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repulsiveliquidation · 8 months ago

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The White Suit || Jill Roord

based on that suit. good lord. save me. lock me up. anyway, it's just smut lol

warnings : mommy kink, swearing, aftercare, strap-on's, vibrators, oral sex.

“Lieveling, you really can’t make it?”

“I’m stuck in the airport, my love. My flight got canceled and there aren’t any flights to Heathrow till tomorrow.”

“I really wanted you to be here,” Jill says to you sadly.

“Me too baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get there tomorrow okay?”

Jill hangs up with tears in her eyes. It’s her first game back since her ACL injury and you had promised to be there to watch her take her place back on the pitch. She steps off the team bus in her suit and sulks the whole warmup, the rest of the girls feel bad for her when she tells them you couldn’t make it.

Little did she know that you managed to get a seat on the next flight out of Spain where you were. You still missed the game but hid out in her room after texting Leila to delay Jill and steal her spare key to get you into her room.

You changed quickly, Leila managing to drag Jill for some coffee before coming back to the hotel to give you some time to get ready. You pulled on a light blue lingerie set that was reminiscent of the Man City blue, thigh-highs pulled up nice and taut secured to your bottoms. Your harness lay waiting on the bed, an acceptable array of straps right beside it.

Your hair fell perfectly around your shoulders, skin soft and supple with every move you made. A light pink lipstick perfectly lathered on your lips. An aromatherapy machine gently spews lavender-scented mist, permeating the room. You smiled, towel laid out on the bed right in the middle ready for your night of celebrations.

Leila texted you that they were in the elevator up so you sat on the bed with your legs crossed waiting for Jill to walk in. You were a little nervous and there were butterflies in your stomach, hoping that Jill would be surprised and not upset.

“Leila, stop being so touchy I’m not going to leave this room till she comes tomorrow–baby?” Jill says in surprise, standing in the doorway in shock. Leila and Laia grin and cheer as they walk to their room, cackling away as Jill stutters.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my baby,” you tell her and stand, sauntering over to her. She shuts the door behind her and drops her gear bag, her white suit a little crumpled on her shoulder. You tsk and stand in front of her a little too close to smooth out the wrinkles.

She stands with her jaw dropped and you close it for her, looking up at her beautiful eyes that slowly begin to gloss over. You fiddle with her lapels and smooth out the rest of the creases from her jacket, pressing your lips right on the collar of her jacket leaving a perfect lip stain.

Jill’s knees visibly buckle and she catches herself, muttering incoherently her apologies. You smile softly and cup her face, tilting your head in for a kiss. She meets you halfway and you smile into the kiss, her lips soft with a hint of coffee and caramel.

Jill moans when your tongue swipes her bottom lip and you slip your tongue into her mouth, exploring and dominating her tongue. You wrap your arms around her neck and pull her towards the bed, before fisting her lapels that were perfectly tailored for Jill.

You pull away and admire her outfit, her slightly damp hair draped perfectly on her shoulders and you gently adjust her necklaces and she whines, reaching to take her jacket off.

You tut and she looks down at you again, eyes full of expressive features. You take her hand and guide her in front of the bed where your harness sits. You nudge your head for her to take it and she does, helping you step into it. She secures the sides and you smile, cooing at her gently.

Jill eyes the array of dildos that sit perfectly straight on the bed. She sees her favorite, one that’s too big, one that’s too small, and one that she’s never seen before.

“May I pick one, Mommy?” Jill asks obediently, fidgeting with her vest.

You stand behind her and caress her arms, chin resting on the Dutch’s shoulder.

“Yes, you may angel. You get to pick because you won that game today and look so pretty in that suit hm?”

Jill nods and you frown a little. She catches a glimpse of your face in the window across from her and immediately corrects herself.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Good girl, Jill,” you praise, walking around the bed and onto it. Jill drags her fingers over the toys and predictably picks her favorite one. She picks it up and hands it to you.

“This one please, Mommy,” she says quietly, eyes meeting yours. She’s dazed and a little lust-hungry, shoulders sagging and knees about to buckle again. You pity her and decide that that’s enough teasing and take her toy of choice to put on.

It clips in securely and you have her sitting on the edge of the bed. You kiss her neck gently and shrug her jacket off, throwing it over to the chair in the corner. Jill shudders at the sudden cold air on her exposed skin, goosebumps littering her skin. You climb off the bed and stand over her, fiddling with the buttons on her vest.

You undid each one slowly, getting down to your knees with every pop of a button. Jill was breathing a little heavier now, leaning back on her elbows as she understood your intentions.

Once her vest was off, her pants were not far behind. She smiled a little drunkenly as you pulled them off, nails raking over her strong thighs. Jill shuddered again and smiled, throwing her head back.

You smiled and watch her relax into the premium bedding, her bare ass tense against the 400 thread count linen. You caress her tired muscles and kiss up her thighs, her knees parting way for you. You grin up at her and see a light blush on her cheeks, eyes hooded a little as her pussy throbs achingly between her legs.

“Where do you want me, babygirl?” you ask teasingly, perfectly manicured nails running through her wet pussy. Jill whines and hides behind her forearm, nodding softly.

“Words, you useless whore.”

“Anywhere, everywhere, just touch me Mommy please!” Jill cries, eyes filling with tears as your fingers along her pussy tug her folds just a little.

You lean in and lick her up her slit gently, tongue a little warmer than her folds that were exposed to the colder room. She jerks but keeps her ass planted on the bed obediently as your tongue fondles her peeking clit.

Jill bites her lip hard, eyes screwed shut tight. A slender finger pushes into her and her knees fold up onto the bed to ease your access. She moans and cants her hips down onto your finger slowly before your palm rests on her hip as a warning. You stand and slide another finger into her pussy and hover over her, eyes dark and voice deep.

“One more move that I don’t fucking ask for, I stop and you go to bed with nothing, do you understand me?”

“Yes Mommy,” she whines out, nodding her head profusely.

Her ass never leaves the bed and you grin proudly down at her when you feel a rush of arousal coat your fingers inside her.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes Mommy, feels so good when you touch me,” she answers, feeling a third finger push in beside the other two. Jill throws her head back and whines while her hips can’t resist one more cheeky grind.

You stop your fingers right on her sweet spot, having just decided to reward her for being a good girl when you feel her hips move when you told her not to. Your fingers pull out of her pussy and you get off the bed. You pull her to the middle of the bed and smile, kissing down her chest. She shifts nervously and smiles back, unsure if she’s messed up or not.

You reach up and under the pillow, pulling out a vibrator. It’s turned on immediately and your hands pull her legs wide open, lips right beside her ears.

“I told you not to move, princess.”

The wand head is pressed to her clit and she barely has time to process the transition into her punishment. The rush of pleasure goes straight to her head and down to her toes. She struggles to find something to hold on to, the sheets taut as she grasps them and pulls them tight.

“You getting close, darling?” you taunt, wand pressed harder on her clit. Jill grips your wrist and whimpers, nodding hard.

“Please Mommy,” Jill begs beautifully, “Please let me come.”

“No.”

Jill’s thighs which have been flexed to force blood toward her core dissipate the moment you pull the wand away. She cries out your name and her eyes begin to water, her pleasure dropping back to zero.

“What did you do wrong, sweetheart?” you ask softly, kissing down her bare chest. You suck bright red hickeys all over her chest, her lips struggling to form a sentence.

“Moved when you didn’t allow me to,” she manages, tears falling down the side of her face. You suck on her breast gently, hand bringing the toy back towards her core. It barely touches a bit of flesh, the light vibrations driving her crazy.

“What must you say so you can come, baby?”

She answers much more composed this time.

“I’m sorry Mommy, won’t happen again.”

“Good girl,” you whisper to her, the vibrator pressed hard against her clit. Jill cries out your name again and tries her best to stay still, eyes screwed shut again. She bites her lip and slowly smiles deliriously, a sign that she’s close.

You pull the vibrator away and give her no time to argue when your cock slips right into her dripping pussy. Jill gasps and looks up at you in shock, thighs shaking as your thrusts are powerful and precise.

You press the vibrator into her palm as your hips never falter, hands pressing her thighs wide open.

“Be a good girl and don’t move that off your clit unless I say so.”

She does as you say, shaky hands pressing the vibrator right on her clit, and her expression changes. You press her legs wider and pound into her pussy hard, feeling the vibrations fizz out into your strap-on and lightly onto your clit.

“Faster Mommy, I’m so close please!”

You fuck into her faster and suck on her breasts gently, helping her hold the toy right on her clit. Jill swears she sees white when she comes, eyes rolling as far as they go into her head. She shudders and jerks as she comes, toe curled up tight.

“Fuck!” she screams as you keep railing her into the mattress, the first orgasm fizzling out and the second fast approaching. Jill chants your name like a mantra and her hands shake too much to hold the vibrator on her clit. You lean back and pound up right into her sweet spot, holding the vibrator right on her sensitive clit.

