#Riley Poole lemon

[where-dreamers-go]

Happy 20th anniversary National Treasure~!!!

Riley Poole Masterlist

All insert readers and headcanons for Mister Riley Poole.

Last Updated: July 08, 2024

Character Preferences: How They Hug You - Disney

“Hoodie��� Riley Poole x Reader

Riley Poole x librarian! Reader

“Giggles And Profiles” Riley Poole x Reader

Riley Poole x Reader series Masterlist (Through the movie National Treasure)

“Literature And Conspiracies” Riley Poole x Reader

“Cute” Riley Poole x Reader

“Flirt” Riley Poole x Reader

“Secret Book Stuff” Riley Poole x Reader

Character Preferences: How They Act When They Realize They Like You A Lot - Riley Poole

“Holding Up” Riley Poole x Reader

“A Declaration” Riley Poole x Reader (Coffee Shop AU)

“Game On” Riley Poole x Reader (prequel to series of movie)

“Lunch Rescue” Riley Poole x Reader (prequel to series of movie and sequel to “Game On”)

“Future Treasure Seekers” Riley Poole x Reader (third and final prequel to series of movie)

“Close Coding” Riley Poole x Reader (requested NSFW)

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3

You twirled.

Of course you did.

You took Simon’s hand, held it above your head, and slowly spun around; a low whistle leaving his lips in appreciation.

His grip tightened on your fingers when your back faced him, stopped your movements dead in their tracks. Kept you in place, ass arched for his viewing consumption. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heartbeat drowning in your ears, hands clammy against his, inhaling shallow breaths like you had just gotten back from a run.

Except you hadn’t.

You were just showing your ass off to your mechanic. Your dirty mechanic. Filthy mechanic.

And it left your underwear a sticky mess, cotton fabric molded to your aching pussy in anticipation. He could bend you over the hood of your pick up right then and there, hitch the fabric of your pencil skirt over your hip, show off your glistening pussy, and slide right in with no resistance.

You would take it— god, would you take it.

Let Johnny see the whole thing, wouldn’t really care if he did because you would be too distracted with Simon’s dirty hands, filthy cock and balls, pungent sweat staining your body. Ruining your pretty flesh, clean and pristine, freshly washed just for him, shaved just for him.

Give him such a pretty and warm cunt to ruin, taint with his grime.

Except he didn’t, and you weren’t one to beg.

Just let him twirl you around until you faced him again, eyes dilated, pools of his irises settling dark. A better image than you; you were sure.

Left it at that, drove home with an unnecessary oil change and panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Laid in bed with an insistent craving, an unbound fever that ruptured, seeped out of your control, and lead to the front steps of Simon’s dinky shop. Suffocated you to your wits end; a hunger that demanded more. More than two slender fingers attached to your wrist.

So, you sought out more.

The time in between felt endless. You spent the days hoping your shitty pick-up would break down, the engine light would come on, your tire would go flat. Any excuse to see him again, but your lemon of a truck suddenly decided it didn’t have any problems, wasn’t a nuisance in your daily life.

You were so close to sabotaging your own vehicle, slashing a tire yourself, fucking up the engine on purpose. But you weren’t that desperate— yet.

You would have to bite the bullet. Bury it deep in your mouth, crack your molars against the lead, claim it as your own, and show up at the foot of his shop with minuscule problems. But by some miracle, Simon didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he melted the bullet into rubber, made the bite chewable.

Your air con’s not workin’? No worries, sweet’art, just needs some coolant and a new filter. Wouldn’t want ya melting in this heat, would we?

Yeah, you nodded weakly, yeah, we wouldn’t want your core to burn, pulse in agony, trail molten lava against the curve of your back, would we now?

Need me to rotate your tires? Easy ‘nough, and when’s the last time you replaced ‘em? Don’t worry, I’ll get some ordered to the shop, have ya sorted in no time. Can’t be drivin’ round with no traction, ‘t’s dangerous, pretty bird.

Headlight’s gone, is it? Simple fix, won’t take more than a few minutes. Go on, take a seat in my office, yeah? Glad you brought it to me— wanna make sure you’re safe, after all.

Pay him? What are you on about? Don’t even think about it. These are easy fixes— no need to worry, sweet’art. He’s just takin’ care of ya, that’s all.

Maybe it was a bit pathetic, a little out of sorts for your character, but if he wouldn’t accept your money, you would pay him back in other ways. A shirt that was a little too deep, a skirt that was a little too tight, heels that were a little too obnoxious. Never all at once, you had a little more dignity than that.

It was the same routine each time; a weak excuse to park in his service drive, then he would order you to sit in his office. To which you always did, obediently, more than content to watch him from the solitary confines of his office when Johnny wasn’t there. And when he was done, you would try to negotiate a payment, but all he would accept was a twirl.

Maybe it should’ve made you feel like an object. Objectified, paying for a fucking air filter with a sway of your hips, but it doesn’t. You can’t even describe how much you like it, can’t even explain why you do.

You just do.

In an excruciating way, everything you can’t say by words, too much and absolutely not enough at the same time. Painfully embarrassing from the way it leaves you a shaking mess, how it dampens your panties— soaks them through.

The day he places his free hand on your waist when you twirl, using his large palm on your hip to stop your spin instead of tightening his fingers in your grasps your knees almost buckle under you. A quiet gasp leaving your lips in surprise, squeezing his fingers tightly.

You think you might be imagining it, that your hopes had become so grandiose that it conjured the feeling, until it moves.

A rugged hand, scarred and calloused sweeps up in one careful motion. It sends shivers over your spine, jolting straight. But it’s gone as soon as it’s there, facing him once again as if he wasn’t carving the shape of your hip seconds ago.

When you stumble back to your truck, your stomach twists when there isn’t a grease stained imprint of his palm on your shirt, no remnant of his touch.

That becomes the new step in the routine. You should hate it, but you fucking love it. Like it’s a reward for sitting so calmly when your body is waging a war on the inside. A gentle pet against soft flesh to accommodate the few minutes you sat hot and bothered, untouched.

You think about his heavy hand grazing your figure any chance you get, stings and weeps in the absence of his touch, the lack of his dominant eyes.

You try to convince yourself that’s enough, that he would’ve asked you by now if he wanted more than fleeting glances and featherlight touches. That was before your truck broke down one day. You had been hoping, manifesting for your engine light to flick on, but not like this. On the side of a small country road, sun setting behind you, dirt flying around you on a Saturday night.

You should probably call a tow truck instead of Simon, but you don’t. You don’t entirely want an expensive bill to pay. Maybe you’re a little spoiled by his free services at this point, but he answers the phone in seconds, tells you he’s on the way within the same breath.

When his work truck pulls up beside you, and he steps out, you think your lungs collapse in your chest. You’re used to mechanic Simon, uniform soiled in sweat, reeking of a days of work.

Now, a clean Simon? It practically sends you over the edge, stumbling forward, stuttering over your words.

A black leather jacket and a white shirt covers his broad chest, blue jeans framing his long legs. His hair lays flat, damp, like he just got out of the shower; it makes you feel guilty, like you interrupted his private time. Not guilty enough that it stops your panties from soaking through when he gets real close and you can smell his body wash on him, mossy forest, redwoods.

“You okay, bird?” He asks, palm finding your waist in concern.

It’s practically out of a movie scene; it’s almost comical, but you feel like doing anything but laughing. Pressing your thighs together instead, trying to regulate your breaths so you’re not panting in his face like a dog.

You nod aimlessly, staring up at him with wide eyes, hoping that it was the correct response because you hadn’t really comprehended what he asked you. All you can focus on is the shape of his hand on your waist, fucking massive, thick and warm. His clean skin, free of all sticky and dark stains you’ve begun to associate with him, shaving cream wafting off of his smooth jaw.

“Le’s get ya in my truck, yeah?” He continues, voice firm and rich.

He guides you to his truck, opens the passenger door for you, just like you’re sure he would on a date. All cleaned up and a gentleman, a picture from your fantasies. And just like you do at his shop, you watch him hitch your truck to his through the rear view mirror. Admiring the way his wide back stretches the leather material taut.

When he gets in the driver seat you’re all strained voice and nervous laughter. The fabric of his seats smells like the Simon your used to, car oil and musk, but he smells like a shower and his cologne, woody and pine. You barely have the strength to listen to what he’s telling you, explaining that he can’t work on your truck tonight, that he’s busy, so all he can do is drop it off at the shop and drive you home when the combined scent is intoxicating.

You think about inviting him in, drenching your sheets in his clean scent when he walks you to your front door, but you don’t, can’t when he’s busy. He’s apologizing, you know that much, mumbling his sorry’s because he can’t fix the problem that night, but you don’t mind; it’s just another excuse to see him tomorrow, even if you’re shit out of a vehicle.

Can’t find it in yourself to care about anything else when your back is pressed against your door, trapped between the wood and his hulking frame.

“Goin’ to the pub with the lads, would ditch ‘em to help, but Johnny’d never let me hear the end of it.” He explains, tucking his hands into his leather jacket.

You smile with a shake of your head, “No, no it’s okay.”

“Gonna need a ride to work in the mornin’?” He asks.

“Are you offering to take me?” You lilt, tilting your head teasingly.

“Course I am.” He says so matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t make sense for him not to.

“Then, yes,” You agree, leaning forward on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, Simon.”

It’s supposed to be a sweet moment, a tease of your feelings, warm and soft. Everything and more you could pay him with for his services, but he has your jaw cupped in seconds, lunging forward to capture your lips in his, your head knocking against the door from the sheer force. You gasp, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly in your grasps.

It’s harsh, fierce. All clashing teeth and bumping noses, exactly how you pictured a man like him would kiss. Bruising the shape of his lips on your mouth, branding them red and swollen between his teeth.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, destroying your modesty on your porch for all your neighbors to see, but it doesn’t seem long enough. He tastes like toothpaste, minty and sweet, a little like aftershave. You lick the taste fucking clean from his lips, clawing at his chest, panting into his mouth for more, more, more.

Johnny can fucking wait.

But he pulls away anyways, a pathetic protest spilling from your lips as you cling to him; you’re not ready to lose the sensation of his lips yet.

“Easy there, baby.”

God.

It’s a bit embarrassing the way your eyes flutter at the word, the way he has to ease you off your tippy toes, coax you back down. Opening your door for you as you stand there a little dumbfounded after a searing kiss.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?”

He leaves you at that like he didn’t just tilt your world on its axis, lips throbbing in his wake, skin still pulsing where he gripped your face, thick arousal pooling in your panties— your fingers definitely aren’t going to be enough tonight.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

[inkformyblood]

stuck on you (COD Kinktober 2024 Day 20)

09 Ghoap, Stuck in a Wall, Ace-spectrum Ghost. Canon Era. Lemon.

Riley didn’t think this day could not get any fucking worse until it did.

“All right there, Riley?” Captain MacTavish isn’t quite in view; there isn’t enough wriggle room for Riley to tip his head back so he can see the man looming over the collapsed door frame above him but he still tries, lashing one leg backwards, heel angled up just enough to— 

There’s the dull impact against something solid, not MacTavish’s bollocks like he’d been aiming for, Riley’s foot caught securely and fucking raised to be hooked under MacTavish’s arm like he’s a fucking toddler throwing a fit. 

“Fuck you, you fucking gobshite. If you’re not going to make yourself useful, then fuck off.”

MacTavish doesn’t even flinch at the barrage of curses thrown at him, continuing to trace his fingers over the exposed sliver of skin at Riley’s calf. Riley doesn’t need to see him to be able to picture his grin, the slow languid spill of it like ink dropped into water, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes cut into sharp multifaceted relief. “Warm out, isn’t it, Riley?”

Not only is Riley stuck in a literal hole in a wall, just enough space to breathe and swear and not enough to wriggle free, but his Captain is going batty. 

Riley snarls through gritted teeth, “If you say so sir.” He couldn’t tell anymore, sweat pooling on the nape of his neck, soaking his balaclava, stinging his eyes with every misplaced blink. His sunglasses had slid down his nose earlier, harsh daylight carving a sundial across the floor as he waited.

”’s only acceptable that I try to keep you shaded while we wait for the exercise to finish and you can get to medical.”

“Not fucking going to medical.” Riley knows he’ll wind up in medical one way or the other, knew it when the dust had settled and he wasn’t immediately dead, but he’ll be damned if it’s not going to be an argument first.

“So,” MacTavish continues like he hadn’t even spoken, his voice as measured as would be if he’s reading from a mission briefing, “best if I stand closer, aye? Like here.”

Riley’s head snaps up, nearly knocking himself out on the rubble behind his skull. “You’re enjoying this.”

MacTavish huffs out a quiet laugh, his hips flush against Riley’s arse, the heft of his cock unavoidable. “I am, my mouthy little lieutenant stuck in a wall? If I was any younger, would’ve cum in my boxers at the sight of you.”

He rolls his hips once and Riley tries to follow the motion reflexively, his raised leg tugging against MacTavish’s hold as his other leg wavers, grit catching against his sole. 

“Give me a yes, Riley,” MacTavish murmurs. “Or we’ll stop and wriggle you free and send you off on your way to medical with a sticker for good behaviour. Can sort myself out no bother.”

Would be easy to just keep quiet. He’s not had much of a libido since his resurrection, barely enough to be noticed before, but he likes making MacTavish feel good, a warm sense of pride getting to warm his belly when the other man bruises his hips and groans into his neck. 

“Yes,” Riley says, tipping his hips into MacTavish’s cock as best he can, and the other man groans, his grip tight on Riley’s leg before he hooks his other hand against Riley’s hip and begins to grind in earnest.

[thenationaltreasuregazette]

The 2003 Script: Character

Intro | Act 1 | Act 2a | Act 2b | Act 3

Intro | Tone

The first thing you’ll likely notice if you’re reading the 2003 script for the first time is that the treasure hunt/plot elements of the final National Treasure are basically there but the characterization is not.

Oh, the characters are there. Ben is the treasure hunter and Riley is his go-to guy and Abigail is the archivist pulled along for the ride. Patrick. Ian. Sadusky. They’re all there.

But most of what we love about them is not on the page in this draft.

Ben Gates is not a middle aged autistic freak of a man (affectionate), he’s a hyper-competent, hot, young ladies man who is also into treasure hunting.

Yes he wants to find the treasure and has a bad relationship with his dad, but the moments that make him most human are missing. He’s clever, but his personality doesn’t feel any deeper than that.

Granted, some of that is brought to life in acting, and I’m sure seeing the 2003 script performed would be a different experience, but at least some of that characterization should be readable on the page.

Abigail is much sassier in this draft, which is fun. She bites both Ben and Ian! But again, her character is much shallower as a whole. The barely-secret fascination she has with Ben and the legend is gone and she’s held against her will much longer. She doesn’t volunteer to lemon juice the Declaration or orchestrate the plot with Ian, and as we’ve examined in depth, her increasingly taking agency in the treasure hunt is, like, her whole character arc.

And then there’s Riley.

Riley Poole is a fundamentally different person. He’s got a lot more of the same action-adventure skills that Ben does, and he’s really focused on the money.

In the final movie he’s interested in the money, but it’s played as a minor running joke. In the 2003 script that’s most of his personality. The everyman in the final film is so much more lovable, not to mention the yikes factor if the 2003 character was still played by the only Jewish actor among the main heroes.

Riley deserves his own breakdown series, and I will do it, I promise.

For now, suffice it to say, the 2003 script might look like National Treasure, but it feels very different. We've already talked about tone, but I think there's more to it than that.

Next time: What's on the page; Text vs Subtext

[brotherblaze]

JAILBAIT (redux) —simon 'ghost' riley

▹ simon 'ghost' riley/gn!reader

▹ part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

▹ synopsis: The patrons of the bar they frequent are usually familiar, but you're a new face. You step in, ask for Ghost and - there's something almost intimate between you, in the way you move around each other.

▹ cw: n/a

▹ wc: 3,8k

▹ note: This is an edited & polished version of what I wrote last year. Also on ao3

There's a bar at the edge of the town the base is situated by.

The faces in the bar are somewhat familiar; if not soldiers from the base that greet them with a nod every time they pass in the hallways, then just the same old faces day in and day out. There are a few locals, too, like the nice lady that runs a small pizza kiosk not far from the base — it offers a discount to the troops stationed in the area and their in-house ice cream is to die for. In the far corner of the room, a young woman who Soap recognizes — she’d asked for help moving her shitty ex-boyfriend’s things out of her house a few weeks back, and a handful of men had happily agreed.

They're regulars; their presence is predictable and familiar.

Yours isn't.

Soap catches sight of you just as you step inside and pause at the door, angling your small suitcase out of the way of the other patrons. He follows the direction of your gaze as it jumps from person to person. A group of college-aged women at the pool table are being entertained by a few men and their shoddy excuse for teaching pool. You’re about their age, if he makes an estimated guess. You look away and Soap does, too, at the middle-aged man sitting on one of the barstools, the bartender pouring from a bottle of amber liquid. Your gaze shifts again.

Ah, you’re looking for someone, Soap realizes. He extinguishes the idea of introducing himself with an offer to buy you a drink.

He sees you turn and approach the small group of young men closest to you, all sitting at the table next to Soap’s. You’re all sultry eyes and curled, glittering lips when you stop in front of them and you have their attention instantly. 

“Do y’all know the one who religiously wears the black balaclava?”

A groupie? Soap thinks. Ghost with a groupie; now that’s an image.

There are a few nods from the group and your smile widens impossibly, eyes shining. (Soap finds himself calling you pretty in his head.) “Is he comin’ tonight?”

Groupie, Soap decides in his head.

One of the men, baby fat still clinging to his face, speaks up, “I can show you a much better time.” He winks, flashing what Soap thinks is supposed to be an attractive smile. It comes off looking more like a grimace. The man’s friends holler and whistle — one of them even pats him on the back.

A long moment passes where you simply stare at them, the smile slowly fading from your face. Finally, you settle on an expression like you’d bit into a lemon.

“I like my seats blond and shaven; rugburn’s a bitch.” 

Soap nearly chokes on his own spit and he takes a swig of his beer to wash down the cough that wants to escape. He places his fist in front of his mouth and swallows a few times to not give himself away. He doesn’t need anyone thinking he spends his evenings spying on people at the bar because he has no life of his own.

When he looks back, the group of men are laughing at their friend’s expense, throwing barbed jabs at him and his pick-up skills. Soap rolls his eyes and begins to consider leaving when he spots new motion at the door. He raises his hand to wave Price and Ghost over and points you out at the bar when they’ve sat down.

You’ve found a free seat right at the bar counter, idly tapping your fingers against the smooth wooden countertop.

“Bonnie at the bar was asking for ya.”

Ghost’s eyes snap to the bar just as you turn around in the swiveling chair and your eyes meet and your grin grows wide. You pat the bar countertop and turn towards the bartender and hold up two fingers.

Ghost doesn’t even seem to take time to consider joining you, but stands immediately, doesn’t even grace Soap and Price with a bye, and strides up to where you’re sitting.

“Go get ‘em, Romeo,” Soap mutters under his breath.

Ghost stops next to you just as the bartender places two shot glasses on the counter and tips a bottle of clear liquid into them. 

He leans against the bar, right next to you, so close your elbows might be brushing and you turn your head to greet him with a bright smile. You offer the empty barstool next to you and Ghost accepts. He settles into the creaky chair and you slide one glass over to him.

You're bold, Soap will give you that; he watches you place a hand on the Lieutenant's thigh, leaning in close to whisper something into his ear, glittering lips curled into a grin. When you draw back after a few moments, Ghost is looking at you intently, razor-sharp focus on you.

There are a few moments of silence and then Ghost’s shoulders sag, slight tremors rocking his frame and oh, Soap realizes, he’s laughing. It’s not a foreign sight, but it is rare. You’re grinning, as if you’re asking if whatever you said — a joke, probably — was any good. Ghost nods.

