#agent jamison

[drawingsfromthefrogwar]

mishra jamie and saeueng! Jamie is like a cartoon character compared to the rest of site 600

[the-land-of-dreams]

open hand or closed fist would be fine the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

character is Agent Jamison from the evilverse/site 600 project by my dear friends @frogsforthefrogwar and @fiveeeee

[jamiesmeatshop]

me love shipping Roadhog, Junkrat, MAG Torture and Tricky

[jene4]

"Today's a good day for some Mayhem!!!"

Suuuper duper oldie but goodie featuring Total Meiham <3 Can you tell who are my Overwatch favs by now?

I'm probably going to refurbish this little doodle for something soon. I'm beyond pleased that it still holds up, all things considered.

[margablr]

[acradelius]

Please can you do a junkerqueen X Male Reader maybe reader is a overwatch agent trying to recruit her and ends up getting into a fight with her that goes like this

"So, About That Recruiting Process, Eh?"

Fandom: Overwatch / Overwatch 2

Pairing: Junker Queen ("Odessa 'Dez' Stone") x Male! Reader

Rating: Lime [🟢] - (Equivalent to PG-13)

Warnings/Mention Ofs: Reforming Overwatch Era, Recruiter! Reader, Male Pronouns Used For Reader, Mentions Of Various Other Characters, Reader Almost Gets Beheaded, Reader Gets Stepped On- Literally, Humor- Probably A Bit Dry, Reader Blatantly Tries To Flirt, Open Ending (?).

Word Count: 1,529 Words

If you'd like to be tagged for all posts, certain fandom posts, or certain character posts then feel free to message me!

(Y/N) had to continuously keep pinching the flesh upon his arms to make sure that this indeed was now his reality, and not just some bizarre lucid dream that he was currently experiencing. It had begun with him assisting the legendary Reinhardt and some of his companions in destroying the command ship that was wreaking havoc to the city of Gothenburg. Now here he was as one of the handful of recruits for the secondary formation of Overwatch, being given a tour of the newest headquarters located within Malevento, Italy. It was an amazing experience so far! Getting to meet various former heroes such as Cassidy and Sojourn, and then newer members such as Lucio and D.Va. (Y/N) couldn’t wait to begin the trainings and then be able to go on missions, to begin coming up with concepts of his own costume, to be able to- 

‘Uh, (Y/N)?’ 

Oh, yeah. 

Turns out that it wasn’t all how (Y/N) had believed how things were going to go. 

‘You doing alright down there, luv? You’ve been quiet for these last couple of minutes?’ 

While it was quite obvious to him that he wasn’t going to be instantly thrown in missions that were dangerous or would end up in extreme circumstances, this was definitely not what (Y/N) was thinking when he was recruited for Overwatch. Instead of being sent on basic covert missions to help address future locations that the Null Sector would attempt to strike at next, it turns out that the former members of the Overwatch crew had decided that the perfect position for (Y/N) would be to venture out and go recruit other members of interest to increase their numbers. 

Yeah, you heard that right. 

(Y/N) (L/N), newest recruiter for Overwatch.

‘Uh, yeah.. Doin’ fine, Le- I, uh, mean.. Tracer.. Yeah, just finally getting around to the last person that’s on the list for this area that some of the others are interested in recruiting. 

“Let’s see, where we’re at on this damn thing..”

Mako Rutledge.. “Roadhog”.. 

Jamison Fawkes.. “Junkrat”.. 

Ah, there we are! Odessa “Dez” Stone.. Junker Queen..

‘Wait, Tracer? This.. wasteland.. Actually has a Queen? Like they have literal lines of royalty out in this dump?’ (Y/N) questions the woman over his comms, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he proceeds to reread the name and the context following a couple of times just to make sure that what he was seeing was actually correct. There’s absolutely no way that a place as.. chaotic and savage.. would have any sort of royalty, let alone the capacity to really understand how royalty and their systems work. At least there couldn’t be, right? 

‘It’s not what you would think when thinking of the term ‘royalty’, such how royalty is within other places. For example, the United Kingdom, where I’m from. Within Junkertown, the term royalty follows more- Well, it’s a bit complicated to explain. Let’s get this process done quickly so we can get you out of there before the locals start getting riled up with an outsider being in their presence.’ 

Tracer was definitely right, and (Y/N) couldn’t agree with her anymore than he already did. The faster that he could get this recruitment process done and over with, that’s if this “Junker Queen” agreed to be recruited, then the better that this whole situation would be. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be as hectic as dealing with that “Roadhog” and “Junkrat” duo. 

It’s not like there was a possibility that this trip could become even weirder than it already has been.

..Right? 

“Hold on,” Apparently there was a bodyguard that (Y/N) had to address his intentions to, and apparently be deemed worthy by the bodyguard, before being able to approach the Junker Queen. “So, you’re telling me that you’re the Queen’s bodyguard?” 

A hamster. 

A hamster that’s in a mechanical ball. 

A hamster that’s in a mechanical ball, that speaks apparently, is the Queen’s bodyguard. 

“Affirmative.” 

It’s then that there’s a somewhat awkward moment of silence, moreso from (Y/N)’s side than the hamster that has informed the man to address him as “Hammond”, as they stand there and just stare at each other. (Y/N) then proceeds to hold out the list of individuals for recruitment. “Uh, so I’m (Y/N), one of the newer members and now the recruiter for Overwatch, or at least this reformation of it, and your.. Queen.. happens to be upon the list.. So, would I be able to meet her? To discuss the possibility that she might be interested in joining?” He could only think about what Tracer’s thoughts might possibly be as she was also watching through the cameras that were located within the hall that Winston had managed to infiltrate, and ultimately (Y/N) wouldn’t be surprised if she was to tell him that his next task was to attempt to recruit the damn hamster as well. 

“Right this way.” 

There’s something similar to an eerie silence that begins to overcome the environment as (Y/N) proceeds to follow Hammond down the hallway to where apparently the Queen’s throne was located, or at least what (Y/N) would hope to be the Queen’s throne and not some crazy death trap. Just a quick turn around to look behind him to ease the slight paranoia that had begun to work its way within the depths of his mind, but (Y/N) turns back around to find out that he’s apparently lost sight of Hammond. ..Somehow.. But at this point it doesn’t necessarily matter. Back to the original purpose of being here, recruiting the Queen. 

“Uh, hello?” He calls out into the open, the sound of his voice echoing off the metal walls, but not being met with any response whatsoever. Just the creaking and groaning of machinery within the background. “Hello?” (Y/N) calls out once again for safe measure, for maybe he wasn’t heard in the first place- “What the hell?!” A slight shriek leaves past his lips as there’s a sudden blur that whips past his face, the breeze from the encounter causing his hair to become disheveled. He doesn’t necessarily get even a moment to process and figure out what the thing was that had flown past him and imbedded itself into the wall behind him - object, person, whatever it happens to be, before he’s having to quickly throw himself back to avoid having his face sliced off from the ax that has seemed to materialize out of thin air and just inches away from his face. “H-Holy shit!” 

‘(Y/N)! Look out!-’ 

Tracer’s voice, a panicked tone, could be heard through the comms not even a moment later, but it was already too late at that point to give a proper reaction, as (Y/N) could only focus on the brief pain that surged from what seemed to be the thick heel of a boot colliding with his chest, and then pain surging through him once again as his back collides harshly with the floor beneath him. 

Was this the end for him? 

How his life long dreams were now going to be short lived memories?

Yet, what he wasn’t expecting was to feel an immense pressure upon his face and practically be tasting a mixture of dirt and rubber. Moving his face proves to be fruitless as the pressure on his face increases. 

‘(Y/N)?! (Y/N)?! Are you okay?!’ 

“Oh, doing fine!-”

There wasn’t any doubt that she was definitely something of a taller woman. While she didn’t necessarily need those couple inches of wedge upon her boots to give her that extra height, it was definitely a mixture of not only intimidating but also attractive as well. (Y/N) couldn’t necessarily care about height, but that was more his personal preference. The various variants of blue within her hair, despite that he could see the brown color peeking out within her roots, yet it’s quite an eye-catcher as while typically the colors would contrast within the red of her eyes, yet, it just made her all that more beautiful. Don’t get (Y/N) started on the articles of her appearance either. From the metal studs that were embedded into the fabric of her clothing to the faded makeup to her eyes. It just enhanced it all. Tied everything together like it was a bow on a present. 

God, she was just absolutely beautiful. 

‘Are you sure that “doing fine” is the correct choice of words? You’re literally being crushed by the Junker Queen, (Y/N)!’

There’s some soft, muffled chuckle that makes way past (Y/N)’s lips at Tracer’s words, watching as Odessa proceeds to lean down to get a better glance of the man beneath her foot while a slight sneer begins to make its way to her own lips. “Well, Tracer, she’s kinda fine, if you happen to get what I mean~” He goes to lift his arm which briefly catches Odessa’s attention, slightly waving the clipboard that he somehow, miraculously still held onto. 

“So, gorgeous~ How about we get started on discussing you joining Overwatch?~”

[be-your-coffee-pot]

they hate each other and there's just one bed - part 1

A/N: So good god agentrry is finally here. Don't worry my loves this is just part 1. I had a a lot more written but word erased like 2k words I think ugh I'm sad. enjoy this anyways

Pairing: Agent!Harry Styles x Agent!Reader (female)

Word count: around 3.6k

TW: none much just swearing lots and lots of swearing, pretend wives and husbands mentions of killing trash acting jealous harry and one bed

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 Harry wants to kill her. Might just do it today.

“Stop glaring at each other, for god’s sake! This is supposed to be a pretty simple thing. Please don’t end up fucking killing each other before the mission is over.” Nick stated, raising a single eyebrow in a very matter of fact and totally Nick manner.

Nick Jamison was the captain of the Special Forces unit of SWAT, kept securely in the shadows (a bit like S.H.I.E.L.D. if you ask me, just much smaller), of which both Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles were part. They worked seamlessly together except for one bump on the road.

Y/N Y/L/N and Harry Styles hate each other.

Plain and simple right there.

The reason, you ask? A plethora of reasons. Y/N thinks Harry’s “way too motherfucking cocky” and that he should “get his stupid curly head out of his British ass.” She thinks all his niceness is just for show, and that he’s a total fake.

Harry Styles has the same things to say. According to him, “who the fuck does she think she is? Running around like she’s a goddamn saint.”

Nick’s hot take on the matter: “those two morons didn’t develop past their primary school phase where you push and pull the person you like because you don’t know how to deal with feelings. Plain and simple right there.”

I guess you know understand that even though they’ll work exceptionally together, they won’t willingly do it but they’re great together, so they have to you know.

This brings us here.

There was a slippery drug cartel that needed to be busted, but the unit had been struggling with getting the owner for months, and now finally, there was a way in.

“Dominic Vasquez is an eel. Snaky, slippery, and awfully hard to catch. We’ve been trying to find a suitable opening for a long time and finally have one.” Nick briefs Harry and Y/N, who is sulking in their seats.

“What opening? Please just spit this shit out, Nicky. I don’t really have the patience for your dramatics right now.” An annoyed Y/N remarks for the first time after entering the meeting room. As usual, both had been called in, not informed they would be doing a mission together, and the complaints and whining had begun. All they had done after acknowledging (scowling) each other was roll their eyes while glaring at each other through their director’s words.