“One more for me, darling,” you coo, throwing your head back as your pleasure slowly rises too. “Think you can give me one more pretty orgasm sweetheart?”

“Yes Mommy, it’s yours!”

Jill concentrates on your movements, her lust-driven focus solely on you. She feels the tug in the back of her belly button, the buildup of pressure just in her core. A hand wrapped around her neck and squeezes, that was all the triggers she needed. She barely had time to warn you she was coming, the sheer power of her orgasm pushes you out as she squirts all over your lower half. You watch in amazement, her legs shaking like a leaf as you fondle her clit fast. You pull away just as she reaches her tipping point, eyes zoned in on you.

She can barely remember most of what happened next. She was in a warm bath and lots of bubbles within ten minutes, wrapped in your arms under the soft lights of her hotel room bathroom. You’re kissing her ear when she properly comes to, smacking her lips and blinking her eyes.

“Hello gorgeous,” you whisper, hands caressing her arms. She snuggles back into you, eyes closing as the smell of her favorite lavender Epsom salt fills the air. She feels your arms around her and the warm water helps her aching muscles, tilting her head back to kiss you.

You pull a hand out of the water and cup her face, kissing her earnestly as she gently turns into your arms. Jill pulls away and smiles, rough hands doing their own exploration under the bubbly water.

“Did you come earlier, love?” she asks in her slight Dutch and English accent, she frowns when you shake your head.

“I was close but I didn’t come.”

“That’s not good,” Jill states matter-of-factly. Her hands drag down your soapy thighs, the water making the glide extremely easy. You lean back and let her have her fun, feeling the Dutch’s fingers dance over your clit.

“Just relax, I’ve got you,” Jill reassures, smiling when she feels your muscles relax into the fragrant water more. She rubs tight circles over your clit and you feel yourself getting close already. She tilts your head up and presses her lips to yours hard, fingers rubbing your clit faster and faster. You moan into her mouth and grip the edges of the bath. The water spills a little but you couldn’t care less. Jill sneaks two fingers into you and you cry out her name, coming hard on her fingers.

Jill smiles and cups your face for a kiss, feeling you melt into her arms. She pulls away, grinning from ear to ear.

“I should tell management to get us more suits huh?”

#jill roord #jill roord smut #jill roord imagine #jill roord x reader #man city women #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso smut

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ohsohoney · 4 months ago

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When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part One

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Hey! First time writing for Em so I figured I'd use a side account and see how it went? Honestly this is a whole series in my mind so might add onto this first part soon! An oc character but can be read as a reader insert if you prefer:)

Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

Warnings: Lots of swearing, dark humour

Masterlist

I was mortified.

More so than I’d probably ever been, in truth. All because of a stupid video that had been taken a couple of years back when I’d had one drink too many on a holiday I’d always dreamt of.

To be fair though, the majority of the blame lied heavily on my younger sister’s shoulders, who’d found the stupid thing whilst reminiscing through old memories and thought it would be hilarious to post online. Forgetting about the millions of fans who would soon see it– and not just mine, it would seem.

No, because that just wasn’t how the internet worked, was it? And when a newly nominated artist, who had only been in the game for a couple years, was filmed rapping an old noughties classic instead of singing like expected, it was basically bound to go viral. Didn’t help that I was a Londoner through and through and had the accent to prove it, making the whole video that much harder to watch. In truth, I continued to cringe each time I was reminded of it, which was practically anytime I opened up social media or witnessed the guilty expression that continued to mar my sister’s face.

“Stop doing that.” I huffed at her later on when the worst of it still continued to storm on, almost whining actually as I looked away from my phone screen and down at the food I wasn’t really eating, just picking at. I was supposed to be mad, infuriated even, but it was proving to be a fucking chore when she kept on looking at me like that.

“Doing what?” Lottie retorted, not even attempting to wipe the culpable look from off of her face. She was currently residing back at mum’s now, seeing as how she had school and I’d only just landed back home, but I’d give it a day before she was back here again. My flight over had been strenuous, it always was when flying to and from Cali, but still I made time for her– even after the most recent stunt she had gone and pulled.

“Don’t do that either.”

I’d meant to sound scolding but the soft laugh that escaped me truly was accidental. I couldn’t quite help it, I knew that being mad at her wouldn’t solve anything now and that she hadn’t really meant any harm by posting the video. That was just the type of person she was, she acted before she thought things through and didn’t ever think much for the consequences. Then again, she was still only fourteen and her putting the drunken moment on her Instagram story had just been one of those sibling type moments, the kind where you’d rip the piss out of one another simply because you could.

“I mean it, Lotts.” I sighed around the words, eyes flitting back to the screen and the way she was chewing on her lower lip. “It’s being sorted and, I don't know, I guess it’ll die down sooner or later. Mila reckons so anyway. We’ll give it a day or two, hey?”

A day or two did pass. And no such thing happened.

I’d been cooped up at home ever since I’d touched down at Heathrow, having jumped in the first cab available and fallen asleep the second I’d gotten in through the door. I’d been working out in LA for a couple weeks with a few other writers, just messing about with new sounds and ideas for the next album I eventually wanted to release. So I hadn’t been witness to the media catastrophe Lottie had created until later the next afternoon when Mila, my manager, had all but mowed down my front door, having called my phone three dozen times and gotten a guy she was currently seeing in the city to come buzz my intercom. It had been a wake up call and a half to say the least.

Still, she had assumed it would all die down fairly quickly, went as far to say that it could do wonders for my career– even with me being visibly tipsy– after having had the absolute gall to say that I hadn’t sounded half as bad as I thought I did. I’d cackled hysterically into the phone at that, then had somewhat of a meltdown, in utter disbelief over the apparent reaction she claimed the video had gone and garnered. Because I was absolutely not looking. Knew that if I did there would be too large a chance that I’d check myself into the nearest psychiatric unit.

But as I said, a couple of days had passed and typically something like this would have eventually blown over when the next big story hit the headlines. White girl can spit a verse, who cared? Only then the VMA’s had happened and shit hit the fucking fan.

I hadn’t attended, shit like that had always irked me. I could perform in front of a crowd of thousands and step off feeling as high as a kite, but stick me on a carpet and force me to interact with cameras, questions, and people? That was where I drew the line.

At the start, I had tried. I’d been new on the scene and people had reasoned that I would just end up being another one hit wonder, so the label had figured it best if I got myself out there, if only to interact with other artists and producers in similar circles.

It had gone down a treat– like a cake being knocked over at the wedding of the year. Maybe even worse. I didn’t like to linger too long on it.

But I’d tried again and again afterwards, although it had only proven to worsen my mood each time and forced me to retreat, avoiding my team and the responsibilities I had lined up for a short while after. It was only following a particularly uncomfortable night that Mila had called it quits and had a contract drawn up stating that I only had to attend a certain amount of events a year. It had been at that moment that I’d realised just how fucked I would have been in this industry without her.

Even so, life still continued on without me and the VMA’s were just another show I would be mostly avoiding, only making a statement at the end of the night online for the nominations I’d been gifted.

It was around midnight when I heard the scream.

Lottie was staying with me, typical for whenever I was back in London for a few weeks at a time, and so I’d felt my heart literally drop to my feet at the very sound of her screech and legged it across the entirety of the house. At first, I’d thought she’d slipped and fallen, maybe cracked her head open on a counter. And then the thought of an intruder had crossed my mind whilst I’d gone skidding over the landing. So anyone could understand why I was so worked up when I finally threw open her bedroom door only to find her simply sat there on her phone, hand covering her mouth.

“What the hell is your problem? It’s just gone twelve, Lottie! I thought something had happened!” I rebuked her, chest heaving as I dropped the heavy bookend I’d managed to pick up somewhere on my way over down onto her desk. “Shit.”

Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them though when I finally did get around to catching my breath and chanced another glance back at her.

“I was literally just about to fall asleep.” Which really meant that I’d been getting into bed to scroll through my phone or read a book when I’d heard her shout. “Then you screamed as though Freddy Krueger was stood at your window.”

“Elia.”

I blinked, Lottie rarely did that, used my entire name and not the usual shortened version or whatever other epithet that came to mind– and truly, there was a large variety, the shit I’d heard this kid come out with was insane. But I shook my head at the thought and quirked a brow at her. “What? Did someone die?”

“No,” She answered me, dropping her hand away from her face even though her jaw was still gaping, “But I just might.”

Rolling my eyes at the theatrics, I exhaled and walked over to slump on the end of her bed, figuring that something had happened between her and one of her friends, or maybe some lad she might’ve been speaking to. “And it deserved a scream like that? Honestly Lotts, just be thankful this place doesn’t have any neighbours listening in through the walls.” I told her, thinking back to my own adolescent years and the woman in the flat beside ours, “We’d have someone knocking at the door in under a half hour.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes then as she scoffed at me– like I was the one being dramatic here– before she then shook her head and shuffled hurriedly over the mattress to sit closer. “No Lia, just listen, look.”

