#fits queue like a glove

[harrisonarchive]

Clip from a Today Tonight interview taped in 1995.

“I’ve been the same all along. I talk when I feel like it. I shut up when I don’t feel like talking.” - George Harrison in an interview with Larry Kane, Ticket To Ride “Oh my God, how he could talk. This was the quiet one! He never shut up. Thank God.” - Eric Idle, The Greedy Bastard Diary “And all the funny stories about him recently about being ‘the quiet Beatle’ — he was the most talkative person I know.” - Jim Keltner, Rolling Stone, 2002 “George is known as the quiet Beatle — he wasn’t quiet at all.” - Klaus Voormann, translated from Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2009 “I mean, he would talk a lot, George, anyway. I mean [laughs], I always loved that ‘Quiet Beatle’ bit, cos you know, George could talk for England, really.” - Michael Palin, Concert for George bonus features “Well, he never shut up. George had a lot to say. Boy, did he have a lot to say. That’s hysterical to me, you know, that he was known as the quiet one.” - Tom Petty, Rolling Stone, 2002 "He would have an interview scheduled, and on the way there, he would be grumbling. And then, two hours later, we’d still be waiting for him to finish. He’d think, ‘This is going to be terrible,’ and then you couldn’t stop him from talking because he’d be enthused.” - Olivia Harrison, TV Guide, November 2003

[thislovintime]

On the set of 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee, November 1968. Peter leaving The Monkees, post 1 of 3.

Tom Snyder: “Why did it all break up?” Micky Dolenz: “Well, Peter Tork quit. That was the main reason.” Davy Jones: “Well, he withdrew, he actually withdrew. He didn’t just quit, there was, there was a reason for it. He was not being artistically satisfied in certain ways. And we were, as I said, Micky and I, had done other things before and so we were used to taking the directions. So when it come down to other people, forgetting that Carole King and Neil Diamond and Harry Nilsson, Neil Sedaka wrote all the tunes — and Mike and Peter also did, but they never got the chance really to put any down in the early days. They decided that they wanted to do more music and Peter was the first one. He withdrew, and said that he would prefer to try it on his own so he could do more of what he likes best, which is music.” MD: “They’d been promised, Mike and Peter had been promised that they would be able to express themselves musically because they were from a musical background. Peter had been in New York, in the Village, come through that scene with the Mamas and Papas and Lovin’ Spoonful. And he’s a genius, the man is a genius at music. As I said, Peter was — and is — a genius in music. And he got very frustrated because he wasn’t able to satisfy himself creatively. And Mike felt the same way." - Tomorrow with Tom Snyder, 1977

"We never thought of replacing him — there’s only one Peter Tork in the world. Who knows, maybe in two or three years’ time he’ll come back?” - Michael Nesmith, Melody Maker, March 1, 1969

"'Of all of us, I was the one who took the most pain,’ Tork said. 'But looking back, I think it was misplaced idealism that caused me that pain, not the actual phenomenon — the thing that Michael Nesmith calls "the artifact." 'As a musician, I feel extremely lucky that we got to make one album, Headquarters, that was exactly the album I hoped to make.’" - The Charlotte Observer, May 31, 1997

“I didn't have a band. I wanted this kind of connection and I didn't get it, so I felt it was up to me to leave." - Peter Tork, The Guardian, April 28, 2011

[bloomingdog]

Price with an ADHD reader

So self indulgent!

John Price who feels self-conscious thinking you like Soap more because of your similar personalities.

Soap and you are a tumultuous pair, feeding off each other’s energy, you’re good friends, you hang out together just the two of you. He’s not jealous, especially not of Johnny, but he does feel a pang of self-consciousness at times, feels bad about not being able to keep up with you sometimes, about not being enough. He wouldn’t share those thoughts with you, more of an inside thing, he feels silly. Of course those doubts melt away as soon as you’re telling him about how your day went, about how much you missed him, about what reminded you of him. All the possible doubts he had leaving as he gets showered with kisses.

John Price who just stands and watches when you get the zoomies.

A sudden burst of energy has you walking up and down the house following John around, jumping from topic to topic to the latest song lyrics or idle dance move stuck in your head. He watches in amusement and tries to engage in your jumping conversation.

John Price who falls asleep during your late night yapping and still responds with nonsense answers while asleep.

“-And yeah apparently emus can’t walk backwards, don’t you think that's weird? How can an animal just not do that?” Your before-bed rant has been going on for longer than usual, inspired by a Wikipedia rabbit hole that still lingers in your phone’s history.

“Does Laswell know?” He mumbles.

“About emus?”

John Price who’s reluctant to lay on top of you if you ask. 

“Please, please, please it’ll feel good!”

“Love, I’d crush you.” He had gotten you a weighted blanket for this exact reason. “Ain’t the blanket enough?”

“No! Because the blanket’s cold and you’re so much better better!” He’s reluctant, your puppy eyes are working overtime getting him to agree, which he does, of course. 

John Price who just sighs and plays along when you ask him to wrestle you.

In your defense, it' was's a good way to get rid of extra energy or help while understimulated. He’s currently got you in the loosest headlock he can manage while you kick and thrash. 

“Are you tired yet?” No answer comes, just more kicking that makes him release you.

As you try to attack him again, John effortlessly picks you up and throws you on the bed, which earns him a fit of giggles followed by an attempt to tackle him that ends you back in bed.

John Price who comforts you if you ever think you’re too much for him.

Big tears are coming down your eyes and wetting your face, you couldn’t pinpoint where all these feelings came from. You’ve got your face against his chest, voice shaking as you explain how you feel.

“I’m just a lot, you know? And I need you all the time and you like being alone and i want to give you space and I try, but I’m too much and-”

“Okay love, c’mon, none of that.” He cut you off after probably the thirtieth ‘and’. “We need what we need, and we work ‘round that all the time, don’t we? You’re not too much, you’re good just the way you are.”

John Price who lets you use him as a human fidget.

You’ve been waiting in this queue for no more than 5 minutes and it’s still getting you impatient, he notices, of course. The rapid looking-around, your foot tapping are all tell-tale signs of it. He extends his hand to you, which you take, and begin fidgeting with his digit and gloves, it keeps you well occupied, concentrated in the repetitive moments as time passes.

John Price who <3

[rosylix143]

sweet as sugar | l. felix

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

synopsis: your boyfriend is coming over to pick you up for a date, and you baked cookies—well at least you tried your best.

cw: MDNI, established relationship, felix is such a tease (woof woof grrrrr), he calls reader a “good girl" and "sweet girl," light grinding, he is very touchy lmao (let me know if i’m missing anything)

wc: 2627

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The kitchen was a mess. Your frilly pink apron was covered in flour, the ingredients were still scattered all over the kitchen island, and you were just placing another tray of cookie dough in the oven because your first batch got burnt to a crisp. You told yourself to not dwell on your first failure of the day and move on to cleaning up the kitchen. You quickly threw away all of the scraps into the trash, put all the leftover ingredients in their respective places, and wiped down the kitchen island clean. While cleaning and sanitizing the kitchen, your phone suddenly vibrated in your jean pocket. You jolted a little and grabbed your phone to check what it could be. Your eyes widened at the ringing alarm, and you were rushing to get everything all nice and clean as the clock continued to tick.

Fuck, I have fifteen minutes. This is what I get for waking up late.

The kitchen was now clean, but the only thing you now have left to deal with was the tray of burnt cookies. Oh how you hated looking at them. The sight brought tears to your eyes a little. You wanted to throw them out, but you also hated the idea of just wasting food. Maybe the burntness added some special flavor. You would never know. Before you were reaching to grab one of the burnt cookies, your phone buzzed again. You opened your phone once more, and all you got was one singular text. It was the kind of text you typically loved receiving, but only this time, it sent you to another frenzy.

Lixie: i’m on my way, angel baby. see you soon <3

Oh fuck, he’s on his way. You quickly snatched your apron off, and immediately rushed to your bedroom to change into your clothes for the evening: a simple and cute off-the-shoulder baby blue minidress with white knit stockings, a white ribbon to put your hair up in a half ponytail, and of course a pair of baby blue ballet styled shoes. You planned this whole outfit for weeks but couldn’t figure out the right time for it. Well, this was the day for it. After putting on the outfit, you rushed back to the kitchen to check on the new batch of cookies in the oven. The oven started to ring, and that was your queue to take the cookies out. You put on your pink oven mitts, opened the oven, and gradually took the tray out. However, as you were doing so, your doorbell rang.

Felix!!

You quickly put the hot tray and oven mitts down on the kitchen island, closed the oven, and approached your front door—all while trying to stay as composed as possible. You opened the door, and in front of you was your boyfriend standing in the most lethal outfit he could ever put together. First of all, that damn black turtleneck, which fitted him like a glove. You could even see the little sliver of his skin if you looked down at his waist. He was also wearing a pair of black jeans to go with his shirt, and black leather dress boots. He looked like he just walked out of a VIP event or a business meeting or whatever thing rich people do in their free time. Second of all, his sandy blonde hair looked so soft and fluffy that you just wanted to play with it all day until your heart’s content. And finally, his hands were of course occupied with a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, which made you swoon all over again.

“Hey, Handsome,” you giggled.

Felix couldn’t help but chuckle too. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking in how utterly adorable you looked in your outfit. The way the dress fitted on you, along with the cute stockings made you an enticing sight. Not to mention, all the baby blue: his favorite color, no doubt

“Hey, Gorgeous,” he leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek before handing you the bouquet. “I got these for you.”

“Awww you shouldn’t have,” you took the bouquet in your hands and sniffed it, already entranced by the strong floral scent. “Mmmm it smells wonderful.”

“So does your house,” Felix walked in through the door, already hungry from the smell of freshly baked cookies. “Did you make cookies?”

“Yep, I made some. I just took them out of the oven, so they’re still a little hot.”

Felix nodded and walked to the kitchen, while you went to your living room to put the bouquet in the empty glass vase that was on your coffee table. You realized that you forgot to get water for the flowers, so you went back to the kitchen to get a cup of water. Once you entered the kitchen, you saw Felix enjoying the cookies you made—the burnt ones. Your heart stopped, realizing that you totally forgot to take care of the burnt cookies.

“Felix! Why are you eating the burnt ones?!”

“I didn’t know you were a talented baker, Baby,” he teased, wiping the black crumbs off his lips.

“Oh shut up,” you retorted, walking up to kitchen island and pushing the burnt cookies aside. You then grabbed the tray of perfectly baked cookies and put it in front of Felix. “Why have those when you could have these instead?”

You put your hands on your hips and gave your boyfriend a sassy expression. Felix laughed a little, loving how your pouty lips looked. He grabbed one perfectly baked cookie from the tray and took a bite. His heart immediately melted at the first bite, and his eyes rolled back in pleasure, shamelessly moaning. You couldn’t help but laugh at his honest reaction, all while your cheeks were heating up with that pink glow. He chewed on it softly, intending to savor the warm, delicious, and gooey chocolate taste. There was even a hint of saltiness, which was perfect to his taste.

“Mmm, these do taste delicious,” Felix said before pulling you in by the waist and kissing your temple. “You outdid yourself, Pumpkin.”

“Really?” you blush and nuzzle into his side. Your nose was then hit with a puff of his spicy and sweet cologne. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered, and you couldn’t help but get an extra sniff, already making your legs feel weak.

“Yeah, but the burnt ones are tasty too.”

“You’re lyyyyiiiinnnngggg,” you whined, your voice a little muffled by the fabric of his turtleneck. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, Honey, I’m being for real.”

Felix grabbed a burnt cookie and gently pushed it through your lips. Your eyes widened, and you were immediately hit with the hot taste of charcoal and no sweetness. The burnt cookie was so crunchy that it disintegrated in your mouth. Your tongue felt so sandy and dry, and you immediately rushed to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water. Felix laughed, as you took a breather from drinking in so much cold water to wash out the awful, ashy taste.

“See, I told you it wouldn’t taste bad,” Felix chuckled.

“It was awful,” you coughed, “That thing felt like chewing on a burning cigar.”

“At least you did better the second time. The non-burnt cookies really are tasty.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course, Angel,” Felix pulled you closer to his body and held you tight. Your cheeks reddened once more, as his arms wrapped around you. His cologne was once again overwhelming your nose, making you feel a little lightheaded. Not to mention, you could feel his abs through his tight black turtleneck, igniting the temptation to just touch him. “And even if they were burnt, I’d still eat it. I love anything my good girl makes.”

His lips were right against your ear, his hands landed on your waist—tightly grabbing you—and his deep whispers sent shivers up and down your spine. You blushed even more. Your cheeks might as well be a second heater. It wasn’t helping that you could feel his hands slide down your thighs—his fingertips sneaking a little up under your dress.

“Feeeeelllliiiixxxxxx,” you whined again, squirming in his touch. “Don’t tease meeeee.”

Felix laughed and kissed your neck tenderly, sniffing your very fragrant and sweet perfume, immediately recognizing the scent.

“You’re wearing the perfume I bought you,” he said, “Mmm…You smell so sweet with it. Sweet like sugar.”

Felix kissed your neck more, and you melt into his touch, letting his hands wander on your skin and do whatever they pleased. You couldn’t help it yourself when you teasingly rolled your hips back up against Felix’s front, coaxing a deep groan out of him. You giggled, but it was cut off when he gripped your hips tighter and pulled you closer. You hitched a breath, and Felix pinned you against the counter. You were facing the sink, while Felix was behind you, holding all the power of the world in his hands.