You down the shot in front of you all at once and lightning fast — like a snake unhinging its jaw to swallow prey whole. Then, you point to Ghost's glass, which he pushes towards you. It's gone as quickly as its companion. Ghost's hand strays to your face, to the corner of your mouth, thumb sliding along the width of your lower lip to bring the drop of vodka that escaped into your mouth. You place a kiss against the pad of his thumb.

Soap feels like he's looking at something intimate. He looks away.

Sometimes they bring girls to a motel for a good time, that's just how it is. It’s not the best kind of conduct but hey, everybody gets lonely.

And yet, annoyance seeps into his tone when he speaks. "People really dig the balaclava, huh?"

Price breathes a chuckle under his breath and mutters something about not wanting to know.

Soap nearly does a double take when he sees you slip into Ghost’s quarters in the morning. Which is uncanny, if not dangerous — they usually keep their hookups strictly off base. One, because their cots are possibly the biggest companion and/or sex deterrents, and two, because it’s prohibited.

He’s frozen in his steps for a moment, and then the door opens again and you emerge with a mug — Ghost’s mug — in one hand, a colorful lanyard around your neck. A black t-shirt hangs off your frame, too large to be your own, tucked into the waistband of your shorts. Small bruises litter your thighs.

Your eyes meet his and you smile and approach.

“Could you tell me where John Price is?”

Soap snaps to attention, pushes the obvious implications of your appearance to the back of his mind, and nods.

“I can take you to where he’s supposed to be,” he offers and you break out into a smile.

“Please. And thank you.”

He motions for you to follow and you fall into step with him, neither of you feeling particularly chatty. That’s fine; Soap doesn’t have to be in the know, but he supposes he’d thought he and Simon have made it to being friends. Then again, Ghost is a private person.

A few short minutes of walking at a reasonably slow pace, Soap points to the door of a room where Price should be meeting with someone in a few minutes. You thank him with a smile and Soap pulls the door open for good measure — if you are someone Ghost knows he should at least be nice. 

You pause in the doorway, tired eyes raking over the room as you hold the mug to your lips. There’s a small crowd in the room, all standing, killing time by doing absolutely nothing, if you had to guess. All eyes are suddenly on you and your smile falls into a  frown. The lights are too bright. Price isn’t here yet.

One of the rookies from yesterday, now with a clean-shaven face, whistles loudly to get your attention. He's wearing a toothy grin and makes a show out of rubbing his palm against his chin. "Saved you a seat right here. Should be fine,” his eyes flicker to Soap and his grin broadens, “y’know, barracks bunny and all."

More whistles, probably from the same group as last night. Someone howls a laugh like a hyena. Someone else leers at you and Soap minutely adjusts his stance to shield you with his body. 

"No, I like my men lookin' tired, borderline deceased from not sleeping. Those dark circles really do it for me, y’know? Also,” you grimace and click your tongue, “better not tell the big guy about the barracks bunny thing.”

“Who’s a barracks bunny?”

The room falls silent all at once.

He's told you he's a different man on the field, you know this, but there's a strange chill sinking into your bones when you hear Simon's voice and the hair on the back of your neck rises on its ends. This is Ghost, no doubt about it, this is the thing he keeps out of your home, your life, your time spent with him. You don't turn to look at him, just step to the side to fully fall into Soap’s shadow and allow Ghost entrance into the room.

He stops and turns to look at you and you take a breath in, hold it for a few short moments, and release.

“Me, apparently. If a barracks bunny is the same thing as a volleyball bunny.”

“It is.” He jerks his head to the side. “Which one?”

You purse your lips and let your eyes slide from him, unfocusing. “They all look the same,” you admit. There’s a hot flush of shame when you look at him again because shit, you could’ve at least glanced at the nametag on the man’s chest. Your ears begin ringing and you feel compelled to look away from him again.

Soap speaks up, says something you can’t quite catch over the aggressive ringing in your ears, and Ghost turns away. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches the group huddled together, now falling apart at the seams as they inch away from each other. The one in the very back of the group gets left out in the open and Ghost stops in front of him, posture stiff, arms at his sides.

His voice is clear and sharp, and it cuts straight through the ringing in your ears, right into you, and bounces around in your brain like a pinball hitting the obstacles in the machine.

"Repeat yourself."

"Sir, I—"

"If you said it to Jailbait, you'll say it to my face."

The man stammers. He’s pressing his palms against his cargo pants, hands trembling. Maybe his whole body is, too. You drop your gaze into the mug of cocoa in your hand and deliberate whether you should finish it. It looks cold.

"Speak up, soldier!"

You almost jump at the volume of his voice, the tone has you on high alert, like prey in front of a predator, staring into the eyes of certain death. Your spine straightens; your throat feels tight. You think you see the man’s eyes shining with tears. There is movement behind you and a hand rests between your shoulder blades — you nearly shoot out of your skin and another hand deftly snatches the mug before you can spill it or drop it, or both.

"I see you've met Jailbait."

Price steps past you, the mug still in hand, calm as can be. Your eyes jump from Ghost to Price, back to Ghost, and to the rookie for good measure. He's definitely going to cry about this later tonight. Maybe you should, too; for the morale.

"Jailbait," Price nods towards the door, “wait outside with Ghost, I’ll walk you to where you need to be in a minute.” You nod, slowly, like you’re trapped in a pit of molasses and maybe it’s just because it’s too early and you haven’t taken your medication yet or maybe you’re actively beginning to dissociate. Soap shuffles around you, careful to keep some semblance of personal space between your bodies as he angles himself out of your way to give you a clear shot for the door.

“Uh, yeah,” you mutter and turn, frigid like a wooden puppet on a string, to take the chance at escape.

“Did you need something, Soap?” Price asks. Soap shakes his head.

“Just…” he jerks his head towards you, “Jailbait,” he tries the name out and Price’s eyebrows jump and Soap is acutely aware of Ghost hovering in the corner of his eye, “asked if I knew where to find you.”

Price studies him for a moment, one that feels like it stretches on and on, then nods. “Thank you,” he says finally. Soap nods once and backs out of the room.

You and Ghost are hovering by the door and now Soap really is curious. He stops a few feet from you and turns to glance at the room but the door is slammed in his face.

You hear a “Didn’t you muppets see the fucking lanyard?” before the door closes. There’s a small window on said door to allow you a peek into the room. Price seems exhausted and you wince when you think of the bumpy cot you slept on; if it has your neck in seventeen different knots that probably require a professional masseuse, you wonder how he’s even surviving on it at his age.

Even if he is as tired as the dark circles under his eyes make him out to be, he doesn’t show it.

“Hey,” you begin, to neither Ghost nor Soap in particular, “what’s he telling ‘em?” On the other side of the glass, Price notices you staring and when you raise a hand to wave, he draws the blinds. You click your tongue in annoyance and turn away.

"Rule one: don't touch Jailbait, rule two: don't say stupid shit to Jailbait." Ghost's voice is rough, broad arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his own flesh. There’s many a small, crescent-shaped scars on his body. His shoulders are tense — his jaw, too, if experience is anything to go on — and you want to reach out, run your fingers down the long, jagged scar on his jawline, and remind him not to grit his teeth so hard.

Too many eyes. 

Simon, hidden under the layer of skull-printed balaclava.

So, you settle for a smartass remark.

"This is your fault, by the way,” you say, jabbing a manicured finger into his chest, “you not only told me I couldn’t use my own name, but you also wouldn’t let me call myself Ghost Rider, which, arguably, would've been so much funnier. And clear…er."

Some of the tension eases from his body, shoulders hunching forward slightly and then back again as if he’s rolling out a kink. Even then, he’s wound tight, like a toy whose spring is about to give. You flex your fingers, fighting the urge to just reach out and touch him, to run your fingers through his hair and tug at the strands.

More settling, then.

“Hey, Si, can I paint your nails? Pretty please?”

He’s silent for a long moment, eyeing you. Simon Riley, you’ve learned, is not particularly emotive — but then again, being outwardly emotive isn’t very high up on your priority list, either. He can be emotive, between the few moments it takes him to take in his surroundings first thing in the morning, and when he slows down to enjoy the food on his plate or the hot shower you drag him under. Other than that, he can be blank, expression smoothed over into a guarded neutral.

Finally, Ghost sinks into a nearby office chair with a low sigh. He leans back, legs parted, and pats his thigh. Dark eyes bore into yours and oh, there’s that chill again. It strikes up your spine like lightning and buries itself in your shoulders, in your collarbones. There’s a hollowness in your throat.

You roll your shoulders to shake it off and close the distance between you to sit so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder, legs thrown across his other thigh. His hand rests on your bare leg, fingers digging into the flesh, slotting over old bruises and bites.

"Should I file this under jealousy or possessiveness? Because neither one is a particularly… attractive look. What’s next: telling me I can’t wear a nice dress because it’s ‘too revealing’?”

“Wear whatever the fuck you want; I can fight,” he says and his prize is your smile, bright and wide as you rummage in his hoodie pocket for the black nail polish you’d slipped in there earlier. You give it a good shake once you find it, the metal ball clinking against the glass around it.

"Language," you gently reprimand as you take the hand he offers.

"I’m sorry, darling." He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. You crack the nail polish open, hand the bottle to him, and begin your pampering on the down-low activity. 

Silence settles over you, the chatter in the background a pleasant filler noise.

You don’t notice Soap staring at you, slack-jawed.

Ghost does.

“Yes, Soap?”

His voice is rough and you glance up for a moment, then back to your project. 

“You two… know each other.” He motions between you and Ghost as if he’s having trouble processing what’s right in front of him. You hum an affirmative, careful not to get any of the black polish on his fingers as you coat Ghost’s nails.

“He’s my sugar daddy.” 

Ghost exhales a sigh that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and you feel the corners of your lips curl up. A quick glance at him from the corner of your eye confirms it; the way the corners of his eyes crinkle means he’s smiling. One of his more rare, full smiles you have the privilege to see. 

“Yeah, I pay for your expensive-ass fancy university degree." He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"My second Bachelor's degree," you emphasize, holding up two fingers. "Oh, I got an offer, by the way — private firm. Pay’s a bit…” you shake your hand in a so-so motion, “iffy, considering the workload they’re trying to dump on me.”

“You’re greedy.”

“Hey, living is expensive. And maybe I want to pay for my own expensive-ass fancy university degree, ever think about that, hm? Anyway, I said I’d take a few days to think about it.” You turn to Soap again. “Yeah, he pays for my school. For now.” Back to Ghost, and you grin. “How’d you feel about being a sugar baby?”

Ghost huffs. His fingers begin massaging lazy circles against the bare flesh of your thigh.

“And what would I be doing all day long, then?”

“You can dig holes in the backyard or whatever it is men do.”

It’s not a no, you think.

Ghost sighs.

It’s not a no.

“Yes, MacTavish, we know each other,” Ghost finally says.

"Yeah, MacTavish, we're friends, that's all—he talks about you a lot, by the way, says you're like… besties."

Ghost gives your thigh a harsh squeeze and you almost yelp from the sudden force of his grip. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

Friends don’t act like that. Friends don’t pay for an entire Bachelor’s degree worth of university fees. Friends don’t imply a relationship wherein the receiver of said Bachelor’s degree performs sexual favors.

At least not any friends he’s ever had.

But the other thing…

"You… ‘besties’?" Soap asks, a finger pointed at himself. 

"Man, for military men, y'all are gullible as hell." You chuckle to yourself and continue your quest of hopefully making black nail polish a permanent staple in Simon's life. It’s simply one more of those things you think look good on him and he’s willing to accept your little dress-up games. (No, he doesn’t wear rings when he’s not on a job solely because you can’t keep your eyes off his hands when he does; absolutely not.) "But I do have a Bachelor's in comp-sci, and now I'm working on a Bachelor's in English 'cause maybe I want to go into the translating field one day. And Si is, for now, paying for roughly half of my tuition. Price called me over for a favor. And he does, sometimes, talk about you."

"You look really young for a second degree,” Soap blurts.

A chill settles deep into his bones when he meets Ghost’s dark gaze. He finds himself wishing for a time machine to spontaneously appear right here and now. With or without a future version of himself to shake some sense into him.

If a look could kill, Ghost would be shoveling Soap’s body towards the Earth's core right now.

Your sharp guffaw cuts into him and shakes the metal image of Ghost repeatedly stabbing him with a tactical shovel. When he tears his eyes away from his Lieutenant’s, he sees you hiding your smile behind the hand that had been holding Ghost’s. 

“Simon didn’t believe — for, what, a year? — that I was 21 when we met.” You raise a brow at Ghost. “Literally it took some American asshole working at a bar and cutting my ID into pieces for him to believe me; asshole said it was ‘obviously fake’ — fuck you, dude, do you know how expensive it is to order that thing to an embassy? Very. Point is, Simon said my high school graduation photo looked like it was from middle school; believe me, I’m used to people saying I look like a really tall 12-year-old”

Ghost grumbles something under his breath and looks away. You'd pry more if you were in a cruel mood. Maybe you will pry more later. 

“Jailbait!”

You lean to the side until you catch sight of Price in Soap’s shadow. He jerks his head in the opposite direction and you hastily cap the nail polish and slide it back into Ghost’s hoodie pocket. Before you slide off his lap, you pause, place your hands onto his balaclava-covered cheeks, and press a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Got your pocket knife?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Call me when you’re done; I’ll come pick you up.”

“Okay.”

A second kiss, this one to where the corner of his mouth should be, and then you stand, spare Soap a little goodbye wave, and bound over to Price. 

There’s a pep in your step as Price leads you wherever it is you’re supposed to be. They fall into silence once you’re out of sight and Soap abruptly feels like a fish out of water. What does one even say about this? He doesn’t know but it would feel a lot more awkward to not say anything.

“They’re nice,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say. Ghost grunts. “Congrats, Lt., you deserve someone who makes you happy.”

[midnight-raven]

Futuristic Four (plus two) Owl House AU

VIOLET

A shy oracle student who started off as a late bloomer before growing into her powers.

Bob is a Construction Witch, Helen is a Plant Witch, and Dash could be Potions.

Before the “HexGang” was formed, Violet didn’t have many friends in Hexside and kept mostly to herself.

Her friends help build her confidence, which also boosted her powers.

Loves the Good Witch Azura series.

Violet’s Palisman could be a Black Swan.

WILBUR

An illusionist with a knack for getting into trouble but always has a solution to get out of it.

Cornelius is in the Abomination Coven and Franny is a Bard Teacher.

Wilbur’s father is a well-known abomaton inventor around the Isles, also famous for his discovery on Time Pools.

Carl is an abomination that Cornelius made, mostly to keep Wilbur out of trouble.

Pretends not to like the Azura series.

Wilbur’s Palisman could be a Fox.

PENNY

A beast keeper with multiple pets and a mission to rescue every creature across the Isles.

At the beginning of the AU, Penny and Wilbur were friends first.

Bolt, Mittens and Rhino are various creatures that Penny has found over the years and takes care of at home.

Would have more pets but her Mom set a limit.

After school, Penny and her friends would rescue other creatures from demon hunters.

Penny’s Palisman could be a mini Cerberus.

HIRO

Graduated from Hexside early, and joined the Emperor's Coven with his older brother.

Baymax is an abomination that Tadashi made, and Hiro upgraded into an abomaton.

Tadashi was about to be named the new head of the Emperors Coven before he mysteriously disappeared.

The nerd gang are coven heads. Wasabi - Abomination. Honey Lemon - Potions. Fred - Beastkeeping. Gogo - Construction.

He met the other young witches during a Covention when he tagged along for a presentation.

Hiros Palisman could be a Hummingbird (Megabot)

MIGUEL

A talented bard student, studying spells on the guitar with his Tìo Hector.

His parents are alive but Miguel stays with his uncle as he attends Hexside.

Miguel and Hector are the only bards in a family of potion makers and construction witches.

Hector had been estranged from his family because of his curse. (Y’all can guess who casted it)

Miguel’s Palisman is Dante, that could still be a dog.

RILEY

A young human girl that found a portal to the Boiling Isles.

Studies every track at Hexside (the colors matching the emotions)

Riley is taken under the wings of a clan of sibling witches: Joy, Sadness, Fear, Disgust, and Anger.

Each witch teaches Riley their magic tracks, to their best ability.

Riley also teaches her friends about the Glyphs that she found.

Joy helped Riley carve her staff, who is Bing-Bong. A shapeshifting Palisman.

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 2: Undeniable Attraction

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley

Word Count: 1,456

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: Lemons

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

A room full of noise and dangerous boys Still makes you thirsty and hot

My other stuff: Master List.

He followed her through the familiar hallways of the palace. She led him to a room in the east wing of the first floor. The east wing was set aside for visitors, from nobles to diplomats, that needed sleeping accommodations during their stay, reinforcing his assumption that she was a visiting duchess or countess of some flavor. Perhaps from a neighboring country, as he was sure he knew all the members of Cordonian high society, having grown up amongst them.

They didn’t speak as he trailed behind her. She stopped at the last door on the right side of the hall. The largest of the guest rooms, reserved for guests closest to the crown. Interesting.

She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a smile that was almost shy before sliding her keycard through the reader.

That look-innocence and reticence, bordering on nervousness, mixed with anticipation and desire-turned his insides to liquid fire. He folded both hands into fists at his sides in an attempt to stop himself from grabbing her before they even made it into her room.

She placed her clutch on a small table next to the door as he closed it behind them. She turned to face him. The rise and fall of her chest betrayed her arousal. Her eyes lifted to meet his as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

His eyes dipped down to her mouth, taking in her plump, full, luscious lips. With a soft groan, he reached for her, and she stumbled into his embrace. His hand cupped her cheek as he tipped her head up to give himself access to that sexy, pouty mouth.

Her lips parted under his, warm and soft. She tasted like cherries and fine wine. She smelled like lavender and lilac; the sweet scent flooded his senses as her body melted into his.

Riley Brooks had never given herself so unreservedly to a stranger before. From the moment he’d run into her in the ballroom, she’d been thrown off kilter. Heat radiated from his body; electricity snapped between them. His gaze penetrated her soul and the musky scent he gave off made her mouth water.

There were a million reasons she shouldn’t be doing this, but her lust-clouded brain couldn’t remember any of them in the moment.

Drake Walker had never had a woman push him so far off balance before and he’d never had one yield under his touch so quickly and so completely. He wound her hair around one hand and pulled her closer as his other hand roamed from her cheek, down the hollow of her throat to close around a voluptuous breast.

The soft moans that spilled from her throat at his touch sent lightning bolts through the entirety of his being. Emboldened, he moved his lips from hers to follow the path already blazed by his hand. He laid gentle kisses on her throat, her pulse thundering under his tongue. His tongue lavished attention on her decolletage as he released her hair and pressed his fingers into her back.

She arched up into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair and pulling his head forward as the sounds issuing from her increased in both pitch and intensity.

Quiet curses fell from his mouth as he grasped and yanked the zipper of her dress. He shoved the dress, helping it fall down her body.

The dress pooled at her feet, leaving her bare before him, save for the strappy silver heels that graced her perfectly pedicured feet. He rested his forehead against hers as his eyes greedily drank her in. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Riley shivered as the huskiness of his voice, the warmth of his breath, and the awe in his tone sent goosebumps cascading down her spine. His fingers trailed fire along her body as they resumed their journey, probing and touching every part of her as if it was his to take.

And for the moment, it was.

She surrendered every ounce of agency to him, she craved him, every bit of him, her body was ready to combust under his touch.

She was already soaking wet when his fingers slid between her legs, stroking, arousing, exciting her, and sending pure bliss thrumming through her body. He lowered his mouth to ear, “That’s right, darlin’, let me see you fall apart for me.”

Her knees turned to jelly as she did exactly that. White hot pleasure built to a crescendo then crashed over her like a tidal wave as she screamed out every profanity she knew.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” His desperate need for her kicked into overdrive as he watched the ecstasy flood her features. Scooping her up, he crossed the room to the bed in several long strides, tossing her onto it as he ripped his own clothes off.

He nearly tripped kicking out of his pants as the lust-fueled frenzy she had inspired in him made him careless, clumsy, and heedless of what his own body was doing.