Confused, I sighed and tilted my head when Lottie moved to shove her mobile in my face. I squinted at the sudden contrast, showing off my age and the horrific tragedy that was my eyesight, and tried to make sense of whatever it was that she was so hellbent on showing me.

From what I could first make out, it was just a Twitter thread, but then Lotts then clicked on the main video at the top. I waited as the clip buffered for a second, then a familiar face panned into focus and I felt my brow furrow. I peered over at Lottie for a split second before her eyes were widening in retort and she gestured her chin back towards the screen.

I narrowed my own eyes in turn, but watched on.

It had to be a coincidence, I reasoned. That of all people it was him that Lottie was currently showing me.

“Well, aren’t we in for a show tonight! Eminem is in the house, people!” An interviewer started, she was a tall, leggy blonde who held a too big microphone too close to her chin. “How are you feeling?”

I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to see him on the VMA’s carpet, not after the comeback he’d made late last year with LP 2, but I was, eyes caught on the bleached buzz cut he’d since reverted back to for the album’s release. Fuck, I’d be so pissed if it came out that he was performing tonight and I’d gone ahead and missed it.

Lottie thumped my shoulder, hard, realising fairly quickly that I hadn’t really been listening, and so I scowled in retort but gritted my teeth to keep from thumping her right back. She might’ve been my sister, but I had well over a decade on the kid and was marginally her guardian, just not in writing.

The rapper had seemingly just finished commenting on a question the tall blonde had asked him and so I forced myself to pay closer attention, brain whirling as I wondered what could have possibly been so important that it had Lottie screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

“I feel that!” The woman practically beamed at the rapper, head nodding along to whatever he’d just said, “But it’s good to hear that you’re enjoying being back. In truth, I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here tonight, there’s been a lot of buzz surrounding you at the moment and not just because of the album!”

My heart stuttered in my chest. Actually, I was pretty sure it had gone and fallen out of my arse, especially when the interviewer continued to press on the topic and it appeared as though the man in question understood exactly what she was getting at. His stoic facade cracked just a tad and– there! A smirk. An ever so slight crook of his mouth. I shot a startled glance over at Lottie but her gaze was fixated on the screen.

“I mean, have you seen it?” The interviewer prompted whilst he simply stood there, fisted hands clasped before him. No sign of the split second curve he’d just had on his lips. “The whole world’s been wondering about your thoughts on the singer!”

And there it was.

“I can’t,” I started to say, turning away from the phone just as a rush of nausea flooded through me, but Lottie held strong, hand coming up to catch my shoulder so that she could position her phone back in my eyeline. “Lottie–” I tried. Please.

“Just listen.” She persisted, face so serious.

Immediately I wanted to rescind my earlier statement. This was now my most mortifying moment. In fact, I wanted to hide in the nearest cupboard and never come out again. How the fuck was I going to show my face in public, not to mention at the next event, after this?

I swallowed thickly, entirely unprepared to hear a word he had to say about me. I mean, who would be? This man was leagues above a majority of the industry, me included. Never had I ever even thought that he could hear my name in passing, let alone listen to one of my songs playing in some shop he was coincidentally in or a random radio station. But here he now was, rolling his lips as he pondered over a question which concerned that stupid fucking video.

“I hate you.” I whispered at Lottie, mostly in hopes to cover up whatever he was about to say, but also because I was embarrassed beyond belief. And this was all her fault.

In the time spent since the drunken video had first gone up and now, I had yet to even think about him ever seeing it. Because the idea was that far fetched. But this was me, so of course he had.

“I’ve heard it.” Marshall confirmed, his head dipped in a barely there nod. My throat cinched. I wondered briefly how quickly I’d be able to tie myself a noose.

“And?” The woman prodded and internally I cursed her future bloodline, hoping that she'd somehow spawn the next antichrist or that her grandchild would become a shit-headed politician.

The man in question merely hummed, hollowing out his cheeks. “I was surprised, I have to admit. But she’s good, even when wasted.”

“I wasn’t fucking wasted!”

I hadn't even realised I’d spoken out loud until Lottie snorted on a chuckle. I turned towards her, brows raised high, “What? I wasn’t. You were there!”

I rolled my eyes when she didn’t deign me with some sort of assent but my head snapped back over to where she still gripped the phone when I heard him speak again, his voice echoing throughout the quiet bedroom.

“Then again, her shit goes hard. So it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.”

That heart of mine that I kept on talking about? Yeah, I had zero clue as to what the fuck was going on with it now, only that my chest was wound as tight as it possibly could be and my eyes stung as I withheld the urge to even blink.

“You’re a fan?” The woman asked him, appearing genuinely surprised by the notion, even though it sounded more like a declaration rather than the question it was.

Marshall hummed, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder when a group shuffled on past them, disrupting the interview. It didn’t deter the woman though and I couldn’t blame her, no matter how much it pained me.

“So, could this mean we’ll be seeing a new featured artist on whatever you put out next?”

I made some sort of inhuman sound at that, but barely moved a muscle. And then I all but shutdown when the rapper's wide eyes flickered over to peer straight into the camera’s lens, “I mean, if she’s down.”

The next scream that was emitted once again came from Lottie, but I couldn’t think to scold her for it, not when I was hardly even functioning and wanted to implode myself.

The girl toppled over onto me, shaking my shoulders whilst she squealed unabashedly. “If. She’s. Down!” She repeated, squealing with excitement, “El, this is insane! How are you not screaming too?”

The air I forced from my lungs came out in a breathless chuckle as I clung to the forearm that was still wrapped around my collar. In truth, I didn’t know how the hell I was supposed to react.

“Figure you’ve screamed enough for the both of us.” I replied faintly, not really thinking but somehow managing to carry on, mostly out of sheer shock. I glanced her way, “I feel a bit sick.”

Lottie just shook me harder and when we eventually went falling down onto the duvet in a mess of limbs I wondered what I was going to do with the knowledge that I’d just been given. God. He knew who I was. The shock of it was almost like reliving my first time on stage all over again.

That night I ended up listening to Lottie rant on and on for a good while after whilst she scrolled through her Twitter feed and the rest of the internet. Mila eventually intervened, calling after having seen it too, and was as smug as ever. “Told you.” She’d said the second I’d hit the answer button and I hadn’t had the heart to play it off or act as though I hadn’t seen it either.

After the interview eventually finished trending and stopped being posted here, there, and everywhere, I was left with a flow of new followers but also a nightmare of opinions spouting from every corner of the planet on any comment section I had to offer. I forced myself to come off most apps I had downloaded after that and resorted to gaining my daily entertainment, and any real news, from Lottie. Which seemed sad, in retrospect, but honestly? It was more than a little self-serving and I’d even managed to get a shit load of stuff done.

I worked on a couple new songs, sticking to what I did best, but my mind did end up drifting away every so often, back to a conversation I’d had with Mila and Travis at the label a couple days after the media storm had passed. It seemed they all wanted me to try implementing a few new concepts into the music I was currently working on before we started to draw up ideas for the next album. Travis reasoned that even attempting to add a couple freestyles into the motions whilst I went about writing would do me wonders later on.

I just felt uncomfortable with it all, really. I’d never been a rapper. I mean, I loved it. It was mainly what I’d been brought up on, having grown up in an area where every kid on the estate was either attempting to become the next big thing or just blaring the biggest hits out of their car stereos. But that was just it. I listened and sang along, had even built up an extensive collection which I was immensely proud of, but the label were now aiming for this next album to make it onto a Grammy nominations list. It was all they had been fretting over since I’d somehow managed to chart the last one– although a single number one and an almost throw away making it to number seven didn’t make me all that hopeful.

Even so, it forced me to wonder how it would all work if I started to switch things up now. I could appreciate all genres but I didn’t wanna become the next hopper just to appease the people yessing me and then fall off.

The entire concept had me confused and so I had taken to keeping my head down for a while longer.

Lottie had headed back to mum’s earlier that morning, seeing as I was due to make an appearance in Paris for Fashion Week, attending the Vogue show alongside Vivienne Westwood. An utter dream, yes, but also still an incredibly daunting reality. Even so, it was something I couldn’t quite worm my way out of even if I had wanted to– see, with that contract there still came clauses.

I’d been prepping for my upcoming early morning flight most of the day, showering later on than anticipated just so that I could pack my case and eat before I eventually climbed into bed. Hoping to somehow get a couple hours kip.

I’d thrown on a robe and kept the speakers blaring once I’d eventually jumped out from under the spray, wet hair curling at the ends as I worked on throwing something quick together in my kitchen.