“Felix—”

“You look so pretty today, Y/N…” Felix whispered in your ear, his voice so deep and husky. “My sweet girl always looks pretty for me, yes? That cute dress is very tempting.”

Your breath was coming out in small pants, and your face was probably redder than a rose. Felix still held you tight and nibbled on your ear, as he gently rubbed the growing tent in his pants up against your ass. You whined and arched your back against his chest. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering faster, making all the heat rush and pool down to your core. You were on the verge of dropping your panties right there in the kitchen. However, you remembered that you wanted to go through with the original plan for the date first before doing anything else.

“Felix, wait,” you started.

“What’s wrong?” Felix pulled away slightly and stopped his movements—his hands still on your hips.

You turned around and faced him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You looked deep into his pretty chocolate eyes, and gently ran your fingers through the back of his sandy blonde hair, tugging it a little.

“We have a movie to watch, remember?”

A small smile formed on Felix’s lips, and he leaned in to kiss your plush lips.

“How could I forget?” he asked, “What movie are we watching again?”

Felix stepped away from you to give you space, for you were moving to gather all the good cookies and put them in the cookie jar and throwing away the burnt ones.

“Beauty and the Beast,” you answered, as you grabbed a bag you prepared—full of other movie snacks and drinks—and put the cookie jar in the bag. “They’re showing it at the drive-in theater.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Felix smiled warmly at you, ready to watch his favorite movie with his favorite person.

You left the bag on the kitchen island to grab a small measuring cup, filled it with water, and walked to the living room to finally water the new bouquet of flowers. You grabbed your purse from the couch and then went back to the kitchen to grab the snack bag. You looked up at your boyfriend with fond eyes.

“Ready to go, Hon?” you smiled.

Felix looked at you back with loving eyes, and went in for a sweet kiss on your lips.

“Of course, I am,” he said softly.

With triumph, you excitedly rushed to exit your house and get in the passenger’s seat of Felix’s car. Felix couldn’t help but laugh fondly, loving how excited you are to spend the evening with him. He closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it with the spare key you handed him. Felix then got in the driver's seat of his car and started the engine.

“Is it the same theater we went to last time?” he asked.

“Yep,” you replied.

Felix nodded, and he buckled his belt, as did you. He pulled away from the driveway, and he started the drive to the theater. You laid back in your seat like a passenger princess, and you were beginning to snack on the cookies you made. Felix looked over at you, and he couldn’t help but put his hand on your thigh. You blushed as he squeezed your soft flesh. Drives with him were always like this. The city lights were sparkling and shining so bright, your favorite songs were in the background, and your boyfriend was holding onto you while you looked through your window.

Your stomach growled a bit, and there was some pain too. You remembered that you got so caught up with baking the cookies that you forgot to actually eat something. You reached down to your feet and grabbed the cookie jar from the snack bag and took one cookie. You snacked on the cookie you grabbed, and Felix snuck a glance at you enjoying your little treat. A few minutes later, you both finally arrived at the drive-in theater. Felix parked the car in front of a very large screen, and he turned on the radio for the movie. You then pulled out more snacks for you both to enjoy, along with some soda.

“Tonight’s gonna be fun,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Felix also unbuckled his belt, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulder.

“Mmhmm….” he agreed, immediately nuzzling into your neck, kissing it softly. Your face glowed pink, and you couldn’t help but squirm from the ticklish feeling. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Honey,” you ran your hand through his sandy blonde hair, taking in a moment to feel his softness, but you immediately bursted into laughter when his hand started touching your lower stomach, his fingers dancing. “Felix!! That tickles!!”

“Sorry, Angel Baby, I couldn’t help myself.”

The movie was about to start, and the two of you got even more comfortable in your car seats. You handed Felix a soda bottle, and you grabbed one for yourself. Felix took his bottle and started to sip on it, while you started snacking on the chips.

“Can I have one, Y/N?” he asked.

“Okay,” you nodded.

You handed Felix the cookie jar, and Felix happily grabbed another cookie for himself. He placed a kiss on your temple, inhaling the scent of your lovely floral shampoo. He then opened his mouth wide and took the sweet treat into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction, falling in love with the warm, sweet, and chocolatey taste all over again.

“Hmmm…what’s the secret ingredient, Pumpkin? How are your cookies better than mine?”

“I used the same recipe, Honey,” you replied.

“My recipe?”

You only nodded, and Felix was shocked by your answer. The same recipe, yet different tastes. Perhaps there really was some magic touch that you had, or maybe the cookies tasted better because it was you who made them.

“You think they’re better?” you asked, your heart fluttering with warm excitement.

“Yes, they’re way better. Even when they’re burnt.”

“Feeellliiiixxxx.”

“It’s true, Honey, it’s true.”

The movie finally began, and you focused your attention on the movie, while Felix had most of his attention on you. He wanted to pay attention to the movie and let you enjoy it yourself, but he just couldn’t help it. He was addicted to you. You were just too good and too sweet to simply ignore. Felix nuzzled his head into your neck once more, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume. God, he loved that scent. It was the scent of flowers and wine. The sweetest you could ever be. But nothing could ever compare to the sweetness of you—sweeter than sugar.

———————————・❥・———————————

a/n: i don’t know if i like this one as much as my last felix fic but oh well lol. comment down your thoughts and reblog if you liked it <3

masterlist | taglist

[writingjourney]

apple punch kisses // emmrich volkarin x f!rook, 2.3k words

I learned that Nevarrans skate on the Minanter in Winter, so here's a short little thing about Emmrich teaching Rook how to ice skate, set post-game ♡

It is too cold for fresh snow.

The Minanter has frozen over, its water moving somewhere in the depths beneath a thick, unbreakable layer of ice. Its surface, nothing but a mirrored, crystal blue plane, is now occupied by ice skaters who spin and race between two nearby bridges. Old snow lines the river banks, trees bowing heavily under the weight of a long season. Everyone is yearning for Wintersend and yet the city is brimming with life on such a freezing but clear Winter's day.

The sun is deceivingly bright, its golden rays devoid of much warmth, and Rook can see Emmrich's breath when he laughs at the sight of children chasing each other with snowballs or flailing on sleighs, pulled behind breathless parents in thickly layered clothing. He's wearing ear muffs, woollen gloves, a thick coat with a dark green scarf that he's wrapped artfully around his slender neck. Manfred knit her a matching one, the stitches not quite as neat, but it provides ample protection from the cool wind.

"Darling, can I interest you in some spiced tea or hot apple wine before we venture onto the ice?" Emmrich's voice is filled with mirth, eager to show her the parts of Nevarran city life that are as yet unknown to her. "It should get us warmed up just right."

"Should we not wait until after the skating before we drink?" Rook asks. "I would hate to make an ass of myself–"

"Nonsense!" He grabs her by the arm, linking them tightly together as he leads her to a well-patronised market stall with adjacent tables and seating arrangements. "Besides, they have many beverages on offer without any liquor or wine. The spiced tea is highly commendable but perhaps the hot apple punch is more to your liking? Of the children's variety, alas, but it might suit your sweet tooth."

As they wait for the rather long queue to clear, surrounded by the smell of roasted chestnuts, Rook takes her time to read all that is so artfully written on the long chalk board menus, different types of spiced teas, mulled wines and hot fruit juices. Her eyes drift over the other patrons, red-cheeked, giddy and no doubt already tipsy, laughing as they share stories, all the while cradling their hot mugs between gloved fingers. Nevarrans celebrating a period that feels so devoid of life is rather fitting, she thinks, the way they cherish it in even the bleakest of seasons, aware that time is so very fleeting.

Emmrich leans in, then, pressing a soft kiss to her head. "It is rather lovely here, is it not?"

Rook nods, blinks up at him with a warm smile. "It is. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, I do have plans for you, my darling. This invitation is not as altruistic as it may seem. If you think I am a good dancer on even footing then you must see me on the ice. I do aim to impress."

"I hope you are prepared to catch me even as you pirouette. You know I have never done this before."

He chuckles, leaning in until his breath ghosts along her ear. "I hear that I am quite the proficient teacher, dearest, no matter the type of physical activity."

Rook's face has already been bit by the cold wind but it begins to feel even more heated now. His lips come to rest against her cheekbone and a gloved hand squeezes her waist. Even now it never fails to impress her how he so effortlessly disarms her, dispelling any concerns with such practiced charms. She'd melt under his touch if she had any time to linger in it.

"What can I get you, professor?" They have reached the end of the line and a young woman tends to them, not so inconspicuously taking the pair of them in. Rook nestles a little closer into Emmrich's side but he doesn't seem to notice.

With their drinks in hand, they find one of the high wooden tables, Emmrich sipping on his hot spiced tea while Rook glances back at the woman who served them, fiddling with the handle of her apple-punch-filled copper mug.

"One of our students," he explains conversationally. "Helping out here is a rather popular way to earn some extra coin and the free drinks are not to be dismissed, of course."

"Neither is the gossip," Rook muses, catching the girls ever-curious gaze and smiling with a hint of satisfaction when she quickly glances away.

She takes her first sip, then, and after the initial sting of heat the rich aromas of sweet apple, cinnamon, nutmeg and clove linger like wisps on her tongue. The warmth settles in her belly and Emmrich has inched closer to her as well, a protective arm wrapped around her middle. He smells like the best parts of winter, incense, smoke, a hint of pine.

"Perhaps we should give her some more spiced fuel, then?" he mumbles. "As befits the season."

Rook giggles helplessly when he tips her head back and presses his lips to hers. She tastes a similar mix of spices on his tongue, something richer, then, tangy and alcoholic. His mouth is still warmed by the drink, citrus and herbs on her skin. Even in the cold his kiss does not fail to ignite her, the soft sighs he breathes, his fingers curling just so around her shape. Whenever he shows a hint of possessiveness her whole body gives out, as if to agree – I am yours and no one else's.

"Perhaps I should have taken the tea as well," she whispers. "Though it might taste better on your tongue."

Emmrich smiles, licks his lips as he breaks away. "Don't tempt me to end this visit as soon as it started, darling. I do want to take you to the ice before I take you to bed."

"Butt bruises and chafed knees might make that a little uncomfortable–"

"Oh come now, you have dealt with much worse," he interrupts, playfully tipping his chin towards his shoulder. "And besides, I will do my very best to keep you from falling."

She smiles, amused, leaning into him. He's more than willing to indulge her, always, soaking up any affection she is willing to offer. And it has become so easy between them, perhaps because she needs him more than ever, all that happened a looming shadow in the back of her mind, ready to pull her under. If Emmrich didn't drag her out on occasion, make her see the world they fought so hard for, she might not be able to stay so rooted in the present.

They don't talk about it often, that fresh scar on their hearts, but it shows in the way their hands always search for the other's, every call of their name from the other room a little more urgent, the fever with which their bodies entwine after a nightmare, kisses with a force so bruising that it reminds her of what's real. She still struggles to fall asleep when he's not home.

The drinks empty all too quickly. Warmth still radiates from her belly to the tips of her fingers as they make their way to the frozen river, renting skates from a kind dwarf who is concerningly good at estimating their sizes. Rook is used to difficult terrain but this is new, thrilling, a little scary if she's being honest. Emmrich holds her hand as he eases them onto the ice. She instinctively tries to take a step towards him, losing her already poor balance. His grip on her tightens painfully, steadying her before she can land on her ass and pulling her securely into his arms.

"Easy," he whispers, voice dropping low. "Don't move too quickly, darling. Slow and steady. You don't want to walk, you want to glide. Would you like me to demonstrate?"

"Please," she says, regretting her reply the moment he lets go of her entirely.

Emmrich shares none of her awkwardness. Practiced movements, as though he's been doing nothing else for years, all while she struggles to stay standing. One end of his scarf flies behind him as he dances over the ice, turns around to look at her, skating backwards now, then forward again. The sound of blades scratching over ice, kids laughing in the background as they push a pinecone back and forth, the occasional grunt of pain of those who don't manage to be quite so graceful. And yet he commands the ice with an ease she can only envy, drawing everyone's gazes to his effortless performance.

When Emmrich reaches her again he smiles like a little boy. He slows but doesn't stop and Rook squeals when he grabs her hands and pulls her forward. She is holding on for dear life, unmoving, allowing her feet to glide on their own across the slippery surface.

"There you go, darling," he says, delighted, and at her scowl he laughs with such genuine amusement that she forgets about the ice underneath her feet.

She tries to copy him, slow movements, shifting one leg forward, then the other, steel-grip on his hand. He gently encourages her and she's distracted enough by his enthusiasm, ice crystals clinging to his moustache and brows, nose read and cheeks puffy. But then she startles, realises that they're in the middle of the river, so far away from any solid ground to step on. Her legs waver, knees buckle, and before she knows what's happening she already drops backwards onto the hard ice.

Pain shoots into her tailbone, claws up her spine, and her vision blurs for a moment before she realises what happened. She can't breathe, her lungs squeezed empty by the impact.

"Darling," Emmrich gasps above her, having lost grip of her hand. "Are you alright?"

Words fail her, lungs still deflated and pain stuck in her chattering teeth. The cold of the ice seeps into her bones, the air around her biting in her nostrils. She groans, trying to shift her weight away from her aching butt. Emmrich hoists her up, somehow, holding her in his arms, just as quickly as she fell. Cheeks hot with embarrassment she hides in his chest, another groan, though the pain slowly recedes. He sends warm waves of magic through her body to soothe her.