A slight noise of agreement comes from the other agent in the room. Nick heaves a heavy sigh as he gestures vaguely at his prize pupils. “Look, you two, it’s paining me to breathe in all this sexual tension. Get a lid on it or go fuck it out. Please don’t drag me in it. Let me fucking finish.”

Their attention has been successfully piqued, all their pissiness vanishing as irritation and slight embarrassment settle on their features.

After an eye rollTM, the director gives all the information to the agents, who’re now listening as promptly as they’re ignoring each other. “His annual gala is next week, and that’s really the only opening. You are supposed to be new members, so you’ll be informed of that soon. You both will go in a day prior, get settled in. The whole thing is held at his mansion in Milan. You must find his office, grab evidence, and get out while being under the pretence of visitors. Simple.”

Harry is the one who speaks up this time, a sceptical eyebrow raises to accompany his words. “Why do I have a feeling there’s more to this?”

Nick sighs again like it’s hurting him to just breathe. “You’re going in as a married couple, Mr Andrew Jackson and Mrs Amelia Jackson.”

Y/N and Harry erupt in groans and protests of “why does this always happen” and “why do you always do this” in reference to the fact that they’d been in a few assignments previously where the both of them had to play a couple.

(Nick won’t say this out loud ever, but he thinks they’d make a damn great couple, so he keeps trying to push them together invisibly. Besides, they have great chemistry, so it really makes everything more believable.)

“Stop whining and get to it, Jesus Christ.”

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“Can you shift your fucking elbow?” Harry grunts in anger at his companion. Without looking up from the magazine in her hands, Y/N raises a single eyebrow at him, making absolutely no move to adjust her position.

Scoffing at the reply he received, or the lack thereof, the man shoves her elbow off the hand rest prompting an eye rollTM and an irritated groan from the agent beside him.

Surprisingly, Y/N doesn’t push him back because she’s too tired to deal with his shit at 6 in the fucking morning. Besides, it’s bloody December, so she just agitatedly pulls in her arms and continues to skim through the pages.

The next 2 hours or so are filled with glaring, under-the-breath grumbling and all sorts of gestures to annoy the other, but they thankfully make it out of the plane and to the hotel in one piece.

Harry shamelessly winks at the receptionist who’d just asked what name the room was under as Y/N rolls her eyesTM. “Jackson. Andrew Jackson sweetheart.” The girl blushes and giggles, quickly retrieving the key card.

“Jesus at least pretend like you have a wife,” Y/N mutters to her man-whore of a partner once they get inside the elevator. Harry’s lips tilt up in response, that infamous smug smirk coming out to play as he taunts her. “Why wifey, not getting enough attention, hmm? Jealousy isn’t that good of a look on you, sweetheart.”

“Please you’re too self-involved. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep it in your pants long enough to not fuck up my mission.” She scowls. Harry has the decency (or gall, whatever you will) to look offended at the comment. “Our mission and oh please miss goody to-shoes you know as well as I do that, I’m clearly the more responsible one out of the both of us. I’m not stupid enough to jeopardise our mission just because I wanted to get my dick wet.”

Y/N retorts just as the elevator doors open. “Aren’t you though, dear?” With his mouth gaping and the doors closing, he realises she just snatched the key card out of his hand.

The brunette hastily moves to catch up with her while she opens the door. Nick had actually booked them a suite and “it has two big beds, I swear!” However, the suite in question was slightly different from what was promised.

One single, king-sized bed stares back at them from the centre of the luxuriously decorated room.

Y/N breaks the silence. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

A deep groan emits from Harry as he rubs his eyes annoyedly.

“Screw you I’m taking the bed.” Before she could even think of saying something, Harry deposits himself on the bed, all gangly limbs as he sighs in satisfaction. She clenches her teeth and marches over to the bed, glaring at him with her arms crossed. He turns and grins up at her infuriatingly, “Can I help you with something, wifey?”

She shifts gears and gives him a saccharine smile. “Yes actually. How about you cuddle me to sleep, dear?” Harry’s brow furrows in mild disgust and he doesn’t even get a word out before Y/N is beside him with her arms wrapped around his lean body, fully flopping on top of him. He flails around like her touch burned him and knocks her over to the other side of the bed where she snickers at him. With a swift kick, Harry’s on the floor and Y/N has spread out starfish on the sheets.

He climbs back up to try to take control of the bed again, but Y/N just won’t let that happen. They wrestle each other and she’s just about to punch Harry when the doorbell rings. Her hand freezes a few inches away from his scowling face, both of them scrambling to fix their rumpled clothing. She stumbles off where she’d planted herself on his abdomen and opens the door while Harry shifts around to make it seem like he was just relaxing on the mattress.

The bellboy is standing in the hallway, holding their bags as he smiles at her maybe a little too amicably. “Hey yeah you can put them in here.” Y/N leads him inside the room. He puts down the suitcases and glances up to find an intimidatingly handsome man lounging on the bed, watching him with narrowed jade eyes.

Without taking his gaze off the boy, Harry calls to Y/N who was turning on the electric kettle at the side of the room. “Baby, can you come here for a second, please?”

“Yes, honey?” Y/N replies as she comes to stand at his side. She should get a fucking Oscar for how great she played along right there. Her ‘husband’s hand comes up to rest on her thigh as he lazily smiles at her. “Tip the boy darling, then can we please take a nap, hmm?”

With her back turned to the steward, she raises her eyebrows at his antics, quickly moving to retrieve her temporary husband’s wallet. “Sure honey.”

Harry’s scowling at the bellboy as he leaves.

“If you need anything mam, I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, I’ll be right here.” Y/N quickly shoos him away rolling her eyesTM at his attempt of shooting his shot. Harry is still scowling. “I’ve been Aaron. Don’t hesitate to call, mam.” He mocks in a high-pitched accented voice.

“Look who’s jealous now, dear. You seriously felt threatened by a bellboy, Styles? That’s how weak your ego is?” The agent scorns the notion, switching the subject smoothly.

“Fuck that. Grab a chair, we’re running over the plan.”

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Y/N is just about ready to stab him with the fork in her hand.

“If you don’t stop smirking and start acting like a goddamn husband, I swear to god I will rip out your carotid,” Harry smirks, of course, he does.

“Gonna use your teeth, sweetheart? Never would have taken you to be that kinky.”

He should be thankful the waiter arrives right that moment or he would have ended up one major artery down.

The waiter looks at Y/N, completely disregarding the man with her as he asks for her order. “Good afternoon mam. What will you be having today?” He very sweetly asks to which she gives him a tight but polite smile. She can just barely hear Harry mumble under his breath, “Definitely none of your bullshit.”

“I think I’ll just go with the mushroom risotto. Thank you.” Harry clears his throat, finally gaining the waiter’s attention. The guy has the nerve to look irritated at Harry’s intervention, which piques the agent further.

“If you’d be willing to pay attention to me, I would like a cheese ravioli, thank you.” Upon receiving death eyes from the man, the waiter quickly nods and runs but not before flashing a smile at Y/N.

An eyebrow is already raised when she fully turns in her partner’s direction. “Seriously, Styles? Again?” He rolls his eyesTM, scoffing at her insinuation and yet again opting to ignore her remark.

“Shut up. Give me your hand.” She grouses at the sheer duality of the statement, lips curling in annoyance.

“What? Why would I ever do that?”

“Shutting up or giving me your hand?” Harry mutters with a boyish grin. The dimples alone make it seem like he was just flirting playfully. “Come on, wifey. Pay your husband some attention.”

It clicks to Y/N suddenly that they’re supposed to play pretend and she’d somewhat lost track of the notion. She huffs quietly and slips a hand into his ringed one, watching as he brings it up to his lips.

A strange shock goes through her as Harry’s jade eyes meet hers and his lips softly brush over her knuckles like he was glad to be allowed this close. He laces their fingers together, giving her a moony smile, she would’ve swooned over him if he wasn’t a douche. She returns it with just as much sentiment.

“I have never wanted to end your existence more.” “Trust me I feel the same.”

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Fortunately, the waiter made it out alive.

Harry is not a violent person generally but after today Harry swears, he has never longed to put a bullet in someone’s head more.

During the one hour or so, Y/N and Harry spent at the restaurant, that damn waiter kept making passes at Y/N while ignoring Harry’s presence at the table. So much so that he made her uncomfortable. Now Harry may hate her guts but that does not mean he’ll sit and watch a moron try to objectify his companion. Moreso make her uncomfortable as she sat with her husband?

So, when he interrupted their sweet moment to present their meals and make a comment about how the madam looked much more ravishing than the food, it’s safe to say Harry may have lost it a teensy bit.

I’m not saying Harry got up under the stance of gonna run to the loo real quick and whispered in the waiter’s ear to dare and make one more remark on my wife, or that he’ll gut you like the fish on that table. I’m not saying that he sat and glared at the terrified man with satisfaction or smirked when Y/N told him to keep it in check. I’m also not saying he replied I’m your husband baby it’s my job.

But then again, I’m also not saying he didn’t.

“Jesus Harry, that poor guy was petrified. Did you really have to?” Y/N gets out in a fit of laughter as they get in the hotel elevator. Harry titters along with her, shaking his head and announcing in an overly posh British accent. “I’m your husband baby, it’s my job!”

She collapses into giggles again but for some reason this time, Harry stands and stares with something akin to fondness at her glee. She wipes under her eyes, raising a questioning brow at his gaze. “What? ‘ve I got something on my face?”

“No, nothing.”

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“Fuck you, Styles.”

“You wish, Y/L/N.”

She huffs and stomps and smushes his face into the pillow in her hands in a failed attempt at asphyxiation. He chortles.

“Let me take the bed, Styles, don’t be a dick come on.” Y/N tries one more time, but the man just turns, sighs, and goes spread eagle on the mattress.

After lunch, they discussed their plan some more and went around Dominic Vasquez’s mansion to scout out the area. Nick had given them a blueprint of the property so that they could mark down possible exit routes and things like that. That is what they’d spent the rest of the day doing but now it’s 11 and they really need to sleep.

Upon receiving zero replies from the man spread on the bed, Y/N sighs heavily. She was stubborn as fuck sure but then again, she wasn’t gonna keep fighting and risk having him blow up uselessly.

Turning off the lights, she tiredly crawls onto the stiff couch. Harry’s already snoring, and she can’t even get comfortable.

She tosses and turns as the clock tick’s midnight, but sleep is a fever dream. She chucks her pillow onto the carpet, quickly following after it. The floor might be a better option than the couch.

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It’s been 1876 seconds and Harry snores 4 times every minute and it’s been 30. The floor is hurting her back.

Y/N gives up on sleep altogether, getting up and turning on the one lamp placed on the oak table in the room. A warm buttery light surrounds that corner of the room. She looks over her shoulder to see if it disturbed Harry but he was still snoring.

He looked almost adorable like this. Messy curls strewn over his forehead, chest rising with soft subdued breaths. His features were relaxed, free of that furrow he gets in his brows when he’s ticked off.

Her lips quirk up the tiniest bit but she doesn’t indulge in it any further. Y/N gently pulls out the chair with a sigh, plopping down on it and flipping open the case files. Might as well work.

“Y/L/N. Y/L/N wake up! Wake up, Jesus.” Y/N can just make out a deep, accented voice mumbling and a hand shaking her shoulder gently. “Y/L/N come on you idiot.”

She rises slowly, groaning out a sigh. She tips her head back to find Harry standing above her, sleep smeared over his face.