It wasn't long before I went and took the bowl I’d just made out into the living room with me, simply so that I could curl up on the settee and wrap up the few emails I’d been working on earlier. I was just nodding along and humming to the next song that played through the overhead speakers when my phone started to buzz against my ankle, shooting a funny feeling up through the bone. I was quick to pick it up, wrinkling my nose at the feel and not paying much mind to the caller, figuring it had to be either Mila or Lottie.

“Hello?”

There was a short pause as I shifted the phone against my ear before a voice eventually sounded, “This Elia?”

Frowning, I casted a quick glance at the phone’s screen to find a number with an unfamiliar area code staring back at me. I let my gaze stray on over towards a clock I had hanging on the far wall only to find that it had just gone eight.

I fumbled for a moment, “Um. It is, can I ask who’s calling?”

A low cough rumbled through the line before the same voice spoke again, I shuffled to set my laptop off to the side on the sofa, brow furrowed. “It’s Em– Marshall.”

Suddenly my head felt so very empty and my mouth was working around words that couldn't seem to find their way out. Em. The Em?? Fucking, Em?

I’d obviously been quiet a beat too long, drowning in the sudden panic that had shrouded me, because he spoke up again, “That Nas playin’?”

I shot a startled glance over my shoulder to where the fancy sound system was installed, the biggest reason I’d gone and purchased the home, in truth, and was immediately reminded of the music I had piercing through the air. Clumsily, I rolled off of the corner of the settee so that I could stumble over to turn the thing off, doing exactly that before I was forced to blink at the sudden silence that greeted me.

I winced and was quick to turn the music back on, keeping it low. All the while I still held my phone close to my chest.

“Uh, yeah. Hi!” I blundered helplessly after a moment, carding a hand through my damp hair as I stared at the empty wall before me stupidly. I wasn’t sure what to say, let alone do. I could sort of wrap my head around the interview, his brief mention of me. But a fucking phone call? It was on another level.

He chuckled though, enough so that I felt myself flush bashfully at my obvious awkwardness and forced my body to move back towards the sofa, if only so that I didn’t have to stand on shaky legs anymore.

“Hi.” He mimicked, voice low albeit a tad amused.

I smiled. Unable to do anything but, in all honesty, as I lowered myself down onto the cushions, vaguely aware that I should probably be saying something else now that he’d gone and replied, but was simply more than a little caught off guard by everything.

“Sorry, I– Well, I didn’t expect your call. Or anyones really.” I murmured, trying my best to shake off the nerves that were apparently wreaking havoc on my brain to mouth filter. “I just jumped out of the shower, had yet to turn off the stereo. Sorry.” How many times had I just apologised? I wanted to scream.

“You’re good.” He assured me, voice unlike what I probably would have expected and so I blinked once more at the sound of it, reminded that it was actually him I was talking to. But all that was fluttering through my head was ‘what the fuck are you doing calling me?’ “Nice choice, I gotta say. This an alright time for you to talk? I don’t wanna disturb you much.”

My eyes widened at both the compliment in song choice and well, him. Then withheld another sudden urge to scream, the hand not holding my phone clenching into a tight fist against my chest. “No, no, of course not. I mean, you’re fine! Not disturbing me at all.”

His next reply sounded more than just a little mirthful, “Sure ‘bout that?”

I willed myself to relax and took an inconspicuous breath as I pulled my legs back up under me. “I’m sure.” I told him, laughing lightly at myself for being so socially inept– or maybe it was just this entire scenario I’d been shoved into. “How’d you even get my number anyway?”

I hadn’t meant for it to sound so forceful or abrupt, but it had been yet another question my sluggish brain hadn’t been able to find an answer to.

“Mila?” He answered me, and I blinked stupidly at the name. “We had a mutual contact, figured I’d chance askin’ her instead of gettin’ lost in your DM’s. That cool? She said she’d let you know.”

The conniving cow, I thought to myself, though I wouldn’t have put it past her to have reasoned with herself that I would’ve probably freaked out if she had told me beforehand, before then having proceeded to just let my phone ring out whilst I stared pitifully at it. She knew me all too well.

“She did not.” I replied through a baited breath, “But no, yeah. You’re alright, just caught me off guard is all. You’re probably the last person I expected to call, if I’m being honest here..”

When I heard him laugh once more I grinned, all too pleased with myself. It was a low gruff sound, not deep enough to be sarcastic or ingenuine, but rather warm. It surprised me.

“Oh yeah? Even after everything that’s gone down lately?”

My eyes slipped closed at the instantaneous reminder and I winced. The video. Honestly, in the whirlwind that wasn’t just my life at the moment, but this phone call too, I could have almost forgotten about it.

“I still can’t believe you saw that.”

Marshall let go of another amused huff that I figured to be a chuckle, breathing in deep enough that he forced me to wait on his next words. “I don’t lie. I meant what I said. But tell me, how many drinks d’you have in you?”

I curled my tongue against the back of my teeth in hopes to keep from grinning too hard, feeling a slight sting at the tip. “I was tipsy.” I argued pointlessly, knowing it would be a tireless venture, “I’d only had a couple.”

He hummed, seemingly not convinced.

“It was years ago, too!” I felt the need to tack on, the rosy hue the alcohol had given my cheeks sprung to mind and made me wonder. My face wrinkled as I dragged a helpless hand across it. “Who even sent it to you?”

“A couple people, actually.” Marshall ended up revealing and his words sounded playful enough that I could almost picture the curl of his mouth. “My daughter was one.”

Without thinking my hand flew up towards my mouth and I shook my head as I let it rest against my palm. “You’re not being serious.”

“Dre too.”

I let go of a hissed curse and crumpled a little bit in my seat before laughing stupidly at myself. If I couldn’t talk myself out of this then I supposed I would just have to get over it. I hoped thinking sensibly would allow me to actually follow through on that sentiment, but I very much doubted it.

Marshall laughed again, slow and easy almost as though he’d shared it with me a hundred times before. “I wasn’t kiddin’ neither. ’s why I called.”

Pulling my head from out of my hands, I wet my lower lip, mind promptly flashing back to the clip Lottie had shown me. “What’s that meant to mean?” I asked him, treading cautiously.

“Listen.” He began, pausing only briefly to inhale before he then added, “I’m workin’ on another album–”

“No.” I interrupted, eyes suddenly wide and alert, “Already?”

A tittered snort followed the disruption but my mind was already reeling.

“You’re not fucking with me?”

In all honesty I had prepared myself to wait a couple more years for another drop, hoping for him to feature or for someone to send for him if only so that he’d make a track in reply. I’d been obsessed with his recent work, even going as far as to add it onto the tour bus playlist late last year. It had actually been played so much the roadies and the band had threatened to rip the system out. But a new album? Fuck. I hadn’t expected it.

“Who else knows?”

There was a slight click on the other side of the line. Or scuffle. “As of right now? Like six people.”

I swallowed down the understanding that then hit me, but my stomach lurched at the very thought of it. “And I’m one?” I chuckled, holding back the hysterical laughter I felt bubble as my hand fell over my heart, “Wow, I feel honoured, Mathers.” It was teasing, the rib I meant, though my eyes still widened when I realised what I’d gone and said, not wanting him to take it the wrong way.

I needn’t have worried.

“As you fuckin’ should be.”

I gave a real laugh at that, almost a full-belly type shit. But could you really blame me?

I was still smiling as I went to retort, humming with it, “God, you really just went and sprung that shit on me.”

“Hold you to keepin’ it on the low for now.” Marshall said, reminding me how paranoid the press and Hollywood had made him out to be in the past. I wondered how much truth there was in the sentiment. I mean, the man was almost a recluse– not that I could blame him, I was pulled from the same sort of cloth there– but to put a secret like that in my hands? It had to take some amount of faith.

I nodded seriously, even though he couldn’t see the gesture. Seemed he could hear the sincerity in my answer though, “‘Course.” I told him and then chewed on my lower lip for a second before a soft snicker escaped me. “That the only reason you called though? I mean, as honoured as I am to be one of the infamous six, I’m surprised you just phoned to let me in on the know. Have I just been roped into some sort of celeb elitist group? Weird initiation.”

His huffed laugh was breathy and made my mouth twitch that little bit more.

“Nah. You always this weird though?” Marshall wondered and I bared my teeth in a light grimace, figuring I’d gone too far with that one. Or maybe.. I'd just hit the mark? I snorted lightly at the thought.

“It was an honest question! I’ve heard horror stories.” And wasn’t that the truth, events and parties weren’t all about the awards and just getting trollied. Some of those fuckers were as strange as people could come.

The man clucked his tongue, although I could hear the slight smile in his sarky response. “Uhuh. Sorry to disappoint but nah, initiation starts in the belly of LA. Gotta dissect a virgin and drink Ciroc out of their intestines. Funnel that shit down.”