"It's alright, my love," he whispers. "It happens to everyone, nothing to be embarrassed about."

"You wouldn't think I fought dragons and Gods," she grumbles.

Emmrich huffs a laugh, a kiss loosely pressed to her hair. "You will get the hang of it, darling. A little patience goes a long way."

She swallows a complaint when he urges her to go again. This time, she tries not to focus on her surroundings but on him, his smiles, the soft knitted pattern of his gloves. He is a good teacher, there is no denying it, and he commands her attention just as well as he commands the ice. Soon, she finds herself gliding more smoothly, her balance finally adjusting to the altered circumstances, and now at last she sees the point of it all. Rook feels weightless, untethered, and it's fun. For a while they slowly skate in tandem, hand in hand, an easy rhythm that's all suited to her lack of skill. Then, near the edge of the river, Emmrich lets go of her and she closes the gap with a spirited skate acorss the distance, trusting in her growing confidence.

Emmrich catches her easily in his arms and they giggle like fools, a hug so tight that they sway on the ice from the sheer force of it.

"Very good, my darling," he whispers against her ear. "So very good."

A shiver runs down her back, her hands sliding underneath his coat as she presses ever closer, a not so innocent exchange of warmth. Emmrich hums, tugs her in until they both fit snugly. "Perhaps that is enough for our first lesson, don't you think?"

"I could use another one of those hot beverages," she mumbles. "And whatever you promised comes after."

"We do have to find suitable ways to warm up, dearest," he agrees.

Rook leans back, smiling up at him with a newfound joy for life. Emmrich's nose is a glowing red, every hair on his face frozen, a pearl of ice stuck in his lashes, and he looks so lovely like that. She can't help but tiptoe up to him and he meets her, cold lips pressed to cold lips, warm breath against icy skin. Bundled together, she can feel his heart rate increasing, her hand dipping to find the curve of his lower back. Emmrich sighs, leaning more of his weight against her, but it tips her fragile balance, the blade on her skates slipping and taking him with her. They topple over, landing in a pillow of soft snow by the riverbank.

"This time you did catch me, my love," Rook says from on top of him.

Emmrich seems less amused, his scarf and coat covered in snow, hair mussed and clumped in wet strands. She can't help but laugh and it's enough to wring a smile from him as well, even as he begins to knock the snow off his clothing. Rook assists him but she's soon distracted by the snowflakes stuck in his lashes, the way his hair has fallen into his face, the annoyed little curl of his lips.

"I love you so, Emmrich," she whispers.

He looks up with flushed cheeks but she's already kissing him again, licking the ice from his mouth. He surrenders with a huff that billows like smoke in the cold air around them and she thinks that falling isn't so bad, at least not when they're falling together.

[kdogreads]

Y/n is close with Abby like the mom figure to Gibbs being her dad figure. Gibbs and y/n have only ever had words in passing They are always friendly with a flirt now and then. One day Gibbs uses Abby's cot to get some rest he wakes up to y/n and Abby talking about blind dates.

"Y/n I'm gonna find you a companion in life. Just do one more date"

*y/n sighs* "I'm just not the type of person people are looking for and that's ok"

*as she leaves the lab* "Abs some people are ment to be alone"

Gibbs comes out telling Abby that he will be taking y/n on the next date.

This is such a sweet idea!! I’m sticking it with this request bc I feel like they just fit together so perfectly. I hope that’s okay by both of you 🥹 thank you so much for the love!

Jethro Gibbs x f!reader

TW: alcohol, a smidge of angst (reader thinks she’ll be forever alone), mostly just a heap of fluff

A/N: I’ve never been able to use any of my nerdy lab knowledge in a fic before so sorry if I went a little overboard lmao (I’m a pre-analytical training coordinator and spend my days teaching people to be labbies basically). Thank you so so so much for reading! ❤️

Just before you left for the day, you decided to head down to the lab check in on Abby. It was quality control week, meaning she had to got to run test patients on all of her instruments, confirm the results are what they should be, order biological indicator tests to make sure no foreign bacteria snuck its way in where it shouldn’t have, then do it all over again a dozen or so times to make sure the results match up.

Not that Abby is anything less than capable of completing the quarterly checks, it just gets very tedious, and Abby is not a fan of busy work.

“Hey Abs,” You greeted her sweetly.

“There is no Abby, only QC’s,” She quipped back in her best robot voice.

You only chuckled in response and grabbed a pair of gloves without another word. You started resulting the tests in her queue, a feeble attempt to help the boring task move along faster.

The two of you worked quietly on opposite sides of the lab for another half hour until you moved the last tube into the “finished” tray.

“Wanna grab some dinner?” You questioned, removing your gloves and heading over to the sink to wash your hands.

“No, thanks; already ate,” Abby responded without looking up from her work, “Hey! How did that date go last night? I can’t believe I forgot until now! Tell me everything.”

Abby turned towards you excitedly, her eyes bright and body fidgeting in anticipation. You swear she was more invested in your love life than you were sometimes.

You started to shake your head “no” and Abby let out a loud groan.

“Ugh! I had such a good feeling about this one,” She spoke in disappointment.

“You said that the last time, too, Abs,” You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms lazily, “He asked me to meet his mom. On the first date!”

Abby visibly cringed and put a hand lovingly on your bicep.

“I’m gonna find you a companion, I swear it!”

You let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sigh before you speak, “It’s okay, really. I’m just not the type of person anyone is looking for, and I can’t find the person I’m looking for. It’s just the way it is, Abby.”

She sent you a sympathetic look, squeezing your arm in reassurance. Abby pulled you into a tight hug, like she was trying to will a new love life into you with her bare hands.

You sent her a loving smile when she finally pulled away from you.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. You sure I can’t drag you away for something to eat?”

“No, no. I have too much to get done,” She motions to the empty tubes behind her, “Don’t lose hope, Boss Lady. Your perfect man is out there.”

You headed towards the door before turning around to tell her goodbye, “Some people are just meant to be alone. It’ll be me and the dogs forever,” You smiled slightly, “Goodnight, Abs.”

You made it almost out the door of the NCIS building before you realized you left your purse in the lab. With a huff, you begrudgingly dragged yourself back into the elevator, down to the lab, and right up to the doorway. The surprise of two distinct voices coming from within stopped you in your tracks.

“Gibbs! You can’t sneak up on me like that! I didn’t know you were using the cot.”

“Sorry, Abs. You often set her up on blind dates?”

“Yes! I am determined to find my wonderful boss’ soulmate somewhere in the greater DC area.”

Jethro chuckles.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now! She’s just your type, Gibbs, and she’s so fun and cryptic just like you and—“

“Abby,” He paused, “Way ahead of you.”

You decided now was your chance. Knocking gently on the doorframe, both of them turned their heads to see who was there.

“Hey Abby; Jethro,” You smiled, trying not to act like you just heard their whole conversation about you, “I just, uh, left my purse.”

Abby looked around and spotted your bag, handing it to you with a cheeky grin on her face. You all stood there in semi-uncomfortable silence for a beat before Gibbs spoke.

“Have any plans tomorrow night, Red?”

You straightened up a bit at his question and the playful nickname. You are just his type.

“Um, no. I don’t. Not yet, anyway.” You tried to keep an even tone, but the nerves and excitement were practically seeping out of your pours.

“My place, 7 o’clock,” Gibbs said in his nonchalant tone, “Casual. Hope you like bourbon.”

He winked at you and walked out of the lab before you could even exhale the breathe you hadn’t known you were holding. You looked at Abby, your eyes wider than ever before.

“Eee! I’m so excited!” Abby squeals and flings her arms around you.

You couldn’t even put any thoughts together. Your heart pounded out of your chest and your hands must’ve been shaking, the adrenaline of the situation just starting to wear off.

“Come on,” Abby said while sliding her jacket off the back of her chair, “I’ll finish up tomorrow. We have to plan your date. With Gibbs!”

You let out a laugh and wrapped an arm over Abby’s shoulders, heading out to grab something to eat.

You nervously sifted through your tops, trying to find something that felt “casual,” as Jethro had requested, but still nice enough for a date.

Oh screw it.

You grabbed a plain olive green hoodie, the big white letters reading NCIS. You figured if he asked for casual, he would get casual.

The drive to Gibbs’ house went quickly. You’d been there once before, when Abby insisted Gibbs needed company one New Year’s Eve. You didn’t end up staying very long, but he left an impression on you. After the visit, Gibbs started stopping to say “hello” in the hallways at work, or bringing a coffee up your office every now and then.

One detail you remembered from your brief visit is the front door was never locked, so you didn’t bother to stop and knock.

Walking through the doorway, your eyes immediately gravitated to the only light on in the house — the one leading down the stairs to the basement. You took this as your sign to invite yourself downstairs.

The stairs creaked slightly as you made your way down, the sounds of sandpaper meeting wood filled your ears.

“You found the place,” Jethro’s strong voice greeted you as you stepped into his workspace.

“How could I forget?” You teased back.

Jethro let out a honey-soaked chuckle and offered you a stool to sit on. He poured you two fingers out of his half-empty bottle of bourbon, then did the same for himself. He tipped his glass to you and you tapped yours against it with a slight clink.

You shut your eyes as the amber liquid burned down your throat. Instinctively, you leaned back against the counter and let out an exhale.

“Long day?” Jethro joked, but you could see the genuine care when you opened your eyes to meet his gaze.

“Long week,” You responded before taking another sip, “Abby’s up to her eyeballs in evidence to examine, plus all this QC crap takes so much time. I just feel bad I can’t help her more. I didn’t realize taking the lead forensics position would take me out of the lab so much.”

Jethro nodded in understanding, one corner of his mouth tilting up slightly as he poured more into your already empty cup.

“Abby’s the best of the best,” He said with confidence, placing a hand reassuringly on your knee, “She’ll get it done.”

You smiled and nodded back at him, placing your hand over his as a silent thank you.

You were surprised when Jethro broke the comfortable silence first.

“You know she thinks the world of you, Red,” He said with a look in his eye, one that almost looked like pride if you had to guess.

You felt your cheeks get hot and you looked down at your shoes, unsure if the liquor or his sweet comment made you blush.

You took another sip before lifting your head back up and responding.

“Same goes for you, Jethro,” You reached out to grab the hand that rested on your knee just moments before, “I think if she had time to write a book about how much she adores you, she would.”

He laughed, a full laugh, glazed in honey and bourbon and it warmed you to your core. You thought that sound could end wars, cause the devil himself to crack a smile. You would have melted right there if he didn’t jolt you out of your trance a moment later.

He took the glass from your hand and whispered a quick, “c’mere.”

He took your hand and led you over to the boat he was building. He showed you a few small hand tools and gave you a quick explanation of their use.

Before long, his hands were resting over yours, your back pressed gently against his chest as he showed you the different sanding techniques he used. Though every inch of his body was pressed against yours, you’d never felt so free, so held and yet, so comfortable.

It was a quiet few minutes before he spoke, his lips inches from your ear.

“You ever done this before?” His breath tickled your neck and sent a shiver down your spine.

“Never,” You breathed, trying your hardest not to just melt into his strong arms.

“You’re a natural then.”

He slowly peeled his hands back from yours, allowing you to keep sanding on your own for a moment. You felt his strong hands slide down your arms, your sides, before settling on your hips.

Your eyelids fluttered, suddenly aware of the effect he had on you. Your movements halted and Jethro raised a hand cautiously to your chin, turning your head to face him.

“This okay?” He questioned gently, a worried look settled into his furrowed brows.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, turning your whole body to face his, your arms sliding over his broad shoulders to rest at the back of his neck.

“Only if you intend to kiss me, Jethro,” His name danced from your lips in a whisper.

A soft smile spread across his face, the worry melting away in an instant.

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Before you could comprehend, the hand that was still on your chin drifted to hold you just below your ear, and his lips melted into yours in a sweet, slow kiss.

He tasted of bourbon and something you were sure was just distinctly him.

You leaned further into him as your lips met over and over again. His presence wasn’t demanding, but invasive. You felt Jethro in every inch of your body; his taste, his smell, the way his fingers gripped into your hip like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

The seconds felt like hours before you separated your lips, both of you desperate for oxygen. Your chest heaved slightly as he drew small circles onto your lower back absentmindedly; his forehead leaning down to rest on yours.

“Do you bring all the girls down here and make out like teenagers?” You teased, still slightly out of breathe.

He threw his head back in another honey-glazed laugh. It invaded your sense just as his kiss had.

God, you though, I could listen to that forever.

“No,” He huffed, a wide smile still spread across his face, “Only the special ones.”

“Ohh,” You exaggerated, “So I’m special, then?”

He only growled an Mmmhhmm before his lips pressed into yours once more, this time slightly quicker than the time before.

“Hungry?” He asked simply, prying his lips from yours, a slight groan falling from your lips as he pulled away.

“Starving,” You replied without missing a beat.

He raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly further away from you, letting him see your full expression.

“For food, sweetheart,” He jested, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I know!” You squeaked, swatting his shoulder playfully in protest.

He chuckled that charming laugh and nodded his head towards the stairs.

“Well, come on then,” He spoke after pressing a quick peck to your lips.

You followed Jethro upstairs where you enjoyed a delicious homemade dinner and spend the rest of the evening basking in each other’s company.