“Why the fuck are you sleeping on the table?” She learns that Harry’s voice becomes much deeper and raspier when he wakes up and she doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

“I-I was sleeping on the couch first but then I tried the floor cause the couch was very stiff but then like the ground was stiffer so I tried to do some work and I think I might’ve fallen asleep? What time is it?”

“Oh yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s around 1:17 something. You can-you can uh come sleep on the bed. It’s large enough for like 3 people and we both need sleep so you can take one side, I guess.”

Y/N raises her eyebrow. “You’re sure? You know what, I’m not even gonna question it. Get outta the way, motherfucker.”

Harry mutters something along the lines of why did I let her sleep in my bed but does nothing as she wriggles under the unmade side of the bed. Y/N’s eyes are already drooping as he gets under the covers on his side.

“Stay on your fucking side, Y/L/N. I mean it please.”

She hums out an unintelligible response.

Harry doesn’t remember when he fell back to sleep but the last thing, he did remember that night was his partner’s arm extending away from her face where it had been previously and landing next to his, their pinkies now wrapped together.

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He feels warm. It’s not the fuck I’m burning it’s too much kind of warmth but rather the toasty welcomed kind. The one where you’re curled up under a blanket watching a movie with your cat at your feet, a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning, and an even sweeter girl in your arms.

Harry’s emerald eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight in his arms and it’s 4 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and cuddles closer to Harry. He finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Y/N and it’s pleasant.

Harry falls back to sleep.

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She feels warm. It’s not the ah it’s burning kind of warmth but rather the welcomed toasty kind. The one where you’re snuggled up under the covers watching a movie with your cat at your feet and there’s a fire cackling gently by the side, sweet candles burning and an even sweeter boy, holding you in his arms.

Y/N’s eyes blink open heavily. There’s a weight on top of her and it’s 8 am. The weight shifts. It also sighs and snuggles tighter around Y/N. She finds the weight is actually a person. The person is Harry and it’s very unpleasant.

Y/N squawks and throws him down.

“What in the Jesus Christ-” Harry gapes from the floor, having been woken up suddenly. He looks up and there she is holding her pillow like a weapon. Is she serious?

“Why the fuck were you cuddling me?”

“Why the fuck would I cuddle you?”

“I do not fucking know! You were the one on top of me!”

“You were the one on my side!”

“Well, someone crossed over!”

“You did!”

“Oh no, you were the one who started it!”

“Shut your bitch ass up, you started it, Styles!”

“Oh, please Y/L/N, you are the last person I would want to snuggle with. I may be a touchy person but I’m not that desperate-”

“Oh, you’re a man-whore so you better jus-”

Someone’s phone rings.

It’s Nick.

There’s silence.

Then there’s scrambling.

Y/N snatches up the phone and answers it.

“Hey yeah hi. Good morning, Nick, how’re you doing this fine morning?” She awkwardly asks her director and Harry just crouches on the floor, his head in his hands.

“Y/N what did you do? It’s not even 9 yet. Why are you answering Styles’ phone? Did you two finally fuck it out or like-”

“Nick! Please. What do you want?”

Harry leans against the bed like he’s in pain (might as well be) because he can very well listen to the conversation going on, on the phone.

Nick heaves a sigh on the other side. “I just wanted to ask you two how it’s going and inform you from where you’d be collecting your clothes for tonight.”

They straighten up and look at each other. Down to business.

“There’s this cute boutique downtown, owned by a sweet lady called Juliana. Now, she is doing me a big favour by entertaining your asses-”

“Oh, now come on that’s not fai-”

“Shut up Y/L/N and let me finish. Have no manners I swear to god.”

Before Y/N can open her mouth to complain some more (she always whines like this but Nick never says anything, not to her) Harry snatches his cell back and clears his throat.

“Now movin on. You’ll go to her no late than noon and take your pick from whatever options she has. Don’t bother her too much.”

“You sweet for her, Nicky?” Harry snickers, sneaking a look at Y/N who’s doing the same.

“Sure like you are for that wife of yours, huh Styles?”

Nick ends Harry and the call.

[fanhackers]

Fanfiction and Assemblage

“A commercially published novel is multiply produced—editors, agents, designers, marketers, literary sources, and market demands, all have their parts to play—but it comes to readers as a discrete book‐shaped entity with a single authored name. It is Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. Its multiple influences are not readily apparent on the face of it. By contrast, all the popular understandings of fanfiction I’ve referred to here rely heavily on multiple relations—text to source, text to legal right, writer to writer, writer to community, fanfiction to other fanfiction—and fanfic texts themselves often announce these relationships on their front pages. This relationality—these multiple sources, influences, and participants—is something we immediately understand as intrinsic to fanfiction rather than something we might gradually become convinced of by delving into French theory or studying the publishing process. The “we” of Western reading culture, however, do not primarily think of literature as an assemblage, and while we are likely well aware that books are things that must be assembled at some point and that websites must be coded for display on complex devices, this material assemblage is not what we have in mind when we think of “literary composition,” whether digitally or codexically disseminated. For most readers and writers, the work of literary composition is the work of the author, and this way of thinking about authors and their works is conditioned by Enlightenment notions of individuality, genius, aesthetic value, and art. Fanfiction both challenges and owes its existence to these same notions.”

JAMISON, ANNE. 2018. “KANT/SQUID (THE FANFICTION ASSEMBLAGE).” IN A COMPANION TO MEDIA FANDOM AND FAN STUDIES, P. BOOTH (ED.). HTTPS://DOI.ORG/10.1002/9781119237211.CH33

[odinsblog]

Andrew was entering his third month of unemployment when he sat down at his computer and opened the inbox of his LinkedIn account. He’d received a response to a query he’d sent off four days after his friend-turned-manager walked him into a conference room swimming with sunlight, smelling of cologne and the faintest hint of perfume left behind by a group of attorneys who’d recently vacated the space after a five-hour meeting.

“I’m sorry, man,” Colin Perkins had said. Andrew’s eyes glided to the glass conference table, landing on the silver tray holding a molehill of bagels. He imagined they must be stale by now, having been left there uncovered in the icy office air.

Someone had planted the pointed end of a white plastic knife in an open container of chive-and-jalapeño cream cheese. It brought to mind the moon landing; all that was missing was a tiny American flag. A laugh trudged up his throat, but he disguised it as a cough.

“I told you,” Colin continued, raking his hands over his manicured Afro, “that the last to hire would be the first to go.”

A month earlier, seventeen women and two men had accused the CEO of the company of sexual misconduct. That news had plummeted the stock. The layoffs followed. Andrew had witnessed dozens of employees being escorted by security from the building like criminals. Now it was his turn.

Andrew nodded, placed a comforting hand on Daniel’s shoulder, and squeezed. The crisp cotton of Daniel’s shirt felt cool beneath his palm. “It’s okay, man, I understand. Don’t sweat it.”

He’d spent that first week revamping his résumé, calling friends and old colleagues, people who might know of a job opportunity at their own place of employment or elsewhere. He’d never had a LinkedIn account, but took the time to set one up. To conserve the little bit of savings he had, Andrew dropped his gym membership and went back to drinking tap water instead of the bottled Evian he loved. He gave up Starbucks coffee and the expensive cabernet sauvignon he purchased by the case.

By week three, he was spending his days on the couch, dressed in boxer shorts and sweat socks. He’d stopped opening the blinds and only went outside to empty the garbage. He whiled away the hours playing video games, and watching Netflix and Pornhub. Oftentimes, he went days without brushing his teeth.

When his mother called to check on him, Andrew lied, claiming he had several interviews lined up. When his father took the phone into another room to ask if he needed money, Andrew assured him that he was fine on the financial front, even though he wasn’t. He’d made up his mind to sell his Shelby Mustang before he took a dime from his parents. That was a big decision because he loved that car more than he’d ever loved any woman.

The day he opened the e-mail, the panic had just started to set in. He could feel it creeping along the back of his neck, like the soft scuttle of caterpillar legs.

From: OBF, INC.

To: Andrew Jamison

Dear Mr. Jamison,

We found your resume to be very interesting and believe that you would be the perfect addition to our dynamic team of Client Liaisons.

PAID TRAINING!

Affordable benefits for you, your spouse, and/or children after 90 days!

Opportunities to advance within!

Hourly, overtime, and tremendous bonus opportunities!

If you love helping others, then you will love working for OBF, INC.

OBF, INC. wants to talk to you now! To set up an interview TEXT OBF51893.

Liaison was just a fancy French word for customer service agent. Well, that was his skill set. Andrew was an expert at assisting people.

He texted the number and received an instant response that directed him to call a telephone number and enter his personal code: 1032.

An automated voice offered him two available interview dates. He was instructed to press 1 for the first date and 2 for the second. The mechanical voice told him that he would receive a call advising him where the interview would take place.

It all seemed very clandestine. Andrew was cynical, but his desperation outweighed his skepticism.

A day later, he received a call from a woman with a Southern drawl . . . Georgia, Alabama, Texas? He couldn’t quite pinpoint where she hailed from, but listening to her speak conjured visions of sweet tea and fireflies. She asked for his full government name and the code he’d received via text message. There was a pause, two clicks, and then the syrupy voice asked if he had a pen available. He did. After she’d rattled off the address, she wished him good luck. There were a few more clicks and then the line went dead.

He walked into the lobby of the forty-story office building and was struck by the contemporary opulence of the space. Marble floors, potted palms that towered eight feet into the air, white leather sofas, and a slick-looking Louboutin-red reception desk.

Andrew presented his license to the security guard and was given a name tag, which he clipped to the lapel of his ash-gray jacket. He was told to go to the eighteenth floor.

While waiting for the elevator, he perused the list of companies listed on a plaque mounted to the wall. OBF, Inc. was nowhere to be found.

He smirked, shrugged his shoulders, and stepped into the elevator. On the eighteenth floor, smack outside of the elevator door, was a sheet of lined legal paper taped haphazardly to the wall. Scrawled on its face in black marker was: This Way to OBF, INC. Below that was an arrow.

He started down the hall. A man the color of cedar and as tall as an NBA player speed-walked past him, mumbling to himself. Andrew thought he looked dazed, as if he’d just received news that a loved one had passed away.

“Good morning,” Andrew murmured.

The man turned eyes as wide as saucers on Andrew. He opened his mouth and muttered something that Andrew wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. The elevator doors slid open just as Andrew leaned in and asked, “Uhm, sorry, brother, but did you say run?”

The man leaped into the elevator, pressed his spine against the back wall, and fixed his eyes on the glass numbers above the closing doors.

Andrew stood blinking at his reflection in the chrome elevator doors. After a moment, he shrugged and continued down the hallway where he came upon a second handwritten sign directing him to turn left at the women’s bathroom. He rounded a corner and found himself staring at eleven men seated in folding chairs. They all looked up from their iPhones and Androids. Andrew nodded and headed toward the pretty blonde seated behind a metal desk.

“Good morning,” she smiled. “Name?”

“Andrew Jamison.”

“Okay, Mr. Jamison, please take a seat. Mrs. Americus will be with you shortly.”

He scrutinized his fellow applicants. They were all black men save for the one white guy with a man-bun who was called in as soon as Andrew sat down. Man-bun wasn’t in there long. In less than five minutes, cheeks flushed and cursing under his breath, he stormed across the reception area and out of sight.

Andrew clenched his jaw and made eye contact with another man across the room from him. He imagined the unease in the man’s eyes mirrored his own uncertainty.

“Andrew Jamison, Mrs. Americus will see you now. Just through that door.”