When he was free of the cumbersome clothing, he turned back to her, pausing to take in the sight of her sprawled out on the bed, naked, flushed, and trembling. He closed his eyes tightly as he struggled to hold out long enough to get inside her. Drake Walker had never been a premature ejaculator before, but he was in danger of it now.

“What are you waiting for?” her voice shook with desire.

“Fuck!” He muttered as he crawled onto the bed and positioned himself over her. Something that felt almost as emotional as it did sexual slid through his chest as he sank himself into her.

Her body arched up to greet him, her nails sank into his back as her arms encircled him and her teeth scraped across his chest.

He had intended to go slowly, at least at first, but her touch, her scent, and the sounds she was making all conspired to send his self-control flying out the window. She was warm and wet and tight around him, and he gave up the idea of restraint as he lost himself in her. His thrusts quickly increased in both speed and strength as he pounded into her frantically.

The sound of her screams as she came apart underneath him, coupled with the exquisite sensation of her nails biting into his back pushed him the rest of the way over the edge. He slammed into her again as he exploded inside her with a ragged cry of his own.

Sweat coating his body, he collapsed on top of her, unwilling or unable to pull out. He buried his head in her hair, inhaling the intoxicating lavender and lilac scent as if to commit it to memory.

They lay wrapped around each other, breathing heavily, not talking, for several long minutes before hands and lips started moving again. Soft caresses quickly turned into demanding ones and before he knew it, he was on his back staring up at her as she bounced on top of him, his fingers digging into her hips as he came inside her again.

“I’ve never gotten hard again that quickly before,” he told her as she moved off him and dropped onto the mattress next to him.

“Good,” she smirked at him, the earlier self-consciousness gone.  

He rolled up on his side to look at her, “You said you’d tell me your name if I made you scream. I believe you screamed about four times tonight, ma’am.”

She gave him that brilliant grin that turned him inside out, “A deal’s a deal! I-“

The landline on the bedside table rang and the smile ran away from her face, “Sorry, hold on.” She picked it up and put it to her ear, “Hello?.... Resting, the ball became a little much, I needed a break…..how very benevolent of you to understand…..” Her voice was acrid. She listened for a moment then closed her eyes and blew out a sigh before telling the caller, “Yes, fine.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

Drake raised his eyebrows, “Boyfriend?"

“What?” she looked at him in surprise then shook her head, “Not really….sort of….it’s complicated…”

“Isn’t it always?”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

He took her left hand in his and kissed the back of it while looking up at her, “There’s not a ring on your finger, I may have just met you, but I’m absolutely certain that any man who’s had the opportunity, but not the sense, to lock you down properly, probably doesn’t deserve you. Besides, I’m not afraid of a little competition.”

She laughed as she drew her hand away, “It’s a competition now, is it?”

“Damn straight it is! And I think it’s only fair that you should know….I always win.”

[mad-ramblings-of-a-fan]

Iconic Scene

[starphasedd]

Egon

Chapter 2 - Provide

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader)

Rating: 18+ for explicit smut.

Synopsis: Ghost asks you about your past.

Notes: I had every intention of making the beginning of this chapter a slow burn, but then it turned into smut. I have no regrets. I read somewhere that someone was disappointed they didn't see more of Ghost getting his dick sucked. I am here to please. 🥵😉 Ghost making fun of readers southern slang is HILARIOUS and you can't convince me otherwise. I hope you enjoy! Chapter 3?

Word count: 6.7k+

AO3

You were definitely caught off guard the next morning when Ghost had asked you about your experiences in the United States Marine Corp. 

—---

When you woke up hours later, your entire body was sore. Your legs and arms ached, your head was pounding and your entire face was congested. Odd–this was something you usually considered when you were out in the field. It was pouring down rain all day yesterday, and it was cold. You got soaked at one point. And the fire you lit did little to warm the old dilapidated shack you were staying in. So naturally, you caught a nasty cold overnight. 

As your eyes softly flutter open, you can't see much. It's just before dawn. Dark and foggy, making it almost pitch back. But you can feel the brisk morning air kiss your cheeks. You can hear the frogs croaking outside. Apart from the frogs singing, it's quiet. Peaceful, almost.

You stir gently, trying to stretch your aching bones when something comes to your attention. You're on your side, facing the door. When you lay your arms down, you feel something heavy and bulky slunked over your side. There's no sign of any blankets, but you're warm. You're enveloped in warmth, actually. You can feel something hot and gentle fanning the back of your beck. The bed shuffles and buckles a little in the middle when the weight behind you moves.

It was then, you put two and two together. Ghost is pressed against you, arms around your waist. His crotch is up tight against your ass. The front of his massive thighs are touching the back of yours as he holds you firmly in his grasp. Even in his sleep, he seems protective. You don't think he's awake, judging by the gentle and steady way his chest is rising and falling. His breathing is calm. This was a little unusual for him–you think. In these situations he usually stays up on guard. You almost never got to see him sleep. In fact, you don't think you've ever seen the man sleep, or even close his eyes. 

Something warm blossoms in your chest. A feeling you're unfamiliar with. It lights your cheeks up, and brings an involuntary smile to your lips. You're trying hard, really. But something about this mysterious, dangerous, man feeling comfortable enough with you to let his guard down and fall asleep makes your head buzz with excitement. Your face is properly red now as you lay there defenseless in his arms. There's another thought in the back of your head that causes a new reaction, but this time below your waist. You've seen this man hold down and kill some of the strongest warriors in the world. Yet here he is, holding you gently in his grasp. Clinging to you like he hasn't felt another body like yours his entire life–which could be entirely possible. 

You start to ache down there again, arousal starting to seep from your cunt and pool in your underwear. Your underwear. Wait, underwear? You suddenly remember; the last thing you did last night was collapse on the bed after he finished inside you. You don't remember cleaning up, or getting dressed. You don't even remember climbing into the bed. 

But there's a sweet smell on your skin. Even though the shack you're staying in is old and dilapidated, it doesn't smell bad. Which makes it much easier to smell yourself and him in these close quarters. The smell is familiar, something like lemon and flowers. You take a quiet breath in, trying to debunk it. And then you recognize it. The smell of your hygiene wipes. You glance over at your bag. It's open, with only the bags for your military grade hygiene wipes pulled out and sitting on the floor next to it. 

You stare at the bag for a few minutes, completely dumbfounded by the idea that just crossed your mind. Your mouth is open slightly, letting air gently flow in and out. Ghost cleaned you. He cleaned you. He took the time to meticulously wipe you down with your hygiene wipes to ensure you were comfortable. You know what dried seamen feels like. It's awful, it can make any woman feel dirty and uncomfortable. He understood that. The thought is embarrassing honestly. To picture this hulk of a military man spreading your legs to clean you. A woman of your caliber, being cleaned like a child. But it also sparks more adoration for him. 

You've seen them both from him now. 

Protector. 

And provider. 

There's something absolutely vile about the way your core instantly starts throbbing at the thought of him caring for you. Something so sweet, coming from a man people thought was so evil. A misunderstood, heartfelt man behind an intimidating mask. 

You shift a little, trying to rub your thighs together in a pathetic attempt to ease the throbbing between them. The bed buckles slightly and you hear his even breathing change. His chin grazes the top of your head and the arm around your waist stiffens slightly as he slowly starts to come out of his slumber. A loan groan rumbles deep in his chest as the arm around your waist starts to move. You look down–he has his sleeve rolled up, exposing the bottom half of his arm covered in tattoos. The large visible veins covering the limb make you absolutely fucking feral. 

His hand slowly starts to move from the mattress next to you, to your stomach. His large palm flattens and splays across you. He covers your entire belly. That same hand begins gliding up and over the ridge of your curves. He starts at your waist, then slides down to your hips and lands on the outside of your thigh. During his minstations, he doesn't make a sound. But you can feel something hard starting to press against your ass. 

His hand starts to glide back up, slowly mapping every curve along the way until it ventures back down to your tummy–like he's trying to burn them to memory. From there his palm flattens again, but it starts to slide up. When he reaches just under your breast, a soft moan slips through the mask before he pushes forward and envelopes your breast in his hand. His hips gently start to rut against you. 

The colossal hand squeezes down gently and lazily, kneading the squishy flesh there. Instantly, it makes both nipples rise to attention.  Your breath hitches when his soft ruts on your rear stop. He takes his massive thigh and moves it to gently nudge your leg. He pokes his knee between your thighs and lifts your leg with his, slotting his thigh perfectly against your clothed cunt. He's warm there too, you discover. That warmth accompanied by his thigh pushing up against your core sends shivers down your spine. 

He still hasn't said anything, but his breathing has picked up. What feels like an iron rod is pressed against your butt still–his thigh begins rubbing and putting pressure on your cunt. All while your breasts are being fondled by his big hands. He pulls you closer to his chest, lifting you slightly so he can get his other arm under your side and use that hand to assault your other breast. 

His hips grind on yours while the thigh pressed to your cunt drives deeper, making you clench around absolutely nothing. His pointer fingers and thumbs come together on both breasts to tease your nipples, rolling them between the leather of his tactical skeleton gloves. You begin to let sweet whimpers fall from your lips, which encourage Ghost to continue. His head comes down to the nape of your neck. He opens his mouth and softly bites down on the sensitive skin there through his mask. His breath comes out hot and heavy under your chin. 

You begin to roll your hips in time with his movements. You bring a hand up to steady and brace yourself on his side to start grinding down on him. He halts the movements of his thigh and lets you start to chase your own release. His hard cock throbbing painfully in his pants. His fingers continue to play with your nipples as you grind down on him. He groans, eyes half lidded and full of lust. He's watching closely. 

"Mhm. Use me, sweet girl." He finally says. 

"Simon–" you whimper. 

"Shh." He hushes you. "Focus."

Slow, steady and determined rolls of your hips on his leg start to make your lower tummy burn. Ghost watches you, mouth agape under his mask as your hips slowly and purposefully circle up and grind down on his appendage. Your legs attach at the ankle behind his legs, making it easier for you to stay steady in your movements. Your tiny fingers dig into his side as you clutch onto him. 

You're no stranger to this dance. Your hips know what to do. Whether you're on top, riding him–or in this exact situation, grinding down on his thigh. Your curves move achingly slow in presentation for him. He curses under his breath, hands squeezing down hard on your breasts now–like he's holding onto you desperately. Like he's holding himself back. 

The final straw is when you whimper his name in the sweet tone of yours again–a sweet, lustful cry of his name that makes his brain short circuit for a moment. His hands quickly release your breasts. They shoot down your curves to your waist and grip your hips tightly. He begins to help you grind on him, bringing his own hips and his aching cock to your rear and humping you in time with your own movements on his thigh. 

"Fucking hell." He grumbles, his voice deeper from sleep. His covered cock pokes the soft lumps of your ass. "Needy little girl. Aren't you, Sergeant?" 

You can only manage a broken whimper as he continues to pull your hips back and forth on his thigh. The muscles in your lower stomach start to stiffen–that familiar feeling starting to arise again. Your breathing picks up, and your moans become desperate as your orgasm rapidly approaches. He holds you so firm and strong, pulling you down on his thigh like it's the only thing in the universe he cares about in this moment. Your belly is pulling tight again, causing your throat to shudder closed. You start repeating something, but you're so far out of it you can't discern what is. 

Ghost can though. 

Simon. Simon. Simon. Simon–

It's not the movements or the grinding that finally sends you over the edge though. It's his strong hands anchored on your hips. It's his big firm body pressed tight against yours. It's his cock pressed to your rear. It's the desperation in his movements. It's the feeling of his hot, labored breaths on your neck. It's the moans that slip from his lips. It's the selflessness–how he's only getting you off in this moment. 

White hot please shoots up your spine as your orgasm rockets through you. Your entire body erupts in goosebumps, shivers making you shift and brace yourself. Your face presses into the warm fabric of the mattress, fingers leaving Ghost to dig in next to your torso. Your moans get swallowed by the dirty fabric there. Ghost's hands stay attached to your hips as your thrusts slow and eventually come to a stop. You lay there, catching your breath as Ghost does the same behind you. 

After a few moments, one of Ghost's hands comes up to flatten on your back, rubbing all the way up to your neck, and back down. He does this for a few minutes, soothing you from your high. On the last run, his hand comes up and locks around the back of your neck. Strong hands force your head to turn right and up so you're facing him. His fingers lace through the hair on the back of your head. He pulls you close, his neck cranes down so the fabric of his mask over his lips is ghosting yours. He breathes hot air against your face and his eyes lock on your exhausted expression. 

"Get dressed." He whispers to you. 

His cock is still hard, you can see it from here. 

"What about yo–" 

"That's an order, sergeant." He interrupts.

His voice sounds absolute. You don't speak, but his hand holds you there for a few more moments before he finally releases you. He unwraps himself from you and climbs over. Heavy feet land on the wooden floor when he sits on the edge of the bed. Leaning down, he starts to tighten the straps on boots. 

You lay there for another brief moment, watching him from behind. Tired hues scan from his waist, all the way up to his shoulders. His back is massive, tight muscles constricting under his black hoodie as he moves to stand. He walks to the pile of his gear on the floor. One by one, he starts getting set up again. First comes his layered rain jacket. He zips it all the way to the top. Then comes the harness that fits around his waist and thighs. The vest comes last, followed by the mountain of weapons he has. 

Your eyes quickly shoot to the side when you see him glance over at you. Embarrassed he caught you gawking, you began to crawl out of the bed. Tiny feet hit the floor and you stand, making your way over to your own pile of gear on the floor. You can feel him watching you as you adjust your underlayer of clothes. The tight undershirt he had just fondled all morning is getting pressed down against your curves, showing the lines of your sculpted belly and belly button–it gets tucked under the buckle of your jeans. You reach up, combing through your hair with your fingers and pulling it into a loose ponytail at the base of your neck. You follow the same order as him. Boots, jacket, harness, vest, weapons.  

His eyes are on you still, making you shiver. You feel incredibly bad. He was still achingly hard in his trousers when you finished and then he just…got up. Why would he do that? Sure, last night he came inside you. But, he still made you the priority. And he did the same thing this morning. It's not fair, you think to yourself. He was your commanding officer though. Not much you could do to fight him. 

As you finish tightening the last strap, you hear the microphone on your earpiece start to crackle. You stop what you're doing immediately, dropping your hands to the floor and snatching the headset. You place it over your head, bringing the microphone to your lips. 

"This is Egon, do you copy?" 

"Egon–this is Soap. How copy?" Comes a familiar voice. 

"Ten kilometers west. Moving out now." 

"Are you with the Ghost?" 

"Affirmative." You say, glancing over at Ghost who is standing tall, hands resting on the top of his vest. 

"Copy. Rendezvous at the meeting point. Stay safe out there, lass." 

"Copy." You return before pushing the mic away from your face. You turn fully to face Ghost, who is already on his way towards the door. 

He pulls the door open, holding it with his foot while he pulls the rifle off his back and points it outside. He bends his knees, easing out of the doorway and starting to sweep the area. You follow suit, doing the same. It's nice out today, the early morning sun shoots beams through clouds as you and Ghost make your way towards the city. 

It's quiet too. The sound of your boots hitting the cobblestone streets are all you can hear as you and the Lieutenant approach an abandoned SUV. It's old, probably the early nineties. Ghost is in front of you. He sweeps one hand up and motions for you to take one side of the vehicle while he takes the other. The windows are tinted, so you're going in blind. 

First you sweep the outside. Then you both approach the second row doors. Your hand lands on the handle with a gentle thud, Ghost following quickly behind. With your other hand, you pull the mic down to your lips. 

"On the count of three." You whisper to him. 

"Roger."

You begin counting, heart pumping with excitement. 

One. 

Two.

Three.

Your fingers curl tightly around the handle and yank it open. You immediately let go and bring those digits back down to the trigger on your rifle. Ghost does the same, sweeping his barrel from left to right, making sure the vehicle is empty. You have a good idea the car is empty, both you but do the same procedure for the front just in case. When you determine the car is in fact abandoned, Ghost jumps in the driver's seat and you take the passenger. His hulking figure takes up most of the room in the small foreign made SUV, but you can't complain when he works his magic and manages to hot wire it. 

The engine fires right up and he shifts it to gear, putting all four wheels into motion. 

The plan is to drive ten kilometers north, directly to the coordinates Price gave you. It's probably somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where he is able to call in one of the helicopters to land. He usually opts for dessert–that's your best guess. 

The drive so far is bumpy–the old SUV not being the smoothest of rides. You're looking out your passenger window when Ghost's voice catches you off guard. 

"What was it like in the United States Marine Corp?" He asks, not taking his eyes off the road. 

You're shocked, to say the least. This is the first time he's ever inquired about your past experiences. You glance over at him, eyes locking on the hard part of his mask.  Your cheeks are rosy from the brisk morning air–lips slightly chapped from the lack of hydration. 

"Uhm. It was…tough. I guess." You speak softly, watching his fingers curl around the steering wheel. 

"I've heard that branch of the American military is particularly hard on its soldiers." 

You look forward, thinking back on your experiences there. You were just an eighteen year old girl when you joined. It was a hard decision to make, but it was one you had to make for your own safety. 

You lower your head a bit, lost in thought. Ghost takes notice and glances over at you through his peripherals. 

"It was, yeah. Probably because I was so young when I joined. It's what I needed, though."

"What do you mean?" He asks. 

"I needed the discipline, and the real world experience–needed to learn how to defend myself." 

His hands glide over the steering wheel as he makes a turn. Silence fills the air for a few minutes as Ghost closes in on the rendezvous point. 

"Discipline–" he huffs humorously. "--you wouldn't know discipline if it bit you in the arse."

You chuckle softly. "What can I say? Guess that's the American in me." 

"Got that right. Bloody disrespectful people you are." 

You laugh out loud this time. "Disrespectful and stubborn are two different things, Ghost! I am not disrespectful!"

He doesn't respond, but you like to think he's smiling under that mask. You look over at him, a smile of your own plastered on rosey cheeks. You really want to ask him about his past, pick his brain. You want to know why he is the way he is. Why he's cold, calculating and fierce. Surely there's a story or two behind the mask, but you can't bring yourself to ask. For fear you may disrespect him. 

"Besides. I was told my disregard for authority was one of my best qualities when Price recruited me." 

"Is that right?" He asks. 

"Mhm." 

"Price is a cunt."

You laugh again, white teeth splitting your mouth open as you turn to hide the subtle blush turning your cheeks even more red. Your breath fogs the class as you glance out of the window. 

"I reckon he probably says the same thing about you." 

He scoffs. "Quit talking like your parents were cousins." 

"That was vile, sir." You say, pressing your hand to your cheek and continuing to laugh. "And uncalled for." 

Ghost snorts, one hand leaving the steering wheel to lay on the center console between you and him. The cab starts to shake when he drives off the beaten path and into some rough terrain. The ground is made solely of rock, large ones. Which sends you both ricocheting back and forth in the vehicle. What feels like an eternity later, you approach a wide opening where you see one of the standard military helicopters. Ghost pulls up a few feet away and slams the vehicle into park. Not even taking the time to shut the car off, he opens his door and jumps out. You follow. 

You walk next to Ghost's towering figure. When you approach the ramp and jump on, Soap is immediately out of his seat to see you in. 

The ramp starts to close and it's hard to hear anything over the helicopter's blades. Your hair whips violently until the ramp closes completely and you're both inside with the rest of the team, and then some. You notice a few men standing towards the front of the large copter. One of the men locks eyes with you and you can't help but stare back as he nods softly. 

Soap approaches Ghost first, slapping his hand on the much larger man's arm.

"Took your sweet ass time with that one, didn't ya boss?"

Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes glancing over towards you. You lock eyes with him immediately, heart rating increasing as his stare bores into you. 

"We had some setbacks. I straightened them out."

Soap knocks his shoulder and grunts. "That's why we love the Ghost." 

Ghost's eyes don't leave you as you move back to take a seat on the metal bench attached to the haul wall. Soap approaches you soon after, spreading out and getting comfortable. 