You sighed as you reached the top of the stairs, just outside your office. Since you rarely locked the door, you turned the handle and swung it open. You were surprised to see the light already switched on. A pit formed in your stomach as your eyes scanned the room before—

“Jesus, Abby!” You found her sitting at your desk chair, literally shaking in anticipation, “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” She quickly approached you, taking your bag out of your hand and setting it down in the desk, “Sooo? I’m dying to know! Tell me everything!”

“Ab,” You smiled at her an tilted your head slightly in a playful manner, “A girl should never kiss and tell.”

Abby squealed in excitement and pulled you into a hug, clearly understanding that it went well enough for you to kiss him.

“Please tell me you’re seeing him again. Please, please, please,” She practically begged with her hand folded in front of her.

“Tomorrow, after work,” You smiled as she squealed and pulled you into another excited hug.

“This is the best day ever!” She declared and sat in the comfy chair across from your desk, determined to get all the details from your life-changing first date with Jethro Gibbs.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Robbie, Playoff Willy, various Scouts; pull yourself up by the jockstrap

For the prompt: A little more of Robbie's time with the Scouts - Cup party, with the Tweedles and Willy, maybe Julius & Erin. Your choice - just more of that.

(I'm not here, but the tumblr queue is! Well. Probably.)

“Now, I know I have no right to talk about maturity,” Robbie says, then promptly ducks the jock that comes flying at him, the rest of his message going undelivered.

“No throwing shit at teammates’ heads during playoffs!” Playoff Willy yells.

“It wouldn’t hit him in the head if he wasn’t so short!” Bender says. “I misjudged!”

“Misjudging is not acceptable during playoffs!” Playoff Willy says. Robbie wants to write a book of his sayings. Like Sun Tzu but for maladjusted athletes who don’t know how to lose. Which is pretty much all pro athletes, in Robbie’s experience, so it might even sell.

Robbie nudges at the limp jock with his socked foot. It looks sad. Defeated, even. “Bro, when was the last time you replaced this?”

Bender looks to Playoff Willy, like he’s waiting for Robbie to get yelled at, though Robbie’s pretty sure Playoff Willy cares a hell of a lot less about feelings than he does about potential head injuries. Or like — anything. The only feelings Playoff Willy cares about are like, motivation. And probably bloodlust.

“Pike has a point,” Playoff Willy says. “That shit is falling apart.”

“But I wore it in!” Bender says. “None of the other ones fit right.”

Robbie pokes it a little further from him. The visitor’s room floor is sketchy as fuck, but he doesn’t think he can do the thing any damage at this point.

The elastic snaps. Well, snaps is a strong word. The elastic’s too damn worn for that, so it’s less a dramatic death and more feebly giving up on the last thread of life remaining.

“Whoops,” Robbie says. Maybe he should have considered that the thing was an antique before he started poking at it.

“Willy, look what he did!” Bender says. “That was my lucky jock!”

“How lucky can it be when we just lost the game?” Playoff Willy growls.

Bender is, thankfully, smart enough to realize that’s a rhetorical question.

“Still up a game, Playoff Willy,” Money says, and Playoff Willy shoots him a glare, but doesn’t say anything.

Robbie’s still impressed that Money’s got the balls to call him Playoff Willy to his face, and even more impressed that Playoff Willy lets him. Everybody knows Money is his favorite, but as the playoffs have gone on, that seems to buy less and less leeway. Money told him from the get-go that the longer the playoff run, the worse Playoff Willy got. Robbie didn’t really believe him, or maybe didn’t want to, but he’s got to say, Playoff Willy during the Conference Finals is a whole different beast than the first round. Emphasis on beast, there. If he mauled someone Robbie wouldn’t even be surprised. Unless they were playing well, he guesses.

Thankfully, Robbie’s been doing okay for himself, shutting down the guys he needs to shut down, so he’s also currently in Playoff Willy’s good books, at least enough that he doesn’t fear mauling.

“I’ve had that for eight years,” Bender moans.

“That’s fucking gross, dude,” Robbie says. “Genuinely. I did you a favor.”

Bender throws a glove at him. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to have been around for two presidential terms.

“If I have to leave next game because I got nut shot, that’s on you, Pike,” Bender says.

“Bro, if you go onto the ice without a jock Playoff Willy will cup check you himself,” Robbie says.

He winces, but either Playoff Willy didn’t notice the slip, or Robbie’s earned even more grace than he thought.

“He isn’t wrong,” Playoff Willy says. “Normally I wouldn’t, since it’s a chickenshit play, and an auto major, but I don’t think they really care if it’s your own teammate.”

“Refs won’t give a shit,” Scratch says. “Social media probably won’t shut up about how he slept with your wife, though.”

“I can make it look like an accident,” Playoff Willy says. Robbie does not doubt him even a little.

His brow furrows a moment later. “I don’t have a wife,” he says, sounding almost unsure.

That would be kind of suspicious, but Robbie’s learned that’s just how Playoff Willy talks about anything non-hockey related, like first he has to go consult with normal Willy, who’s being held hostage somewhere inside him.

“That could not matter less to idiots on twitter,” Scratch says.

“Last round they said I slept with your wife,” Money says.

“Why did you sleep with my wife?” Playoff Willy asks, then, after checking with kidnapped Willy again, “You’re openly gay.”

“Like I said,” Scratch says. “Could not care less about your actual relationship status. Or sexuality, apparently.”

“Scratch is still mad about it,” Joey says.

“I’m not mad about it,” Scratch says. “I just think people should do basic—“

“I fixed it!” Bender says. “I fixed it, guys! All it needed was a little super glue.”

Robbie has such a bad feeling about this. Bender’s honestly lucky his balls have survived this long: that elastic was literally holding on by a thread.

“You don’t want kids, right?” Robbie asks.

“Oh yeah,” Bender says. “Not quite yet, but Lacey and I are—“

“Oh, give me that fucking thing,” Playoff Willy says.

Super glue isn’t going do shit to save Bender’s jock after Playoff Willy and a pair of scissors get through with it.

“Have some respect for your testicles,” Playoff Willy hisses, and then marches the remains of Bender’s jock to the trash can.

That one's an instant classic. Robbie is adding it to the book of Playoff Willy for sure.

“That’s one for the book of Willy,” Harvard says. Obviously Robbie didn’t need telling, but he does appreciate that it’s becoming a collaborative effort.

“Hah,” Robbie says. “Testicles.”

“Willy,” Harvard agrees.

“What are you two giggling about?” Playoff Willy growls.

“Nothing,” they chorus, ducking their heads so they don’t accidentally meet Playoff Willy’s eyes. That’s a mistake Robbie isn’t making again.

“It was so comfortable,” Bender mumbles. “Like wearing nothing at all.”

“Yeah, buddy, we know,” Scratch says. “That was kind of the problem.”

“So comfy,” Bender whispers.

*

Robbie’s never been to a funeral for a jock before, but he guesses there’s a first time for everything.

“R.I.P.,” Money says. “Like rest in peace. Not like rip. Though that is what you did.”

“Before getting hacked to pieces by a madman,” Scratch says.

“May you find peace and serenity in—“

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” Playoff Willy says.

“Scatter!” Money says, and they all flee. Well, Robbie doesn’t. Not because he doesn’t want to, but he’s fucking exhausted. Plus, he blocked a shot last game, and anything faster than an amble makes his leg throb like a bitch.

“What the fuck were they doing?” Playoff Willy asks.

“Funeral for the jock we murdered,” Robbie says. Well, Robbie’s crime was jockslaughter at most, but that’s not important.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Playoff Willy says, then bows his head, eyes closed. He doesn’t move for a good minute, and Robbie’s shifting uncomfortably, wondering if he's finally snapped just like the jock did, and if getting Money will help or just make it worse.

He startles when Willy speaks, murmuring, “Sorry I killed you.”

Presumably — hopefully — he’s talking to the jock, rather than saying it to Robbie just before he kills him. Robbie reminds himself he’s safe. He blocks shots.

“It was for his safety, and the greater good,” Playoff Willy says. “Thank you for your years of service.”

He opens his eyes then, and Robbie accidentally meets his eye.

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to do that. He doesn’t think he was supposed to see that either.

“I won’t tell anyone about this,” Robbie says.

Playoff Willy’e eyes narrow.

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” Robbie says.

“You’re a quick learner, Lombardi,” Playoff Willy says. “I like that about you.”

“I block shots too,” Robbie says, just to make sure Playoff Willy remembers his utility.

“You block shots too,” Playoff Willy murmurs, then nods to himself.

“Integral part of the team,” Robbie says, then, aware he’s over-selling it, he awkwardly shoots Playoff Willy two thumbs up.

Playoff Willy’s brow furrows, then, after a long consult with the normal Willy tied up in the basement of his brain, he gives Robbie two thumbs up back.

[firstprincehornyramblings]

WEEEEEEEEEEE Hello, I hope everyone is having a lovely Sunday. I feel like I haven't done a Sentences Sunday in years! Thrilled to be back, with Sugar Baby Alex, AND a new WIP. Things are under the cut so this isn't the longest post in history.

-

Let's get into it with Sugar Baby Alex first, shall we?:

“Alex, I am not ‘putting you off’, I am thirty-eight years old, I do not have that glorious refractory period you have, anymore,” the blond huffed, “As much as I would love to go again right now, and believe me, I would, it’s impossible. So, surely you can wait until this evening when we can both get hard, hm?” “Damn,” Alex whispered, “That fucking sucks actually, I didn’t know fucking an old dude would have drawbacks. So, like positive is that you can make me cum like never before but negative is that your dick has a tim-MMPHM!” That sentence was cut short by Henry picking up a pillow and pressing it into the brunette’s face, holding it in place for a moment as Alex flailed, “Such a mouth on you, I’m almost certain I liked it better full,” he teased before lifting that pillow, “Don’t make me confirm your sister and friend’s worst fear.” “Oh baby,” Alex laughed, smiling so wide now that he was free of the pillow, “Killing me with a pillow is so intimate though, that’s incredibly sexy of you.” “Shut up, Alex!” “Make me!”

AND new WIP time, Doctor Alex :)

What Henry was not expecting was for the door to open and the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life to walk in. He was fairytale prince level tall dark and handsome. Even in the scrubs, his physic was broad and built, and the long-sleeved shirt under his scrub top fit tight around wide biceps. He had coal colored, luxurious curls, high cheeks, and obscene lashes over gorgeous brown eyes. His jawline was sharp, covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. Miles of tanned skin, the same dark hair on his forearms, large hands that he was currently slipping into gloves. The few inches of exposed wrist from slightly pulled up sleeves made Henry feel like he was seeing something pornographic. But anything to keep himself from locking eyes on those incredibly soft looking lips. “Hi, I’m Alex, it’s nice to meet you.” Ah, Henry remembered reading something about Alexander the Great being the son of Zeus. Yes, a demigod, right here in Oxford, that made sense. No, wait, that accent- “You’re American?” Henry blurted out before he could stop himself. If asked, he would blame it on this man’s, well- everything. “Yeah, sorry,” Alex laughed, “Always forget that catches ya'll off guard, I’m from Texas. I’m going into clinical medicine, but I’d like to travel, work with the Red Cross and do outreach things; help with natural disasters and pandemics. It’ll be easier for me to break into that if I do the rest of medical school and residency in Europe.” “Oh.” “But that’s not why you’re here, hm, Mr. Fox? May I touch you?” the brunette asked stepping closer to the exam table Henry was sitting on. “Please. Erm, I mean, uhm, yes please, go ahead.”

-

🏷️(no pressure tags darlings)

@taste-thewaste @onthewaytosomewhere @henrysfox

@mikibwrites @eusuntgratie

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics

@henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones

@henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese @redlipstickandglitter

@thesleepyskipper @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp @lfg1986-2

+ literally anyone else I'm tired and forgot. (Im queueing this at 2am) or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[tams-writeblr]

Love in a hopeless Place 40

Synopsis: She was barely grown up, when she stepped into the bar that was the center of Zaun's resistance. The people she met there would forever change her life, and one of them especially. Silco x reader/OC; first-person POV; overall rating: E for Explicit; canon-compliant (though I might make a stretch on the timeline here and there to make things fit my symbolism); age gap! (younger female, older male); 9 chapters; 45k; cis female reader/POV; no beta-reader; completed Chapter ratings/warnings: G for General, mentions of wounds and death, mentions of suicidal thoughts, present tense! Wordcount: 1.2k Author's note: Hi and welcome to the last part of my fanfic. I gotta admit, putting this down to paper and then into my computer and onto my blog has been quite the haze. I was writing this think like a mad man in under three weeks starting Jan. 3rd. Now I've published it completely on this side and by now it should also be already cross posted on ao3. HERE should be the link xD Thanks to everyone interested in my stupid story that I've first and foremost have written for my own pleasure. I don't know how many people this actually read here, I put this all in the queue and just let it run through but I hope, some of you liked this journey. Maybe once I'll come back to this story, work it over and fix the pacing (Act III is literally half of the story). But maybe I don't after all this is just a hobby. Maybe I didn't even get a single comment on this, who knows. I'm not tumblr famous or anything and if nobody decided to spread my writing, it might go down in Tumblr's nirvana. But I have it here forever, and that's fine. Comments would be appreciated! If anybody would be interested in seeing more of this universe, feel free to hit me up with questions or suggestions. I'm also willing to expand on Jinx's and Ekko's fate. (Timebomb for life!)