The door opened to a large office filled with cubicles and desks, manned by women tapping away on typewriters or murmuring into the handsets of—

Andrew slowed his gait.

Are those rotary telephones and, wait, Royal typewriters?

As Andrew gawked, a large man with a mustache as thick has a shoe brush appeared before him. Andrew glanced up and then quickly shifted his gaze away from the brawny man’s left eyelid, which was weighed down with a sty the size of a dime.

“In there,” the man huffed, aiming a chubby finger at a closed door not more than five feet from where they stood.

The office was as small as a janitor’s closet. And dark.

The lone window on the far left wall faced the shadowy back of a department store. Metal file cabinets lined the walls; some of the drawers were open, revealing manila folders bulging with papers. He could see, even in the muddy darkness of the room, a layer of dust atop the cabinets. Hanging on the walls were at least twenty framed photographs of people, all of whom were black.

The air was rife with the scent of cigarette smoke.

Andrew remembered people smoking at their desks when he went to visit his mother at her office job when he was young. Once, on a flight to Detroit with his grandmother, he stood at the back of the plane waiting to use the bathroom, and found himself engulfed in a cloud of smoke billowing from the cigarettes of three passengers.

He couldn’t recall the exact year cities around the country began banning smoking in bars and restaurants, but he was supremely aware that smokers had to be at least four hundred feet away from the entrance of any building if they wanted to light up.

Yet here was this woman, puffing away like it was 1975. Andrew eyed the near-empty box of Winstons and then the woman. She was robust—a meat-and-potatoes sort of gal, with doughy cheeks and large blue eyes. Her sun-bleached blond hair fanned back from her face—a style made famous by the eighties icon Farrah Fawcett. Her lips were slathered in tangerine-colored lipstick. The same color rung the filters of a dozen long-dead Winston butts heaped in the black ceramic ashtray. Andrew thought, If she’s going for clown instead of glamour, well, bull’s-eye!

Ornate rings twinkled on seven of her ten fingers, the rose-gold chain she wore around her neck dribbled down her chest and disappeared into her cleavage. She looked to be in her midfifties.

“Good morning, Mr. Jamison. Please have a seat.” Her eyes remained glued to the sheet of paper clutched in her hands. Andrew assumed it was his résumé.

He sat down.

“You graduated from Brown University?”

“Y-yes, I did. I graduated summa cum laude in 1990.”

Her desk was cluttered with newspaper clippings; stacks of aging yellowed papers, and dated fashion magazines. Andrew’s eyebrows climbed. Was that Marcia from the seventies sitcom The Brady Bunch on the cover of that Glamour magazine?

Andrew chuckled to himself. This had to be an elaborate joke. Someone was putting him on. His eyes ranged around the office in search of a concealed camera.

“Impressive,” she said finally, looking him directly in the eye. “Do you have a wife?”

“S-sorry?”

“Are you married, Mr. Jamison?”

“No, I’m not.”

She searched his face. “Are you gay?”

Andrew bristled. “Mrs. Americus, I don’t think you’re legally allowed to ask me that question.”

She smirked.

“It’s a yes-or-no question, Mr. Jamison. I know it’s unusual, but believe me, for this position I would need to know.”

His rent was due tomorrow and then again in thirty more days. His savings were dwindling. “No, I’m not gay.”

“Do you have children?”

“One daughter, she’s twenty-two years old.”

“Do you have a good relationship with your daughter? With the mother?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Americus glanced at his résumé. “Perfect.” She reached for the dying cigarette and brought it to her lips. “And according to your application, you’ve never been arrested. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we will be doing a background check.”

“Understood.”

“Do you have any bad habits? Do you use narcotics?”

“No ma’am.”

“Any . . . um . . . undesirable recreational activities?”

“Undesirable?”

“Porn? Well, not just porn. Kiddie porn.”

Andrew’s mouth fell open.

“No judgment, Mr. Jamison. Again, I just need to know.”

“No, I do not watch kiddie porn,” Andrew spat.

“Good!” she exclaimed, drumming her fingers on the desk. “Let me tell you the specifics of the job . . .”

Some of the faces behind the glass frames looked familiar. Again Andrew found himself squinting. Was that Omarosa? He pitched forward in his chair.

Mrs. Americus stopped talking and followed his gaze. “Um, yes,” she spouted. “That is who you think it is. She’s been one of our best recruits.”

Andrew swallowed.

Mrs. Americus stubbed out her cigarette and laced her fingers under her chin. “Some of our liaisons work directly with government agencies. That’s a promotion of sorts. Of course, before you can be assigned to the big house—I mean the White House—you’d first have to prove yourself out in the field.” She giggled. “In the field. You get it? It’s a double entendre.”

Andrew’s mouth went dry.

She twisted around in the chair and pointed to a photograph of a pair of middle-aged women standing shoulder to shoulder, each holding a red MAGA baseball cap. “Those ladies are Diamond and Silk. Do you know them?”

Andrew shot out up from the chair. For a moment, he thought his knees would buckle. “What does OBF stand for?”

Mrs. Americus reached for the pack of cigarettes. “OBF stands for One Black Friend.”

“One Black Friend?”

“Yes. You see, in these troubling times, times where so many people are labeling white people as racist, we need black people to stand up for us—to have our backs, as your people are fond of saying. Sometimes, Mr. Jamison, a God-fearing, good white person may be accused of a crime or some other offense perpetrated against a person of color, and when the accused does not have a person of color in his circle, it looks bad. The public may see him . . . or her, as a racist simply because their circle is . . . white. Lily.

“And that’s wrong. Not having black friends does not make a white person racist by default. Anyway,” she waved her hand, “that’s where OBF comes in. We provide that one black friend. That one black friend introduces doubt, and more often than not, that doubt diminishes a large percentage of the negative impact our clients might face.”

Andrew just stared.

“Oh, Mr. Jamison, don’t look so shocked. This practice has been around for centuries.” She pointed to the far wall near the window. “You see that guy there? He was actually the inspiration for this company.”

Andrew peered at the photograph. “Who is he?”

“Joe Oliver.”

“Joe Oliver?”

“Yeah, Joe Oliver. You don’t remember him? Joe Oliver, George Zimmerman’s one black friend.” Mrs. Americus raised a black ceramic coffee mug to her lips and sipped. The red decal on the side of the mug read: Black Tears.

Andrew’s stomach lurched, perspiration beading across his forehead. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

“Oh, I assure you this is not a joke and I am very serious. As serious as a heart attack. Is that how the saying goes? As serious as a heart attack?”

Andrew started toward the door.

“Wait, Mr. Jamison. Look here.” She pointed at a photograph hanging above the row of filing cabinets. “This is another one of our liaisons. Since he’s been working for us, he’s paid off his student loans and I understand that he’s just recently purchased a Cadillac.”

Andrew followed her index finger to the photo of a grinning black man holding a Blacks for Trump sign above his head like a trophy.

“Shall we talk about salary?”

The lights flickered.

He thought, Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe this is a nightmare.

“Andrew? I can see you’re having a hard time processing all of this. But really, it’s not as uncommon as you might think. We live in America, this is a capitalist country, and we monetize everything. Everything.”

Andrew couldn’t remember reaching for the doorknob, but suddenly he was stumbling through the reception area.

He fled down the corridor, rounded the first corner and then the next. A slight man the color of honeyed milk stepped from the elevator. He wore a yellow dress shirt with a red bow tie. His dark-blue khakis were flooded just enough to offer a wink of his orange-and-navy argyle socks.

Upon Andrew’s frantic approach, the startled stranger stepped swiftly out of his path. Andrew didn’t make eye contact. He jabbed at the elevator button until the doors slid open.

Weeks later, Andrew was seated in a truck-stop diner with his fork poised over a plate of scrambled eggs and corned beef hash.

The mounted television was tuned to Fox News. The anchor reported that yet another young black man had been gunned down by a vigilante, another Good Samaritan, named Christopher Parks.

Christopher Parks was heading home from his job as a sanitation man when he spotted young Daniel Latham sitting in Starbucks, dozing over his law textbooks. Parks entered the establishment, woke Latham with a tap to his shoulder, and asked if he lived in the area. According to eyewitnesses, Latham replied that he did in fact live in the neighborhood. Parks demanded to see Latham’s ID and was met with laughter. The law student gathered his belongings and stood to leave—rather menacingly, one eyewitness reported.

That was when Christopher Parks pulled his weapon and fired. The stunned Latham, still laughing, crumpled into his chair and pressed his hand over the whole in his heart. It wasn’t until he saw the blood that the smile slipped from his lips and he began to cry.

The cops were called, but not an ambulance. Well, not immediately.

The police shackled Latham to the chair and took Parks to the police station for questioning. The woman behind the counter gave Parks a high five and a tall Caffè Mocha to go.

By the time an ambulance arrived, Daniel Latham was dead, having bled out all over his take-home final exam.

In the days that followed, it was revealed that Daniel Latham had several unpaid parking tickets and was thrice fined for not scooping his dog’s poop. Not only that—he was also a practicing Buddhist who supported a woman’s right to choose.

A search of Latham’s apartment unearthed a well-worn copy of Alex Haley’s The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which was on his nightstand alongside Jay-Z’s Decoded. This discovery was further evidence that Latham was no angel.

Laura Ingraham looked directly into the camera and told her viewers that Christopher Parks was a hero, a polite and well-spoken man who had been raised by his father after his mother died from breast cancer when he was just three years old. Yes, as a youth, Christopher had been suspended from school for fighting, and as a young man he’d beaten a girlfriend with a pipe. Later, when he was in his early thirties, he’d threatened to castrate his boss—a black man old enough to be his grandfather. All of that behavior, Laura Ingraham said, was directly connected to the trauma of losing a mother at such a tender age.

She paused, and in that moment her entire face pulsed with empathy. “That said,” she continued, “Al Sharpton, along with the Black Lives Matter terrorist organization, have labeled Christopher Parks a racist and are calling for his arrest.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Earlier today, I had the pleasure of speaking with Christopher’s longtime best friend, Andrew Jamison . . .”

Andrew lowered his fork, reached for his shades, and slipped them onto his face.

—OBF, Inc., a short story by Bernice L. McFadden

[shesthespinstersimmer]

2- DO List (2)

Previous / Next / Beginning

LO: I got time to run up to Del Sol?

[ Blair Jamison / Lo's Personal Assistant ]

BLAIR: Only if you make it quick. You got to get back to San My soon for interviews and sponsor meetings with Jake.

LO: Any word on that thing, Sug?

[ Sugar Golden / Public Relations / Press Agent / Fixer ]

SUGAR: Still working on it.

LO: What's T, Babs?

BABS: Shelby Choi is still missing. And Lex has been seen a lot in Windenburg; I know a barista over there.

TURK: I bet you do.

LO: I ain't in the mood for it today, Turk.

BLAIR: What we need is an open call. Find us some new blood, Babs.

BABS: Ohh! On it.

LO: That's what I'm talking about. Look, I don't have time to babysit y'all; a lot of stuff is going down. I don't want to catch none of y'all slippin', if you need help, talk to Blair.

SUGAR: Thanks. I'll check it out.

LO: Listen, we may be opening a small office in San My so we can expand our reach. We're in negotiations right now. Y'all been with me from the beginning, so you all getting promoted to executive roles. That means people working for you. Ready for that?

LOLA: We got you, Lo.

LO: Good. Because we got our work cut out for us. Go ahead and get out of here; go touch some grass. You know how to reach me.