"Who are the guys over there? I wasn't aware we would have guests." You whisper, laying your head back and turning to look at Soap. 

"Alejandro and his team. Good guys. They'll be helping us from here out." He whispers back. 

"You're sure we can trust him?" 

"Positive. We worked closely with him on a mission you weren't involved in a while back. He's good people." 

"Okay. If you trust him, I trust him." 

Soap shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you. You can see past him. Ghost is still standing, meaning against one of the haul walls with his massive arms tied over his chest. It's too dark over there to see his eyes, but you swear you can feel them watching you. 

"I tried to reach you last night. Why didn't you answer?" He whispered. 

"What? I never heard the comm turn on." You respond, eyes flashing back to Ghost for a moment before they land on Soap once more. 

"Multiple times, actually. You had me worried, lassy." 

"Sorry Johnny. I was just tired. And Ghost was having issues with his all night." 

"Won't happen again, yeah?" He says, giving you a serious look. 

You grin. "You can't order me around, Soap. We're the same rank." 

"Would you listen even if I was your superior?" He countered. 

"Fuck off." You say with a laugh, moving your hand up to flatten on his face and push him away playfully. Soap grins and moves back into his original position next to you. 

"Where are we headed?" You ask, fumbling with one of the pockets on your vest. 

"New mission tomorrow. Alejandro is taking us to his headquarters to detox and debrief. Then we're out at dawn." 

You sigh. "Another mission already?" 

He nods, his hands softly patting his thighs as he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. 

"As long as there's a shower. I didn't get to use the one at our safehouse last night." You say.

"Why?" 

"Because it was a shack attached to the house and it was freezing." Sarcasm evident in your tone. 

"Excuses, sergeant." 

You roll your eyes and sit back again. The rest of the flight is quiet. With the occasional soft banter in the background. Everyone seems pretty exhausted. Which is fair, this mission lasted almost seven days. You were happy to have the twelve hours being given to rest up. You stayed with Soap the entire flight there, but you were a little uneasy. The entire time, you felt Ghost's eyes watching you intently through the eye holes on his mask. 

You were relieved to jump off the helicopter when it finally landed. 

The "headquarters" in question looked to be nothing but an abandoned warehouse, in some kind of oil district. When you and the rest of the team walked inside, it was bare bones. But it did appear to have a running function. There were couches, chairs, tables spread out. There was a large projector screen on one of the empty walls. And there was even some workout equipment positioned in a corner of the facility. 

Alejandro walked everyone through a large bay door which led into what used to be the office part of the facility. He pointed out that there were five or six open bedrooms, and a couple open showers. All in their own enclosed rooms for added privacy.

You immediately jumped at the shower opportunity first. Quick to get out of your dirty clothes, you let the warm water run over your aching body. Your soaked hair sticks to your face, neck and back as you run soapy fingers through it. You lather yourself in soap, hands running down your body until they meet at your lower tummy. Your hand slips down and between your thighs to where you ach the most. You run your fingers through your folds, getting every nook and cranny clean. A soft sigh leaves your lips. 

A naughty voice in your head says you wish he hadn't cleaned you last night. You wish you could feel reminiscent of him here–feel his cum dripping down your leg. You still feel awful for not helping him get off this morning–not like you could do much. When he ordered you to get ready in that definite tone of his. You couldn't say no. 

You're so lost in your thoughts, you don't hear the door creak open. You stand there behind the curtain, letting the water soak you while you think back to last night. The feeling of his lips. The feeling of his hands. The feeling of his cock, buried deep inside you. You're so lost in that moment again, that you actually gasp out loud when the light suddenly shuts off. You whip your head around, squinting to try and find any source of light. Your wet hands grab ahold of the shower curtain to try and open it but you're startled when a large, naked hand clamps on top of yours. 

"Taking bloody forever in here, sweet girl." Comes that familiar deep baritone cutting through the darkness. "I'd like to get clean too." 

"Simon–" 

"You're wasting all the hot water, sergeant." 

You can't see him, it's still pitch black. But you can feel the cold air from outside rush in when he opens the curtain to step in. His large form pushes you deeper inside, boxing you in the corner under the stream of steamy water. You hear him close the curtain completely and he steps closer to you. 

"Come here." He orders, a large hand coming out to wrap around your arm. 

"S-simon. You…you don't have your mask on." 

"And it's pitch black in here. Any other obvious observations?" 

You swallow, stepping slightly closer to him. 

"You–You're okay with this?" You ask in a whisper. 

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. His hand tightens around your arm and yanks you forward, your body crashing into his. But he catches you, in those strong arms. Fuck, you never thought you'd feel his naked body but here you are–pressed against his broad chest. The hairs there are soft and comforting. 

"I trust you wouldn't do anything to break the confidence I have in you, sergeant." 

A large hand comes to your lower back and pulls you closer. His other hand comes up to your jaw and caresses it, that thumb moves under your chin and points up, getting your entire head to move with it. You feel his hot breath ghosting over your lips again as he leans down. Water is running down your back as his hand starts to slide up and down, feeling every inch of skin there you have to offer. Your hands find their way to his chest, and slide all the way up to the back of his head. Fingers lace through the silky hair at the base of his neck as he leans down to finally lock his lips on yours. 

You let a soft whimper fall into his mouth as he kisses you. His hand leaves your chin to trail down your sides and join his other on your back. Your tongues begin the same erotic dance they did just last night. You wonder if he knows how talented he is with his tongue. How he knows exactly how to please you with it–almost like it's second nature to him. His head twists to the right and yours twists to the left, opening wide to take his tongue again and again and again. Soon his movements start to become more erratic as arousal takes over. His hands move from your back, down to your ass. There he squeezes and kneads the soft flesh as he continues to kiss you. 

Your thighs are rubbing together now, your core heating up at his rash and desperate movements. You can feel his cock hardening against your stomach as your hands slide down from his head to land on his chest. He pulls you closer with his hands on your ass–so close you can feel his cock throbbing with excitement. 

One of his hands slides off your ass to come around front. Slowly sliding down, his fingers eagerly find your weeping cunt and sink through your folds. It's happening so quickly you can't compose any words, he steals the breath from your lungs. Calloused fingers rub down through your slit to collect your arousal and he coos when he feels how wet you are. 

"All this for me, little girl?" He whispers into your mouth. 

You moan for him, legs becoming weak when one of those wet fingers comes up to start rubbing strong circles over your clit. Slowly–achingly slowly–he continues to circle over that sensitive and abused bundle of nerves. 

"Simon–" 

Your hands hold steady on his chest as he continues to rub your clit. The steam from the hot water makes the air dense around you. 

You desperately want to please him. You know that this pleases him, letting him have his way with you. Listening to the moans he causes coming from your mouth. Feeling the wetness he creates between your thighs. But you want to pleasure him. You want to please him in your own way. You want to give him a break from all his hard work. 

"Simon, wait–" 

He doesn't listen, just continues his assault on your wet cunt. 

"Simon, stop–" 

You feel him hesitate for a moment, and his movements slow down. He huffs out a hard breath like he wasn't breathing the entire time he was playing with you. 

"What? What's wrong?" He asks, out of breath. 

He removes his hand from your cunt, and you can feel him slowly take a step back. You're worried he thinks he did something wrong, so your hands reach up to grab his neck. 

"Absolutely nothing–" you say as your fingers slowly start to dig into the thick muscles there. He groans. "I want to suck your cock. Will you let me?" 

His breath catches in his throat, your fingers continuing to massage the muscles on his neck. You bring one foot forward, starting to guide him back against the tile wall of the shower. He actually lets you, which is surprising. He grunts when his back makes contact, but you continue distracting him with rubbing his neck. You stand on the tips of your toes to try and kiss him again and his hands come to land on your waist. You come close, but then decide to let your lips hover over his. Your hot breath fans over his chapped lips as his hands search for you in the darkness. 

"I want your cunt." He mumbles against your lips. 

"You can have my pussy anytime you want, Simon. I've made that abundantly clear by now. You've been so attentive to me, let me do something for you."

You rub strong lines up and down his neck with your thumbs, digging into the taut muscle there. He moans this time, and you feel his cock jump when you mention he can have you anytime he wants. He slowly begins to give in, the hands on your waist letting go and dropping to his sides. He gets tired of you teasing him and smashes his lips to yours, giving you one more juicy kiss before pulling back to let you slide down his body. Your fingers release his neck and start to glide down his chest. Your knees bend and your hands follow, coming all the way down his chest, to his abdomen, his stomach, and then landing on his strong thighs on either side. 

His cock falls down heavy, large and attentive to you. Your knees make contact with the wet floor and you settle there between his legs. Your cunt throbs when your hands come together at the base of his cock, thumbs and pointer fingers trying to wrap around his girth. You can't, you discover. He's too thick for even both hands. You swallow down a moan when you feel him twitch. He's waiting patiently for your tongue. You sit down on your ankles, head bowing to meet the tip of his hanging cock. 

All the muscles in his body tense and he hisses when you open your mouth and your tongue slides under his shaft. Your wet cavern envelopes the tip of him, lips closing over his shaft and you pull back, sucking as hard as you can. His hips buck involuntarily, sending his cock a little farther in your mouth. You groan, eyes squeezing shut as you adjust to his size. His hand comes to rest on the back of your head, fingers lace through your wet hair. 

You dive back in, swallowing around his cock and starting to bob back and forth. Slowly, of course. You do your best to take as much of him as you can, but it's difficult. He's such a large man, it was no shock to you to find he was large down here too. His hand squeezes and pulls you forward on his cock as he lets a particularly loud moan leave his lips. 

"Fucking hell, woman. That mouth of yours—" 

He's caught off guard when you nibble down on him a little bit. One hand leaves his shaft to reach down and cup his balls. You squeeze them gently and you feel the top half of his body hunch over. His fingers dig into your scalp. 

"Fuuuuuck." He moans. "Fuck, I wish I could see you right now–that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around my cock." 

You mmm low in your throat and continue working at him. Your fingers softly tease his balls, while your mouth brings him a pleasure he hasn't felt in a very long time. Your soft tongue laps up every drop of pre-cum from him and you swallow it all. His hand is pushing you further down. You can feel it shaking slightly. 

"Bloody hell. Can–can I fuck your face sweet girl?"

You nod against him, your other hand leaving him to trail down between your thighs. A sweet moan vibrates against his cock when your fingers find your clit. A thumb begins rubbing soft circles there while you trail your pointer finger down to slip inside. You pump yourself at the same rate as your mouth takes his cock. Back and forth, back and forth. In and out, in and out. 

He hisses when he realizes what's going on. He loses his patience and balls his hand into a fist at the back of your head. He growls when you moan out his name against his cock. He pulls you forward and then back. Pulling himself off the wall, he braces above you and slowly starts thrusting into your mouth. You open wide for him, tongue staying tucked underneath to give him that extra pleasure. His hips pick up, rutting into your mouth as he tries to go as far back as possible without hurting you. 

He can't get all his length in there, but he doesn't care. He continues fucking your mouth with as much of his cock as he can fit.

"Christ." He moans 

He pushes a little further, feeling the tip of his cock press against the back of your throat. Your eyes squeeze tighter, tears welling up in the corners as you try and take more of him. Only, you find that you can't–you can't help it when you gag around him, his swollen tip hitting the reflex there at the back of your wet cavern. But you keep trying, like the soldier you are. You keep fighting for the resolve.

The sound of you gagging seems to spur ghost on because he starts fucking you faster. His movements start to become erratic as he approaches his orgasm. His breathing is heavy and labored. The hand tangled in your wet hair tightens even more and holds you steady. You continue rubbing tight circles over your clit, little fingers pumping inside. Now that you've had him inside you, your own fingers do little to nothing to please you. But you soldier on, your own high approaching much quicker than you expected. 

He knows what you're doing–he's holding himself back. He's waiting to hear your release before he lets himself go. 

You moan against his cock when hot pleasure snaps through your lower body. Your legs shake, and you almost fall forward but Ghost's strong hand holds you up against his cock while he continues to fuck into you. 

"Good girl. Good fucking girl." 

He groans, punctuating each word with a particularly hard thrust into your mouth. His cock is starting to pulse, and his movements come to a screeching halt. His breathing is heavier now and he bends down, abdomen buckling as he shoots streams of his white hot cum down your throat. You take it all, throat opening to accommodate him. 

He takes a few moments to gain his composure, standing up tall in front of you. His cock slips from your mouth and drops against his thigh. The air is filled with nothing but your combined heavy breathing and both try and ease down from your orgasms. You stay seated on the ground, and Ghost takes a few steps back. His back touches the wall and his legs give out, letting him slide down and take a seat on the floor across from you. 

"Christ woman. Where have you been my entire life?" He asks, still slightly out of breath. 

You feel a gentle smile across your lips. "I could ask the same of you, sir." 

He chuckles, and you start to scoot forward. You blindly find your way between his legs. Little hands find his chest and you lean up to press a tender kiss to his lips. He lets one hand fall to your lower back to hold you against him. You continue kissing him for a few minutes, enjoying the aftershocks of your high. You sit there between his legs, feeling his warmth. When he removes his lips from yours, you let your head drop to lay in the nape of his strong neck. His head falls back against the tile. 

"Water is getting cold." You mumble against his skin.

"And?" He snorts. 

"Well, I'm already clean. You're the one who's gonna suffer." You say, letting the grin on your face make an indent in his skin. 

He groans, turning his head to the side to let his lips touch your temple. 

"Insufferable woman."

[brooklynislandgirl]

The Nurse Shark || Beth Riley 

Italicize what your muse likes. Bold what they love. Strike through what they hate. tagged by: the lovely @sohelish​ tagging: Anyone who wants to do it! 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄. Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte Fish | Peppers | Whole wheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavour {{Beth actually loves bacon and absolutely feels guilty for it. She prefers big soft-chewy ‘New York’ pretzels, rather than the hard stick ones. She loves pineapple on bacon-pepperoni pizza but will go absolutely savage when people call ham and pineapple “Hawai’ian”.}} 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇. Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand | Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes {{Beth breaks into hives when coming into contact with velvet or wool.}} 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓.   Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Coconut | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather {{Gunpowder, coffee, cigarette smoke, and leather all remind her of her brother}} 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.   Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping {{Beth lives with audio processing disorder, which comes through as hearing everything so loudly, but voices are muffled, broken up, confusing, like static. So she prefers quiet places, nature sounds, the sound of the sea lapping at the shore and the vibration of deeper vocal tones.}} 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.   Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stained glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

[doubleattitude]

24/7 Dance Convention, Reno, NV: RESULTS

High Scores by Age:

Sidekick Solo

1st: Lauralee King-’Bigger Is Better’

2nd: Valentina Segrest-’All Is Found’

3rd: Nyla McCarthy-’Wind It Up’

4th: Nicole Soto-’Shake and Shimmy’

5th: Brecca Garcia-’Day-O’

5th: Kenlee Townsend-’Kill The Lights’

6th: Ayla Zink-’Stop’

7th: Wren Lavery-’Sweet, Sweet’

8th: Paisley Greendandl-’Worldwide Party’

9th: Marley Cliffe-’Dessert’

9th: Greta Jones-’Shake Rattle and Roll’

10th: Malia Tuaileva-’Stupid Cupid’

Mini Solo

1st: Roxie Onellion-’Drifting Down’

2nd: Isabella Kouznetsova-’Almost There’

2nd: Tiara Sherman-’And The Things Remain’

3rd: Harper Ducale-’Change Is Everything’

3rd: Winter Eberts-’Dreamlike’

3rd: Naiya Abalos-’Forces’

3rd: Cali Cassidy-’Weird People’

4th: Paizley Cogswell-’A Moment Apart’

4th: Fiona Wu-’Juliet’s Dream’

4th: Joah Moore-’Mad World’

4th: Regan Gerena-’My Boyfriend’s Back’

4th: Presley Nava-’Pure Imagination’

4th: Delilah Hewitt-’Shop Around’

5th: Peyton Nowacki-’Angels To Fly’

5th: Kylie Lawrence-’Breathe In’

5th: Tatum Brady-’Fall Creek’

5th: Everleigh Soutas-’Heartbeat’

5th: Olivia Armstrong-’Hit Me With A Hot Note’

5th: Kate Baker-’I’ll Stand By You’

5th: Aria Du-’Reddir’

5th: Elizabeth Hsu-Kwan-’Ruin’

6th: Diana Jouznetsova-’It’s In His Kiss’

6th: Hadlee Heriford-’Unbroken’

7th: Tabitha Nan-’Torn’

7th: June Newmarker-’What A Feeling’

8th: Zoey German-’On My Own’

8th: Elliana Anbardan-’Runway Walk’

8th: Joy Lin-’This Is Me’

9th: Rory Frye-’Amen’

9th: Aurora Brady-’Hit The Road Jack’

9th: Reagan Nordling-’Lemon of Pink’

10th: Khloe Kwon-’Black Pink!’

10th: Aubrey Tolentino-’Footwurkin’

10th: Holland Fraley-’Torn’

Junior Solo

1st: Gracyn French-’CoverGirl’

2nd: Laci Stoico-’Mibiso’

3rd: Makaia Roux-’Everything I Wanted’

4th: Mya Tuaileva-’Can’t Unhear’

4th: Kortlynn Rosenbaugh-’Unearthed’

5th: Hayden Olson-’Breathe’

5th: Lincoln Blakely-’What I Came to Do’

5th: Kendyl Fay-’You’ll Find A Way’

5th: Madison Ortega-’Island Song

6th: Campbell Clark-’I’ll Be Seeing You’

6th: Kylee Ngo-’Ex machina’

6th: Ciana Ciulla-’Sophrosyne’

6th: Madison Ronquillo-’White Ferrari’

6th: Rylee Young-’Lullaby’

7th: Bella Fernandez-’She Was Running’

7th: Kendall Jundt-’Awakening’

7th: Leighton Werner-’The Rose’

8th: Gigi Hipwell-’Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’

8th: Abbi Francis-’Feel It Still’

8th: Sienna Brown-’Ballroom Blitz’

8th: Natalie Kulba-’Ascending’

8th: Stella Eberts-’Valley’

8th: Campbell Bas-’Silhouette’

9th: Anabel Alexander-’Plans We Made’

9th: Lena Chiem-’Grand Piano’

9th: Anya Inger-’Quiet Thoughts’

10th: Sunnie Pelant-’No Place Like Home’

Teen Solo

1st: Dyllan Blackburn-’Haunted’

2nd: Kaitlyn Tom-’Charity Bound’

2nd: Luke Barrett-’Eden’

2nd: Carley Thinfen-’Self Destruction’

2nd: Elle O’Donnell-’Slowly’

2nd: Imogene Elias-’Timer’

3rd: Zoe Ridge-’A Thousand Eyes’

3rd: Katy McIlwaine-’Heavy’

3rd: Cydney Heard-’I’m Going In’

3rd: Ava DeCristofaro-’Letting In’

3rd: Isabella Warfield-’Nicest Thing’

3rd: Jenna Koblin-’Ultralight Beam’

4th: Kaitlyn Ortega-’All Human Beings’

4th: Sami Sonder-’Fever’

4th: Brooklyn Sandlin-’Hollow’

4th: Siena Riga-’Naked’

4th: Mason Walker-’Touch’

5th: Ali McKeown-’All I Ask’

5th: Lilly McCollum-’Control’

5th: Raina Wu-’Looking In’

5th: Kamryn Webb-’Take Me Out’

6th: Mikaella Lopez-’Mind In Flight’

6th: Dayanara Vega-’Skin’

6th: Amanda J. Lai-’The Journey, Not The Destination’

6th: Zuzu Duchon-’Twelfth of Never’

6th: Riley Cooke-’Yellow’

6th: Aiden Boquiren-’You Will Be Found’

7th: Olivia Magni-’Moonlight Sonata’

7th: Sebastian Hsu-Kwan-’My Identity’

7th: Julissa Ortiz-’Never Knock’

7th: Felix Fulton-’Rome’

8th: Tiffany Robinson-’Human Touch’

8th: Milana Zamora-’Hypnosis’

8th: Ellyana Lor-’Rise of the Phoenix’

8th: Zoey Garcia-’Slappers’

8th: Claire Kaplan-’Suspended’

8th: Avery Reyes-’The Garden’

9th: Bella Machado-’Everybody Got Their Something’

9th: Aaliyah Wiley-’If I Ain’t Got You’

10th: Tyler Chiyuto-’Glitch’

10th: Deanna Zarkova-’Love Song’

10th: Gabbie Carrozza-’Unbroken’

Senior Solo

1st: Zach Burk-’2/21/21′

1st: Selena Hamilton-’Keep an Eye Out’

2nd: Kendall Pangburn-’Secret’

2nd: Anna Miller-’50 Ways’

2nd: Perris Amento-’Addicted to Love’

3rd: Charlotte Foldes-’Shock To Us All’

3rd: Priscilla Tom-’The Blues’

3rd: Milan Furtado-’Peace of Mind’

4th: Gianna Van Den Bosch-’Feel’

4th: Shane Higa-’Superpower’

4th: Camille Fehr-’Till Now’

5th: Kadynce Ross-’Findings’

5th: Kaylee Feierfeil-’Lasting Lover’

5th: Amanda Taylor-’What Is Happening To Me’

5th: Kacie De La Rose-’What’s Poppin’

6th: Lauren Wallingford-’Entanglement’

6th: Izzy Burton-’For All We Know’

6th: Kolton Cross-’Get Your Head In The Game?’