Today's music recommendation: Coldplay - Fix you

<- previous | next ->

Act III

Chapter III

Part 3/3

"And now you show up in front of my door and tell me, that it's your fault, Silco is dead." My eyes wander over the broken frame of the blue-haired girl on my sofa.

"I told you, it was an accident." Jinx looks horrible, her hair is cut short, only her bangs fall over her face. There are badly healed wounds all over her arms and, I suppose, whole body, but she covers it with a dirty old shirt. Her pants are completely destroyed. But she still wears Silco's stubbed belt and gloves. There's a scar running across the side of her face, only missing the eye by a finger's breadth. If she wasn't looking up to me right now, her hair would cover it perfectly. "I've changed. I promise. It were the voice in my head." Her own voice breaks, and tears dwell out of her gleaming pink eyes.

I hadn't seen her since the night she almost died, so I didn't know about that change until now. The color of Shimmer makes my skin crawl. I'm still sinking to my knees to hug her in an embrace.

Jinx had always been that broken kid to me.

But I didn't have it in me, to fix her. Maybe I now have it. "It's fine," I breathe. "We'll figure it out. It was right that you came to me."

She hugs me back, and we stay like this for what feels like forever.

Then I get back on my feet. "You should take a bath. I'll go fetch some new clothes for you. My pre-pregnancy stuff could fit you."

She smiles at me weakly, and I guide her through the nursery. She tries to peek at the baby, but I shove her to the bathroom. 

When I place a white blouse and some cargos on a counter, she's already in the tub. 

"Can I see her, please?", she whispers.

I walk over to her and help her clean her back.

She's thick with dirt. There is still scurf on some wounds.

"We should have you see a doctor, kiddo. Maybe they can do something against that scaring."

"I don't care," she admits. "Everyone should see that I'm broken."

I sigh and place my head against hers. "You're not broken. You're perfect the way you are."

She looks at me with eyes wide open as if she sees a ghost.

I stand, patting her hair. "Take your time. Then you can meet your sister." I hear her sniffle as I turn around and wipe away a tear myself. I wait for her in the nursery. From the money Sevika sent me, I had bought a rocking chair.

My daughter is sprawled out on my chest, almost asleep.

Finally, Jinx steps out of the bathroom, her hair still wet. She drags the stubbed belt through the loops of my pants. She's so thin, of course, not even my pre-pregnancy clothes fit her right. In the neat white blouse, she almost looks like an accountant herself. She carefully walks over to us, bare feet leaving no noises at all on the wooden planks. "Hey baby," she coos.

I turn my daughter so she faces Jinx. "Look, Soie, this is your older sister, Jinx. She came all the way from Zaun to find us."

Soie seems unimpressed by the sight of the blue-haired person in front of her, but Jinx's bright eyes are glittering.

"She's so tiny."

"Midwife says she's average," I huff a laugh.

"I bet she'll have Silco's eyes."

I make a vague noise. "Babies' eyes change with time. It's not said they'll stay as light." Though I already noticed a shift to a more green blue in the few months she's been there.

"I'll protect you from all the mean bullies out there, promised," Jinx coos, and now Soie cracks a smile at her.

"I guess she likes you," I admit. "You want to hold her?"

Jinx makes a defensive gesture. "Oh, I wouldn't know how."

"Not a problem, sit down." I get out of the chair and let her take the place. "There you go," I hum as I place the baby in her arms.

Soie stays calm, only examines the new face throughout.

"See, I told you she likes you." I see tears brim in Jinx's eyes.

It's ironic to see my daughter in the arms of the person who killed her father. But then I also just see a proud elder sibling holding her baby sister. There isn't much left of the Jinx she used to be a year ago.

I watch the pair get to know each other, then quickly go to get a picture for Sevika.

It was her, that sent Jinx to me.

I finally put down Soie for her nap and invite Jinx for some tea. As we walk out of the nursery, her eyes land on the jacket that hangs besides the door.

"That's Silco's," she mutters and rests a hand against the gruff fabric.

"Yes, it used to be. But it also used to be mine. I haven't seen it in 14 years, but Sevika found it for me."

Even after all these years, it still smells faintly like I remembered it. Even if my perfume also lingers on the inner lining.

I bite my lip to stop tears from bubbling up again. "Come on, help me in the kitchen."

"I'll be right there," she murmurs and walks back into the bathroom. When she joins me in the kitchen, she has a pile of leather in her hands. "Do you think we could fix those?"

I recognize Silco's old working cloves. They are full of holes and tears. I take them in my hands to inspect them. "You know, I work for a hatter. I could have his people take a look at them."

"I would like that," Jinx replies.

We finish preparing the tea, and we sit down at the dining table. We say nothing, but the quiet is comfortable.

I dance around asking for the inevitable. But it finally breaks out of my mouth. "So, only Sevika knows you're still alive?"

Jinx nods. "It's for the better if everyone thinks I'm gone for good."

"What about Vi?"

Her gaze drops into her tea. "She's best off without me. You know, a friend of mine told me about another timeline he saw, in which Vi is dead, and I am the happy one. In this timeline, I should be the dead one, and she should be happy."

I am confused by how literal she means "saw another timeline", but I decide not to ask too many questions. "And this friend? Does he know?"

Jinx looks at me, eyes wide. "Of course not. Ekko would instantly run to Vi."

"Ekko?!", I beam, remembering the little boy that Benzo had taken in. "I thought he was dead too!"

Jinx shifts in her seat. "Thank the Gods, he's not. He saved me. Us all." Her gaze grew distant, and her fingers brush over the short hair on her neck.

I sigh, but don't want to dig into her much further. "If he saved you once, he might be glad to hear you're still around."

We finish our tea in quiet, then Soie demands my attention again.

After she is settled again, Jinx comes to me, a crooked smile on her face.

"You don't happen to have a postcard?"

I laugh and place my hands on her shoulder. "I even happen to have stamps."

[theministop]

🌼 get to test out my new nothing ear stick on the way to the clinic today. i'm not very particular with gadgets but what sold me was the design. it fit my ear like gloves (thank god) and they didn't hurt after an hour of wearing them. some earphones take 30 mins to hurt my ear. i feel like this purchase is justified.

🌼 had to follow up with another lab test today. i must say that this was one of the worst clinics i've been. i've had check ups from other branches before and all went smoothly. i'm not sure why their market market branch is so, i don't know, i can't find a specific word for it but coming here was way too inconvenient and time-consuming for me. in case i need additional lab work or check up, i may just have them in st. lukes since our hmo covers them. might as well do it the burgis way to avoid long queues.

🌼 also picked up my new sunnies glasses. i was surprised because this pair came with a hard case because in glorietta they just give you the pouch. good thing i took my time choosing the frame because i really like them 🥲💗 i feel like i'm a new version of me but smarter and hotter. it's like patricia has come back to me!!!!!

[harrisonarchive]

Billy Preston and George Harrison, Dark Horse Tour, 1974; photo by and © Ron Pownall.

“We became like brothers, very close. […] [George] was a very, very loving person, a great guy. […] He had such a heart. […] He was very unaffected by the fame. He just loved God and his family and his friends.” - Billy Preston, WBUR, November 30, 2001 “[When The Beatles first met Billy Preston in Hamburg] Billy was so young George said you could hardly see his head over the Hammond organ. They had a connection — like brothers. His mother used to call George her paler son.” - Olivia Harrison, Concert for George ltd. ed. book “[Billy] used to play with George a lot in his studio at home in England and he had Billy’s [Hammond] B3. We just called it ‘Billy’s B3.’ Billy would sit and dance on that seat and on the pedals of that organ. He really did. His seat would just dance across there, he was just amazing. Such a sweet man. So gentle and what a talent. He had absolute fluidity on that organ and on any keyboard really.” - Olivia Harrison, Billboard, April 3, 2017 “[George is] a very emotional guy; he’s very spiritual and sensitive. He’s a very kind-hearted person. […] We feel like we’re together all the time, just through spirit.” - Billy Preston, Ticket To Ride: A Celebration Of The Beatles (1989) “[Billy Preston]’s a tremendous inspiration to work with.” - George Harrison, Disc & Music Echo, July 5, 1969 “Billy Preston, man — Billy Preston, I just love him. I never wanna play in another band without Billy. I mean, I hope I don’t ever have to.” - George Harrison, KLOL, November 1974

[tkdb-hell]

Do you still take kissing prompts? What about 38 with Zero x Rui? Let's just pretend he's immune to Ruis curse due to his stigma

I sure do! :3

Zero content always gets to skip the queue line btw ♡

#38 - Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

The cool night air swirled around the rooftop of Darkwick Academy, carrying with it the faint scent of rain that had fallen earlier. The academy lights below shimmered faintly through the mist. Zero stood at the edge of the railing, one hand gripping it lightly as his eyes gazed at the horizon, distant and thoughtful.

Rui leaned against the opposite side, his blonde hair catching the moonlight like a halo. He looked as effortless as ever, but the glimmer in his eyes was unusually still. He glanced at Zero, studying him in a way that made the silence between them feel heavy.

“You really shouldn’t sneak up here, y’know,” Rui said finally, his voice light but with a trace of concern. “If they catch us, they’ll throw a fit.”

Zero smirked faintly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “Yeah, like I’d care about another lecture. What’s one more?”

Rui chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the quiet. “Fair. But you’re gonna get yourself into trouble one of these days that even I can’t talk you out of.”

Zero turned then, his eyes meeting Rui’s, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. His usual cocky demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable. He stepped closer, closing the space between them until they were standing just inches apart.

“Maybe trouble’s worth it,” Zero said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “If it means I get to keep moments like this.”

Rui’s eyes widened slightly, the playfulness fading from his expression as his heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, but Zero beat him to it.

“I…” Zero’s voice wavered, his usual confidence faltering as he reached a gloved hand up to brush a strand of Rui’s hair behind his ear. “I love you.”

The words were barely a whisper, but they hung in the air between them, heavy and certain. Rui’s breath caught, his eyes searching Zero’s face for any hint of hesitation, but all he found was sincerity.

Zero leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, giving Rui the chance to pull away if he wanted to. But Rui didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, his chest tight with emotion as Zero whispered, “Salfuro,” the use of his stigma forcing the odds of Rui's curse taking effect into the improbable. His lips pressed against Rui's in a soft, delicate kiss.

It wasn’t like any kiss they’d shared before—no teasing smirks or playful banter, no heat or urgency. It was quiet, tender, and filled with a raw vulnerability that made Rui’s heart ache. When Zero pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting lightly against Rui’s.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Zero murmured, his voice barely audible. “I just… I wanted you to know.”

Rui let out a shaky breath, his hands lifting to rest gently on Zero’s shoulders. “You’re an idiot,” he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Of course I love you too.”

Zero blinked, his eyes widening in surprise before a genuine smile broke across his face, rare and unguarded. Rui leaned in this time, pressing another soft kiss to Zero’s lips, this one lingering a little longer.

The rooftop grew quiet again, but this time, the silence felt warm and full, the night wrapping around them like a gentle embrace. Neither of them needed to say anything else. In that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

[lemoncrushh]

Cubicle // 11) Start of Something Good

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 3103

Monday // Harry

When I got to work, I already had a stack of stuff on my desk with post-it notes attached from Nina. I rolled my eyes as I shrugged out of my jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. Then I made my way to the break room.

I was disappointed not to find Roni in there, but I knew it was still early. I'd been so anxious to see her again, I'd hardly slept and by five AM, I'd finally just decided to get the day started. After preparing my tea, I sat at the table, hoping Roni would walk in any minute. I saw both Alice and Travis with whom I'd chatted for a bit, and even Gerard made an appearance. But never the face I wanted to see. I considered just going to her side of the office and strolling to her desk, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to do it. Nerves perhaps? But what was I nervous about? I'd slept with the woman two nights in a row, for fuck's sake.

After twenty minutes, I deduced that she wasn't coming so I walked back to my desk to start on the pile of work. I was halfway through a report, staring at the computer screen when I heard a light tap behind me. I swiveled my chair around to see Roni standing at the edge of my cubicle, a coffee mug in her hand.

"Hi, Harry," she muttered shyly.

"Hi," I grinned.

God, she looked beautiful. She had her hair pulled back from her face, pretty little tendrils falling on either side. She wore a pink and black polka-dotted jumper that fit her like a glove, yet showed no skin, and a black skirt. It was probably the most conservative ensemble I'd seen her wear, though she still looked completely sexy.

"How are you?" she inquired as she stepped closer to me.

"I'm great now," I replied, leaning back in my chair.

She beamed at me, her hands gripping her cup. "Good." Then with a lick of her lips she continued. "I'd hoped to run into you this morning, but I got held up with Greta."

"Oh," I raised my eyebrows. So that's what happened.

"Yeah," she grimaced, leaning against my desk. "As soon as I got out of the car she hounded me about crap that needed done for the sales team. She chatted about it all the way and insisted we get it done first thing. So I only just now got a chance to get my morning coffee."

She brought her cup to her lips, taking a sip. I suddenly felt like a complete prat for not going to her desk earlier.

"I was wondering," I admitted. "I waited for you."

"You did?"

The way she looked at me just then, like she was disappointed that she'd missed me, or worse, made me wait, took all I had in me not to take her into my arms. She looked sweet and vulnerable, and I wanted to hold her and kiss her.