[featherfloof]

Handsy (A guilty pleasure MercyRat short)

                Angela sighed mentally for what felt like the hundredth time since this meeting had commenced well over two hours ago. Policy and agent safety updates were paramount in running a tight organization, but certainly the higher ups could have split this update into two separate timeframes? A quick glance around the large table at the surrounding agents made Angela laugh internally as the expressions they wore were an almost direct mirror to what she herself was feeling at the moment.

                Abject boredom. Maybe even a little hunger, and a whole lot of tired.

                Her eyes drifted down beside her to observe what new doodles had been added to the rather obscenely thick packet of meeting notes her neighbor had scribbled since the last time she had peeked, but Angela was acutely disappointed to see that the scene of bombs, explosions, and crudely maimed stick figures hadn’t changed in the fifteen or so minutes since the last time she had looked.

                Angela had been secretly pleased beyond measure that Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes had taken up the seat beside her at the table. Aside from assuaging the concealed crush she had on the quirky ex-Junker; Angela had discovered on previous meetings that being privy to his murderous masterpieces proved to be an endless supply of much needed entertainment to get her through drole congregations.

                It was certainly peculiar that the scene hadn’t expanded because in the past, on average by this time in the meeting, Jamison had nearly filled every free bit of real estate on the cover page with his scribbles. Curious, Angela focused on his form in her periphery and noted that his figure had slumped over to the side at an angle that left no room for her imagination to contemplate why he’d stopped drawing.

                The man had dozed off.

                Not that she could blame him in the least. The thought had certainly crossed her mind a time or two. But the higher ups were notorious for honing in on those they suspected weren’t up to par with expectations and Jamison certainly didn’t need to be placed under an even higher power microscopic lens that Angela felt he was already scrutinized beneath, given his criminal history.

                Surreptitiously, Angela tilted her head so that she could observe Jamison more clearly in order to confirm her suspicions and nearly choked on a laugh at the column of drool that was currently streaming from the corner of his lips to pool against the collar of his shirt. He was no doubt fast asleep and a part of her was surprised he hadn’t thought to paint false eyeballs on the back of his lids to give the illusion that he was awake and attentive. The mental image of that nearly pushed Angela over the edge of holding in her amusement and she bit her bottom lip to quell the giggle that threatened to bubble up her throat.

                Sucking in a fortifying breath through her nose to calm herself, Angela became determined in that moment to save Jamison from any unnecessary scrutiny and tentatively reached out beneath the cover of the table to poke her fingers against his person. Her digits found themselves brushing against his own where he had placed his hand to rest against his knee. With a gentle firmness, Angela nudged the side of Jamison’s palm and felt his leg swing away from the pressure of her touch, but he didn’t wake. Undeterred, Angela poked at him again with increased urgency and to her utter shock, suddenly felt his hand move as his fingers captured hers within his own; lacing them together before returning his palm where it had been resting before, but now with her hand held captive beneath his.

                Angela froze and she quickly turned her head to the side to fully observe the mercenary now. He was still asleep, but at least he’d righted his head from its lull to the side and he was no longer watering himself with his drool.

                Thank goodness for small miracles, Angela mused, but then riveted her attention back to where their bodies were currently joined. She fought against the reflex to jerk her hand back out from beneath his grip, not wanting to startle him awake and draw unwanted attention, and after a moment, as the heat of his skin seeped into her own, Angela sheepishly, and selfishly, found herself enjoying the contact.

                It would make for an incredibly awkward moment if he were to wake right then with her hand twisted so intimately with his own and Angela felt a blush creep up her neck to heat the tips of her ears at the thought. She imagined it would take a second for it to register in his mind before he’d start sputtering and flailing in true over-the-top dramatic Junkrat fashion, no doubt causing a scene she had been trying to avoid in the first place.

                Cautiously, Angela tugged her hand ever so slightly in an attempted to dislodge it from his grasp, but his fingers flinched and tightened over hers, unwilling to relinquish hold of their stolen prize. Beside her, the ex-Junker inhaled a long breath and shifted, but still the man remained completely oblivious to the world around him, and as he exhaled, his lips whispered with a hint of lazy amusement, “It’s mine now.”

                Angela froze once more, torn between wondering if he were awake and messing with her, or asleep and dreaming about holding someone’s hand for ransom. Surely, he couldn’t be awake. In no uncertain terms had the man ever did anything to make Angela think that her silly crush would ever be reciprocated. Sure, he was goofy and friendly towards her, which one may interpret as flirting, but he was that way with everyone. Only, everyone else treated Jamison with a benign neglect that was reminiscent of how people back home would treat a mangy stray dog that just wanted to be loved. She certainly appreciated his antics and couldn’t remember a time when she had brushed him off as an annoyance like she’d seen so many others do.

                So, perhaps he was awake and was taking immense pleasure in messing with her. Such a ploy certainly would align with his mischievous side, especially knowing, at least Angela hoped, that it would be positively received by her, out of everyone else he could have done it to.

                Slowly, so as to not draw attention to herself, Angela leaned in closer to Jamison’s side and squeezed her fingers around the top of his knee where he had placed her palm to rest beneath his own. At the same time she whispered, “careful Jamison, it might bite you.”

                It took a second, but the man suddenly snorted a laugh that made Angela jump upright in her seat. This time, several pairs of eyes turned their way, casting a collection of questioning, withering, annoyed, and humorous glares in equal turns. Angela felt as if she could melt away with the heat of her embarrassment until they all finally lost interest and looked away from her and Jamison.

Angela relaxed and turned to cast a suspicious leer towards the ex-Junker. His face was serene. Features that were usually pinched into a smirk or scowl were placid and calm. Even the dimple Angela had noted in the past that appeared over his left brow during a moment of laughter or amusement was absent. Cautiously, she leaned in towards him once more.

                “Jamison?”

                This time his brows flinched and a moment later he cleared his throat softly and actually answered. “Mmm?”

                “Are you awake?”

                “Jus’ barely, luv.” His voice rumbled, deep with sleep, before he moved to sit up straighter in his chair. His fingers flexed against her own and yet he still hadn’t let her go.

                Angela swallowed thickly, helplessly wailing in her head. He had to have noticed by now!? It was in that moment that his fingers squeezed against hers once more and a thoughtful hum exhaled from his throat as he leaned forward to plant his right elbow against the table, rested his chin in his prosthetic palm, and canted his head to the side to pin her with an intensely curious stare. Those darkened whiskey hues caused her stomach to flip flop as soon as they made contact with hers as did the lop-sided grin that tugged on one side of his lips. His fingers gently flexed against hers now with purpose as he stared into her eyes and Angela wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment or attraction that caused her insides to suddenly combust.

                Perhaps a little of both.

                “I was trying to wake you.” She murmured quietly, immediately on the defensive. “Then you just took hold of me.”

                “Oh, suuuure,” Jamison whispered. “Put the blame on a defenseless bloke while he’s sleepin’”

                Angela opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Instead, she sat there gaping like a fish and watched that aforementioned dimple appear above Jamison’s left brow as he watched her struggle.

                “’Sides, I told ya it’s mine now.” He harrumphed as if that was the end-all-be-all and abruptly returned his attention to the speaker who had amazingly kept droning on about the topic at hand despite their obvious whisperings.

So, he had been asleep, though Angela had been incorrect in assuming he’d be dramatic in his reaction in waking to her hand in his. Curiously, he seemed rather fine with it, which was either because he was fine with it (which opened the flood gates to a whole slew of new questions), or was playing it off to save her the embarrassment. He certainly wouldn’t care on his part. Jamison never seemed embarrassed about anything and that was one of the qualities she adored about the man.

He was always unapologetically himself.

                Surely though, if it was to save her from embarrassment, he would have released her hand by now, right? Oh God, Angela squealed mentally and though her eyes had shifted once more to fix on the presenter, all of her focus was currently channeled to the sensation of Jamison’s fingers pressed between the valleys of her own; his palm pressed flush against the top of her hand, and how the rough and calloused pad of his thumb traced a slow, gentle circle against the base of her pinky where it met the side of her hand. Every full pass caused a jolt of heat to spear straight through her belly, which just kept growing in its intensity. His hand was so much larger than her own, Angela mused, it nearly swallowed hers against his knee, and it was a peculiar thought, to think that a hand that was capable of wreaking such havoc, pain, and destruction was currently holding her with an almost tender reverence.

                Did the man even realize what he was doing to her? He seemed completely oblivious to her increasing intoxication to his touch.

                Now perversely, Angela had gone from hoping the meeting would end to wishing it would continue on. It had been a pathetically long time since any man had made her feel the sensations that were currently twisting her insides the way Jamison was, and all he was doing was holding her hand captive.

                Imagine what other feelings he could elicit from her?

                Then, as if midnight had finally tolled on her Cinderella moment, the presenter called an end to the meeting and everyone around them began to stand with a collective sigh, effectively bursting the bubble that had surrounded herself and Jamison ever since he’d taken hold of her.

                Angela mentally cried in dismay when Jamison gave her hand one final squeeze before he lifted his palm off of hers, leaving a chilled void from the loss of his touch. Angela finally reeled her hand back and began to numbly gather her note pages when she felt Jamison stand and hover over her at her side. Belatedly, she finally stood and turned to face him and was relieved to see the easy smile on his lips and a mischievous glint reflected in the honeyed gaze of his eyes as they drifted over her features.

                “Y'know, Doc…” He started then leaned in closer to lower his voice in a hushed tone close to her ear. “If ya wanted me to hold your hand, all ya had to do was ask.”

                Angela smiled despite herself and felt her face heat all over again from his teasing. “Thanks, Fawkes. I’ll remember that for next time.” Angela retorted cheekily and watched his lips twist into a conspiring smirk.

                “Anytime, babe.”

[drawingsfromthefrogwar]

i love you three of them

three of them for friend hal

[mugenloopdalove]

💞Miles' F/O List💞

Here's a list of my F/Os, including the pronouns and emoji tags I use for them!! I'm perfectly fine sharing!!

Main Romantic

💣 Pinstirpe Potoroo - Crash Bandicoot (any pronouns)

♠️ Jackson "Blackjack" Chamberlain - Steel Vengeance at Cedar Point (he/him)

🧇 Kevin - Saints Row (2022) (any pronouns)

🪩 Disco Kid - Punch Out!! (he/him)

🎹 Kaori Sakuramori - Idolm@ster Million Live (she/her)

🍺 Kaede Takagaki - Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls (she/her)

👻 Klaus Hargreeves - The Umbrella Academy (show) (he/they/she)

Secondary Romantic

🐈 Matt Engarde - Ace Attorney (he/him)

🐀 Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes - Overwatch (he/him)

💪 Brigitte Lindholm - Overwatch - (she/he)

😈 Arataki Itto - Genshin Impact (he/him)

👁️👁️ Wally Darling - Welcome Home (he/they/it/neos)

😼 Rocky Rickaby - Lackadaisy (he/neos)

🧪 Jiro Yamashita - Idolm@ster SideM (he/him)

⭐ Rosalina - Super Mario (she/they/it)

📽 Zen/Hyun Ryu - Mystic Messenger (he/she)

🎶 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Fate/Grand Order (he/him)

It's Complicated

🍸 Wallace Wells - Scott Pilgrim (he/him)

Polyships

🐕 Goro Majima (he/she) and Kazuma Kiryu (he/they) 🐲 - Yakuza

🤠 Cole Cassidy - Overwatch (he/him) and 🐉 Genji Shimada - Overwatch (he/him)

👨‍👧 Ryotaro Dojima - Persona 4 (he/him) and 🥬 Tohru Adachi - Persona 4 (he/they)

🛹 Lucas Lee - Scott Pilgrim Takes Off (he/him) and 👓 Gideon Graves - Scott Pilgrim Takes Off (any)

🩸 Astarion Ancunin (any pronouns) and 🍃🐈‍⬛ Jaheria (she/it)+🧸🔥 Karlach Cliffgate - Baldur's Gate 3 (any pronouns) (Jaheria and Karlach are also dating each other!)