6th: Reese Taylor-’Pink’

6th: Madeline Underwood-’Power of Love’

7th: Mia Hurtz-’Don’t Worry About Me’

7th: John Mays-’Kash’

7th: Amara Tedford-’Stand By Me’

7th: Bianca Capanna-’Unchained Melody’

8th: Grace Glass-’All My Friends’

8th: Stella von Borck-’Hater’

9th: Christina Laude-’Black Ships’

9th: Hanna Clark-’Close To You’

9th: Galilee Nelson-’Everything I Wanted’

9th: Kaitlyn Hong-’I Try’

9th: Cassie Brown-’Ransom’

9th: Delaney Davis-’Shades of Cool’

10th: Noelani Kreider-’Fade’

10th: Alivia Elliot-’My Mistake’

10th: Makenna Bilodeaux-’Oops’

10th: Mallory Davis-’Put It On Me’

Mini Duo/Trio

1st: HYPE Dance Studio-’American Boy’

2nd: Project 21-’I Am The Cute One’

3rd: Pave School of The Arts-’Blow’

3rd: Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Everybody Dance Now’

Junior Duo/Trio

1st: Dance Unlimited Boise-’Me and My Shadow’

2nd: Yoko’s Dance and Performing Arts Academy-’Bring You Home’

3rd: Creative Edge Dance Studio-’Chapstick’

Teen Duo/Trio

1st: DNA Dance Collective-’Tapout’

2nd: Pave School of The Arts-’Amen’

3rd: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Dive In The Water’

Senior Duo/Trio

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’Layers’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Woman’

3rd: Core Connection Dance Company-’Take Over’

Sidekick Group

1st: Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’

2nd: Echo School of Dance-’Tonight Belongs To You’

3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Hard Knock Life’

Mini Group

1st: Project 21-’Fan Tan Fannie’

2nd: Pave School of The Arts-’Swine’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’We Go To Work’

3rd: Echo School of Dance-’We Comin’

Junior Group

1st: Project 21-’Stuff Like That There’

2nd: Project 21-’No Fear But Anticipation’

3rd: Project 21-’Wegue’

Teen Group

1st: Project 21-’Girls, Girls, Girls’

2nd: Project 21-’Bring On The Men’

3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Stand Up’

Senior Group

1st: Project 21-’We Can, We Will’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’SR HH”

3rd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Silence’

Sidekick Line

1st: HYPE Dance Studio-’ABC’

2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’We Got The Beat’

Mini Line

1st: Project 21-’Dive In The Pool’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Drip or Down’

2nd: Pave School of The Arts-’The List’

3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Candy Man’

Junior Line

1st: Project 21-’Proud Mary’

2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Get Up Off That Thang’

3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Lost On You’

Teen Line

1st: Project 21-’Post That’

2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Can U Feel The Beat’

2nd: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Never Be Mine’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Nine One Six’

2nd: Project 21-’The Dictator’s Dream’

3rd: California Dance Company-’Back Alley’

Senior Line

1st: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Next To You’

2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Did Something Bad’

3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Fergalicious’

Teen Extended Line

1st: Project 21-’Desoleil’

2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Pressure’

High Scores by Performance Division:

Sidekick Jazz

1st: Echo School of Dance-’Tonight Belongs To You’ 2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’We Got The Beat’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Yankee Doodle Dandee’

Sidekick Hip-Hop

1st: Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’ 2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’ABC’

Sidekick Tap

Elite Studio of Dance-’Hard Knock Life’

Mini Jazz

1st: Project 21-’Dive In The Pool’ 2nd: Pave School of The Arts-’Swine’ 3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Candy Man’

Mini Hip-Hop

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’Drip or Down’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’We Go To Work’ 3rd: Echo School of Dance-’We Comin’

Mini Tap

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’Mr. Postman’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’What You Want’ 3rd: Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Pennies from Heaven’

Mini Contemporary

1st: Pave School of The Arts-’The List’ 2nd: Echo School of Dance-’Warrior’

Mini Lyrical

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’Wind Beneath My Wings’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Somewhere We Know’ 3rd: Core Connection Dance Company-’Somewhere Only We Know’

Mini Musical Theatre

Project 21-’Fan Tan Fannie’

Junior Jazz

1st: Project 21-’Proud Mary’ 2nd: Project 21-’Stuff Like That There’ 3rd: HYPE Dance Studio-’You Got The Look’

Junior Ballet

Denisa’s School of Dance-’Warrior’

Junior Hip-Hop

1st: Echo School of Dance-’Swagg Out’ 2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Diamond Block’

Junior Tap

1st: HYPE Dance Studio-’Get Up Off That Thang’ 2nd: Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Don’t Want To Dance Alone’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Dear Future Husband’

Junior Contemporary

1st: Project 21-’No Fear But Anticipation’ 2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’How Will I Know’ 3rd: Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’All I Know’

Junior Specialty

1st: Project 21-’Wegue’ 2nd: Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Night Fight’

Teen Jazz

1st: Project 21-’Bring On The Men’ 1st: Project 21-’Post That’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Diva’ 3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Show Me’

Teen Ballet

Elite Studio of Dance-’Counterpoise’

Teen Hip-Hop

1st: HYPE Dance Studio-’Pressure’ 2nd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Can U Feel The Beat’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Nine One Six’ 3rd: California Dance Company-’Back Alley’

Teen Tap

1st: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Sir Duke’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Just Fine’ 3rd: HYPE Dance Studio-’Beggin’

Teen Contemporary

1st: Project 21-’Girls, Girls, Girls’ 1st: Project 21-’Desoleil’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Stand Up’ 3rd: Project 21-’The Dictator’s Dream’ 3rd: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Never Be Mine’

Teen Lyrical

California Dance Company-’Amen’

Teen Musical Theatre

Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Shaking The Blues Away’

Teen Ballroom

Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Baila’

Senior Jazz

Elite Studio of Dance-’Lip Gloss’

Senior Hip-Hop

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’SR HH” 2nd: Core Connection Dance Company-’Bay Area’

Senior Tap

1st: Elite Studio of Dance-’Fergalicious’ 2nd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Bad Guy’

Senior Contemporary

1st: Project 21-’We Can, We Will’ 2nd: Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Next To You’ 3rd: Elite Studio of Dance-’Did Something Bad’

Senior Jazz

Elite Studio of Dance-’Lip Gloss’

11 O’Clock:

Sidekick

Echo School of Dance-’It’s My Party’

HYPE Dance Studio-’ABC’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Hard Knock Life’

Mini

Project 21-’Dive In The Pool’

Pave School of The Arts-’The List’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Drip or Down’

Junior

Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’All I Know’

HYPE Dance Studio-’Get Up Off That Thang’

Project 21-’Proud Mary’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Lost On You’

Teen

Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Never Be Mine’

Echo School of Dance-’Da Girl Gang’

California Dance Company-’Back Alley’

HYPE Dance Studio-’Pressure’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Stand Up’

Project 21-’Girls, Girls, Girls’

Senior

Dance Attack!-Los Gatos-’Next To You’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Did Something Bad’

HYPE Dance Studio-’Silence’

Echo School of Dance-’I Lost A Friend’

Core Connection Dance Company-’Heartless’

Project 21-’We Can, We Will’

Studio Showcase:

Sweaty Shelly Natomas Dance and Fitness-’Untouchable’

Project 21-’Girls, Girls, Girls’

HYPE Dance Studio-’Pressure’

Elite Studio of Dance-’Stand Up’

Echo School of Dance-’I Lost A Friend’

Core Connection Dance Company-’Heartless’

[where-dreamers-go]

Quick question regarding the prequels to the Riley Poole insert reader series that goes through the first movie.

[trillian-anders]

suspect - iii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 4.3k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

The smell of death. It is unlike any other smell and once it’s something you experience; you’ll never forget it.

Bucky thought he’d seen bad crime scenes. He thought the last body he’d seen had been the worst one. But he was proven wrong. He gagged entering the small apartment, immediately being hit with the smell. Even through the face mask it hit him fully that this body must have been decomposing for a while.

He walks to the back bedroom, the forensics team snapping pictures and bagging evidence in the living rom as he walked by. The first thing he sees when he enters the room are her feet. Her ankles bound to the bed with rope, her skin puffed up around the rope itself. The ties are tight. She’s naked, her eyes are swollen shut, he could see the ligature marks around her neck, her wrists bound to the top frame of the bed. A pool of blood under her left arm, dried and crusted. Her ring finger gone.

“How long do you think?” Bucky asked. The head coroner, Bruce, his arms crossed staring at the body. Bruce shakes his head and sighs heavily.

“Anywhere from… five days to a little over a week probably.” He squats down by the side of the bed, peeking into her nostrils, Bucky gagged when he noticed the maggots. Leaving the room and trying to keep his vomit down. As he stepped out on the asphalt outside, he ripped the mask from his face taking gulps of fresh air.

Later he would wash himself with lemons and stick his nose into a bag of coffee grounds. The smell burned itself into his nostrils and the image was hard to shake. He didn’t know if he would ever sleep again.

This time he did shave, his shaky hands nicking the skin of his neck. He tied his clothes in a black trash bag and set it with his laundry, something to be tackled later and he grabbed the manila folder on his coffee table. The ripped open envelope of Cheryl Hansen’s toxicology report.

The diner was familiar to him now, and he found you at the exact same booth you’d been in last time. The notebook in front of you, laptop closed off to the side. You had a cup of coffee sitting in front of you and an empty one across. The stainless thermos pot left on the table for him to serve himself.

“Jean is the only one on right now,” You explain to him, and the woman he assumed was Jean was dealing with a couple drunks and other late-night patrons. He pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Sorry for being late,” He sighs, “I had to get the smell off me.” You hum and he watches you shiver.

“It’s powerful.” You agree. And he wonders how you know what it smells like.

“Cheryl wasn’t the first victim.” He explains, setting the manila folder on the table, the open toxicology report of Cheryl’s on top. “Christine Jones was.” You sigh, looking over his hastily written notes. Everything he’d written down at the scene. How he found the body. What it looked like. What the apartment looked like. He gave you a minute while he made his coffee, plucking a creamer out of the bowl that had been left for the two of you.

“This had to have been his first,” You sigh, “The copycat… the Butcher usually doesn’t leave that kind of bloody mess.” Where her ring finger had been cut. The blood dripping down her arm.

“He usually cleans them up after.” He agrees. The blood from the finger was always cleaned before the body was disposed. His mind goes back to Cheryl’s hand. Her finger cut off at the joint, the blood half clotted like it had been done… “He cuts them off when they’re still alive.” You look up at him from the paper.

“What?”

“The finger,” Bucky explains, “He cuts them off while the girls are still alive.” It rolled like acid in his stomach.

“The Butcher didn’t do that.” Both of you know he didn’t. The Boston Butcher would take the ring finger, but it was always postmortem, the blood unable to clot. The blood unable to pump out through a cut off finger. He watches you cross your arms, leaning back against the booth, thinking. “So this copycat… he wants to murder, but he’s not confident.” You offer, “So he finds Christine… and ties her up.”

“And he removes her finger, and then strangles her.” Bucky finishes, sighing and placing his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening, honestly.” A rough chuckle, “You were right.” The clink of your spoon on the little dish.

“I didn’t want to be.” You admit, “Honestly, but if this guy just killed twice in the same week…”

“Then he’s going to strike again soon.” He watches you swallow harshly, looking out the window of the diner into the parking lot.

“Where are her kids?” Bucky hadn’t known she had kids, but they apparently had been taken away by child protective services and were in foster care. Christine was struggling with a drug habit and had been disowned by her family.

He could tell how much it affected you.

“Tomorrow,” He says, “After a good night’s sleep…” which he sorely needed, “Are you able to help me talk to some of the girls?” He watches you nod, still staring out into the parking lot. You seem dazed and off kilter.

“Of course.”

Bucky wasn’t prideful, you decided. Which was a good quality in a person. You admired the fact that when you saw him in the coffee shop yesterday, he gave you faith in his belief, that maybe you could be right. He didn’t downplay it then. You admired him in the diner when he asked for your help even though 24 hours before he hadn’t truly believed you.

But you couldn’t sleep. You felt restless and sweat through your sheets. The normal lullaby of sirens and drunk yelling on the street was causing you stress and you were paranoid. You cleaned your entire apartment, clearing out your fridge, wiping down every surface and scrubbed the grout until you were to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep with the smell of bleach on your fingertips.

“You look like shit.” Sam said the next day, passing by your desk on his way in. You groaned, accepting the coffee he’d brought for you. The first sip as life’s blood, the first coffee of the day emptied and discarded in the trash can under your desk. “So, we’ve got a bigger story than we originally thought.”

“I’ll have five hundred on your desk in an hour,” You yawn, “Then I have to work on collections for the food drive.”

“When are you seeing the handsome detective again?” He asked, slight smirk as your brow furrows, “You told Riley he has strikingly blue eyes.” An eye roll made him laugh, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s kismet.” Like him and Riley.

“I’ve got work to do Sam.” He raised his hands defensively.

“You know where to find me if you want to talk.” A playful smirk on his face as he disappeared into his office.

Bucky was feeling a little better, sleeping in his own bed for longer than two hours made him feel far less fatigued and ready to tackle the day. Walking into the precinct he had a strange feeling and that feeling was further enraged by how serious Rumlow looked and Rumlow hardly ever looked serious.

“The Chief is here.” Rumlow tells him. Bucky’s eyes meet the glass window of Steve’s office, but the blinds are shut. “We’re going to have a meeting after this to talk about your vics.” Bucky’s stomach turned, which seemed to happen a lot lately. Queasy. The protein bar he shoved down for his breakfast sat like a brick in his stomach.

Alexander Pierce was a hard ass. In the three times he’s met Peirce face to face the man always had some kind of sneer on his face, like he knew he was better than everyone else.

“He likes the power.” Steve told him once while they were sitting on his back deck, and taking a sip from his beer Steve said, “He’s a prick.” Steve hated the guy and Bucky had to agree with him.

“We are starting a task force.” Pierce announced. “Our aim is to keep it under the radar,” His hands held the sides of the podium, like he was the President giving the State of the Union Address. “Which means the following, no talking to the press, no interviews, no leaked information. This is a closed-circuit case.” His eyes scanning the room, “The task force should not deter other normal duties and the numbers we require from you.”

The arrest numbers, a fucking joke. Like looking good on paper mattered more than serving and protecting. His eyes rest on Bucky, “Seeing as Barnes is the one who discovered the copycat, he will be leading the task force along with Rumlow. An agent from the FBI will be coming up to assist with the investigation. You two will decide who else will be helping you track down a suspect. I expect this not to get out to the media.” His eyes focused in on Bucky, “Under no circumstances do we want attention pulled to these murders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Rumlow answered beside him. Bucky felt himself nod. He’s going to have to figure something out, or at least something to tell you.

…

Wanda and her brother Pietro were just two of the children left behind by one of the Boston Butcher’s victims. Magda Eisenhardt. Right at the end, Magda had been one of his last victims in the 90’s. But the twins kept themselves busy, while they worked for the victim’s relief fund, they also ran their own food collection and homeless shelter. The hand they were dealt, even after foster care was much worse than your own and they sympathized heavily with people left on the streets.

Your bag had quickly been discarded in the back office and you went to join Wanda in wiping down and organizing cans and packaged goods. It was a big drop off day, which meant you might be able to grab some to bring Sophie some groceries later. Someone, very kindly, donated the rest of their baby formula. A Boston mom who had enough money to buy in bulk.

“You think we can give her a couple cans?” You lift the two in your hand. “I think she’s pretty low.” Wanda nods, scribbling onto the clipboard before tapping it down on the counter.

“Is he really back?” Soft and unsure. Like she didn’t want the actual answer. She looks at you, terrified. You let out a deep breath.

“I think so.” She sinks into the chair behind her and you set the two cans down on the table before walking over to hug her.

“I talked to Nick yesterday.” Her hand rubbing your arm that was wrapped around her shoulders. “Maybe this is what we need to help us get him out.” You sigh,

“I think it’s a copycat,” She looks up at you, “but if he sees that it’s happening maybe the real Butcher will get angry that someone is doing such a sloppy job.” A moment of silence, Wanda sheds a tear and quickly wipes it away.

“I think we can give her those and you can take her some of the pasta and canned veggies.” Standing and removing herself from your arms, grabbing a cloth tote and putting the formula and aforementioned items inside and putting it off to the side. Wanda took the death of her Mother very hard. She had been in therapy for a long time and to your knowledge she still goes, once a week like clockwork.

Pietro told you once that she feels guilty, but you couldn’t imagine why. “She feels like it’s her fault.” Over coffee, “Like our Mom buying her a barbie dream house was the thing that got her killed.” Wanda knows it wasn’t her fault. Realistically. But more in practice it was a nagging guilt in the back of her brain that made her feel like she needed to do so much good in the world to make up for the fact that her Mom needed to make money and she’d cried and whined about wanting a Barbie dreamhouse for her birthday.

“Selfish.” She’d said once.

“You’re not selfish,” You would say, “How would you have known?” How could anyone know? You don’t know when it’s going to be the last time you talk to someone. You can’t possibly know when it’s that person’s last day. And there’s no way of knowing at six years old that your Mother will be ripped from this world by a psycho.

She always answered with a shrug.

“I’m meeting with the detective tonight,” You tell her, “We’re going to go try to talk to some of the girls.” She nods, turning to you her face a little red and blotchy,

“I’ll put the feelers out here,” She says, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” You wrap her into a hug. Her arms tight around you.

“I’ll check back in tomorrow?” She nods, squeezing you a little harder before letting go. “Tell Pietro I said hi.”

“I will.”

…

Bucky was struggling and it wasn’t just because Rumlow hadn’t shut up since the meeting. But because he didn’t know what to do with you now. He knew the girls wouldn’t talk to him, and they definitely wouldn’t talk to Rumlow, but Pierce seemed to know about you. He seemed to know about the contact that Bucky had with you. Or maybe Bucky was just paranoid.

“He’s hoping to see you fail.” Steve told him, “That’s why he left you in charge… don’t let him win.” It made him uneasy. This could make or break him now and that fact did not go over his head. He could feel it as soon as Pierce said that he would oversee the task force. Just waiting for him to fail and slip real easy back behind his desk.

He sunk down behind his desk, drafting a text. Rumlow was going to be going with him to try to question some of the girls and Bucky knows that if you went with him to meet them Rumlow would have an issue with it. Especially since Pierce made such a big deal about it. No doubt he would try to kiss ass and gain favor by exploiting you.