"Yes," I nodded, trying not to give too much away.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Alright, here's the thing. This woman does something to me. She exudes this sexiness like no other woman I've met before. I'm constantly finding myself wanting to reach my hands out and touch her, pull her into my lap and fuck her like there's no tomorrow. But another part of me is starting to feel something else. I can't quite put my finger on it, probably because I've never felt these emotions before. It's like...I care about her. I care about what she's doing and how she's feeling. It's driving me crazy, to be honest.

I wasn't lying when I'd texted her last night to tell her I'd thought about her all day. That wasn't some cheap line. I'd thought about her all fucking day. She was all I'd thought about. I'd probably gotten a total of three hours' sleep after I'd gotten home. Even after jerking off, imagining her sweet mouth on my cock, I'd tossed and turned until I finally got up and took a cold shower. She was on my mind whilst I ate breakfast, when I went to the gym, and even when I stood in the queue at the cafe. I'd wanted to call her, and even came close a couple times as I pulled my phone out of my pocket, immediately scrolling to her name. But I didn't press it.

Now, hearing her apologise to me...for what? For not being in the break room as early as I had been? For being busy whilst I sat at the table, resolved to making idle chit chat with co-workers to whom I barely speak otherwise? Waiting for her gorgeous body to walk through the door? It was almost more than I could bear.

"Harry..." Roni spoke again, almost causing me to physically shake the thoughts from my head. She set her mug down on the desk and stepped even closer to me. Her hand met mine resting on the edge of the desk, her fingers grazing over it. "I had a wonderful time with you this weekend."

I looked directly at her then, her beautiful eyes sparkling. Her voice had been just barely above a whisper, but I'd understood every word. I grinned at her, silent for a moment. Although her lips didn't quite smile back, the expression on her face did.

"I did too, Roni," I said.

I turned my hand over so that hers fell into mine. I caressed the back of it with my thumb, not taking my gaze off of her.

"Hey, Harry, have you finished —" I heard a voice begin.

As soon as I looked to my left, I felt Roni's hand leave mine. Nina stood by my cubicle partition, a folder tucked under her arm and her lips pursed. She's not an unattractive woman, but at that moment she might as well have been Satan.

"Yes, Nina?" I asked, my tone underlined with contempt.

"Have you finished the report for Woolery yet?"

"I gave you that one on Friday," I spat.

I didn't mean to be so harsh with her, but this was the third time in the past week that she'd asked me about something that I'd already done. Not to mention the fact that she'd interrupted my time with Roni.

"There's some revisions that need to be made," Nina retorted. "I put it on your desk this morning."

"What?" I sighed, lifting the stack of papers. Underneath two other reports was the one to which she was referring. "Well, why didn't you put it on the top if you needed it done first?"

"I need them all done first," she huffed.

I turned my chair around and glared at her. It wasn't even ten in the morning yet, and she was already getting under my skin. I heard Roni try to stifle a giggle behind me.

"I'll get to it as soon as I can," I told Nina, my jaw set.

"Thank you," she said before turning around and walking away.

"That woman needs to take a chill pill," Roni piped up.

"Tell me about it," I smirked.

"Unfortunately," she added, "I have to get back to work, so I'll let you get to yours."

"Okay."

"See ya, Harry." As Roni turned around I noticed the back of her stockings had a little line with tiny black bows going down. I immediately imagined running my hands up them and under her skirt.

"Oh, by the way," she said when she reached the edge of my cubicle, "I'm free for lunch if you are."

"Absolutely," I grinned. "Noon?"

"Perfect. Bye."

She waved at me with the tips of her fingers before turning away once again. Like always, I watched her go, her ass shifting underneath her skirt. Only this time, I could add more to my mental image.

Roni

He'd waited for me. Oh, I could just die! When Greta chatted my ear off as soon as I got to work this morning, I knew I was in trouble. She's my supervisor, so there's no way I could tell her to put a sock in it. For an hour and a half, I helped her with a project, my head beginning to pound from lack of caffeine. I knew I'd missed my chance to run into Harry, so when Greta was finally satisfied, I quickly grabbed my cup of coffee from the break room and made my way toward Harry's cubicle.

To hear him admit that he'd waited for me, wondering where I was just about crushed my heart, but at the same time lifted me on a cloud much higher than nine. I could tell by his tone that he was a bit relieved to know that I had been busy working and hadn't stood him up, although we hadn't exactly made plans to meet. Neither of us want to reveal too much just yet, but I think we both know there's something between us. The way he turned his hand over to catch mine told me a lot, and if Nina hadn't interrupted when she did...well, let's just say I might have kissed him at his desk.

Office romance is a tricky subject. I know this from experience. My ex, Roland, and I used to work together. It was the reason why I'd asked Harry if he'd ever dated anyone from work before. It was a little bit different situation, however, because it was at a factory. Roland was a maintenance worker, and I was a receptionist. We had already been dating when I started there. I rarely saw him unless he happened to come into the office. Still, in the end it proved to be a sticky situation after our break-up, and I finally started looking for another job.

I'm not going to be presumptuous about Harry and me. We've gone on two dates and had amazing sex. We flirt at work. It's too soon to think we'll turn into anything more than a fling. But even with that, you have to be careful. And I like Harry too much to risk doing something stupid.

When I got back to my desk, Gerard Holcomb was looking around as though he'd lost something.

"Can I help you?" I asked him, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice.

"Ah, Miss Graver," he announced, turning around. "Did you happen to print that price list for me yet?"

"You can't print that yourself?" I raised my eyebrows, perturbed.

"I thought you were making edits to it. Remember, we talked about it Friday?"

I sighed and sat down in my chair. "Sorry, Gerard. I got busy."

Gerard eyed me for a moment before speaking again. He made my skin crawl.

"Can I have it before lunch?"

"Sure," I replied.

He tapped the end of his pen against my desk before leaving my cubicle, without so much as a thank you. He really is a knob head.

I worked on Gerard's precious price list for a total of ten minutes. It wasn't hard for me to do what he'd wanted, I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I could get it done so quickly. Just because he's the top salesman doesn't mean I'm going to drop everything to tend to his needs. I have an entire sales team for which I work. And none of them as of yet have asked me to do something that they could easily get done themselves.

After I finished a report for another salesman, printed and binded it, I walked to his desk to hand it to him. With a courteous thank you from him, I stopped by Gerard's desk and handed him his price list.

"Looks good, Miss Graver," he muttered, taking it from me. Still no thank you. I gritted my teeth.

"You know, I have a first name," I told him.

He glared at me as though I'd slapped him.

"Sorry, I tend to refer to most people by their last names. But if you prefer, I'll call you Veronica."

Once hearing my name fall from his lips, I started to have second thoughts. Instead, I nodded. "Thank you."

As I headed back to my desk, I realised it was almost noon. I smiled to myself at the obvious pleasure I took in anticipating my lunch with Harry. I was quite giddy and even had a little hop in my step. I checked a few quick emails before grabbing my handbag. Just as I turned the corner, I almost collided with Gerard.

"Miss...I mean, Veronica," he said. "I wanted to apologise for earlier. I was rude."

"Oh," I waved my hand, "no worries."

"You did a good job on the price list, and I want to thank you."

My eyes widened at his statement. "Oh. Okay. You're welcome."

"Let me take you to lunch," he added.

"Oh..." I mouthed. "Thanks...but I already have plans."

"Oh." Gerard genuinely looked taken aback. I wondered how many times he'd been turned down before.

Just then I saw Harry out of the corner of my eye walking down the hallway towards me. I smiled at him and waved, turning my attention back to Gerard for only a second.

"Maybe next time," I said sweetly.

I didn't wait for his response as I brushed past him to meet Harry.

"Ready?" I asked him.

"You bet," he replied.

We walked together out to the parking lot where he opened the car door for me. When he walked around to his side and got behind the wheel, he faced me.

"He didn't seem too pleased," remarked Harry.

"Who?"

"Holcomb. I know he doesn't care for me, but his eyes were throwing daggers just now."

I chuckled as I leaned back in my seat. "He'd just asked me to lunch."

"You're joking," said Harry. "And you turned him down to be with me?"

"Who else?"

Harry smirked as he put the car in reverse. "Or maybe it's just for the free food."

"You never said you were paying," I quipped.

I watched Harry's dimple dip deeper as his smile grew wider.

"This is true," he agreed. "But I am anyway."

Harry

I almost wished Roni had seen the look on Gerard's face as she'd waved and then walked up to me. It was quite comical. He looked like someone had just told him to solve a horrendous mathematical equation. He looked from her to me, and back to her again as though he couldn't make sense of it. As I let her walk ahead of me, I took one last gander back at him, his eyes narrowed in disgust. Let him be angry. I'm sure he's wanted to get Roni into bed since her first day, too. Lucky for me, she thinks he's scum.

"So did you get all of your reports completed for Nina?" Roni asked me as we shared an organic pizza.

"Almost," I rolled my eyes. "I have one left I think. But it wouldn't surprise me if there are more on my desk when I get back."

"I don't get it," said Roni. "She's the administrative assistant, isn't she? Isn't that her job?"

I shrugged as I wiped my mouth with a napkin. "Yeah. But I'm sort of her assistant. So she drops it on me when things need correcting."

"Ah," Roni nodded. "Like how I'm Greta's assistant."

"Exactly."

I watched Roni as she chewed her pizza, looking at the wall behind me. Her face said she was pondering something, and when she took a sip of her water, she finally spoke.

"One day..." she said. "One day I will no longer be anyone's assistant."

Her declaration sounded like a line from a movie, but I didn't laugh. I felt a pang in my chest from her words and the look on her face. She seemed so hopeful. It was the purest and most beautiful thing I'd ever witnessed.

"What?" she grinned shyly when she caught me staring.

I merely shook my head. If I told her what I was thinking she'd probably laugh or think it was corny. She looked so pretty sitting across from me, her lipstick half gone from eating, her cheeks rosy from possibly feeling slightly embarrassed about her statement. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to touch her face and brush my mouth against hers.

After I paid for the lunch, we drove back to the office. I pulled into the parking spot, but didn't turn off the engine. I stared straight ahead, not sure what to say, or if I needed to say anything. My palms were sweaty, and I quickly wiped them on my trousers, wishing to God my heart would stop beating as fast as it was. Finally, Roni broke the silence.

"Can I say something?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied, turning my head to face her. Jesus, yes, please say something!

Roni adjusted herself in her seat, leaning on her side, her sexy smile spread across her face.

"I really enjoy being with you," she confessed.

I couldn't stop myself from grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. "Really?"

"Mmm hmm," she nodded. "I know it hasn't been that long, Harry, but I feel like...well...there's something here...between us."

"Me too," I blinked.

Roni did that fucking lip bite thing that drives me crazy.

"Good," she said, putting her hand on my thigh. I watched as she slid it up my leg dangerously before leaning closer. "So are you gonna kiss me now, or what?"

I gave a low chuckle as I reach over and touched her cheek, just like I'd wanted to at the restaurant. When my lips met hers, the same excitement and surge of electricity bolted through me as they had all the other times I'd kissed her. But there was also something else. A sort of unspoken understanding - a tenderness that I hadn't felt before.

As we walked into the building together, I put my arm around her. I wondered if she would flinch or back away, but she didn't. She greeted Greta and thanked me for lunch as she dropped her bag on her desk. Then she turned to me and grabbed my hands, squeezing them.

"Call me later, okay?" she whispered.

I nodded as I squeezed her hands back, then headed toward my cubicle. It wasn't until I sat in my chair that it hit me. Bloody hell! I'm falling for this girl.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[flamehairedwritings]

Stray: Chapter Three

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 6.2k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter Three of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags:  Angst, simon says some not nice things again, simon literally says, angst, dub-con, just to be safe, mdom, rough, nipple play, slight edging, hold the orgasm, multiple orgasms, throat holding, slight choking, slight overstimulation, biting, marking, gloves on, one spank, slight fight for dominance, a little switchy, reader gets one over on Simon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter Three - Club 31 High

“The shit people wear these days.”

“I don’t know, I think you’d look lovely in tassels.”

“Fuck off, Gaz.”

He hears Gaz chuckle in his earpiece, making him sigh as he adjusts his grip on his rifle, continuing to gaze through the scope at the street below.

More like back-alley, actually.

A short queue of masked people are waiting to be let through a rusting metal door, a big bloke with shades on even though it’s fucking night taking their names and checking them by speaking into a walkie.

“I think he’s more of a leather man.”

“Shut up, Soap.”

“Look at that handsome fucker there, arse out an’ all. There’s your look.”

“Can we keep the channels quiet, for fucks sake, there might─”

Ghost breaks off as a figure enters the field of his scope, striding down the alley, heels echoing.

He knows those heels.

And he’s never lucky enough for things to just be fucking coincidences.

“Ghost? What’s goin’ on?”

He exhales a long, exasperated breath as he follows the figure, thin-strapped black dress with thigh-high split touching the ground, the square, low cut neckline pushing the figure’s tits in and up tantalisingly, the silky black, wavy wig reaching down to the waist.

The mask that’s resting on top of it is the final giveaway.

Why can’t it just be a fucking coincidence.

“Ghost?” Gaz prompts.

“There's been a complication,” Ghost grits out.

The complication in question strides past the queue, and smiles at the bouncer who smiles and nods familiarly.