Familial

👻 Buffy Engarde - Ace Attorney OC (sister) (she/her)

🏠 Nanako Dojima - Persona 4 (daughter) (she/her)

🌱 Arabella - Baldur's Gate 3 (daughter) (she/her)

🍳 Yenna - Baldur's Gate 3 (kid) (they/them)

🐻🎀 Kaho Komiya - Idolm@ster Shiny Colors (daughter) (she/her)

🩷 Miria Akagi - Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls (daughter) (she/her)

📖 Arisu Tachibana - Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls (daughter) (she/they)

Platonic

👾 Hana "D.Va" Song - Overwatch (she/her) (also my metamour w Brigitte!!)

📱 Rio Momose - Idolm@ster Million Live (she/her)

🦝 Roary Racoon - Crash Bandicoot OC (they/them)

⚔️ Wyll Ravengard - Baldur's Gate 3 (he/him)

🌑 Shadowheart - Baldur's Gate 3 (she/they) (semi-romantic)

💫 Lae'zel - Baldur's Gate 3 (she/her)

🪶 Volo - Baldur's Gate 3 (he/they/she)

🐹 Minsc (and Boo!) - Baldur's Gate 3 (any)

🦌 Eve Santaclaus - Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls (she/they)

Pretty much all of Team Cortex

QPP

🔮 Gale Dekarios - Baldur's Gate 3 (he/they)

Frenemy

🥃 Tawna Bandicoot - Crash Bandicoot (she/he/they)

♠️ (sorry)

🎭 Raphael - Baldur's Gate 3 (he/him - should note this is mostly for an au ver of my tav nejdj)

Kin F/Os

I'll add to these as shifts come up!!

Kin: Gerard Lacroix-Overwatch

😡 Jack Morrison/Soldier:76 (romantic)(he/him)

💀 Gabriel Reyes/Reaper (romantic)(he/they)

🦁 Reinhardt Wilhelm (romantic)(he/him)

🕷️ Widowmaker/Widow-Trans masc (romantic) (He/they) (NOTE: please do NOT refer to Widow as Amelie when referring to them in a romantic sense thank you!!!) / (However Amelie (she/they) IS a platonic f/o and so! her emoji is 🩰)

🪷 Niran "Bua" Pruksamanee/Lifeweaver (Crush/possible romantic)(he/they/she)

💤 Ana Amari (platonic)(she/they)

🔘 Siebren de Kuiper/Sigma (platonic)(he/it)

📵 Olivia Colomar/Sombra (platonic)(any)

(also. Basically every guy is a crush lol. I was a Gay Mess)

Kin: Agent Stone-Sonic the Hedgehog (Movie)

🥚 Dr. Robotnik (romantic)(he/they/it)

🖤 Shadow the Hedgehog (kid)(he/they)

❤️‍🩹 Sage (kid)(she/they/it)

Kin: Indrid Cold (The Adventure Zone: Amnesty)

♥️v♥️ Duck Newton (Romantic)(he/him)

🐇🔥 Aubrey Little (Platonic)(she/they/it)

Yoosung Kim (Mystic Messenger)

🚀 707/Saeyoung Choi (Romantic)(any pronouns)

🌸 Protagonist (Romantic) (she/her)

Kin: Galo Thymos (Promare)

🔥🐲 Lio Fotia (Romantic)(he/they)

Johnny Gat (Saints Row)

🎧 Aisha (Romantic)(she/her)

⚜️ Boss - Zuri Valdez (platonic)(she/her)

💎 Shaundi (Platonic)(she/her)

🤖 Matt Miller (Brother)(he/they)

[psychotic4ghost]

:Siren & The 141:

A/n: Sorry this chapter took so long for me to release. I haven't been liking my writing as much recently so I wanted it to be to my standards before I posted it. Enjoy! WC: 4k Masterlist prev pt next pt

🚨 Warnings 🚨 Smut (18+ MDNI), hospital, limb loss, prosthetics

Chapter 10 - *Bound*

Rain trickled down the window as Mykie watched the drops. Time seemed to move incredibly slow as she sat cooped up in the safe house. Simon was back at the base working on training and more missions. She hated not being able to help them find Pablo. She felt defeated until a thought popped in her head. She quickly unlocked her phone and tapped a contact in her favorites. 

“Price?” Mykie asked quickly the moment the phone clicked.

“Mykie, is everything okay?” He asked, rather worried. 

“Yeah, I’m great. I have a proposal.” She waited, holding her breath. 

“Okay, go on.”

“Intel. I can hack and I’m really good at it, you’ve seen it first hand. Let me be the eyes and ears of the 141. I can do hacking, coms, quick fixes with gear. Price, I’ve been in the field, I know how useful it could be to have a skilled special agent on coms.” Mykie blurted, she sucked in her breath as she waited for his response. 

“I appreciate your drive, Mykie. But…I’d have to run it through my higher ups. Let me finish this paper work and I’ll give them a call, okay?”

“Yes! Thank you Price!”

“However! You have to continue with your therapy and you cannot slack on that if I let you back in, got it?” He pressed. 

“You have my word, sir.” Mykie beamed into her phone.

“And mine.” Simon’s voice rang from the background of the call. He was in Price’s office and heard the whole thing.

“Oh, hi, Simon…” Mykie mumbled, she hadn’t spoken to him about her idea yet so she felt rather embarrassed. 

“Hi, Mykie. Don’t forget to eat.” Simon said in a gruff but caring voice. 

“Is that something she’s been forgetting to do?!” Price shouted as the line clicked. 

Mykie let out a soft chuckle. Simon was right though. She had been spacing out so much lately that she was forgetting to eat. And with Simon back at the base, she had to be the one to remember to feed herself. She pulled herself up from the armchair that Simon pushed in front of the window for her. She was still getting used to her new limitations. 

Simons hoodie unrolled down to her knees as she stood up. She wore a pair of his black sweatpants as well, despite how long they were on her. She had to tie the drawstrings as tight as she could and roll the legs up. 

The small kitchen was attached to the living room. There, she made a quick meal, some mac and cheese from a box that Price had sent over. He wanted foods she could make herself for when Simon or the nurses weren’t there to help her. Her and Price agreed on her not being babied so she could learn to function on her own as soon as possible. Nurse visits were becoming fewer and fewer as the months ticked on. Even Simon was forcing her to do things on her own now. 

“Hey, Dr. Faulkner.” Mykie chimed into her cellphone as she hung her spoon from her mouth. She set her bowl down on the counter as the phone was pressed to her ear with her shoulder. 

“Hello Ms. Jamison, how have you been feeling?” the doctor asked through the phone. 

“Pretty good. The redness has gone down a lot and I can wiggle the muscle without any strain.”

“Good, I have some great news. It will take some time but I’m sure it will be very well worth the wait in the end.” 

“I’m listening?” Mykie said before taking a mouthful of mac and cheese, her phone was now on the table on speaker phone. 

“Your new arm is ready. It is a bionic arm. You will need to make some appointments for fitting and testing then continue your physical therapy.”

“Really? That’s perfect, when can we do this?!” Mykie beamed. This was exactly what she was hoping for. 

“As soon as you’re ready. From your last check up, your stump seems healed enough.” 

“Awesome, I’ll contact Captain Price and let him know.” Mykie was so ecstatic about getting her new limb that she called Price back as soon as she hung up the phone with Dr. Faulkner. 

“Cap, is Simon still there?” Mykie nearly shouted into the phone.

“He is, I’ll put you on speaker. Go ahead.”

“Dr. Faulkner called, my prosthetic is ready!”

Mykie could hear Price and Simon both audibly gasp at the news. They spoke about times and dates they could have appointments made. Price had called in and got her appointment set up for the earliest date. 

“Do you have everything?” Simon asked as he slung Mykie’s backpack over his shoulder. 

“I think so. I brought my kindle and I’ll have my phone of course.” Mykie tapped her chin as she looked around the small house. When it was just her and Simon, they were both softer, warmer than how they were on the base. It felt nice to finally let her guard down and feel safe around someone. 

“I can’t wait to be able to drive again.” Mykie huffed as she climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep. 

“I don’t mind drivin, My.” Simon said before shutting the door and opening the backseat, throwing her bag in there. 

“Yeah, I know. But when you aren’t here, I can’t go anywhere.” She complained. 

“Even if y’could drive, there’r still things in the outside world I’d have to help with. Which I don’t mind doin’ either. Let me care for you, My.”  

Their ride was a little on the long side. They had to cross the border into Texas for the fitting. Mykie had her feet on the dash as the two jammed out to some metal/rock. Bad Omens blasted through the speaker as Mykie sang along. Simon couldn’t help but steal glances at her as she rocked out. She was wearing his hoodie again as usual. His chest burned with an unusual feeling when he looked at her.

“Ms. Jamison, Mr. Riley, good to see you. Will Mr. Price be joining us today?” Dr. Faulkner questioned as she led the two down the hall to the room for the fitting. This one was much nicer than the last one. It was more furnished. 

“No. He is staying at the base.” Simon informed as he set down the backpack he had slung over his shoulder.  

“Sounds good, I’ll let you get settled in. Make sure your socket is clear so we can access it. A tank top will do nicely.” She informed her before shutting the door behind her.

“Nervous?” Simon asked as he sat down on the couch that was across from the bed. 

“Yeah, a little. I don’t like hospitals. But I also hope I can work with this prosthetic, I know it’ll take time but…” Mykie sighed as she unzipped her backpack. “Can you help me? It’s still hard to put on shirts.” 

Simon nodded and stood to help Mykie. He slipped her hoodie off as well as her shirt. She crossed her arm over her bra with her right arm. “It’s cold.” She mumbled. Simon chuckled as he grabbed a tank top from the backpack, He gently pulled it over her head and helped her pull her arm through. His fingers gently brushed against her skin as he helped her. 

“I brought my zip up jacket, so we can take it off easier.” Mykie said as she reached for the gray jacket in the backpack The nerves were definitely starting to get to her. 

Simon didn’t hesitate to grab the jacket from her, he helped her with her arm and tied a knot in the left sleeve for her. “Mykie. I know we haven’t really…put a title on what we have goin on but, I figured now would be a good time, I wanted to ask…if you would be…I dunno like…”

Mykie stopped him as she tugged his black surgical mask down and planted a soft kiss to his lips. “Yes, Simon. I’ll be your girlfriend. Even though I kind of have been for like, 7 months now.” Mykie giggled against his lips before dropping back to her flat feet. 

“‘S’pose that’s true…” Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

“Ms. Jamison?” A few knocks sounded at the door. 

“Yes?”

“Are we ready for the fitting?” Dr. Faulkner asked as she pushed open the door further. 

“I think so.” Mykie glanced at Simon, nervousness flooded her green eyes.

Dr. Faulkner and another man entered the room. They had a box which Mykie assumed had her new arm. 