Can’t meet up to interview. Meet at diner later?

He sighs, phone dropping heavily onto the desk. He looked across the room watching Rumlow speak closely with Pierce. It gave him a strange feeling. Like they were in on something he wasn’t. It wasn’t a secret that they knew each other. Pierce was the reason why Rumlow had even became a detective. Rumlow liked to boast nepotism between Steve and Bucky but he forgets that his own Stepfather is Chief of Police.

Rumlow doesn’t like to mention him and from the very few times Pierce had been brought up in his presence he’d visibly tensed. Bucky assumed that their relationship was strained, but the close and intimate conversation they were currently having would tell him otherwise.

Bucky cracked his knuckles. His phone dinged. Your reply,

I can go alone, diner when?

A huff, he texts back.

DO NOT GO ALONE. Just meet at diner around 12.

How dumb are you? Trying to go out alone when an active serial killer was on the loose, strolling around the red-light district by yourself. You either had a lot of confidence or a death wish.

I know someone, I’ll go talk to them and then meet you at the diner.

His brow furrows and he shook his head in disbelief,

Who do you know?

“Let’s go.” Rumlow grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and walks past Bucky without stopping. A glance up at where Pierce and Rumlow had just been talking showed Pierce glaring at his stepson’s back, his eyes flit to Bucky’s and his face became stone before turning his back.

The girls stood in small groups. Two or three, occasionally four. Whittled one by one until there would be a single girl standing alone. That’s when it would get dangerous. The goal, overall, was to see if the girls had dealt with anyone out of the ordinary lately.

Typically, serials don’t just start killing out of nowhere. There’s a steady progression of assault. Maybe there’s a guy who is a little aggressive. Maybe there’s a guy they get a bad feeling about. And hopefully someone would be willing to talk.

…

Sophie gave you a name when you’d dropped off the formula and canned goods. A girl Cheryl was really close with. “She said they were coworkers.” Sophie told you, “So she’s probably in the same situation.” A quick look found her address, not too far from where Sophie lived. You were going attempt to drop by, see if she was in and if not… then you would just have to go see if any of the girls would talk to you.

A knock on the apartment door, you could hear something going on inside. She must be home. Or at least, someone is. The door is ripped open, the chain jerked tight against the opening as a man looks out at you from inside.

“Can I help you?” Not friendly, not that you expected him to be.

“Is Angel here?” He pauses, looking behind him for a moment and talking to someone in the room before turning back.

“Who are you?” He didn’t turn you away so that’s good at least.

“I’m a friend of Sophie’s.” You cross your arms across your chest, feeling a chill. “Sophie told me to come talk to Angel about Cherry.” He looked back into the room, shutting the door and then reopening it, stepping back.

“Come on.” His head poking out into the hallway and shutting the door behind you. You could see the girl you were looking for, sitting just before you on the couch, curled up into herself, sniffling. Her eyes were red, hair messy and a tissue in her hand.

“What do you want?” She sounds congested and she doesn’t get up when you walk further into the apartment.

“I’m Y/N,” You offer, “I work with the VRF for those affected by—”

“The Butcher.” She nods, “I’ve heard.” You nod,

“Do you know who Cherry went with that night? Have you seen anyone suspicious?” A humorless laugh,

“Most of the johns are suspicious.” She shakes her head. But that’s fair, “I saw her get into the car, but I wasn’t paying attention to the plate or anything. It was normal…” A harsh swallow, “It just seemed so normal.”

“Do you remember anything about the car itself?” Sinking down onto the couch next to her, “Anything identifiable? Color? Make? Model?” She shrugs, balling the tissue into her fist.

“It was like… it looked like a cop car, but it wasn’t.”

“Like one of the ones they sell at auction.” The man spoke from his spot in the doorway, “An old police cruiser that had been stripped and sold and probably sold at auction.” You nod,

“Okay,” That’s helpful. Really helpful. “Did you get a glimpse of who was in the car, by any chance?”

“No.” She looks at her knees, “I’ve been afraid to go back out, since they found her.” Understandably so, “But I’m going to have to…” A pause, “I think you should go.”

It was clear she was having a hard time, you truly felt bad for her. The situation she must be in. “If you think of anything else.” She nods, taking the business card. Stepping back out onto the street you found yourself a little more confident than before.

A police cruiser gone to auction was a lead. It would at least give you a list of suspects. The excitement in that, was unreal.

…

Bucky rest his head on the steering wheel after having parked in front of the diner. His head pounding. He honestly didn’t know how much longer he would be able to do this and it just started. He felt like he would gain an inch, a girl willing to say something. Anything, and as soon as she started to open up and get some real ground with him, Rumlow would say something cheap.

He’s fucking up the investigation.

But it’s just him. Bucky thought Rumlow was a good detective. Before this. But now, how did the guy solve anything? He clearly made the girl uncomfortable. And he wanted to throttle Rumlow when her voice resigned, said, “I have to get going.” Before moving to a different block.

“They’re disgusting.” Rumlow spat on the ground. Bucky groaned at the smell of dip spit. “Like talk about lack of dignity.”

“They’re people too.” Bucky wanted to go. Maybe this is how he fails, Rumlow is his iron anchor, drowning him. A knock on his window startles him, sitting back in his drivers’ seat and sighing he sees your face through the glass and kills the ignition.

“You good?” You ask him as he steps from the car. He scrubs his hand over his face, head still pounding.

“Yeah, I think I just need to eat.” He watches Marie give you a strange look as the two of you walk to what seemed to be your normal table, something you shrug off as you drop your bag heavily on the seat squished between you and the window as he sat across from you.

Soda and iced tea. Bucky ordered a burger and you a club sandwich.

“They don’t want me talking to you,” He starts with. “Chief made it clear that he wanted no press involvement.” You sigh across from him,

“So what are you going to do?” He was trying to read your face, but you seemed as though you’d been expecting him to say that. Like it didn’t surprise you in the slightest. He thought about it.

He thought about what he wanted to do. He’d been thinking about it all day. “My gut is telling me to work with you.” He sits back as Marie comes with the plates, a soft thank you and a smile. “I want to work with you.” And he wanted to know more. Why you ran this relief fund. Why you were so passionate about it. He had a theory. But he would need to look into it a bit more, or he could just ask.

“I got a lead.” You grin at him, plucking a fry from your plate, “So Angela Bennet, she goes by Angel, a friend of Cheryl’s, she said she saw Cheryl get into a retired police cruiser, like the ones they sell at auction.” He feels his mouth drop slightly,

“Like the old white and blue Fords?” You nod, popping another fry into your mouth.

“I can run a search for cars gone to auction.” He takes a bite of his burger. Maybe that’s something else he can talk to Steve about. Steve bought his Dad’s old cruiser years ago as a novelty. Steve often cleared stuff for auction and would maybe help him profile someone who would want to buy a police cruiser, maybe the type of guys that would go to those auctions to buy. “My friend Steve, he would know more about the old cruisers.” They’d had a huge overhaul in 2015 at their precinct. New, updated cruisers with more bells and whistles. They’d gone out in reliability in the last decade of having them.

“If you could get a good picture of one,” You start, “We can start asking around.” That was a good idea.

“Tomorrow, maybe we should go talk to Fury.” If Fury was the Butcher, then he would be able to give them some insight into what kind of person they’re looking for. If he wasn’t… well Bucky could cross that bridge when he got to it.

“I can’t tomorrow.” You take a sip of your drink, “We have the group meeting tomorrow for the VRF.”

“Do a lot of people go to that?” How had he never heard of this before? You shrug,

“We pull a descent crowd.”

“Well maybe that’s what we could do tomorrow.” And he could talk to some of the people attached to the 90’s cases. Get some information, “But I would have to bring Rumlow.” He just wanted to get rid of him, this pain in his ass, Rumlow the insensitive shit.

“Why?” Bucky sighs, sitting back against the booth.

“He’s my partner for the case now that it’s a serial.” A shake of his head, “They’re sending someone up from the FBI too, trying to get ahead of it.” You roll your eyes across from him.

“Ahead of the bad press, you mean.” A harsh sigh, “Back in the 90’s they did the same thing, no one even knew that the Butcher existed until they took Fury in for questioning.” Maybe he should ask. Maybe he should just…

“How do you know so much about this?” He watched you stiffen slightly, “Why are you so invested?” You dropped the fry you’d been toying with back on your plate before sighing and leaning back, matching his posture.

“Because my Mom was one of the victims.”

[inkformyblood]

a willing sacrifice (COD Kinktober 2024 Day 18)

2009 Ghost x Roach, canon verse, Biting. Lemon.

Roach never fully relaxes. 

It’s not immediately obvious to an outside observer; not when compared to the barely restrained bulk of Captain MacTavish who’s a modulated three seconds away from defecting on a bad day, five on a good, and people who notice Riley don’t look long enough to observe him, his sunglasses seeming to cover more than just his eyes. Roach is barely more than a blip on the radar, a perfectly packaged survivor to trot out next to the Captain, sewn together with neater stitches than Riley.

Relaxing is a learned skill, one Riley has managed to cultivate with grave dirt beneath his nails and sheer fucking stubbornness. Precious few disturb the dead, after all. 

Roach doesn’t sprawl over Riley’s bed, barely larger than a barracks bunk but his door locks and that’s enough for Roach to show his belly at all, the barest hint of it where his shirt rucks up as he rolls onto his side. Could be mistaken as being at rest as Riley steps towards the bed and sits on the edge, but he doesn’t turn his back to Roach. No point cutting his own throat for the offering.

Riley wriggles backwards so he’s leaning against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. The sheets tangle beneath him and he breathes out slowly, his jaw clenched tight. This is going to hurt. 

He grabs Roach’s ankle, pulls him closer, hooks his other hand beneath the other man’s thighs to roll him onto his lap.

Roach bites him.

There’s a moment before the pain hits.

Roach’s lip curls, his teeth embedded in Riley’s hand — thrown in front of him like a sacrifice, the pale scarred indentations of Roach’s teeth layering beneath the freshly torn wounds — and he snarls up at him, wordless and furious. There’s no chance of tearing himself free; Roach’s legs are tight against Riley’s hips, ankles locked behind his back, and Roach’s hands are shoved in the scant space between them. Riley tips his gaze down, swallowing down a yelp of pain. 

He’s already hard, a dull wash of sensation barely there beneath the pounding of blood behind his eyes, the matching marching drum in his hand, and Roach’s fingers glisten in the low light, his underwear sodden and clinging to every inch of him. 

Riley curls his fingers inside the press of Roach’s teeth, tracing the lines on the roof of his mouth, before he lets his head fall back against the wall. Roach shifts closer, presses Riley’s cock into himself with a hiss — too much, too soon, a bright burst of pain as his jaw clenched around Riley’s hand — and he begins to move, rolling his hips, fucking himself on Riley like he’s just another toy. 

Something tears in Riley’s hand, copper flooding the air, Roach’s teeth impacting bone and tendon, and Riley braces his feet against the bed, fucking up into Roach in earnest. His own jaw aches, spit pooling beneath his tongue, and he chews his lips behind his mask, rips open the minute cuts there again and again until it aches behind the nothingness of deadened nerves. 

Riley comes first, his teeth embedded in his lower lip, iron flooding his mouth, and Roach clenches around him, following soon after with an open-mouthed moan.

There’s blood on his teeth as he grins down at Riley, his shoulders loose and every blink slow. 

[wellhellsbelles]

Hi! i absolutely loved both the 1st chapter of to the rythm of your wild heart and the mini fanfic you wrote :) i found somewhere this prompt that was like farkle and riley are best friends and they work as teachers in the same school and their students ship them and have bets on when they are going to finally admit their feelings for eachother

omg thank you so much!! i’m having such a fun time writing all these prompts, and this one ended up being my favorite by far (especially considering the word count is uhhh 7.1k whoops lol) 

Enjoy!!! :)

ao3 link or read below

//

Even if the universe hadn't pre-ordained them getting together, their students would've forced them in that direction.

OR

The one where Farkle and Riley are teachers, best friends, and their students are maybe a little too involved in their love lives.

(i. the challenge)

“Okay, I know I’ve said it the last few years, but this will definitely be the year my photography class beats your puny little physics class,” Riley told Farkle, dropping a box full of supplies on his desk. He peered up from his computer, adjusting his glasses as he quirked a brow at his best friend.

“So that’s how we’re starting tomorrow? With a fresh cup of competition? What happened to Miss ‘I-Wanna-Take-It-Easy-This-Year’?”

“That was summer Riley. She’s different, you should know this by now, Farkle,” Riley scoffed. “And besides, that was before I was able to get funding for really cool cameras for class, photoshop for all our computers, and was given the greenlight to start photography club. Face it, Minkus, you’re toast.”

“Okay, Riley. Whatever you say,” Farkle rolled his eyes at her, stealing a sip of coffee from the mug on his desk (Riley got it for him a couple of Christmases ago and he loved it; it said, “I don’t give a flux”, and had a helpful diagram underneath that she couldn’t even begin to understand.)

“Damnit, Farkle! Stop using your stupid head games so I can feel victorious! I know you’re in this just about as much as I am, so stop feigning disinterest. I will be the best teacher this year for once! All of those physics students are going to be begging to be in my class!” Riley shouted, picking up the box off his desk and disappearing out of the room. Farkle listened to the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the hallway tile fading out in the distance, shaking his head and chuckling as he continued typing away on his computer.

//

(ii. the meeting)

Riley spotted him hiding amongst the teachers filling up the auditorium seats for their mandatory teacher orientation for the beginning of the new school year. It warmed her heart to see him sunk low in his chair, trying to appear invisible and yet clearly waiting for her if the denim jacket draped over the seat beside him was any indication.

They’d done this meeting numerous times now since they started—they’d met five years ago, both new teachers to the school and unsure about their place amongst the other staff. Riley had been nervous as hell, but as soon as she saw Farkle sequestered to one of the rows further back by himself, she realized she wasn’t alone. She took a seat beside him, introduced herself despite his desperation to remain unseen, and from then on they were glued to the hip, the best of friends. Neither of them had been apart from one another during any school function, and they didn’t intend on changing that.

He was her partner in crime, after all.

“Miss me?” Riley asked when she reached him. Farkle breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed her, picking the denim jacket up off of the seat and gesturing beside himself.

Even after all this time, he still remained nervous at the beginning of the year, still hiding himself away from the rest of the staff he knew well by now. His penchant for anxiety was a curious one, but not anything Riley chided him for. She’d done her job by helping him get acclimated to everyone else and was definitely pushing it by encouraging him to sit closer to the rest of the teachers during these meetings; she chose which battles she fought very carefully.

“You’re late by five minutes,” he said pointedly, and Riley rolled her eyes.

“So dramatic, Farkle.”

“I prefer ‘reasonably ceremonious’.”

“Whatever you say. Now, did you bring our entertainment or what?”

Farkle flashed his phone, showing off an image of a bingo sheet.

“Bingo,” he smiled cheekily, “It’s an updated version. I think I notice new quirks about Principal Carson every year.”

“As long as the bingo space is ‘Gals and Pals’, then we’re good as gold,” Riley told him.

“Oh, you know it is. I did have to replace some of the obvious Einstein quotes into their own category to make room for the comedian stool and water bottle.”

“It’s like he wants to do standup. I think we should just encourage him to do standup, it’d be a wonderful time,” she laughs.

“It’d be fantastic, but then we’d be out of a principal. He’d be too good,” Farkle said, and Riley’s laughter quickly turned to a full-out peal. Some of the teachers around sent her looks of disdain and she cut herself off, but not before allowing one last cackle to slip past her lips.

“Alright, gals and pals! Are we all ready to get started for our new school year? I know I am!” Principal Carson exclaimed, taking his place at the front of the stage. “We better get started, because as Einstein said, time is relative!”

“Wow, two in one go. This is getting to be too easy,” Riley whispered, and Farkle couldn’t help but agree.

 //

 (iii. the bet)

Riley watched with amusement as all her students gathered around one student in particular, whispering in hushed, conspicuous tones. She loved her advanced photography class because they all had been together for so long, had formed their own friendships with one another after sharing the same class. They were sort of one big family at this point, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d done something sneaky behind Riley’s back.

It’s only the second week, Riley thought, What could they possibly be planning?

“Alright guys, break it up. Don’t you wanna learn some neat photoshop tricks?” Riley asked rhetorically, waving her hands apart to mimic separating.

The students fled to their seats, allowing her to finally see the student in question they had been crowding around. The girl, a small red-head named Penny, was busy compiling a stack of cash and then shoving it into a plastic bag, and despite knowing Penny was harmless, Riley didn’t want to leave the matter.

“Penny, whatcha got there?” Riley said, pointing to the money. Penny shrugged.

“It’s the pot. I’m the bookmaker.”

“Bookmaker?”

“Ms. Matthews, no offense, but please follow along. It’s not that hard; I’m taking bets.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at her student.

“What could you guys even be betting on? We’re in a high school,” Riley mused, bewildered. “Also I am not about to let you guys run a gambling ring under my nose. That reeks of something I can get in trouble for.”

“Relax,” Penny told her, “It’s nothing bad. We’re all just placing bets on when Mr. Minkus is going to ask you out. Or vice-versa. Actually, there’s also a bet for if it happens at the same time. I think Frankie’s the one who’s got that bet, he’s been holding down the betting pool for the AP Physics class.”

“What?!” Riley exclaimed, “What do you mean you’re betting on us getting together?”

“Ms. Matthews, you and Mr. Minkus have been toeing around one another the last few years. We just figured we’d try and capitalize on it this year. I ran a soft betting pool last year sans money, and I think it turned out really well, personally,” Penny exclaimed.

“You two are just so cute together!” Maggie crooned from behind her.

“I really thought I was gonna win it, too, but then we came back and I had lost,” Jess pouted from the back of the classroom. Riley’s head was still reeling from the fact that her students were betting on her love-life.

“What made you think you were gonna win?” she asked Jess.

“Well, Tanner had told us that Mr. Minkus had moved into your apartment building at the end of the year, so I assumed it’d take you to the end of summer to get your crap together. I was wrong, apparently,” Jess said.

“Oh my god, I cannot have my students betting on my personal life. That is just all levels of wrong,” Riley announced, running her hands down her face. “Alright, no more of this! I am not condoning this strange gambling ring you’ve got going on. And Penny, you better tell Frankie to cut it out, too! Mr. Minkus and I need our students to recognize that there’s a reason we keep our personal lives out of the classroom. We’re here to learn, so if I catch you guys talking about it in class again, I’ll have no choice but to give you detention, okay?”

That effectively cut off any further chatter on the matter, and Riley sighed, shaking her head.

 This was going to be a fun school year, no doubt about that.

 //

 (iv. the new teacher)

“The kids have a bet going on,” Riley told Farkle three weeks later. They were waiting their turn in the makeshift buffet line in the cafeteria, paper plates in their hands as they made their second trip for dessert. A potluck had been set up after school for the staff to celebrate the first month of school going off without a hitch (it was always Riley’s favorite; Lisa the Latin teacher always brought homemade lemon squares that were to die for.)

“Oh yeah?” Farkle asked.

“Apparently they’re in conjunction with your kids, as well. I had to stop a gambling circuit with actual money from forming in my classroom, but I think it’s already too late,” she groaned, stepping forward when the line moved.

“Wait, my kids, too? I know we get competitive against one another but isn’t that taking it a little too far?” he said, eyebrow raised in concern. “What could they possibly be betting on, they’re high schoolers!”

“You know, I asked the same question. Penny thought I was nuts for pestering her about it.”

“Penny Miller? Notoriously shy Penny Miller? That Penny?”

“Yeah, she’s the bookmaker. I think I made her too confident in my class, if that’s possible.”

“I think someone has an inflated ego. Narcissus, eat your heart out!” Farkle exclaimed, clenching his fist. Riley jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“Rude! I am not egotistic. I just know my worth is all.”

“Narcissistic,” he coughed, earning him a look of disdain from her.