And when the door is opened for you, you look up, find him up on the roof, smile, and pull the half-skull mask down over your face.

And then you pass through the door.

“Fuck,” Ghost hisses, lifting his head and swiftly getting to his feet.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Keep your eyes and ears out, boys. I’m goin’ in.”

─

Deep purple and blue lights flash quickly, and music blares. He can barely fucking see or hear. But thankfully he’s fitting right in, every single person here masked up and in either some kind of uniform, fancy suit or dress, or barely anything. Anyone and everyone is welcome here, as long as your name’s on the list.

His certainly hadn’t been, but they’d scoped out a back entrance earlier in the day, through the cellar, and he’d only had to evade a couple of bar staff before he’d found his way here.

‘Here’ is Club 31 High, as exclusive as they got, and probably fucking gorgeous to other people. Marble columns and floors, plush red seats and curtains, chandeliers, it seems more suited to opera and orchestras than the sultry, Deep House music that’s thumping throughout the chambers. People grind and rock against each other, off their faces on drugs or alcohol. He has to move around the edge of the rooms, passing people kissing, sucking cocks, fingering, and fully fucking in the darker corners.

Anything goes here, as long as your name’s on the list.

He scans each briefly illuminated face, trying to find yours, or, really, the mask you seem to think would be so fucking funny to wear. Some people grab at him along the way, trying to pull him onto the dance floors, or rub against him, caressing him. He passes by swiftly, trying to get through quickly without drawing too much attention. He’s spotted some bouncers here and there, and there’s got to be cameras everywhere, though how they can pick anything up is a wonder.

Gritting his teeth, he heads into another chamber, this one bigger, the ceiling higher. It’s even louder and darker in here, and, moving down the steps into it, he wishes he’d brought his fucking headset. It wouldn’t look so fucking weird to wear it here.

He scans the crowd, but it’s nearly fucking impossible, people are dancing too much and the lights are flashing too much and─

A hand slides across his lower back, around his side, and someone stands in front of him, both hands resting on his vest. He’s about to step away, disappear into the crowd, when his eyes lock with yours.

“Hello, Simon,” you say with a smile, though he lip-reads it rather than hears it.

How can anyone fucking hear in here.

As if hearing his thoughts, you slide your hands up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and only have to rise up a little higher due to the heels to rest your lips against his ear.

Even then he can only just hear you.

“I knew I'd get you out dancing one day.”

“The fuck are you doing here?” he shouts into your ear.

“Having a girl’s night. And we were told strictly no boyfriends, so shoo.”

Stepping back, you release him, smile lingering, and turn, melting into the crowd.

“Fuck sake…” he hisses, following after you swiftly.

People move out of the way, too far gone to be annoyed at being shoved. His eyes are fixed on the back of your head, and then, when you stop suddenly, he nearly collides with you as you turn to him. Raising your hands and arms above your head, you sway your hips, and he rolls his jaw.

“Let’s fucking go,” he shouts, knowing you can lip-read, too, though no one would have a hard time understanding him.

Your blood-red smile widens.

Turning around, he thinks you’re about to set off again when you actually take a step back.

And then you lean back against him, settle your hands on the back of his neck, and grind your ass back against his cock.

Raising his eyes to the pitch-black ceiling, he pushes out a harsh breath.

For fuck’s sake.

You don’t stop, rolling your hips, arching your back, able to find the beat of the noise and make it seem like music to him.

His fingers flex at his sides.

No, no, no.

Shoving you away, gritting his teeth, he watches as you turn to him, lips lifted in a wide smile.

A game, always a fucking game.

He can see you’re about to move again, disappear and have him searching like a fucking dog, and he won’t have that.

His hand darting out, he grips your upper arm and moves first instead, pulling you through the crowd. You don’t hit at him and if you’re shouting, he can’t hear it. Though you’re just as likely to not want to make a scene as him.

At the edge of the room, he spots someone heading out of a door into this room and heads to it, pulling you through it into a small, circular chamber. A marble table is at the centre, with dozens of white roses in a large vase resting on top of it, and as the door swings shut behind you, it does a fantastic job of muffling a large portion of the music. Not enough, though, and it’s still too public here. He pulls you towards another door, marvelling at how you still haven’t said a word, and pushes it open. There’s a long corridor, doors on the left, a mirror that stretches all the way down on it on the right. How anyone could see themselves in it is a mystery, though, as the lights are so dimmed you could barely see your own face.

Pushing the first door open, using the handle, he finds it’s a bathroom, a small, really fucking fancy one.

Perfect, but not this one. He pulls you down the corridor, right to the end, and you still don’t say a word, heels echoing.

Those fucking heels.

Reaching the final door, he pushes it open, finds it empty, and then pushes you in, releasing your arm. He steps through after, locking the door behind himself. It muffles all sound of the outside, he thinks most likely by design, these bathrooms not just for pissing and shitting, but fucking too.

And what a bathroom to fuck in. The toilet is to his left, the grandest he’s ever seen, made from the same marble as the floor and walls, a thick red rug is in the centre of the room, in front along the far wall is a plush red loveseat, and to his right, a marble counter stretches across the short wall along with a mirror, with a sink cut into it and what must be designer products in the corner. The light’s not as dim as it was out in the corridor, but it’s still low.

What he wouldn’t give for some clear fucking strip lighting.

His attention returning to you, he watches you, your hands behind your back, that fucking smile still in place.

Hang on, hands behind your back…

“Come here. Hands where I can see them.” He moves forward, and you raise your hands, empty, as you lift your chin and inhale a breath.

He thinks he might see your lips part before he bends down, but that’s probably just from taking the breath.

He can’t help his gaze from briefly dropping to your heels. Yeah, they’re the ones.

Leather, platform, thick straps, heavy gold buckles at the ankles.

He remembers the cold feel of them against his shoulders. 

Shoving the memory away, he starts to roughly pat and feel at your legs, searching for weapons.

He hears you exhale a laugh, widening your legs obediently when he taps a hand from one to the other. “Oh, Simon, they take weapons at the door, they’re in the lovely cloakroom.”

“All of them?” His hand moves up the thigh where there isn’t the split, and he pauses when he feels steel against his gloves. Lifting his head, he arches an eyebrow at you, watches your smile widen, and then slides his fingers under the holster and pulls sharply, ripping the knife from your thigh. He tosses it behind him, making a mental note of where he thinks it lands. Moving his hands to the other thigh, then out onto the silk material of the dress, he slides his hands up your hips, over your stomach, around your back, and then to your waist.

It’s now your turn to arch an eyebrow as his hands near your chest, swiping between and under your tits.

“Do you really think I could conceal anything else in this?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you. Turn around.”

He makes you before you can, gripping your shoulder and spinning you to face the mirror. The sudden action makes you have to press your hands down onto the counter to steady yourself. Your lips twitch as he slides his hands up your hips and across your back. It’s cut low, though, to the middle of your shoulder blades, so it doesn’t take him long.

A hand moves up your bare skin, up the back of your neck, under the hair, feeling along the scalp of the wig.

You hum gently, closing your eyes as your lips twitch again, and his hand quickly leaves.

It goes instead to your mask, which he slides off, and inspects the inside.

“Really fucking funny, wearing this.”

You meet his gaze in the mirror. “Admit it, it turns you on.”

His lips press together, and he tosses the mask onto the counter. “What’re you doin’ here.”

“Well, I was very much enjoying myself, and then you just grabbed me like a brute and pulled me in her─”

“Stray.”

“Simon.”

You tilt your head, a smile lifting your lips as you gaze at him in the reflection.

He, though, is stone-still.

“It’s not fuckin’ funny anymore, Stray.”

Your eyebrows raise and your lips part in faux-surprise. “Oh, is this about what happened at the warehouse with Angelo?”

He hates the way you say the name, nearly purring it.

“You nearly had me and the boys killed.”

“But none of you did die, did you─”

“I said nearly.” The bark of his voice has you silencing yourself. 

For a very brief moment.

“So, what, I’ve betrayed you, have I, Simon?” You snort. “That’s your own fault.”

He still hasn’t moved.

“Did you think I was going to hurt you. When we were there.”

Silence.

You’re looking at him in the reflection, mouth in a thin line, and he’s looking at you.

You don’t speak.

His mask and the dim lighting hides the flexing in his jaw.

“Do you think I’m gunna hurt you now?”

He needs to know.

He hopes you don’t fucking realise how much.

Silence stretches on again.

He doesn’t ask again, but you know he won’t move until you do.

You keep looking at him a little longer, though.

You did hurt me. You broke my heart. You betrayed me. And you don’t even know it.

Lifting your chin a little, you give him a light smile. “No. I wouldn’t let you.”

He exhales a breath, something easing in his chest but not enough. “Is that right. You know, you’ve put me in a fucking position here─”

“No, Simon, it’s you who’s put me in a position.”

Your far-too-pleased with yourself smile returns as you press your ass back against him.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move. “I’ll finish. You’ve put me in a fucking position where I could, no, should, walk out of here, let you go, let this all be done. Or…” Suddenly, he grips your hip, hard enough that you hiss in a breath. “... I could repay you for what you did at the warehouse.”

You panic for a moment that Soap told him, but, no, the fury in his eyes tells you otherwise.

You know what a grateful Simon looks like.

“Repay me? You’ve just been moaning about how awful it was.”

“Well… You were working so hard to make it up to me, weren’t you.”

“‘Make it up to you’─”

“Grinding on my cock like that. You were practically begging for forgiveness.”

You laugh, your head tipping back slightly.

“Oh, you’re so─”

His hand suddenly darts up, gripping your jaw under your chin, tipping your head back further as he simultaneously takes a step forward, pressing you against the counter.

“No, you don’t get to fucking talk unless I tell you to,” he murmurs against your temple.

If you obey now, right now, then he knows you’re in; in once more in this twisted fucking game he should end but he just fucking can’t.

He watches you in the mirror.

Your eyes slide down to meet his.

And you don’t say a word.

He exhales a breath, dropping his chin a little so his lips are closer to your ear. “I’m gunna ruin you for him. It’ll be my cum leaking out of you, running down your sweet legs as you trot on back to him in those fucking heels.”

Fucking hell.

Your stomach twists deliciously as you gaze at him.

And you risk it. 

“Is that a promise?”

You can’t see him smile as he allows this one insolence. 

“It’s a given, love.”

Raising his other hand, he pulls the material mask over his mouth and then bites at your jaw and kisses down your neck.

You gasp and moan almost with relief as the hand then slides across your stomach until his forearm is against you, and he pulls you back further against him, closing the little space there is.

His vest causes you to have to arch your back though, your ass once more firmly against his cock, and he’s not going to fucking complain.

“Look in the mirror, look at yourself,” he murmurs, your eyes having fallen shut, and he bites at your jaw again as they snap open. “You’re going to watch all of this, and you’re gunna fuckin’ think about it while his cock’s inside you. You’ll be thinking of me and only me when you cum.”

Your breathing has sharpened, but there’s a burning in your eyes, some kind of anger there.

There’s probably a defensive quip for Vitale on your tongue, but you’re still behaving.

“Look at you, bein’ a good girl for me,” he murmurs, and your lips part on a sharp exhale.

He loves when you behave, almost as much as when you don’t.

His hand rises, and he tugs the neckline of the dress down, exposing your tits and making them lift higher. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, and he chuckles lowly as your knees buckle momentarily, a moan escaping you.

“Does he do this for you? He doesn’t strike me as a giver.” He moves his hand from your tits to your mouth, resting two gloved fingers against your lips. “Suck.”

You do, instantly, swirling your tongue as you find his eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah, good girl.” He indulges for a few moments longer, his cock twitching in anticipation and memory, and then he swiftly pulls his fingers away. Moving them back down to your nipples, he circles them with your saliva.

Your back arches as much as it can as you sigh out moans, remembering to keep your eyes open.

He mouths at your cheekbone, not giving you an inch of room. “How does that feel? Speak.”

“Good, so fucking good,” you breathe, trying to rock your hips back against him.

Ghost hums his approval lowly, breathing in the scent of your skin, a hint of fragrance there from whatever you’d put on it. 

“I want you dripping,” he murmurs, twisting, pinching and pulling your nipples, going from one to the other. “I want you aching for my cock until you think you’ve gone mad. I want you begging for me.”

He can feel your pulse through his hand spread across your throat and neck, his fingers gripping at your jaw still. 

It’s faster.

“Good, isn’t it, love. You dripping yet? Is your cunt soaked?”

Your body is on fire, his fingers so fucking good but it’s not enough.

Managing to turn your head closer to him the smallest amount, you try to find his lips, murmuring, nearly pleading, “Mmh, take your gloves off.”

He angles his head away. “They’re stayin on. And did I say you could talk?”

Suddenly his hand leaves your tits and grips the skirt of your dress, tugging it up over your ass roughly. You try not to appear too pleased as he chuckles.

“No knickers? You were wantin’ this, weren’t you? Wantin’ me?”

He brings a hand down on one of your ass cheeks, swiftly and sharply, tearing a soft cry from you.

“Speak.”

You exhale a laugh, unable to help yourself. “Your ego is almost as big as your─”

The grip on your throat tightens a little, for a moment.

“No smart words from you today, just the truth.”

The truth. How frightening.

Still, though, you smile.

“But that was the truth. And your cock is big.”

His lips are against your ear once more, voice low, demanding. “So tell me, then. You came here wanting it, didn’t you?”