“I’m Dr. Burns. I’m going to be taking scans of your muscles today and see if we can start fitting in one go. If you wouldn’t mind slipping off the sleeve.” the man gently reached for Mykie’s sleeve, she let it drop happily. They applied a balm to her skin and took scans of her shoulder where the prosthetic will be attached. It had taken a good amount of time just doing the scans alone, but as soon as they finished Mykie pulled her sleeve back up and on quickly. Her skin was red and irritated after all the touching. 

“I apologize for the discomfort, Ms. Jamison. We are done for today and I got some excellent reads. You sat perfectly today. I will keep in touch and we should have you ready to go within the week.” Dr. Burns informed Mykie as he stood to leave. He shook both Mykie and Simon’s hands before  leaving. 

Mykie made her next appointment with them before climbing back into the jeep. The two had packed some bags before the trip, planning to stay in Texas. 

“Thank you. Room 217, noted.” Simon said to the clerk as he took the keycard handed to him. “We’ll be in room 217. We should grab something to eat.” Simon offered as he reached Mykie who was in the waiting room. 

“I could really use some comfort food after today.” Mykie sighed. She was scrolling on her phone as she waited. “Look.” She said as she shoved her phone in Simon’s face. On the screen was a picture of a big bowl of ramen. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Mykie nodded her head quickly. She wasn’t used to going out in public now that she only had one arm, she feared the looks. Fortunately, it was September and the air around them was starting to cool off, meaning she could wear her hoodie and have the left sleeve of her Simon’s hoodie draped down. Their trip to the ramen shop was fun, Mykie got Simon to share some of his infamous dad jokes, or military humor as he called it. 

“Two please.” Simon said to the hostess who walked them to a small two seater table. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been out in public doing normal things.” Mykie sighed as she struggled to break apart her chopsticks. 

“Give me that.” Simon ordered as he took the chopsticks from her and pulled them apart with a snap. 

“Thanks.” Mykie grumbled. 

“My, please. I know it’s difficult, but I wanna help you. You’re still independent, we don’t see you any other way.” Simon reassured her, he could see the look of defeat in her eyes. 

“I know…just sucks sometimes.” 

“Eat.” Simon ushered as he handed her chopsticks back. 

Mykie had to alternate spoon and chopstick as she couldn’t hold both like she usually would. It was rather messy as she slurped the noodles into her mouth, no spoon to hold them up. Simon couldn’t help but laugh at her as a noodle smacked her in the forehead. She threw him a daring look as she wiped the broth off her forehead. 

Back at the hotel, Mykie flopped onto the bed absolutely exhausted from the day. She rolled over and reached into her bag taking out a soothing lotion. 

“May I?” Simon asked as he sat on the bed next to her with his hand out.

Mykie slapped the bottle of lotion in his open palm. She shimmied off the sweater she wore, exposing her biggest insecurity to him.  

Simon stayed silent as he squeezed out some of the balm onto his open palm. He cautiously placed his hand on her irritated skin, massaging it into her skin slowly and lovingly. 

“When you were in the hospital the first time…” Simon started, he searched for the right words. His emotions were still a foreign concept to him, despite the months since she entered his life. “I thought I had lost you. I…was…scared.” It felt weird coming from his lips. He had numbed himself to the world of emotions. With this line of work, and his specialities, numbing himself seemed like the best option. The thought of caring for someone who, hell, someone caring for him was such a weird idea, it almost felt like it was impossible. But here she was. A soul who was capable of caring for him. Despite his past and even his present. His job, his mannerisms, his lack of emotion, all the burdens he carried and yet, she didn’t care. She saw him for who he was and couldn’t dream of caring for anyone else. 

Mykie turned to face him, her small hand cupping his cheek. He rested his cheek into her hand cautiously. Despite their nights together, he was still wary of his vulnerable movements. 

“Simon?”

“Hm?” 

“I…I’m in love with you.” Mykie choked out. She hadn’t used those words since the day her sister died in her arms. She had forgotten how they felt on her tongue. It took a lot for her to not flinch away, to run and hide the moment the words left her lips. She searched his eyes, fearful of how he might react. Her shoulders tensed.

“Mykie…” Simon trailed off, his mind was racing. He hadn’t heard anyone use those words towards him since his mother. He almost felt like Mykie was lying to him. A part of him was sure she was fucking with him. A cruel prank. His eyes were wide as they locked onto her equally shocked eyes. 

Neither of them knew what to do as they stared for what felt like hours. Simon’s mind went blank as he pulled the nape of her neck towards him abruptly. He crashed his lips to hers with hunger, as if she would disappear if he didn’t. Mykie pushed further into him, the hand that rested on his cheek now carded through the hair at the nape of his neck. She tugged hastily at his hair. 

“I fucking love you so much.” Simon panted against her lips as they pulled apart for air. The separation didn’t last long before their lips were attached once more. 

Simon gently pushed his weight into her, forcing her to lay back on the bed. Mykie didn’t protest as he slid his hand up her shirt. He cupped one of her breasts, kneading it lovingly. A soft moan escaped Mykie’s lips. His hand slipped behind her, unclasping her bra and throwing it to the side. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgious.” Simon huffed as he pulled back to admire her breasts through the very very thin fabric of her tank top. Her nipples grew hard against the fabric as the cold air kissed them. 

“Si…I need you.” Mykie panted, her arousal taking over her mind, pushing her sane self out of the way. 

“As you wish.” Simon grinned ear to ear as he captured her lips in his again. His hands pushed her tank top up and over her head, only breaking the kiss for a sec. His hands attacked both her breasts again, pinching the nipples harshly between his rough fingers. 

“Simon…please…” Mykie whined against his lips. 

“S’needy.” He chuckled. He obliged her request though, dragging his hands down her abdomen and down past the ties of the sweats she wore. His fingers brushed against her heated core. The soft cotton of her panties were already damp to the touch. 

Simon broke the kiss. He left wet, sloppy kisses over her jaw, he trailed down her neck then to her collar bone before capturing a nipple in between his teeth. His hands worked at untying her his  sweats. He pushed them down as low as he could without leaving her breasts with his mouth.

Her back arched as he bit and nibbled her breasts, making sure to give each the attention they deserved. Soft, sweet moans left her lips as he swirled his tongue around her buds. She placed her hand on his shoulder, attempting to push him down to where she needed him. 

“Be patient, lovie.” Simon chuckled against her skin as he agonizingly trailed wet kissed down her sternum, down to her belly button. He kept his trail going all the way down to the top of her panty line. He took the hem of her panties in between his teeth, looking up to make sure she was watching as he pulled them down. His hands gripped the hem under her ass as he pulled them down to her knees. After ripping them off the full way and tossing them blindly to the floor, he climbed back up her body. Simon looped his arms under her back, lifting her with no effort before tossing her back down but higher up on the bed. 

Soft giggles left her lips as she bounced on the bed before settling back down. “Sorry love, needed more room.” he said as his hands pried her thighs apart with no warming. A small yelp left her. 

“S’wet for me.” Simon cooed as he traced a single digit along her lips up to her clit. He repeated this motion until she was begging him for more. 

“P…please Simon…please, I need you.” She whimpered. It made Simon’s cock twitch as he watched this badass military woman, who he’s seen kill men in cold blood, whimper and whine just for his touch. 

“Or what?” Simon teased as he left feather light touches against her clit. 

Mykie didn’t respond, instead she shifted her hips down and began to move them in a circular motion against his fingers. Small moans pulled from her lips as she ground her hips down into his fingers. 

Simon clicked his tongue as he watched her pleasure herself against his fingers. His free hand gripped her hips tightly, pushing her down into the bed, unable to move. “I would love to watch you fuck yourself against my fingers, but I’m the one who is going to rip those pretty little moans from you tonight.” Simon growled as he lowered his face to her entrance. He jut his tongue out quickly. He lapped at her entrance.

The aforementioned ‘pretty moans’ poured from Mykie’s lips uncontrollably. Simon inserted his tongue into her entrance and back out at a maddening pace causing her back to arch. 

“Hand in my hair. Now.” Simon demanded against her pussy, the vibrations making her moan more. 

She nodded her head quickly as her hand threaded through his hair, gripping tightly. 

“Words, Siren.” He called her by her call sign, making her cries stutter. Hearing her call sign in bed turned her on more than she thought possible. 

“Y-yes sir.” She croaked out. 

“That’s lieutenant to you, Sergeant.” 

“Y-yes Lieutenant.” Mykie whimpered. 

“Good girl.” Simon growled against her clit, the vibrations sending her even closer to the edge. 

Simon pushed two fingers into her aching core with no warning or time for adjustment. He began pumping quickly as he could feel her end nearing. Stuttered and choppy moans and whines left Mykie as she felt her core tighten around his fingers. “Si-Lieutnant…I’m so fu-ucking cl-ose.” Her legs shook around his head. Her grip in his hair tightened causing him to wince at the pleasurable pain. 

“Cum for me baby.” Simon pushed his fingers in quicker as he lapped and sucked at her clit. 

Without warning for either of them, the tight coil in her abdomen snapped. Her legs shook violently around his head, her walls clamped around his fingers and her grip in his hair released just for her to dig her nails into his shoulder. 

“Gooood girl. That’s it.” Simon cooed as he lifted his head from her core. His fingers still pumped lightly in and out of her as she rode out her high. “My turn.” Simon growled as he quickly shoved his fingers into her mouth while whipping his chin clean with his other hand. “Suck.” He ordered. She wasted no time closing her lips around his thick fingers, cleaning them of her own juices. 

Simon’s belt flew to the ground rather quickly. He didn’t bother pulling his pants all the way off, instead he dropped them to his ankles, boxers included. He was rock hard already, pre-cum nearly dripping down his shaft as he lined himself up with her entrance. “Brace yourself.” He warned. Mykie wrapped her legs around his hips, her arm draped over his shoulder. She nodded her head quickly. 

Simon smirked as he coated his dick in her slick juices. He pushed the tip all the way in, pulling a gasp from Mykie. She wiggled her hips quickly, wanting to waste no time. “Y’sure?” Simon hummed against her earlobe. 

“P-please. More.” she whined, nearly pushing herself down onto his cock. 

“Might want to bite something, love.” He warned. Mykie opted for his shoulder, she placed her lips against the warm skin of his shoulder, bracing herself as he fully bottomed out inside her with the help of her heels digging into his ass cheeks. The sting struck her harshly as she dug her nails and teeth into his shoulder, suppressing a cry. “Doin’ okay?” 

Mykie nodded her head quickly, “Just m-move. Please Simon.” she practically cried out. Tears trickled down her cheeks, the pain only brought her more pleasure. 

“I don’ wanna hurt you My.” Simon warned, as he tried to pull back. Her heels kept him locked in place. 

“Y-you aren’t…I l-like the pain.” 

“As you wish, use your words if you need a break.” He ordered as he finally began to move. More moans spilled from Mykie as the sting increased. His size made it easy for him to hit the spongy spot that caused her to cry out. 

“As…much as I love-yer moans…we are-in a hotel.” Simon huffed out in between thrusts. “Don…make me gag you.” 

Mykie took this as a challenge of course. She did nothing to stifle her moans and screams of his name. Simon had no choice at this point, he didn’t want to explain the noises and deal with the noise complaint if he let her continue with these lewd sounds, no matter how much he loved to hear what he was doing to her. 

Simon quickly clasped his lips to hers, taking her moans into his mouth. His tongue jutted into her mouth, exploring every spot he could reach. 