The snort I gave in turn was ugly and loud enough that it forced a hand to fly up and cover my mouth, but it didn’t appear to bother the rapper none, who chuckled before clearing his throat.

“Change this shit to Facetime.” He said not a second after, swiftly cutting short my absurd amusement. “Then we can talk about the album.”

I fumbled for a moment. “I look a mess.”

“Good thing this ain’t a fuckin’ fashion show then.” He only pressed, “You think I give a shit what you look like right now?”

That struck an odd chord in me for some reason, but I didn’t want to linger much on the feeling. “No. But I do, dickhead. It’s half eight at night, I have sudocrem on my face and I look like a dog off of Lady and the Tramp.”

I was so flustered by the very thought of acquiescing to the man’s demand that I didn’t even think much of the name I’d gone and called him.

“Again, do I give a shit? And what did you just call me?”

I paused, reeling back to whatever it was I’d just spouted at him. Upon rehashing my words I felt my tongue press between my lips to keep from laughing loudly, if Mila or Lottie had been there I’d already be strung up by a pair of metaphorical balls.

“You heard me fine.” I brushed it off, if he wanted to call me out of the blue and act all chummy then chummy was what he’d get.

Besides it wasn’t like I’d meant the term maliciously, I used that type of endearment with everybody. Something my manager had tried and failed to force out of me time and time again.

“But back to this whole ‘seeing my mug thing’. Not happening, mate. Why couldn’t you have called like, six hours ago? I looked like an actual person then.”

“Dickhead.” He muttered beneath his breath, barely even loud enough for me to have heard him and I could only guess that he was shaking his head with it, hopefully somewhat amused. “You ain’t an actual person then?” He said in reply, forgoing the name calling for now, “Figures, you give off lizard vibes.”

“Fuck you!” My laugh was sudden, jaw having dropped a tad at the quip. “Lizard vibes, the fuck are you then? And yes, an actual person! You can’t just call people, drop a bomb, and then demand things!”

“Shit typically works.” He quipped all too quickly that it had me shaking my head around another quiet smile of my own. “Just entertain me though, for a moment.”

My head fell back against the arm of the sofa, eyes casted towards the high ceiling which loomed above. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually considering it.

He didn’t even have to goad me before I relented. I huffed, blowing a strand of hair from out of my face as I sat back up, “Fine. Just gimme a sec.”

He hummed.

Elbowing my way off the settee I skidded over to the closest mirror, dragged a hand through my mostly dried hair and made sure that I didn’t have racoon eyes from any lingering mascara I’d had on before my shower. The patches of sudocrem would have to stay though, I deemed, seeing as he already knew about those.

I gave up on the preening and sighed as I fell back onto the sofa, thankful for the dim lights the living room offered in that moment. It was just as I was switching the call though that a thought hit me, making me question if the reason he’d asked me to start the Facetime was due to him wanting to give me the option to turn it down or simply because he had no idea how to do it himself. “Still there, old man?”

A scoff echoed into the room before my phone screen stuttered and I was left staring at the sharp lines of his face. It wasn’t like I hadn’t actually believed it was him I was talking to, but seeing the man was another thing altogether. He was a real person and that idea alone had me reeling.

I wrinkled my nose almost shyly around a smile when that sharp gaze of his slid away from something behind the camera to meet mine. He tilted his head to look me over, the hood of his jumper moving with the motion.

“I was right about the lizard thing.” Was the only greeting he offered me, jutting his chin out as he feigned all seriousness.

My mouth dropped open upon hearing him and my tongue quickly flicked out towards a canine to keep from biting back at him. There was humour written in the gesture though, even as I moved to narrow my eyes. “He’s got jokes! Reused ones, I might add, but jokes nonetheless.” I snarked, lifting my eyebrows at him in exaggeration, “Hilarious.”

His mouth curled very, very briefly, but I was quick to work out that it was all in the eyes with him. They held a certain amount of mirth as they flickered over my face. I wondered what he saw.

“Suits you though. Even with all the…” He waved a hand over his own face, probably referencing the white dots I had littered in a few places.

With a shake of my head I raised a hand to my chest, feigning a fond appreciation for the sardonic comment. “Is that the famous charm the world’s heard so much about then? Really know how to make a girl feel special, Mathers.”

His eyes slitted but still shone with a slight glaze, he hummed deeply in retort. “Best believe it. Why d’you think I’ve gotten divorced twice?”

A low whistle escaped me before I then laughed, eyes squinting with the strength of it. “Figured you might just have a kink for courtrooms.”

His tongue swept into his cheek at my boldness, fighting back a real smile as he glanced away and then back again. “I’m down bad for a good Judge. Spank me vibes, you know?”

I chuckled outwardly at that, amused by his quick witted replies. But that in itself didn’t surprise me, it was well known just how hilarious the man could be, his stoic demeanour only prodding that revelation further.

That sternness his face seemed to consistently hold softened though in that next moment and I watched on as he shuffled a little closer to the camera, sat somewhere indoors with enough natural light that he could have only been in his kitchen. It hit me then how wild this whole thing suddenly was. “What’s with the last name anyway?”

I blinked, caught off guard by his ask. “Um,” I fumbled, a slight wrinkle forming between my brow, “What do you mean, me calling you Mathers?”

He hummed and I had to think about it for a second. Ultimately I ended up gifting him a shrug, “Don’t know. Just feels strange to call you Eminem or whatever.” I laughed lightly at myself, hand falling to my knee to toy with a loose thread on the hem of my robe. “What do people usually call you?”

It was his turn to shrug then, his being a singular and fluid motion whereas mine had been more thoughtless. He was watching again though, the wide eyes I was so used to seeing in old interviews where he was always playing a part were now gentler, narrowed sure, but softer and slightly wrinkled at the very edges.

I tugged on the frayed thread, wrapping it around my finger enough to whiten the skin before I had to let it go again. “Is Em okay? Or just Marshall maybe?” I queried, watching him too.

“Whatever you want.” He murmured and it was then that I noticed he’d propped his phone up somewhere in front of him because a pair of hands came to rest at the bottom of the screen just as he pressed further into the counter he was sat at.

I wrung my lips to one side, teeth biting into the inside of my cheek enough to keep from smiling much more than I already was. “Most people call me El or Lia. Elia just started to feel unnatural away from, you know, everyone else.”

It was the worlds now, as well as one of few reasons I had for the stigma I felt around my own name.

The man jerked his head in a short nod in response whilst his fingers intertwined against a marble countertop. “So we should just slide that into the writin’ credits then? Or you finally gone take me up on that offer of a feature?”

You know that odd feeling you get when you’re on the tube or a plane and so suddenly your ears just pop and there's this ringing sound that floods the single sense? It just happens, out of nowhere, and you blink. So all you can immediately focus on is the sound. The odd feeling of it driving waves deeper and deeper into your skull. And the only way you can recover is by holding your own breath?

That was what that question felt like to me.

“What?”

His eyes were alight, akin to a low flame of flickering amusement and perhaps hope. “You deaf now too? Know you heard me.”

Of course I fucking heard him but that didn’t mean I understood. “This is for real?”

Finally, he let go of a dulcet chuckle, almost a ringing sound in and of itself. “You gone make me repeat it? You in, or not?”

“How is that even a question?” I breathed back to him, my hand shaking against the hem of my robe. “Yes! God, if I ever say to no to an ask like that you better fucking shoot me. What the fuck, Marshall?”

That chuckle again.

It was unlike anything else, the only sound I could hear around the blood rushing between my ears. Stupidly, I pinched my thigh and released a stuttered breath when the twist of skin radiated a short snap of pain up my leg.

“That the go ahead then?”

I must’ve looked so incredibly starstruck but I couldn’t even bring myself to care, this was unreal. I nodded, almost frantically at him. “Of course that’s the fucking go ahead! Are you sure about this? I mean, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I mostly write radio shit.”

“Your earlier stuff ain’t.” Em shot back, the quip startling me enough to snap my jaw shut because not a lot of people ever dug that deep. But he continued on before I could think to hone in on the slip, “‘sides, your lyrics are what I fuck with. That shit makes you think, has you lingerin’. Playing with words is the aim, I want people thinkin’, leachin’ onto each syllable and every phrase. You do that.”

The air in my lungs lurched.

I could only offer him one reply, “When do we start?”

