: I didn’t mean it that way. You guys are putting words into my mouth.

John Bender: Well, if you’d just answer the question.

Brian Johnson: Why don’t you just answer the question?

Andrew Clark: Be honest.

John Bender: No big deal.

Brian Johnson: Yeah answer it.

Andrew Clark: Answer the question, Claire.

John Bender: Talk to us. Every one: C'mon, answer the question. Come on. Answer it.

John Bender: C'mon, it’s easy. It’s only one question.

Claire Standish: NO I NEVER DID IT.

Allison Reynolds: I never did it either. I’m not a nymphomaniac. I’m a compulsive liar.

okay i must admit that i was pretty sure a new trailer would be released today and im honestly disappointed

maybe tomorrow? for force friday?

i mean i just really need that trailer man


The Reader and John were teenage sweethearts till Martha came into John’s life

You had never known such a masculine, aggressive, intimidating group of men such as the Shelby’s. Who had the capacity to treat their wives or girlfriends like queens. It didn’t fit with their persona and you were fascinated by them.

Your history with John Shelby was a strange one. You grew up a street away from each other, sat next to each other at school and went out when you were teenagers. All the usual stuff of being each others first time, first kiss, first date, first love interest. You had been his first and only love for years until Martha came along.

Then the war came, John had already settled down with Martha, married her and had five children. He had to run off to war and you couldn’t say goodbye like you wanted to.

Being left at home wasn’t in your habits and you became a munitionette. You worked in a factory where you filled hand grenades with TNT that would stain your hands yellow. But you had none of it and wore three pairs gloves to stop the stain. Before John returned from the war, Martha had died in an explosion at one of the munition factories. When he returned, he was torn apart and sought a familiar touch.

One night he turned up at your doorstep in the freezing cold wind. “John, what the fuck are you doing! Where are the kids.” You yelled.

“They’re with Polly. Please Y/n I need to be somewhere else.” He pleaded. You sighed and opened the door wider. Stepping out onto the street you put an arm around his shoulders and guided him inside.

Some people thought you and him fucked each other that night. They were wrong. He sat down and you gave him some whisky in front of the fire. You only had four rooms in your house, two upstairs, two downstairs, but a chair by the fire and a friend was all John needed. Crouching next to him as he held the whisky bottle, you felt tears prick your eyes.

It was only at this time you realised the state he was in, he looked tired, so tired that he couldn’t have slept at all. His shirt was unbuttoned and smelt unwashed, his coat wasn’t washed either and smelled damp so did his waist coat. You could see that he was shaking and taking the whisky away from him, you put a hand over his.

“What’s wrong Jonno?” You hadn’t called him that since they were sixteen. He looked at you with tears in his eyes.

“It s the kids. They, they call out for her all the time and come into my room all the time. All they have is their father and I’m hardly ever home. They don’t have a mother and Aunt Poll and Ada won’t always be able to help me. I can’t be without her Y/n. I’m not even sure if I did love her as a husband should. But I loved her all the same. I don’t know how to explain it.” He gripped your hand.

“Oh John. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve been around for you since you got back. I was too scared to face you if I’m honest, I’m a selfish bitch.

You already know this, I couldn’t stand to see you missing the woman I have been jealous of for years. But I know you don’t want to marry me, and that’s okay. That completely fine.” You rose up on your knees and got into his eye line. “I want to help you. I could be your nanny or something. You could pay me a pound a month. I just want to help you because I haven’t been and that’s a sin. The greatest sin I’ve ever committed and I’m sorry.” Wrapping your arms around his neck you hugged him close and cried. John’s arms linked around your back and he cried too.

About four months later you had too meet a friend, and as it happen, you would have to walk through the street that the Peaky Blinders lived on. You put on the only expensive dress you owned, a dark green dress ready for the races. It was drawn in at the waist and loosely fell to your knee.

Wearing a matching blazer, your hair was down and softly curled. Walking confidently down the street, eyes would often meet yours but you just carried on with a smirk.
Everything was pretty normal until you reached the point where you would pass by the Shelby’s house.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pass unnoticed but there were a few wolf whistles. Looking up you saw John Shelby smoking a cigarette and looking seductive as ever as he opened his mouth and let the smoke pour out.

“Hello Jonno.” You heard Arthur laugh from inside at your address of John.

“Your looking fancy. What’s the occasion?” He said, completely relaxed against the wall.

“I’m going out to lunch with a gentleman.” You were in the mood to tease him. Seeing his face turn into a deers’ before it’s shot and he stamped out his cigarette.

“Who?” He asked with growl.

“One of the lads from our old class that goes to the Garrison.” You lied.

“I think I should escort you there. Just to you know, make sure that he’s not dodgy.” Jon said walking closer to you. Smirking, you looked him straight in the eye.

“Are you going to kill him John?” You joked.

“Maybe. You’ve got work at three today. I’ve got to go out.” Making a mock sound of surprise you faked a blow to the heart.

“Oh God John has a date. I shall perish.” Arthur laughed again from inside and John told him to “Fuck off.”