His quick and brutal thrusts were bringing them both to the edge quickly. His grip on her hips were sure to leave bruises as he tightened, feeling his climax barreling to the surface. Mykie’s walls clenched around his cock, tugging a guttural moan from his throat. 

“M’close. S’c-close.” Mykie groaned against the crook of his neck.

“M’too.” Both of them were almost completely out of breath.

“C-cum ‘n me…please, I need to f-feel you.” Mykie begged as her high was dangerously close to spilling over. 

“T-together…” Simon huffed. 

A few more thrust from Simon and the two of them snapped, their intertwined moans filled the air as they both came undone together. 

“You okay, lovie?” Simon asked as he smoothed her hair with his hand. They were now tangled together, laying in the bed. Simon’s slowly softening cock still rested inside Mykie as they cuddled. 

“Mhm…Didn’t think I liked it that rough.” She admitted. Her eyes were slightly closed as she nuzzled her nose into his chest. 

“That wasn’t as rough as I can be.” Simon chuckled against the top of her head. 

“I look forward to it then, better keep your word.” Mykie teased. 

“Oh I promise.”

[timeguardians]

24 Oc with 911/the Rookie/and One Chicago verses

Name: Emilia "Em or Emi" Walker

fc: Dakota Johnson

Father: Jamison Walker and Renee Cahill-Walker

Occupation: Paramedic/ FBI Agent/CTU agent

Personality: Tbd

____________________________________________________

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Neutralised (1994) [3/?]: My Version of The Shared Universe

For those of you unfamiliar with 'Chicago Hope', it was actually set in a shared universe. Also, 'Suspiciously Similar' characters will be involved (Due to actors playing multiple roles). This is my take on that:

Shows:

Chicago Hope

Homicide: Life on the Street

Law & Order

Neutralised

Oz

Picket Fences

characters (I'm not listing anyone who was in 20 episodes or less) under the cut. Also technically these are not all the characters as I'm still writing stuff.

Chicago Hope - Characters (& Actors):

Doctor Aaron Shutt (Adam Arkin)

Doctor Phillip Watters (Hector Elizondo)

Doctor William 'Billy' Kronk (Peter Berg)

Doctor Dennis Hancock (Vlondie Curtis-Hall)

Doctor Diane Grad (Jayne Brook)

Doctor Keith Wilkes (Rocky Carroll)

Doctor Jack McNeil (Mark Harmon)

Doctor Daniel Nyland (Thomas Gibson)

Doctor Jeffrey Geiger (Mandy Patinkin)

Nurse Camille Shutt (Roxanne Hart)

Doctor Lisa Catera (Stacy Edwards)

Alan Birch (Peter MacNicol)

Doctor Joseph Cacaci (Bob Bancroft)

Doctor Robert Yeats (Eric Stoltz)

Doctor Gina Simon (Carla Gugino)

Doctor Jeremy Hanlon (Lauren Holly)

Doctor Francesca Alberghetti (Barbara Hershey)

Homicide: Life on the Street - Characters (& Actors)

Detective John Munch (Richard Belzer)

Detective Meldrick Lewis (Clark Johnson)

Lieutenant Alphonse Giardello (Yaphet Kotto)

Detective Tim Bayliss (Kyle Secor)

Detective Frank Pembleton (Andre Braugher)

Detective / Sergeant Kay Howard (Melissa Leo)

Detective Mike Kellerman (Reed Diamond)

Officer/Detective/Lieutenant Stuart Gharty (Peter Gerety)

Detective Paul Falsone (Jon Seda)

Lieutenant/Captain/Detective Megan Russert (Isabella Hofman)

Detective Laura Ballard (Callie Thorne)

Detective Terri Stivers (Toni Lewis)

Captain/Colonel George Barnfather (Clayton LeBouef)

ASA Ed Danvers (Željko Ivanek)

J.H.Brodie (Max Perlich)

Detective Beau Felton (Daniel Baldwin)

Detective Stanley Bolander (Ned Beatty)

Dr Julianna Cox (Michelle Forbes)

FBT Agent/Officer Mike Giardello (Giancario Esposito)

Detective Rene Sheppard (Michael Michele)

Dr. Alyssa Dyer (Harlee McBride)

Detective/Captain Roger Gaffney (Walt MacPherson)

Law & Order - Characters (& Actors)

Sergeant Maxwell Greevey (George Dzundza)

Junior Detective Michael Logan (Chris Noth)

Captain Donald Cragen (Dann Florek)

Exex ADA Benjamin Stone (Michael Moriarty)

ADA Paul Robinette (Richard Brooks)

DA Adam Schiff (Steven Hill)

Sergeant Philip Cerreta (Paul Sorvino)

Dr Elizabeth Olivet (Carolyn McCormic)

Senior Detective Leonard W Briscoe (Jerry Orbach)

Lieutenant Anita Van Buren (S. Epatha Merkerson)

ADA Claire Kincaid (Jill Hennessy)

Exec ADA/DA John McCoy (Sam Waterston)

Junior Detective Reynaldo Curtis (Benjamin Bratt)

ADA Jamie Ross (Carey Lowell)

ADA Abigail Carmichael (Angie Harmon)

Junior/Senior Detective Edward Green (Jesse L. Martin)

Interim DA Nora Lewin (Dianne Wiest)

ADA Serena Southerlyn (Elisabeth Röhm)

DA Arthur Branch (Fred Thompson)

Neutralised - Characters (& Actors)

Abraham Machado (Alfred Molina)

Andreina Neri (Robin Wright)

Caleb Willow (Cary Elwes)

Dove Lewis (Alfre Woodard)

Esmé Verity (Janaeane Garofalo)

Faustus Sanchez (Hank Azaria)

Grayson Bryant (Harold Perrineau)

Hunter Kingsley (Chris Farley)

Ichabod Mortimer (Danny DeVito)

Jared Foster (Kirk Acevedo)

Kane Carter (Philip Seymour Hoffman)

Lance Carter (John Goodman)

Monday Duke (Patricia Arquette)

Noam Gold (Oliver Platt)

Omega Finch (Willem Dafoe)

Peyton Blythe (Regina King)

Russel Warszawski (Adam Sandler)

Sullivan Landon (Christopher Lloyd)

Tuesday Duke (Reese Witherspoon)

Victor Jamison (Mike Myers)

Winslow Warszawski (Brad Garrett)

Xavier Solomon (David Spade)

Yancy Haggard (Kiefer Sutherland)

Zoey Knight (Geena Davis)

OZ - Characters (& Actors)

Augustus Hill (Harold Perrineau)

Tobias Beecher (Lee Tergesen)

Ryan O'Reily (Dean Winters)

Kareem Saïd / Goodson Truman (Eamonn Walker)

Miguel Alvarez (Kirk Acevedo)

Vernon Schillinger (J.K. Simmons)

Simon Adebisi (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje)

Christopher Keller (Christopher Meloni)

Zahir Arif (Granville Adams)

Hamid Khan (Ernie Hudson Jr.)

Nacim Bismilla (Re Hanna)

Huseni Mershah / James Monroe Madison (Roger Guenvuer Smith)

Leroy Tidd / Salah Udeen (Jacues Smith)

Jefferson Keane (Leon)

Kenny Wangler (J.D. Williams)

Arnold 'Poet' Jackson (muMs the Schemer)

Paul Markstrom (O.L. Duke)

Junior Pierce (Malé-Lexington Alexander)

Malcolm 'Snake' Coyle (Treach)

Johnny Post (Tim McAdams)

James Robson (R.E. Rodgers)

Mark Mack (Leif Riddell)

Jaz Hoyt (Evan Seinfeld)

Scott Ross (Stephen Gevedon)

Andrew Schillinger (Frederick Koehler)

Nino Schibetta (Tony Schibetta)

Peter Schibetta (Eddie Malavarca)

Antonio Nappa (Mark Margolis)

Chucky Pancamo (Chuck Zito)

Dino Ortolani (Jon Seda)

Don Zanghi (John Palumbo)

Joey D'Angelo (Goodfella Mike G)

Mario Seggio (Todd Etelson)

Salvatore DeSanto (Phil Campanella)

Raoul 'El Cid' Hernandez (Luis Guzman)

Carmen 'Chico' Guerra (Otto Sanchez)

Carlos Martinez (Carlos Leon)

Carlo Ricardo (Juan Carlos Hernandez)

Cyril O'Reily (Scott William Winters)

Rev. Jeremiah Cloutier (Luke Perry)

Timmy Kirk (Sean Dugan)

Alonzo Torquemada (Bobby Cannavale)

Richie Hanlon (Jordan Lage)

Shirley Bellinger (Kathryn Erbe)

Bob Rebadow (George Morfogen)

Agamemnin Busmalis (Tom Mardirosian)

Donald Groves (Sean Whitesell)

Jackson Vahue (Rick Fox)

Desmond Mobay / John Basil (Lance Reddick)

Richard L'Italien (Eric Roberts)

Nikolai Stanislofsky (Phillip Casnoff)

William Giles (Austin Pendleton)

Henry Stanton (Thomas G. Waites)

Colonel Edward Galson (John Doman)

Eli Zabitz (David Johansen)

Kipekemie Jara (Zakes Mokae)

Dean Alvah Case (Charles S. Dutton)

Sean Murphy (Robert Clohessy)

Claire Howell (Kristin Rohde)

Diane Wittlesey (Edie Falco)

Clayton Hughes (Seth Gilliam)

Karl Metzger (Bill Fagerbakke)

Eddie Hunt (Murphy Guyer)

Lenny Burrano (Skipp Sudduth)

Father Ray Mukada (B.D Wong)

Doctor Gloria Nathan (Lauren Veldez)

Governor James Devlin (Željko Ivanek)

Martin Querns (Reg E. Cathey)

Doctor Frederick Garvey (Milo O'Shea)

Warden Leo Glynn (Ernie Hudson)

Tim McManus (Terry Kinney)

Sister Peter Marie Reimondo (Rita Moreno)

Picket Fences - Characters (& Actors)

Sheriff James 'Jimmy' Brock (Tom Skerritt)

Doctor Jill Brock (Kathy Baker)

Kimberly Brock (Holly Marie Combs)

Matthew Brock (Justin Shenkarow)

Zachary 'Zach' Brock (Adam Wylie)

Deputy Kenny Lacos (Costas Mandylor)

Deputy Maxine 'Max' Stewart (Lauren Holly)

Carter Pike (Kelly Connell)

Ginny Weedon (Zelda Rubinstein)

Douglas Wambaugh (Fyvush Finkel)

Judge Henry Bone (Ray Walston)

DA John Littleton (Don Cheadle)

DA Barnaby Wood (Peter Frechette)

ADA Petrovic (Jason Beghe)

Father Gary Barrett (Roy Dotrice)

Laurie Bey (Marlee Matlin)

Howard Buss (Robert Cornthwaite)

Doctor Joanna 'Joey' Diamond (Amy Aquino)

Lisa Fenn (Alexandra Lee)

Frank (David Proval)

Rachel Harris (Leigh Taylor-Young)

Ed Lawson (Richard Masur)

Peter Lebeck (Michael Jeter)

Milton Lebeck (Chris Owen)

Reverend Henry Novotny (Dabbs Greer)

Principal Michael Oslo (Roy Brocksmith)

Cynthia Parks (Elisabeth Moss)

Bill Pugen (Michael Keenan)

Lydia Brock (Cristine Rose)

Aiesha Campbell (Bruklin Harris)

Brian Latham (Gregory Vignolle)

Agent Donald Morrell (Sam Anderson)