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midchelle · 2 years ago

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John and Yoko

The Beatles, Happiness is a Warm Gun (1968) // Yoko Ono, Play It By Trust (1966) // John Lennon, Yoko Ono, and Robert Fraser at the opening of You Are Here (1968) // John Lennon and Yoko Ono for Melody Maker (April 26th, 1969) // Tumblr screenshot // John and Yoko during sessions for The White Album by Linda Eastman (1968) // John Lennon's letter to Paul McCartney in Melody Maker (24 November, 1971) // Derek Taylor, As Time Goes By (1973) // Yoko Ono, John Lennon, and Paul McCartney at the premiere of Yellow Submarine (July 17, 1968) // George Harrison, John Lennon, and Yoko Ono during rehearsals for The Concert for Bangladesh (1971) // Lorde, The Louvre (2017) // John and Yoko for Look (March 18, 1969) // John and Yoko for New Musical Express (20 December, 1969) // Box art for The Wedding Album (1969) // John Lennon and Yoko Ono during their Bed-in for Peace at the Amsterdam Hilton (1969) // John and Yoko at a press conference at Heathrow Airport (April 1, 1969) // Lana Del Rey, Venice Bitch (2019) // John and Yoko (1971) // Bob Gruen, John Lennon: The New York Years (2005) // John and Yoko by Bob Gruen (9 November, 1972) // Yoko Ono, Death Of Samantha (1973) // John Lennon for Melody Maker (September 14, 1974) // John Lennon, Nobody Loves You (When You’re Down and Out) (1974) // Yoko Ono, Andy Warhol, and John Lennon (1971) // Yoko Ono, No, No, No (1981) // Yoko Ono for The Sunday Times (May 25th, 1981) // Twitter screenshot // John and Yoko for Playboy (September 1980) // John and Yoko during sessions for Double Fantasy by Kishin Shinoyama (1980)

#hope everybody enjoys <33 #failmarriage of all time WHO is doing it like them..#john lennon #yoko ono #the beatles #web weaving #john #yoko #midposts #greatest hits compilation

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scrumptiouskoalahottub · 1 month ago

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Poison ivy ~ George Clarkey Angst/smut

Being Chris' hometown best friend was hard enough, but being George Clarke's pet peeve was worse. He couldn't stand you, so he says. No matter how much you try and like eachother for the benefit of Chris it never worked. But you're not sure why you kept butting heads.

You were making your way to London from Jersey to see Chris for the summer, something you did annually since he moved away. You got more close with him after his breakup so started visiting more frequently, which only seemed to piss his flatmate George off. You arrived at Heathrow after a long flight, wheeling your luggage you pan around the arrival area for Chris, as short as he is you managed to spot him. "Hi Chrissy" you exclaimed excited to see him again, "how have you been" he asked giving you a hug. "I've been good, how's things with you" you furrow your eyebrows looking worried. He sighed and said "I've been better, but I'm glad you've come to visit" you let out a small smile and embrace him in a hug again, tighter this time. "Let's get you to the flat" he says taking your suitcase leading you to the Uber.

You arrive at the flat and make your way to the lift when your stomach just burns, you knew who was going to be on the other side of the door and you'd have to hold your tongue for the next week as hard as it was. Chris saw your jaw clench "I wish you two would just see eye to eye and stop being prats" he sighed. "Me too Chris but I'm not sure that will ever happen" you shrug, making your way out the lift. You look at eachother with small smiles before he opens the door. "George? Arthur? Where are you? Y/n's here" your expression changes like the British weather and turns cold. "Does she not like jersey" George scoffs looking at Chris "she's always here" you glare at him with red in your eyes "I'm not being funny George but I don't come here for you, no matter your opinion you'll never get rid of me" you roll your eyes and make you way to Chris' room. Arthur catches you in the hall way and smiles "ignore him, I'm glad you're here. I finally have someone to do baby Guinness shots with!" He claps. You laugh and shake your head "missed you too Artie"

You plop yourself in Chris' gaming chair and just stare at the picture of the two of you on his desk and a small tear forms. You loved London and visiting Chris but it was always difficult when his immature flatmate had to dig his claws in. Chris knocks on his door walking in "I just need to nip to the studio with Arthur to collect some filming gear. George is heading out soon shortly so you won't have to worry, have a nap I know you're tired, see you soon" he blew you a playful kiss as you pretended to catch it. You sigh and rummage through your suitcase to find an oversized tee to put on before you take Chris' advice on the nap. You tie your hair up in a messy bun and slip on your t-shirt. You hear a thud coming from the living room, you get up and poke your head out of the doorway. "George?" You bellow out, no answer. You hesitate but scuffle out of the bedroom to find George had dropped his camera on the floor in a rush to get out. "And what do you want?" He spit as he looks at you. "Nothing I just wanted to see what the noise was, forget I fucking asked" you retort and spin on your heels back into Chris' room slamming the door behind you. Your blood boils as you clench your fists. Nobody's is here you say to your self, go confront him. You slip your jeans back and and go back out to the living room.

"What the fuck is your problem George" you hiss as you look him up and down "I'm fed up of coming here to see your miserable face and deal with your foul attitude" you continue. He pauses for a second to catch his air to reply "YOU" he shouts "you turn up here and parade around like you're something special and you're not" he spits. The words sting but you don't let it bother you. "I do? You act all high and mighty when in reality you're just a sour faced boy who has no respect" you clap back. He moves closer to you "say that again" his lip curls, "I fucking dare you" you're now face to face with him and your face burns. "You're just a little insecure boy George, deal with it" he locks eyes with yours and halts for a minute.

"You're so hot when you're angry" he smirks. Your eyes widen "I beg your fucking pardon?" You retort. "You heard me, loud and clear" he walks off into his bedroom to swap his camera over. You spin on your heels in confusion "tell me what you mean by that comment George" you holler. "I'm more of a physical demonstration kinda guy" he smirks, he strides back over to you and places his finger under your chin lifting it upwards. He locks a rough and intimate kiss onto your lips, biting at your lips, for some reason you don't reject it. The anger you both pent up collides and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

"We shouldn't do this, you hate me" you break away from him and look up. "I don't hate you y/n, I crave you in ways i shouldn't" you look back up to him and all your anger fades, you decide to test the chemistry and slip your fingers into the seam of his briefs "I'm a visual learner myself so it happens" you smirk

With this he cups your lower back and lifts you up pressing you against his cold bedroom walls your lips intertwine with his again as you feel yourself becoming vulnerable to his touch. He unbuttons the top part of your jeans and lowers them down from beneath you, letting them fall to your ankles. He keeps a firm hold of you as he lifts you off the wall and plants you on his bed

He tussles with the belt on his jeans as he keeps his eyes locked into yours "take off that t-shirt for me y/n" he asks whilst scanning your body. You sit up and place yourself on your knees and slip the t-shirt off your body, revealing the pink lace bra you're wearing, you never broke the eye contact with him "fuck" his mutters "you're fucking gorgeous" he runs his fingers through the strap of your bra as he lowers it down the the top of your breast, you quiver at his touch "take your jeans off George, I wanna show you something" you climb off the bed and kneel on his floor his eyes widen, you feel the dominance course through your blood as you help him unzip his jeans. His hard shaft prominent through the material. You lower his boxers and wrap your hand around it, you form a ball of saliva in your mouth and release some on this tip of his shaft, locking eyes as you do so, you tease the tip of him with your tongue as he lets our small groans, not letting him get his own way just yet. He quivers at your motions "you look so beautiful down there" he manages to slip out. You don't reply, instead you waste no time in showing him out how "special" you really are as he quotes earlier on, you take him fully in your mouth, catching him by surprise, his head jolts back has he forms your hair into a ponytail "fuck!" He exclaims "you're so fucking pretty" his body signals you to go deeper and you follow his lead, he motions your head with your hair as you feel him at the back of your throat. Showing off the fact you have no gag reflex. His eyes widen as he realises this.

You decide to take back control as you slow your pace down, leaving him gagging for more. You take your mouth of his shaft and wipe your mouth. He looks at you confused as you stand up "show me how could at physical demonstrations you are Clarkey" you tease his eyes rush with adrenaline as he grips your neck and pushes you into the bed positioning himself on top of you, he rips your thong in a rush to regain control, your eyes shot open as you feel testosterone coursing through him. He returns the favour and leaves a trail of spit on the top of your clit using his thumb to spread it around. You bite your lip as he pays back the teasing, rubbing the tip of his shaft up and down the outside "how bad you want it y/n" he mutters. Your heart races "I want you to fuck all the hatred out of me" you whine. His eyes roll and he abruptly enters you with no hesitation, your jaw drops and your head spins "fuck!" You exclaim unable to form anything other than that. He grips your legs as he fucks you with no remorse, leaving nail marks in your thighs from the force. "You're taking me so well, good girl" he sniggers releasing the grip on your legs and fastening his hand round your neck once again

The grip was tight, you almost couldn't bear it but it send shockwaves through your body. You could feel yourself becoming close to your max, George watched you struggle under his grip "all fours now" he bellowed grabbing your waist and flipping you over sending your body into a tornado of emotions, your body waiting to erupt like a volcano "fuck George I'm close" you exclaim holding on to his headboard, he grips your waist as he enters you again for a second time without hesitation forming your hair into a Ponytail again. The grip becomes more abrupt as your legs start to quiver from Beneath him "cum for me darling" he says as your body breaks from underneath you. "FUCK" you let out as your legs shake in pleasure "good girl" he sniggers

You collapse underneath him and roll over "lay down George" you say "I want you to cum underneath me too" you say asserting your dominance once again. He pants and he lies down. You straddle his waist as you hover over his face and lock lips with him, biting his bottom lip. Whilst doing this you slowly slip him back inside you as you feel a gasp form on his mouth whilst your kissing. "Fuck y/n you're insane" he lets out he holds onto you waist one more time as you ride him, he admires your body whilst fighting the urge to climax "cum for me George" you smirk as his head jolts back into his pillows his nails once again digging into your hips he lets out a moan as you feel him release inside you. You pant and bite your lip at the fact you made George act that way. Him quivering in your touch, releasing all the anger onto eachother. You climb off him and lay next to him, you both try to catch your breath as you look at eachother in a different light.