“You’re mean, Farkle Minkus.”

“I am what I am,” he shrugged, grabbing a piece of cake to place on his plate. “This cake looks too good to be Stacy’s. Is it possible that she honed her cake-making skills this summer, because if so, I’m here for it.”

“Pretty sure the new teacher made it,” the teacher across from him, Landon from the history department, cut in. “Stacy had to go on maternity leave at the last second.”

“New teacher?” Riley furrowed her brows.

“Yeah, Isadora Smackle, teaches calculus. She’s right over there,” he pointed ahead to a small, lanky girl with tan skin, long raven hair, and black cat-eye frames. Farkle’s mouth dropped open and Riley had to poke him to get his attention.

“Farkle?”

“What?” he answered, not really paying attention as his eyes remained on the new teacher. Riley pouted.

“I wasn’t done telling you about the bet. Don’t you want to hear about it?”

“Yeah, sure, but could you give me a moment? I’m gonna go talk to that new teacher,” he told her as he walked off towards Isadora Smackle.

Riley felt a pang of disappointment go through her, but she ignored it for the sake seeming ridiculous. He was just going to go talk to the new teacher, it wasn’t like he was going to abandon Riley at the potluck. It was their tradition to go to these things and bear them together, because as much as Riley put on a front about being comfortable around everyone, it really was only because she had Farkle there to make her feel comfortable.

Without him it was like . . . it was like she was missing a limb.

Riley stole two lemon squares (what, she was feeling sorry for herself!) and sat back down at the table the two of them had once preoccupied. She pretended not to watch them from afar, but she couldn’t help herself in the end—she’d never seen Farkle put himself out there like this; it was strange. But there he was, standing in front of Isadora Smackle with a goofy grin on his face, and despite seeming stiff still, she seemed just as charmed by Farkle.

Suddenly Riley didn’t feel like eating her lemon squares.

She waited for him to come back, too, but after a long while, she realized that was a fruitless effort. Farkle was glued to the new teacher and Riley was left deserted, so she threw out her lemon squares, found her bag, and left to go finish work in her classroom.

And if she ignored the obvious hurt snaking its way down her throat, well . . .

 So be it.

 //

 (v. the grudge)

“Alright, I’m forcing you to eat with me, effective immediately,” Farkle announced as he barged into Riley’s classroom during lunch. She had her door shut to deter any office hours while she tried to catch up on grading, something that seemed to have been slipping by her lately.

The door was not shut, however, to one Farkle Minkus—she couldn’t keep him out even if she tried.

Riley eyed him warily as he set a bag down on her desk, pulling out the contents to reveal Chinese food from their favorite Chinese place down the street.

A bribe.

“Bribe me all you want, Minkus. I’m still busy,” she tried to brush him off, but Farkle was persistent. He didn’t take no for an answer, opening all the containers of food and placing chopsticks in front of her.

“Nope, not going to happen. You’re going to have lunch with me because snuck in all this food, and I’m not going to let it go to waste because somebody is being snippy with me,” he told her, tossing a plate in the only empty spot on her desk. “I hope you appreciate me because I bought orange chicken which I know you love and you know I detest, so dig in or so help me god.”

Well, Riley really couldn’t argue with that logic.

She sighed in resignation, abandoning her position at her computer and turning to face him. She picked up the chopsticks begrudgingly and began scooping rice onto her plate, a small smile on her face.

It was hard for Riley to stay mad at Farkle; he made it impossible.

“Fine, thank you for the food I didn’t ask for, Farkle,” she told him, emphasizing his name at the end for dramatic effect. The smug grin spread across his face quicker than lightning, and she would’ve done anything at that point to wipe it off (except she wouldn’t, she couldn’t.)

“You’re welcome, Riley. Now catch me up on stuff. I haven’t seen you in a hot second.”

“Penny’s still driving me nuts, there’s that. I know she’s still running that underground betting ring and it makes me so mad that I don’t know how to stop it,” Riley huffed. “Then, of course, I have to learn how to use photoshop along with the rest of the kids because I haven’t been able to afford photoshop on my own, so not only does my class get to fail, but they get to see me fail at it, too.”

“Riley,” Farkle said softly, reaching out to grip her hand, “You’ve got this. Your kids know how amazing of a teacher you are, and they know it’s as much of a learning curve for them as it is for you. You’ll get the hang of it because you’re Riley Matthews.”

She couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that spread through her body from his touch, how being around him alone made her mind ten trillion times calmer.

“Thank you, Farkle. For everything, really,” she smiled. Farkle smiled back at her, his mouth dropping open as he made to speak, but then Isadora Smackle (Smackle, she insisted upon being referred to as) opened the door and stuck her head through. Farkle released Riley’s hand at once, his attention turning to Smackle.

“Farkle, we have math club in five minutes! Did you forget you’re supposed to be going over important theorems in preparation for next weekend’s competition?” she asked. Farkle glanced over at Riley then back at Smackle, and Riley didn’t need to be a mind reader to know his decision.

“Go ahead, Farkle. Your math club needs you,” she told him, waving him towards the door.

“Rain check?” he asked as he stood up from the chair he’d pulled up to the desk. Riley nodded.

“Sure thing.”

Farkle waved and parted with a quick goodbye, disappearing out of Riley’s door and leaving her with a desk full of partially touched Chinese food.

 Your math club needs you, she said aloud.

 But I need you more, her heart cried out softly.

 //

 (vi. the planning committee)

As per usual, once October arrived, everyone began planning for the school’s fall festival. It was Riley’s favorite event of the year, the one she looked forward to every time autumn came around. She’d loved it so much her first year of teaching at the school that when the student council needed help after deciding to expand the festival outside of the gym, she volunteered without hesitation. And, of course, where Riley went, Farkle followed.

They always asked for volunteers inside of their classes, but this year Riley was proud that she could enlist her entire photography club to help, along with Farkle’s math club. Sure, things had changed between her and Farkle since the beginning of the semester, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to uphold tradition to help plan and set up the festival.

“We should be set for next week,” Rebecca, the student body class president, announced towards the end of their final meeting for planning. “I contacted all the food trucks that had said yes to confirm their attendance and they’re all still on board, Chelsea called the pumpkin patch to check and make sure the pumpkins would be delivered on time, all our booths have been divided between the photography club and math club, and we have a final announcement. Wanna take it away, Ben?”

Ben, the vice president, cleared his throat and a grin grew on his face.

“We didn’t want to say anything until the last minute just to make sure it was going to actually happen, but we booked a Ferris wheel this year!” he exclaimed. Everyone applauded and Riley’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“That’s amazing, guys! This is going to be the best fall festival yet!”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, a bashful smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. “Now, any last questions before we break until next week?” No one said anything, everyone in agreement that they had everything on lockdown. “Awesome! Thank you guys so much, and I can’t wait for next Saturday. This is going to be the bomb!”

Everyone began packing up, excited chatter filling the room as they all talked about the anticipated fall festival. Riley picked up her own bag and walked to meet up with Farkle, knocking her shoulder into his.

“Hey,” she greeted him cheerfully.

“Hey!” he echoed back, pulling his laptop bag over his shoulder and following her as they left the room they used for committee meetings.

“So, isn’t this awesome? We’ve got so many cool booths going on this year, food trucks, and a freaking Ferris wheel.”

“I know, I can’t believe how big it’s going to be. To think it was only a small set of booths and homemade crafts when we started out.”

“I loved it then, too, but I’m so glad we’ve been able to help it branch out a bunch. I just know I can’t wait to kick your ass at the ring toss. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been practicing all summer long,” she told him, smug. Farkle paused mid-step in the hall, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward.

“Uh, about that, Riley . . .”

“What?” she asked, glancing over at him. The look on his face was apologetic, and it suddenly dawned on her why.

“I asked Isadora if she wanted to go with me this year, I’m sorry,” he told her, brow furrowed.

“Oh. Okay,” Riley said, trying her best to keep her features schooled, “That’s . . . that’s fine. I’ll just help out with one of the booths this year. I’m sure Penny would love to have me help with pumpkin carving.”

“Riley, you love getting to do all this stuff at the festival. You don’t need me to have fun there.”

She shook her head.

“No, it’s really fine. I know Penny needed help with coordinating all the pumpkin stuff, so I’ll just do that. I want to see people enjoy it themselves more than anything, so this will make me just as happy,” she tried to reassure him, but her words felt flat even to her own ears.

“Riles . . .” Farkle trailed, wanting to fight her on the matter, but Riley gave him a sad sort of smile.

“I’ll be busy with work and photoshop classes, so see you at the festival?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed half-heartedly, and Riley waved goodbye before abandoning him in the hall to walk to her car.

 In that moment, Riley felt like she was losing everything. She didn’t want to, but her heart felt the loss all the same; Farkle was supposed to be her best friend, the one who she went to all these school events with, the person who stuck by her side no matter what. But now that Smackle was in the picture, Riley found herself abandoned at these functions more often than not. What was once enjoyable to her had hinged entirely on Farkle being there with her, and that realization left her feeling . . .

Alone.

She felt alone, and she hated it.

 //

 (vii. the festival)

Riley put on her favorite purple-striped t-shirt, overalls, black converses, and braided her hair into twin pigtails, preparing herself for the festival. She topped the look off by tying a bow around her head, looking at herself in the mirror with confidence afterward. She was determined to enjoy the festival despite the fact that she was flying solo this year, and really, she could. The festival was always her favorite and although her plans changed, she had a feeling she’d still have fun.

She’d be damned if she didn’t.

Riley grabbed her bag and left her apartment, locking the door and resisting throwing a glance at the apartment door across from her. All she needed to do was shut her brain off and not worry about anything, not bother being bent out of shape about the sudden shift in her life.

Easier said than done.

Her brain had this unparalleled habit of holding on to every worry and anxious thought that cropped up inside her mind. It was hard to just shut that off; it was all she ever knew. But she also knew that she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to enjoy the day she’d been looking forward to all year long. It didn’t behoove her to ruminate, either, so she remained optimistic, actually thrilled to help carve and decorate pumpkins. Fall was still fall, her favorite season of the year, and nothing could stop her from that.

Not even dumb boys and dumb dates.

 The festival was an array of glowing lights when she arrived, and that familiar spark of overwhelming joy coursed through her at the sight. There were already cars filling up the spaces of the parking lot despite the festival not starting for another ten minutes, and Riley couldn’t believe her eyes as she got out of the car, the Ferris wheel standing tall in all its grandiose glory. She beamed at all the hard work coming to fruition, knowing for certain that this was going to be their best festival yet.

“Ms. Matthews, I can’t believe you’re helping me out with pumpkins this year!” Penny greeted her, face already covered in wild face paint that made her look like a scarecrow.

“Yeah, I’m excited!” Riley exclaimed. “I’ve seen the way you’ve manned this booth singlehandedly the last couple of years and can’t wait to help you out.”

“Do you mind setting out some pumpkins for me, then? I still have to get the paint set up for the stations,” Penny asked.

“Sure thing!”

Riley did as she was told, setting out pumpkins of all different shapes, sizes, and colors, admiring each one as she set them down. She was glad that they used pumpkins from a local pumpkin patch and that they didn’t just stick to the standard orange ones, but the other sorts of gourds that came in a variety of colors. As soon as she finished, she noticed that people had already started filing in, kids, teenagers, and parents alike. They all wore bright grins and their eyes sparkled in wonderment at everything around them.

It made Riley’s heart feel warm to see it.

They manned their booth until all the pumpkins had been given away and decorated, happy to see everyone decorate their pumpkins in their own styles. Riley found herself caked with purple paint up the entirety of her arms, and when Penny saw it, she added a brushstroke of orange to her nose.

“To balance it out,” Penny had explained. Riley couldn’t argue with that logic.

By the time the last pumpkin had been gifted, the last few people remaining at the decorating stand, a familiar pair of people arrived.

“Hey, guys,” Farkle said, Smackle at his side. Riley’s smile at him came and went within a few seconds, from the moment she spotted him to the moment she noticed his fingers laced with Smackle’s.

“You look like you jumped in a vat of purple paint,” Smackle pointed out to Riley.

“I may as well have,” Riley found her voice.

“Too bad you two just got here, we’re out of pumpkins,” Penny told them with a shrug.

“That’s okay, we were just stopping by here to check out how everything was going before heading to the Ferris wheel,” Farkle said.

“Oh,” Riley said, her voice small.

“Well, why don’t you two go enjoy it, then? We’ll finish up here ourselves, thanks for visiting!” Penny cut in, an urgent edge to her tone as she shuffled Farkle and Smackle away from their booth. Riley sighed, crossing her arms against her chest as a dry hurt stuck itself in her throat.

“Hey, wanna get some funnel cake? It’s on me, Ms. Matthews; you look like you could use some sweet, fried food,” Penny offered, and Riley didn’t even have it in her to try and fight her on it. She just nodded her head, waiting while Penny grabbed her purse and then tugged her along towards the funnel cake truck.

Penny was right, in the end. Riley’s mood peaked again at the first taste of powdered sugar and fried dough, bursting into a fit of laughter when she noticed Penny had sugar caked all over her face after two minutes of having the confectionary. They wandered around the rest of the festival just to check things out, but Penny remained silent for the benefit of Riley, who appreciated the sentiment very much so. It floored her how caring and amazing her students were, especially Penny who had managed to land herself on Riley’s list after the bet debacle.

“You know, I am sorry about the bet thing,” Penny announced later, breaking the silence. Riley peered at her curiously, finishing her last bite of funnel cake before responding.

“Thanks. It did annoy me, but it didn’t matter to much to me until recently.”

“Do you think,” Penny began, “And don’t get mad at me, but do you think there might be another reason it bothers you?”

“What do you mean?” Riley asked. Penny’s mouth opened to respond, but her bright green eyes peered over to the Ferris wheel, widening in surprise when she saw something. Riley turned in time to see what it was exactly that Penny saw—

Farkle and Smackle were on the Ferris wheel together, and he was kissing her.

Suddenly, Penny’s question to Riley made sense, and more than that, the entire time since Smackle had entered the picture. Riley’s heart plummeted in her chest, her eyes stinging with regret.

 Riley was in love with Farkle.

 But she had realized it a day late and a dollar short, and now she had to face the repercussions and watch as he fell in love with someone else.

 //

 (viii. the breakup)

Riley’s epiphany at the fall festival was earth shattering and it hurt like hell, but that was it. Life went on after that and Riley did her best to ignore her feelings. She knew in retrospect that it had made sense, but there wasn’t much that knowing could do for her now. So she put herself into making herself better at photoshop for the kids, even signing them up for a special class at a local community college that focused on basic fundamentals of photoshop.

Her life wasn’t what it used to be, sure, but she learned to be happy with that. And she was.

Penny didn’t mention the underground betting ring again. In fact, she made it her personal goal to become Riley’s aide in class, sticking to her like Velcro. Riley didn’t know how to feel about the fact that her current best friend was twelve years younger than her but having Penny around was a welcome distraction. She was sweet and it made her happy that she had such wonderful students. Penny was also incredibly talented and actually knew a few photoshop skills that helped Riley out immensely.

Riley hardly saw Farkle anymore.

They were still friends, of course, but he rarely made the time he used to to see her, instead focusing his time on the math club and spending time with Smackle. Riley figured that she needed the space to clear her head, anyhow, because as much as he was her best friend, she depended on him for a lot.

This was . . . this was good for them.

Or that was what Riley tried to convince herself of.

She missed him more than anything, and not just because of her new-found feelings. Riley missed Farkle because he was her person, her best friend, the person she could depend on no matter what. And right now he was doing the one thing she never thought he could do.

He was letting her down.

But she ignored it, pushing her emotions deep down into a cavern in her chest and locking it shut. Riley had to focus on teaching her kids and enjoying her photography club, and idle feelings about Farkle were making themselves an obvious obstacle to that. So she allowed him to fade into the back of her mind, and things got better little by little.

Right until he threw himself back into her life.

“Do you mind if I take a seat next to you?” he asked her one day during one of their monthly staff meetings. It hurt Riley that he’d even feel the need to ask, but she understood that things were different. Not unfixable, just . . . different.

“Of course,” she told him, gesturing to the open spot beside her. His long gangly limbs settled himself into the seat, and Riley tried her best to not be charmed by him.

It didn’t work; it never really could when it came to him.

“You’re not sitting with Smackle today?” Riley inquired, curious. He shrugged half-heartedly.

“We broke up.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. We all have a whirlwind romances,” he said, trying to brush it off, but Riley could tell he wasn’t unaffected by it. She relaxed herself around him, unable to tame her natural instinct to comfort him.

“Farkle, romance is romance. You care and regardless of the amount of time you spend together, it still sucks when it ends, even if it’s on your terms. You’re allowed to be affected by the world around you.”

“Can we just talk about it another time?” he asked instead. Riley gave him a soft smile.

“Of course. Wanna pull out the bingo board?”

Farkle beamed.

“Do I ever.”

 //

 (ix. the crush redux)

The thing was, Riley loved holidays. She loved the major holidays—Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Halloween—all of them were her favorites. But she also loved the lesser-known or lesser-loved holidays just as much.

She was just a holiday fanatic.

So, despite the event not having as much traction as the fall festival, Riley still maintained excitement for the winter formal. Dances weren’t quite the same for teachers; they didn’t get to enjoy that wonderful feeling of teenage angst and romance, of nerves and excitement at the prospect of getting to enjoy time with your crush. But it had an air of fun attached to it regardless, so Riley helped plan for it all the same.

This was, of course, one of the tasks Riley never asked Farkle to help with.

She volunteered her time completely of her own volition because she genuinely enjoyed planning events for the school, so anything outside of the fall festival Riley assured Farkle he didn’t need to participate if he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to—usually.

Which was why it came as a surprise to Riley when he arrived five minutes past starting time and sat beside her in the planning committee room without a single word, just pure determination on his face.

“What are you even doing here?” Riley had whispered, only to earn a hush from Farkle.

“Shhh. We’ve gotta focus right now.”

She huffed back at him but obeyed directions all the same, her curiosity by his presence still piqued, nonetheless.

Everything had gotten better between them; they’d spent the last month getting reacquainted with their friendship, not only spending time together in school but out of school, as well. He’d insisted on taking her out to eat every Friday, and the two of them created lesson plans together every week. There was just one small hitch in their friendship that made everything just a little more complicated.

Riley knew she was in love with him now.

That was something she could hold back easily before, when she knew he was unavailable and didn’t want to make time for her. But now that he was single, he wanted to spend every second with her, and it made Riley want to tear her hair out from the frustration that was bubbling up inside her.

At least she knew she had the angst and romance ready to go for the winter dance.

“Any questions?” Rebecca asked. Riley stared blankly at her, her brain having picked up on none of what Rebecca had been saying.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Farkle whispered to her when he noticed the expression on her face. Riley hated being an open book sometimes.

“Let’s split into partners to get some ideas flowing for decorations. We’ll come back in five minutes. Alright, break!”

Riley and Farkle turned towards each other, both knowing they were going to be partners without having to ask.

“So, the theme is ‘winter’,” Farkle said cheekily. Riley stuck her tongue out at him.

“Up yours, Minkus.”

“Ms. Matthews,” he gasped, acting mock offended, “This is not appropriate conversation for the children.”

“You’re such a nerd! We need to be coming up with ideas, let’s go. We don’t wanna look like idealess losers.”

“Okay, okay, we can start brainstorming. I just have one question that you’re going to have to answer me honestly,” he said. Riley quirked her brow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Can you promise me we go to the winter formal together? I missed being able to be with you at the fall festival,” Farkle told her, and Riley felt the blood rush to her face.

This isn’t a date. He’s not asking you out on a date; you’re just friends! It’s a friend thing, and you’re going to be chaperones, Riley tried to convince herself.

“Of course I’ll go with you, Farkle. There isn’t anyone else I’d want to go with than you,” she said, groaning internally when she registered the weight of her words. It was too late to take them back, but it didn’t seem to matter because Farkle was beaming from her answer.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled, and Riley knew from that point forward that she was in too deep.