“Shut up Y/n. I’m not going on a date. But who is this lad your going out with?” You thought you should put him out of his misery.

“C'mon John. As if anyone would ask me out on a date. I’m lying Jonno. I’m going for lunch with Amelia. You need to calm yourself.” You walk past John and smile.

“You bastard liar Y/n Y/sn ! You better be here at three or your contract terminates!” Turning around you laughed and then ran back to John and snogged him right on the lips before turning on your heels and running off to go and find Amelia. Not before looking back at John who smiled at you.

Meet the Washingtons

Requested by Anonymous

Can you do one where the reader was abandoned by her parents and then adopted by the Washingtons, so she goes to visit her ‘father’ and the Hamilton crew don’t know she’s his adopted daughter and they all end up liking her and have arguments about who should be with her? Idk I just thought this would be a cool one.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I’m going out to see some friends. Will you be okay here?” Your father, George Washington, asked as he stood by the door to your room.

You glanced up from your book and your eyes lit up.

“Can I go, Dad? Please?”

Your dad sighed, running a hand down his face and nodding.

You jumped off the bed and ran up to him, giving him a hug before following him out the door.


You stood next to your father as four men walked up to the two of you.

All of their eyes fell on you in an instant.

“Bonjour, my lady,” the man with dark, fluffy hair and a french accent smiled, reaching a hand out to kiss yours.

Your cheeks flushed a shade of pink as the other men introduced themselves.

“Move, Laf, it’s my turn,” the shorter, childish-looking one grumbled.

“C'mon John, be considerate here.”

“Guys,” your father growled, “Over here, now.”

He lead the four men to the side and angrily snapped at them for hitting on his daughter in front of him.

You giggled lightly at your dad; he was always protective over you because you were his daughter, and nothing would change that.

anonymous asked:

Idk if you do request, but can I request for just a very short drabble of a mclennon fluff? Just some sweet Paul and John goofing around on the couch arguing what to watch on tv. Cuddles and kisses too :) Been feeling off lately, hope you can when you have time! - ♝

im so flattered! ive never done a request before but im totally open to it, anytime! i hope you feel better soon, it’s getting better all the time! here goes nothin, love!


John yawned as he lied down on the couch. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled to himself. It had been a long day and he was relieved to finally just relax with no obligations. Suddenly he felt someone pick up his feet and move them to the floor, and the television program changed. He sat up, and saw Paul smugly sitting down with the controller. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” John asked as he tried to snatch the controller from the younger boy. “What does it look like I’m doing? Watchin’ the telly now, aren’t I?” Paul said, eye brow raised curiously. “I was watchin’ that!” John complained as he pointed to the television. “Calm down love, I told ye this program was on tonight.” Paul kept his composure and used his sweet voice, he lied his hand on John’s thigh softly. “Paul, I don’t wanna watch yer damn animal planet shite, the Chuck Berry special is on.” John snatched the remote a little too aggressively.

Paul pretended to mope, hoping John would feel bad. “Quit your mopin!” John said with a laugh, trying to make Paul smile. “Nope, whatever.” Paul crossed his arms and turned his body away from John. “C'mon,” John poked at his side, but Paul just shook his head. John continuously poked at Paul’s side until he began giggling uncontrollably. “Bugger off!” Paul managed to yelp between giggles. John soon found himself straddling Paul, tickling his sides and neck, laughing uncontrollably himself. Paul’s face began to turn a bright red, needing a breath. John stopped tickling him but didn’t get off his younger bandmate. “You’re an arse, John Lennon!” Paul joked when he finally caught his breath.

“Ah, but you love me anyhow.” John smiled, and leaned in, pressing his lips against Paul’s plump lips. “I’m stuck with ye.” Paul smiled against John’s lips. John climbed off of Paul, and handed the remote to him. “Whatever ye wanna watch I suppose, you’ve softened me up.” John said, with a smile on his face. Paul leaned over and gave him a quick peck. “Yer the best.” Paul flicked his television program back on, and placed the remote down on the coffee table. He leaned into the guitarist, who wrapped his arm around him to pull him in close to his chest. Paul rested his head on John’s shoulder, happy as can be. “This is exactly how I wanted my day to end.” John said quietly, not to disturb the program too much. “Like what, love?” Paul asked, looking up at John with his big doe eyes. “With you, of course.” John smiled and placed a kiss on Paul’s forehead.

Suddenly the program changed again. The two men sat up straight, to see their bandmate George sitting in the arm chair with the remote. “HEY!” Both men yelled, causing George to jump and put his hands up in the air. “Bloody hell, you two!” George laughed and tossed the remote back to the two lovers.

When we wrote, “I’d love to turn you on.” John and I gave each other a knowing look: “uh-huh, it’s a drug song. You know that, don’t you?” Yes, but at the same time, our stuff is always very ambiguous and “turn you on” can be sexual, so … c'mon!’ As John and I looked at each other, a little flash went between our eyes, like ‘i’d love to turn you on’, a recognition of what we were doing, so I thought, Okay, we’ve got to have something amazing that will illustrate that.

Paul McCartney (Many Years From Now)