"You're fucking unreal" he says tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you smile "you're not bad yourself, Clarkey"

🫶🏻

#george clarke #george clarkey

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moody-alcoholic · 3 months ago

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Special Delivery Service

Chapter 9 - The Old Friend

Summary: Simon x Reader. 3.7k words. 141 are in France to investigate the terrorist cell causing havoc, but maybe they should have been looking closer to home.

CW: mentions of fictional terrorist attacks, angst.

Previous - masterlist - Next

Enjoy <3

It was the first time you felt out of place, like you weren’t supposed to be there. When you walked into the storeroom with Simon it felt like daggers when everyone's eyes turned to you. John’s was the worst. You hung your head feeling embarrassed, you almost wanted to just leave say you’ll see Simon when he get’s back. But he insisted it was okay, and that you should come along.

“A word,” John said to Simon through gritted teeth. You sheepishly walk over to the table where Kyle and Johnny are. There is gear and paperwork everywhere somethings stacked in neat piles other stuff just spread out with markings.

“Ever been to Paris lass?” Johnny asks. Even though you definitely don’t belong here he still has a massive grin on his face. You nod taking another step up to the table. You can see maps of what looks like Paris and other cities you don’t recognise.

“What are you going to do? Kill some terrorists?” You joke trying to lighten the heavy feeling in the air. Kyle raises an eyebrow at you Johnny’s smile fades a little. You swallow hard watching their expressions change.

“I’m joking.” You say feeling embarrassed.

“How much has Si told you ‘bout our old jobs?” Johnny asks. You open your mouth to answer but the door opening behind distracts you and has your head turning to see Simon and John walk in.

“Laswell is meeting with us at Heathrow.” John says, there’s an edge to his voice, he sounds annoyed. You want to turn and look at Simon who you can feel behind you, you wonder what they talked about they weren’t gone for long. Everyone's listening to what John is saying but it feels like he’s being intentionally vague.

“-it’s a shame none of you learned French.” You hear John say.

“I speak French.” You say. They all turn to look at you.

“Fluently?” John asks you nod.

“I had a knack for languages in school.” John looks around the table and down at the plans. He thinks for a second then nods. It’s almost like you can hear what he’s thinking. Guess you’re not totally useless after all.

——————————

You’re nervous, tapping your leg under the table, so much so Kate has to put her hand on your knee to get you to stop. You wrap your hands round the coffee you’ve almost finished. What if you couldn’t understand them? What if you can’t help and John has wasted his chance. You push the thoughts away as you wait for the other man to show up. It was supposed to be simple, that’s what John said when you all arrived at the rental you were staying at. Two guys having a meeting, your job was to listen, translate, and do as you’re told. John showed you pictures of the men in question and you had them burned into your memory, looked like your average looking middle eastern guys. They looked young maybe early 20’s it made you sad to think people so young had so much hate.

“How long have you and Riley been together?” Kate asks suddenly. You try not to look shocked at the question.

“It’s not like that. We’re not..together.” You say taking a sip of coffee, or maybe it is, you just haven’t put a label on it yet.

“I see the way he looks at you.” Kate says pushing her sun glasses back up on her face. You look back down at the coffee, trying to hide your blushing.

“How long have you worked with them?” You ask. Changing the subject.

“Years, when they were still active duty we used to work very closely together.” Kate says. You still don’t know what you think of her but from the reunion at the airport it seemed at least her and John were close. All smiles and hugging. Kate Laswell CIA, John introduced her as. You shook her hand as she looked back at John confused. You wanted to pick their brains ask them all about her but it felt rude.

“You and John seem close.” You say trying to pry information from her. It didn’t mean to come across as a dig at her but it felt like one. Especially after she asked about Simon.

“Yeah, he’s saved my ass a couple of times, I saved his too.” She smiles sipping her coffee. She looks older then John, or maybe they’re the same age. John doesn’t even seem that old, you keep forgetting to ask Simon how old he really is. You suspect the bags under his eyes and wisps of silver hair you seen now and then make him seem older then he is.

“Did you to ever..” You trail off not really knowing how to ask. She smiles and lets out a little chuckle.

“Strictly professional, besides he’s not my type.” You smile at her. She’s nice at least and doesn’t seem to be bothered by your presence. You look past her seeing the man you’ve been waiting for walk into the cafe. He greets his friend and sits down. You turn your body so you can hear them better. The conversation starts off normal up until their coffee is bought over. The it turns to something more serious.

“They’re talking about the attack.” You relay to Kate, keeping your voice low. You’re trying to listen for specifics. Your fingers tap the table as you try to keep up with what they’re saying. You haven’t really practised French that much and they are talking quite fast. Kate told you to pay attention to dates, numbers, locations, specifics like that even if they didn’t make sense.

“They’re not happy the second bomb was found.” You say, you’re surprised they’re talking about this so open in such a public place. It makes you nervous, they’re not afraid if innocent people get hurt. You try to relax focusing all your effort on trying not to look so obvious listening in to their conversation.

“They know a guy on the inside, who works for the metro. He’s the one they’re using to plant the bombs, apparently he’s under too much suspicion, he can’t do it.” You look at Kate she’s writing down what you’re saying in a notebook.

“They’re talking about an airport, not Charles de Gaulle, another one. They have tickets, they’re leaving tonight.” You say hearing one of the men hand over a ticket to the other.

“They’re talking about another target. Somewhere big, that’s why they have to leave. It’s in Paris.” You try to will them to say a name anything. Instead the conversation abruptly ends with the buzzing of a phone. The man who showed up later says his goodbyes and takes his leave. You watch as he passes you and Kate out the cafe.

“We need someone to tail the mark, he’s leaving now, with a plane ticket. Get the ticket.” Kate says on the phone, then turns to you.

“Order us another coffee.” You nod waving the waiter over asking for a refill. You watch as the man leaves the cafe, a few seconds later you see a glimpse of Johnny. Your heart starts beating rapidly as you watch him weave through the crowds after the man. You sip the coffee letting it burn your mouth suddenly worried about him. He knows what he’s doing. You remind yourself they’re SAS soldiers.

Kate keeps a conversation with you about something generic, you’re only half listening your ears still burning like you’re waiting to start listening to another conversation. It’s almost midday now the sun is belting down, the coffee not helping. Before you know it you’re uncomfortably sweating, you know you have to stay until the other man leaves. You hear a phone ringing it’s the man behind you, you look at Kate who smiles moving her hand to the pen.

You listen carefully, it’s harder when you’re only getting one side of the conversation apparently. Your breath catches in your throat as you hear the words out his mouth translating them in your head. You almost want to turn around and ask him to repeat it, then you remember the situation.

“The other man knows he’s being followed.” You say to Kate. Before she can respond the man gets up from the table rushing out the cafe in the direction you saw Johnny go. Kate is already on her feet on the phone before you have chance to process what’s happening. You follow her blindly back to the house you came from. You hope Johnny is okay and they managed to get the word to him. You rush through the doors to see John and Simon gathered round the table. Kyle and Johnny are not here, they turn to you as you walk over to the table.

“Good work.” John says to you and you smile looking down at the map on the table. Kate and John talk when something grabs your eye, it’s a piece of paper with part of a poem written on it. You pull it out from the stack. There is a rough translation scribbled next to it. It’s a bad translation though.

“What’s this?” You ask holding it up. John almost looks annoyed your interrupted their conversation.

“Part of a poem we think, they’ve been using them to send messages, thought it was important but the translation says otherwise.” Price says crossing his arms.

“Chanson de la Seine.” You say looking at it. “The translation is bad though. Notre dame jalouse. It’s not; our lady is jealous, that’s a direct translation. It’s talking about the location on the river seine, the Notre-Dame cathedral.” You look at them waiting to see if they understand. Then it hits you what it means. Shit.

——————————

You’re laying on the sofa watching the TV when everyone leaves. The news is showing the recent ‘terrorist scare’ which as lead to the Notre-Dame being evacuated. You smile, you helped cause that. It was a good thing, the safest thing to do. Johnny and Kyle came back from chasing the guy not long after John and Kate had made calls to the French authorities. They didn't get him instead coming back when John called them. You weren't really listening much after that, they all kind of went around doing their own things for about an hour before they were picked up by some gendarmes.