 //

 (x. the winter formal)

Riley signed up to help place all the decorations for the winter dance, so by the time she’s finished, she knows she’s gotta perform a miracle to get back on time. She has to return to her place, shower, get dressed, and apply her makeup all within the span of forty-five minutes. So she set a timer on her phone, painted a look of pure determination on her face, and took off like a rocket (while maintaining proper speed in order to avoid traffic violations.)

By some form of divine intervention, she accomplishes her goal with five minutes to spare. She zipped herself up inside her dress—an icy-blue, knee length dress with a semi-sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, and a shimmery, chiffon skirt—and slipped on her silver, strappy high heels, checking her makeup in the mirror one last time to make sure it was perfect. Her doorbell rang and she grabbed her crossbody purse, rushing off to answer the door.

“Hi,” she greeted Farkle happily as soon as she swung the door open. He looked very handsome in his navy-blue suit and silver tie and Riley felt her hands grow clammy.

This was starting to feel a lot like a date.

In fact, when she appeared in front of Farkle, his mouth dropped open as his eyes raked over her, and butterflies began fluttering around in her stomach at the notion of him checking her out.

“Uh, you look gorgeous,” he told her, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat. He held a hand out to her, obviously trying to regain his cool (something she’s never known Farkle to have once in the entirety of her knowing him). “Ready to go?”

“Ready,” she nodded, grabbing his hand. His fingers laced with hers and she stepped out to shut and lock her door, following him down the hall and to his car afterward. They didn’t talk, but Riley didn’t mind it at all.

 They arrived at the dance ten minutes after it began (they really didn’t mean to; The Backstreet Boys started playing on the radio and they had to jam out to it!) Riley smiled at all their hard work once they made it inside the gymnasium, happy to see it balanced out by the soft glow of disco lights they had placed all around. Iridescent snowflakes dangled from the ceiling, twirling around and shimmering playfully. Everyone looked wonderful in their formal outfits, all paired with huge grins just from having fun being out and around one another.

“Looks fantastic, Riles,” Farkle told her, nudging her gently with his elbow.

“I mean, I didn’t do all of it,” she shrugged, bashful, but Farkle shook his head.

“You still helped it look amazing. Anything Riley Matthews sets her mind to always turns out incredible.”

Riley wanted to squeal from embarrassment and giddiness from the compliments he was giving her, but she remained calm, instead tugging him towards the refreshments table. She scooped a cup of punch for him and then herself, and then they both stood off to the side of the gym in their own little area partially sequestered from the rest of the teachers. They made sure to do their job being chaperones, of course (high schoolers had a real knack for getting too close too one another for her comfort), but they also enjoyed themselves. Riley appreciated getting to spend quality time with Farkle, and he always knew how to make her laugh.

Then a slow song came on, one Riley could only call an indie slow dance song, and Farkle turned toward her with a sparkle in his eye that she couldn’t forget if she tried.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, his eyes bluer than a sky on a cloudless day. Riley could hardly find the words to say yes, so she nodded and allowed him to draw her out to the dance floor amongst the rest of the teenagers. He laid his hands on her waist while she hooked her arms around his neck and they swayed together rhythmically, their eyes never leaving one another’s.

“I feel silly dancing among all these teenagers,” she laughed.

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked.

“That’s the last thing I wanna do right now, Farkle Minkus,” she told him, her words soft as they left her tongue. Somehow, they had shifted closer to one another, and Riley could the ghost of Farkle’s breath on her cheeks.

“What’s the first thing you wanna do then?”

“I wanna kiss you,” she confessed, her eyes darting down quickly to his lips and then back up to his gaze. She wasn’t sure what had made her so brave but she was certainly glad for it, relieved to get that thought off her chest finally. And then Farkle said something that surprised her more than anything.

“I wanna kiss you, too.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Get the girl, Minkus,” she whispered to him. Farkle grinned and then leaned in, hovering for a second before pressing his lips against hers.

Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of kissing Farkle Minkus—it was like electricity coursing through her system, all of her neurons firing off in her head at once. His fingers reached up to cup her face, the warmth of his hands burning an imprint into her skin.

Finally, her heart sang.

“Oh my god!” someone screamed behind them, causing them to break apart. Riley peered over Farkle’s shoulder and saw Penny standing there, pure elation on her face.

“Oh no,” Riley groaned into Farkle’s chest, and she felt the vibrations of his chuckle against her skin.

“I can’t believe I won the bet!” Penny continued, grinning ear to ear. Riley shot her a look of surprise.

“Wait, you guessed we’d get together at the winter formal of all things?”

Penny shrugged.

“I’m a romantic at heart. I had a good feeling about it.”

“Well, congratulations, Penny, but do you mind?” Farkle said. Penny turned red, sputtering a goodbye as she left them on their own. Riley laughed at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“What even are our lives?”

“The best ones out there, I’d wager. If I didn’t take this job, I’d never have met you, Riley Matthews,” Farkle told her.

“And I’d never have met you, Farkle Minkus. Guess life has a funny way of making things work out in the end,” Riley said.

Farkle agreed with her by pulling her in for another kiss, and Riley couldn’t help but think she had the best life in the entire universe.

[angelasscribbles]

Star Crossed Chapter 8: Stuck

 Series: Star Crossed

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋

Warnings: Mature themes, lemons

Word Count: 3,400

My other stuff: Master List.

The days turned into weeks and the feelings didn’t go away. They only grew.

Liam was always busy, never around. Leo had disappeared to wherever Leo disappeared to. Riley was busy getting up to speed with the duties of her new station, but at the end of the day, when all the advisors and assistants went home to their families, out with friends, to dinner, movies, concerts, art exhibitions, or whatever it was that they did, Riley was left to her own devices.

The only person she had, was Drake. It was often just the two of them at dinner, Regina taking hers in her room while Constantine and Liam worked late. He was there when she needed a break, showing up with her favorite Chai tea, letting her vent about her day. He was there at every meal, making her laugh with stories about growing at the palace. She mentioned missing the dishes she’d grown up eating and those dishes started showing up at dinnertime.

After the day was finished, he kept her company, watching TV in one of the media rooms, hanging out at the pool, occasionally accompanying her into town.

Drake was also left at loose ends. He hadn’t reenlisted, he hadn’t taken Liam up on his job offer and he hadn’t looked for anything else. He filled his days, instead, with her. He knew he needed to make a decision about his future, but he couldn’t, not yet. He found it hard to think past the next month.

They were a month in since their conversation in the hedge maze with a month to go until her honeymoon, a trip on which she’d be expected to finally fulfill her wifely duties. The thought made him sick to his stomach. But he wasn’t going to think about that tonight. Tonight, they were listening to music by the pool, eating pizza and generally pretending they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Heads up, Drake!” Riley called out.

Drake reached up into the air and easily caught the beach ball that hurtled toward his head. He held the ball out of her reach, laughing as she tried jumping to reach it. One minute they were laughing playfully, then she placed a hand on his chest, bare and slick, using his body for leverage as she prepared to jump up and take it back.  As she used her feet to propel herself up, springing out of the water, her body titled forward into his and his hand shot out to steady her, gripping her at the hip. Her other hand joined the first on his chest as she plunged back into the water. They both froze as they found themselves in closer proximity than they’d been since the night in the maze. Her hands lay flat against his chest, his heart thundering under her palms.

He looked down at her, water droplets shining in her hair, the hollow of her throat beckoning him to lick the wetness from it. Suddenly, it was the only thing he wanted to do. His head dipped down to do just that. The ball toppled from his hands, hitting the water behind him, forgotten as both arms circled her waist.

“Drake…we shouldn’t-“ Her words drown in his mouth as his lips collided with hers, swallowing her protests. He felt what little resistance she had left flee her body as she melted into his embrace, his kiss.

Her hands slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck as he deepened the kiss. He tugged her closer until their bodies were pressed tightly against each other. The logical part of his brain was screaming at him that this was madness. Anyone could walk outside and catch them. But his logical brain was no match for his primal instincts, for the desire he’d been holding back for weeks.

His hand glided through her tangled hair as he licked the salt from her chlorinated skin. Her head fell back with a sigh as her hands ghosted across his shoulders and down his back. She breathed out his name, the soft exhale tickling his ear.

His fingers fumbled at the strap of her bikini top for a moment before pulling it from her body and tossing it out of the pool. His head dipped lower as his lips grazed a nipple. Her fingers teased at his hair as she arched her body into him.

A low moan escaped him as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her bathing suit bottom and slid them down. She kicked a leg to help it off, heedless to the fact that it floated away in the water behind them.

His kisses burned her lips, his touch inflamed her soul, his very nearness enough to push her to the edge, leaving her teetering there, waiting, longing, desperate for more. She clung to him as he pushed her back against the side of the pool, arms and legs wrapping around him as he entered her.

“Goddamn, baby, you feel so good.” He murmured into her hair.

She buried her teeth in him to muffle her cries.

“Fuck!” He hadn’t expected her to cum so soon, so fast.

His thrusts became harder, faster, his fingers digging into her ass as he pulsed into her. His body pinned hers to the wall as he tugged at her hair, nipped on an earlobe and kissed the side of her neck.

“Apparently we have a thing for water.” She giggled as she uncurled her legs from his waist and put her feet back on the bottom of the pool.

“In the water, out of the water, pretty much any time, any place, I can’t get enough of you.” He told her, capturing her lips again.

She pulled away, breathless, “We said no sex until we were sure what this is.”

“I’m sure.”

“What?”

“I’m sure. I’ve always been sure. I was just waiting for you to decide. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you on that balcony.”

“Drake!” Surprise, and joy, shot through her.

“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that, huh? Too much, too soon? Too weird because of our whole situation?”

She laughed as she reached up to stroke her fingers gently across his cheek, “I love you too.”

“Really?” He felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest. Was that what happiness felt like?

“Yes, really. Now help me find my clothes!”

He released her reluctantly as she retrieved her top then scanned the water for the other half of her swimsuit.

Once they were dressed, out of the pool and dried off, they lay tangled up together on one of the oversized outdoor daybeds that dotted the concrete deck. She threw an arm and a leg over him, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, nuzzling into the side of her neck, running his hands up and down her arm and kissing her frequently.

Two hours later, he sighed heavily, “I guess we should go in. If we fall asleep out here together, someone’s going to find us and it’s going to cause a huge scandal.”

“Hmmm, I’m so comfortable though.”

“Do I have to carry you?” He laughed.

“That would be nice.” She responded, “But again, scandal.”

“Too bad.” He nipped at her bottom lip as his hand found her breast, squeezing gently. His tongue rolled against hers. “I could go again.”

“Shit.” She breathed out, “Come back to my room with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask!”

After that, he started sneaking into her room every night. Every day was an exercise in restraint as he kept his hands to himself, kept his thoughts to himself and tried not to let his eyes travel up and down her body in front of other people. It was excruciating. But at night, when he dropped down onto her balcony and she let him into her room, all of the pretenses were gone. Falling asleep in her arms and waking up with her beside him became routine. He felt himself fall a little more for her each day. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to spend forever with her.

He collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and spent. Pulling her into his arms he asked, “Run away with me?”

“What?” Her head jerked up to look into his face.

“Let’s run away together. Get the hell out of here, you can get the marriage annulled or something.”

“Drake….” She gaped at him in astonishment, “I can’t.”

“Sure you can, my bikes right out front. We could just get on it and go!”

“No, I mean, I could, physically, but I can’t!” She pulled away from him and sat up, pulling the blanket across her body as she did so.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and searched her face as he asked, “Why not?”

“The political ramifications-“

He blew out a frustrated breath as he drug a hand through his hair, “The political ramifications? Are you serious?”

“Drake, you know firsthand how volatile things are right now in this entire region!”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“If I leave, it violates the marriage contract I signed and terminates the alliance that we forged. I know you’re not a politician, but you grew up here, in the palace, with Liam, surely you understand how this works. That if this alliance falls, not only are relations with Cordonia and Monterriso strained, but support for the new peace treaty likely falls as well then the carefully stacked house of cards will collapse.”

“What do you mean collapse?”

“I mean, without Monterriso’s backing, Auvernall will move against Cordonia, and once they do that, they’ll sweep up Rivala on the way.” Rivala was a small country, powerless, but any land route between Auvernall and Cordonia went straight through Rivala.

When he didn’t respond, she continued, “And when Rivala is invaded, the members of the Border Pact will have no choice but to come to their aid, since Rivala is a PACT member nation. Those five countries going against Auvernall will trigger Auvernall’s alliance with Malbonia, who have been looking for an excuse to invade Votara, the biggest of the PACT nations. I could go on about the domino effect, but you get the idea. And while everyone is distracted with all of that, Naumara will use the distraction to invade Monterriso, endangering my people, my family! I want to, Drake, I just can’t!“

“Yeah, it’s ok, I get it.” He rolled out of the bed and started pulling on his clothes.

“Drake, I want to! I wish I could!”

She’d never seen anyone angrily put on pants before, but he managed it. “So, what are we doing here, then?”

Confusion swept through her, “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I mean, what the fuck are we doing here if there’s no future in it?”

“I….I love you! We’re having a relationship! Just one that I can’t….I mean…I thought you understood….” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Ren, but I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what? Love me?”

A strangled laugh burst out of him, “Love you, exactly. I don’t know if I can love you and sit here and watch you be married to my best friend! Sleep in his room at night, have his babies……fuck!”

She flinched as he grabbed a book from the top of the dresser and sent it flying across the room. She curled into herself and pulled the covers higher, “Maybe you should go.”

“What?” His heart dropped into his stomach, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I just don’t know if I can do this.”

“Well, figure it out. But do it somewhere else. I have to get ready for a luncheon with the Cordonian Lady’s Historical Society.” She wanted to cry, her heart hurt. But she had duties to see to, state functions to attend.

He found her later that afternoon, in the main sitting room off the royal dinning room.

Despite their argument earlier, her face lit up at the sight of him. He was always the highlight of her day. But her smile faltered when she took in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Or everything, depending on how you look at it.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m going to do the right thing and leave.”

“What you mean leave? Why is that the right thing?”

“You know why.” If she was going to stay married to Liam, she should at least try to make it work, right? Him leaving would make that easier on everyone. “I’m reenlisting.”

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Liam’s voice as he entered the room. “Did I just hear you say you’re leaving?”

Drake reluctantly pulled his focus away from Riley to answer, “Yes. I’m reenlisting.”

“When?”

“I just got off the phone with my CO. I can be on a flight out tomorrow. No point in delaying the inevitable.”

“There’s nothing I can do to convince you to stay?” Liam asked.

“Why would I want to stay?” Heavy bitterness fell from every word, “The fucking aristocracy with its rules and regulations and expectations is stifling. It breaks people. I'm not even a member and it's taken everything from me.”

“Drake's father was a king's guard, he died protecting the royal family.” Liam told Riley in way of explanation.

“Yeah,” Drake said, eyes locked on Riley, “that's what I was talking about.”

Liam’s brow furrowed as he glanced between them, his gaze uncertain, “Uh…am I missing something?”

“Tell him, Ren.”

“Ren?” Why was Drake calling her Ren? Her name was Riley.

Riley glanced at her husband apologetically, “It’s a childhood nickname.”

“Ah.” That only engendered more questions. Why was Drake calling her by her childhood nickname? And what did Riley have to do with why Drake was leaving. “Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing.” Riley replied.

“Is that what it is? Nothing?” Drake’s jaw clenched.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She cried.

“Would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?” Liam was irritated now. He was busy, he didn’t have time for guessing games.

Drake answered Liam, but kept his eyes glued on Riley, “It was her.”

Liam blinked. He was more confused than ever. “What was her?”

“The girl I met the night before your wedding, the one I thought was a waitress.”

“Thought was a waitress? Drake, you’re not making any sense! Riley isn’t-“

“Yeah, no, I know. But she was wearing a waitress uniform when I met her, so I drew an obvious conclusion, and she didn’t correct me.”

Riley reached for his arm. “Drake, please-“

“Please what, Ren? I’m done lying. I’m done pretending.” He pulled away from her and turned to his best friend, “I’m sorry, Li, I really am but I’m in love with your wife.”

“What?” Liam started to laugh but it died in his throat as he registered the look on Drake’s face. “Oh my God. You’re serious.”

Liam was in shock. Drake didn’t fall in love, he didn’t do romance or feelings, none of that. But he decided to start with his wife? What the hell was happening?

“I didn’t know who she was until I saw her at the altar. I tried to convince myself it was just a one night stand and that it didn’t mean anything, but deep down, I always knew that was a lie. There was an instant connection between us, right from the start. But she married you, so I tried to push my feelings away, I swear to God, Li, I tried. But being here, seeing her every day, getting to know her over the last few weeks…. That only solidified my feelings.”

For the first time in his life, Liam was at a loss for words, “I don’t know what to say.”

Riley sobbed softly into her hands.

“What the hell is there to say? I asked her to run away with me and she said no.” The bitterness coated his stomach, bubbled up in his throat, snaked its way through his heart.

“Ah.” Liam looked back and forth between Riley and Drake completely unsure of the proper response. I mean, what does one say when they find out their best friend is in love with their wife? He was startled that Drake would try to get her to run away, abandon their agreement, shirk her responsibilities. At least she had said no.

Drake cut his eyes back to Liam, “You ignore her, she’s in a new place, surrounded by new people and you’ve done nothing to make her feel welcomed.”

Liam seemed genuinely surprised, “I didn’t realize there was a problem.”

“I’m going to pack.” Drake turned on his heel and walked away.

Riley started to follow him, but Liam reached for her arm, “Let him go. Trust me, when he gets like this, you just have to let him have his space.”

She turned toward him, and they regarded each other awkwardly for a moment. Liam cleared his throat. He knew he had to make this right, make this work. For Cordonia. Was it too late? Was she already in love with his best friend? He felt annoyance rise in his chest. He knew he hadn’t been paying any attention to his new wife, but in all fairness, he’d been really busy, and she had known what she was signing up for. He shouldn’t now be in a competition for her affections.

He tamped down his pique as he reached for her hand. She let him take it. He thought that was a good sign. “Riley…or should I call you Ren?”

She fought against the urge to squeeze her eyes shut as she shook her head, “No, please call me Riley.” She couldn’t bear to hear that name from another man’s lips right now. Only those who she loved most had ever called her that: Her grandmother, her siblings and Drake.

Liam nodded thoughtfully, “Ok, then, Riley. I apologize. I did not realize how unhappy you’ve been here. I’m afraid I’ve been tied up with matters of state.”

Was that irritation she noted in his tone? It was subtle, he tried to cover it, but it was there. That’s what she was to him, an irritation, another obligation. That’s what she had always been to her mother. She hadn’t expected more. She understood what was at stake, countries, peace, lives. If she didn’t, she would have taken Drake up on his offer and ran away with him. It was the only thing she wanted to do; he was the only thing she had ever wanted for herself in her entire miserable life. Her life of duty and sacrifice.

She blinked back her tears and drew in a deep breath as she reminded herself of all the reasons she’d agreed to this marriage in first place. Of course, she hadn’t expected a fairy tale, or a happily ever after, but she had understood the importance of the alliance and she had hoped for at least a friendly relationship with the handsome young prince whose picture she’d been shown. She had believed they could build a relationship out of mutual respect, duty and common goals, commitments. She hadn’t counted on love, certainly not in the form of her new husband’s best friend.

“It’s fine, Liam. I understand.” She did. She understood that she would never be a priority to him, and she understood that her happiness or lack thereof, was only of concern to him insomuch as it affected him.

She also understood the political ramifications of breaking the alliance now. It would have been better to have never entered into it to begin with than to break it after the fact. It would be a show of bad faith. It wouldn’t just embarrass her country on the world stage, it would bring down precarious alliances throughout the region, just as she’d told Drake. She understood that her happiness wasn’t at issue. Her satisfaction with her marriage had never been the point. She understood why the alliance was important, why she had to stay. She understood all of it. She only wished she had been able to make Drake understand any of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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