Even Kate went with them, you wished you could have gone too but instead you were told to stay here and expect them to be back in a few hours. John had given you all the rest of the poem and song verses they had collected and asked you to look over them. You haven’t bothered yet looking over at the pile lying on the coffee table. You should make a start though its the least you can do to help them out, and they probably need them done sooner rather then later.

You sit up picking the pile up while watching the TV. It kind of feels like your in school again doing your French homework for the week. The first two have been translated well so you put them too the side. There are some old classic poems you recognise from your french classes, the rest are songs old and new. The verses are nitpicked though not in any kind of order. Maybe there was an order but you didn’t have all the information. Some were dated and had locations on them others were blank.

You look back up at the TV as the news caster says a British counter-terrorism unit has been sent over to aid with the ongoing attacks. You see John in the background as the caster moves to the side, then Simon and Kyle. Simon has that scary mask on the one that looks like a skull, even from the brief shot before they move away it sends shivers up your spine. You don’t see Kate anywhere, you assume since she was the only one who left the house without all the military gear on, she’s probably behind the scenes.

You don’t have time to think about it much longer before there is a sharp knock at the door. Your body freezes in fear as your hand grips the paper you were reading. You wait a second looking towards the front door. There’s another harsh knock that goes on for longer. You turn the TV off waiting, not knowing what to do. If it was them they all have keys, plus you just saw them all on live TV. You wait for the next sound expecting another knock but instead you hear a power tool.

You panic, they’re going to break in. You stand up clutching the papers in your chest with your phone thinking of a place to hide. There’s a chubby in the kitchen where the cleaning supplies are, you could go in there. You head over to it but the decide different. There is an en-suite in the master bedroom, that has to have a lock.

The drilling has stopped and you hear metal clanking you have to pick. You rush into the master bedroom leaving the door open and lock the en-suite as you hear voices. You slap your hand to your mouth so you don’t make a sound the papers falling from your arms. Someone says search the place. You can’t hear them very well but you hear footsteps in the bedroom. You hold your breath hoping he’ll think the door is a wardrobe and give up when he can’t get in. The door handle jiggles but thankfully the person gives up.

You hear more people talking, there must be at least 4. You scoot over to the door and press your ear up against it. You try to concentrate on them talking your ears ringing as your heart pounds in your chest, you press your hands against the door your body shaking.

“How did they know?” Someone says.

“The woman she’s American CIA.” Another replies, you’re struggling to hear your mind racing at 100 miles an hour at least you don’t have to translate for anyone. Then you remember your phone, you pull it up in your shaking hands. Who do you call? You go to your contacts pulling them up and thinking. Maybe you shouldn’t call you can’t really talk right now. You hear power tools again.

“Are you almost done with the door?” Someone says. “Have you finished setting the bugs up?”

“Yeah, should I put some in the bedrooms?” A new voice asks.

“Only if you want to sort through hours of snoring audio.”

“Come on let’s get out of here, before they come back.” The same deep authoritative voice says. You’re shaking as you type on the phone, you don’t even know what to say. You think you hear them leave but you’re too scared to look instead sitting up against the door. No one replies to your message, you feel tears streaming down your cheeks as the adrenaline wears off. You stay in the spot on the bathroom door for what feels like hours when you hear the front door again.

This time using a key, it has to be them, a second later you hear their voices. You stand up your body stiff legs aching as you leave the safety of the en-suite. You’re shaking as you go out into the living room seeing them all turn to look at you. Concern washes over their faces. You put your finger to your mouth your eyes wide looking round them all. They look confused you reach out grabbing John’s arm and pulling him towards the bedroom gesturing for the others to follow. They do if not very slowly, when they’re all in the room you close the door behind them.

“People broke in while you were out, they were looking for something. They knew about Kate being CIA. I think they were planting microphones, something around the place. But not in the bedrooms, they said they didn’t want to listen to all the audio of snoring. I don’t know how many there were but they broke the door with power tools.” You pause for a second realising that you’ve just been blurting words out. Your eyes flick up to Simon, you wish he could hold you right now, you wish you could see his face. His scary mask is gone but he’s still sporting the ski mask you’ve seen him in before.

“Okay, sit down.” John says pressing your shoulders so you sit down on the bed.

“Take a breath and start again.” He says. You follow his instructions talking in a big gulp of air and starting again. You go over everything how you were watching TV when you heard them knocking on the door. You hid in the en-suite and listened to them talking. They said they were planting bugs and then you were too scared to leave. You show them the word vomit text you sent then the next thing you remember is hearing them come back.

“Soap, Gaz search the place, Ghost stay with her, Laswell with me.” Everyone but Simon leaves the room. You’re still gripping your phone when Simon rests one of his hands on your shoulder, it makes you tense up for some reason but he gives you a gentle squeeze anyway. You try to relax as you wait for everyone to finish doing their jobs.

“You did good.” Simon says, you look up at him, he’s looking down at you his expression soft. You smile at him, your cheeks still puffy from crying.

“How did it go, did you find anything?” You ask. He shakes his head and you nod. You don’t know if that mean’s they didn’t find anything or he can’t talk about it until they know the place is clear.

“Got one.” Johnny says, you look through the bedroom door to see him throw something on the table. A few minutes later Kyle throws one on the table. Then Johnny with another. You feel sick it reminds you of when Kyle found the cameras in your place. This is different though way more dangerous, these people are planting bombs to kill people. You watch as John picks one up in his hand before looking over into the bedroom. His eyes meet yours for a second then he looks up at Simon.

“We’re leaving tonight.” John says suddenly. Simon walks out the room over to the table while you sit there watching them rush around to pack everything up. You had barely been in Paris 12 hours and now you’re already leaving. You head into the en-suite picking up the papers you dropped when you rushed in there. You bring them out to hand them to John who’s stacking papers back into folders.

“Did you manage to go through them all?” He asks. You shake your head. He goes to open his mouth again but then a phone starts ringing, then another. John take his phone out his pocket. You hear Kate talking too. You watch as they both lock eyes with each other. John goes over to turn the TV on. You sneak past him watching the news caster, your stomach drops when you see the footage. It's London. You’re not even listening to Kate and John on their calls just watching the plumb of smoke rise up out the underground station entrance.

“Holy shit.” You gasp your hand flying to your mouth. Simon, Johnny and Kyle come over to see too.

“What are they saying?” Kate asks now she’s off the phone. John leaves going into the bedroom closing the door behind him.

“It happened about an hour ago, evening rush hour. They’re not sure who did it.” You say looking round as you translate. It’s making a lump form in your stomach.

“12 people dead, more injured thats the preliminary numbers.” You feel your phone start vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out it’s your mum.

“I have to get this, my mum will be worried.” You say going off to the side. When your mum answers the phone you hear sniffling. Everything stops your body freezes you feel a lump form in your throat.

“Mum?” You say hoping she’s just worried about you.

“It’s Dylan” She sobs. You can’t breathe, your brother Dylan. You feel sick and dizzy all at once.

“Mum?” you say again your voice breaking. “Is he dead mum?” She doesn’t answer her sobbing just getting louder.

“Oh my God.” You breathe down the phone gripping it as hard as you can. Your stomach’s doing flips. Your little brother, this can’t be happening. He’s the good kid the one who was supposed to do something with his life.

“Hello?” There is a new voice on the line now. It’s familiar though you recognise it.

“Yes, hello?” You say fully sobbing now, you hear the door to the bedroom open behind you.

“It’s Christine from next door. Dylan is alive, at least that was the last update we got.” She says.

“W-when was that?” You as trying to wipe the tears away. You feels someone come up behind you. You hope it’s Simon, all you want now is to get back to the UK.

“About 10 minutes We don’t know what is happening I assume you heard about the bomb?” She says.

“Yeah.”

“He was on the train, he was injured. A paramedic called us, but we have not had an update since.” She says. You can hear the sadness in her voice too, and your mother sobbing in the background.

“I’m so sorry.” She says. You don’t know what to say.

“Please keep me updated.” You say your voice breaking again. You don’t want to hang up you can’t not while your mother is breaking in the background. You wish you were in London, you wish you were home. You put the phone down turning to see everyone's eyes on you. It was Johnny who had come up behind you, you swallow hard holding the phone up.

“My brother was on the train.” You manage before you just turn into a sobbing mess, the reality finally hitting you. Johnny doesn’t hesitate wrapping his arms round you and squeezing you tight. You wish it was Simon holding you instead, you wish your brother was okay. You wish you were home.

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This chapter failed the bechdel test so hard. I will make it up next chapter...

#call of duty #cod #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #simon ghost riley #fanfic #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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