You expect him to perhaps spank you again, play with your nipples maybe or caress your skin. But he gives you nothing. It’s maddening.

Licking your velvet-red lips, you exhale a long breath. “... Yes.”

You feel him smile.

“Good girl.”

He plunges two gloved fingers into your pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, hands pressing against the counter.

He nips at your earlobe. “I’ll allow that, only because you sound so fucking sweet.”

His fingers move instantly, fucking you slow and deep.

And he barely takes a breath before speaking again.

“How many fingers does he need to stretch you properly? Dainty little things, weren’t they. Does he have to work hard, poor fucker.”

And, yes, the anger’s there again, burning in your eyes, and your teeth are biting into your lower lip.

It’s satisfying to him, as fucking twisted as it is, that you so clearly want to snap and yell at him, but you won’t. For him. Because he said you can’t.

It makes his cock so fucking hard.

He wants to see just how good you’ll be, how much you’ll obey him.

What will be your breaking point.

“Does he cum first, or does he make you first? Countless times, like I can, like I do. Does he know what you sound like when you’re desperate, out of your mind, overstimulated but fucking begging for more?”

He slips a third finger in, still moving them tantalisingly slowly but deeply as moans fall from your lips.

Yet despite giving them to him freely, anger is still clearly blazing in your half-lidded eyes. 

And he can’t get enough.

“Do you moan and grip at him, beg him, hang on to him. Do you look up at him with those pretty fuckin’ eyes, beggin’ with them when your head’s too fuckin’ empty to form words? Do you─”

He catches himself.

Your words from the warehouse have been circling round and round in his mind since you spoke them.

And I love him─

Had that been it. Were you going to say that you love him fucking you.

Or that you love him. End of. Full stop.

He’d never know, and he hadn’t wanted to know.

He still doesn’t want to know.

Exhaling a harsh breath, he slips a fourth finger in.

Every breath you exhale is now a moan, one hand gripping at his forearm, and your other suddenly moves back, cupping the back of his head, your fingers pressing in.

He can feel your walls clenching around him, fluttering, and he groans against your ear.

“You gunna cum already? You been that desperate for me?”

He listens to you moan and mewl for a few moments longer, fingers flexing against your throat, before he orders, “Speak.”

Your legs are nearly trembling. “Yes.”

“Beg me. Ask me to cum.”

“Please, Simon, please can I cum, please, I need to, please─”

“Mmh, not yet. Hold it.”

You make a strained sound, eyes closing tight, and he fucking loves that you’re obeying.

But he doesn’t want to reward you. Not yet.

Lips against your ear once more, he watches you in the mirror. “Did he fuck you later, after we left, after we burned that place to the fucking ground. Did you ride him, did you tell him sweet little things to soothe his fuckin’ ego. Did you hold him─”

“Simon─”

“Did I say you could speak.”

There’s no anger in your eyes now, just… 

Why would you be sad. He doesn’t fucking understand it.

Are you that attached to the fucker?

Whatever reason for it… he fucking hates seeing it.

Softening his grip on your jaw a little, he turns his head slightly, lips pressing against your cheek.

“How does this feel? Does your clit need some attention, is it aching for me? Speak.”

“Yes,” you breathe again, knees bending slightly for a moment as you try to rock your hips.

His hand finally releases your jaw and lowers, and he walks you back half a step to give himself the room to slip his hand down your stomach to the slit of your dress, yanking it up so his fingers can find your clit.

You gasp sharply as he strokes at it, your body jerking slightly as you hang on the precipice of your orgasm.

He watches you in the mirror, your eyes closed, mouth open, chest heaving.

And still you don’t allow yourself to cum.

Opening your eyes, though, you beg him with them.

Fuck…

He presses an almost kiss to your cheek. “Cum for me, love. Go on.”

You cry out as you grip at his head, your back arching, and you cum instantly. Your pussy squeezes at his fingers, gripping them tight, and he grunts against your skin, pressing another nearly-there kiss to it.

“That’s it, good girl, cum all over my glove, give me it all.”

Your body jerks as you moan, and when it finally goes slack, your head leaning back against him, he smiles.

“That was a big one, wasn’t it. You’ve been fuckin’ desperate for that.”

You just try and catch your breath, your fingertips softening on the back of his head. He pushes your head to the side with his own, then drops his lips to your neck. 

“Speak,” he grunts as he bites your shoulder.

You inhale a shuddering breath, swallowing. “… Yes…”

“Good girl.” Pulling his fingers out of you, biting you again when you moan as they leave you, he groans lowly as he wipes his fingers on the ass cheek he’d slapped. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You hum somewhat weakly in reply.

Not weak enough, though.

You gasp sharply and your hips buck as he starts to stroke your clit again. Your eyes snapping open, you lock your gaze with his.

“You’re gunna cum again for me,” he murmurs against your skin.

Still sensitive, your hips buck again, but he’s stroking so lightly, so gently, though that’s almost making it even better. His other hand slides over your stomach, his forearm holding you against him again, your hips now only able to jerk a little.

The blissful pleasure of your orgasm has only faded slightly, so with each stroke he gives, it rises a little higher… but… and you fucking curse yourself… it’s not enough.

And he knows it.

“Need somethin’ inside you, don’t you,” he says against your ear, still holding your gaze.

You nod, your breathing long, deep and shaking as you try to regulate it.

He exhales a breath. “Not yet. And this time, you’re not gunna take your eyes off yourself.”

Fucking hell…

Dropping your hand from his head, you flatten both palms against the counter and shift your gaze to your own, and he chuckles quietly.

“Good girl.”

His fingers quicken.

Your teeth grit as you try to stifle a sharp gasp.

“No, no, don’t be doing that…” He’s looking at you in the reflection still, head leaning against yours. “… You’re gunna look at yourself and you’re gunna be loud.”

The way he caresses, circles and strokes your clit, the leather of his glove slick against it…

You’re leaning your head into his, hips bucking, and you give in, mewling loud enough to fill the space because you don’t care, it just feels so good.

He’s biting at your shoulder and neck again, too, almost with a sense of frenzy.

And then he starts talking again.

“What does he say when I mark you like this? Do you hide it from him? Do you avoid him?”

Muscles in your jaw jump and flex as you grit your teeth tightly

His eyes flick up to you. “Speak.”

“Yes,” you grit out.

“And what does he say?”

You stare at yourself, eyelids fluttering a little as pleasure sparks through you.

“Speak.”

Your jaw is clenched tight, teeth pushing into each other.

Suddenly, you turn your head closer to his.

“Kiss me.”

“No,” is the instant answer.

He’s punishing you, and you know it. 

It could be worse.

He could have left.

So why hasn’t he.

Why is he here, fucking you.

If you betrayed him, if he hates you that much, why is he here.

Why is he asking these questions.

Why does he care.

Does he care.

You’ll probably never know.

The anger that had been bubbling inside you, simmering in some kind of control, now explodes as you gaze at him.

How could he care.

Your elbow drives into his lower stomach, just under his vest, and then you slam your head back, the back of your head colliding with his nose and jaw.

“Fuck─ What the fuck─” he starts hissing, releasing you automatically.

Spinning, you shove him backwards.

“What─”

You shove him again, silent.

His brow is furrowed, eyes slightly wider. “Love, are you oka─”

You shove him again.

He falls back onto the loveseat with a grunt, and you straddle him instantly, gathering the silky material of the dress around your hips. His eyes narrow slightly in realisation then, his hands going to your thighs, gripping them.

“This what you want, huh─”

“Shut up,” you snap, releasing the skirt of the dress and tugging his belt open. “I don’t want to hear from you anymore.”

His mouth still exposed, you can now see the self-satisfied smirk he gives you. “You want my cock inside you instead, yeah.”

“Shut up.” You pull open the button of his trousers.

“You that desperate for me?”

“Shut up.” You yank the zip down.

“Do you cling at him like this─”

Your hand flies up, gripping his jaw. 

Leaning closer, you hiss, “Shut the fuck up.”

His smirk is now gone, and an anger that nearly matches yours smoulders in his dark eyes.

And then he knocks your arm away, so you punch his shoulder, then grab at his throat, your other hand going for his trousers. He shoves your hand away from his throat so you use both hands to pull his cock out as he fists at your dress, lifting it higher to expose your pussy.

From this angle, he can see it glistening now, wet, open and ready for him.

“Christ…” he hisses through gritted teeth, watching you position his aching, flushed pink tip against your hole.

Watches you sink down on him, his cock disappearing inside you.

He makes a strained sound in the back of his throat, balling your dress up in his gloved fists.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, Simon,” you breathe, hands now firmly gripping his shoulders.

Fixing your gaze on his eyes, before he can answer you start to move your hips, and you don’t want to be slow, you don’t want to tease, you don’t want to give him any gentle satisfaction at all right now, so you set a hard, firm pace, riding him aggressively.

“I bet your cock was hard the moment you saw me, and the way you came running after me… Who’s the desperate one?” 

His eyes flick up, locking with yours, and your entire body is taut, waiting for him to switch this once more, while also feeling pleasure burst and spark through you.

“I told him about your base and here you still are, fucking me, wanting me wet for you, marking me… like you don’t even care… and what if one of your boys had died─”

Snarling, he shoves your hands off his shoulders, grips them at the wrists and holds them at your sides.

“You’d better watch your mouth.”

You laugh, and you don’t know where it comes from. “Oh, have I hurt your feelings? I didn’t know you had any.”

He’s silent, the only sound his short, harsh breaths as you ride him.

You don’t look away. “Take the mask off.”

“No.”

“Take it off.”

“No─”

“Let me see you.”

He falls silent.

When he moves, it’s swift.

A hand darts up and grips the long hair of the wig, and he yanks, pulling your head back.

You cry out as your back arches, small, delicious bursts of pain sparking along your scalp where the wig is secured.

His other hand runs firmly down between your tits, to your stomach, to your hip, gripping it. It’s possessive, how he does it, and it pisses you off. Knocking his arm away so he releases the hair, you grip his shoulders again, nails digging in, and you lean forward until your forehead nearly presses against his mask, and you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, locking you in that position.

He pushes against your hip, trying to put some distance between you but you won’t let him.

“Look at me,” you hiss, and he does, stilling as your eyes lock on to each others.

And, somehow, neither of you speak.

You just look at each other.

His gaze is hard, jaw tight, and you just ride him as you grip at him. Ride and squeeze your walls around him until…

His lips part on an exhale, no, not an exhale… a moan.

Ghost moans.

The corners of your mouth lift into a breathless smile as you squeeze him again, desire surging through you.

He grits his teeth at the sight of your smile, low grunts coming from the back of his throat, hands now tight on your hips, and you feel something feral snarling and snapping its jaws inside you.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on…” you hear yourself murmuring, squeezing your slick walls around him every time your hips rise.

His mouth is open, fast, quiet breaths escaping him, and you want to kiss him, you want to bite at his lips, you want to have him kiss you fiercely and deeply in the way that shows you he cares, even if it’s just now, even if it’s just for a little while.

Your mouth hovering over his, you don’t, though.

Because he doesn’t kiss you.

Makes no move to.

Gasping as a wave of pleasure suddenly rolls through you, you realise one of his hands has moved, his gloved fingers now somewhat clumsily stroking at your clit.

There’s almost a sweetness to it; that he’s still wanting to give you pleasure, make you feel good despite both your previous words, despite the slight curling of your lip and his hardened eyes.

You hate him.

He probably hates you.

“Cum, cum for me…” you suddenly realise he’s groaning, fingers of his other hand gripping at your thigh, almost desperately.

Gritting your teeth, your nails bite into his shoulders.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him, you hate him…

“Cum for me,” you hiss, the pace of your hips starting to stutter slightly as your orgasm nears, dangerously close.

He’s staring up at you, unable to stop small moans and grunts from falling from his open mouth.

“Love─”

“Cum in me,” you command, and he inhales a sharp breath, hand darting from your clit to your hip, gripping tight, and then his hips jerk as he cums.

His eyes squeeze shut as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath, and your own fall shut as you moan, feeling his cum deep inside you, and the thought of it, the feel of it, the knowledge that, yes, it will leak out of you exactly as he intended, has you cumming, too.

Your head falls forward, leaning against his, and you hear his short, sharp breaths as you mewl, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, fisting your dress there.

Your hips slow to a stop as he breathes hard against your shoulder, and you try to soften yours, your arms staying around him.

The only sound that now fills the room is his breathing, and you just listen to it. Just feel him against you, inside you.

His hand flattens against your back.

His fingertips press in a little.

Gentle.

You pull back, press your hands against his chest and push yourself off of him.

His cock slips out of you unceremoniously, and he grunts as it does, but you’ve already turned away, adjusting your dress and flattening it.

You hear the metal of his belt clanking together as he tucks his cock away, before he zips his trousers up then secures the belt.

Pulling the top of the dress up over your tits, adjusting them, you then smoothe the dress down. Running your hands down the wig, you run your tongue along your lips, feeling the lipstick having collected in some areas. Smoothing and spreading it out with your finger tips, you’re aware of how silent he is behind you.

You hate him.

“This was the last time,” you hear yourself say.

“Sure it was.” 

Why is he still entertaining this, entertaining us.

You’re about to ask that exact question, snap, shout, scream it, when he speaks suddenly.

“You’re scared of Vitale, aren’t you.”

You still, hands paused in needlessly adjusting your dress again, eyes flicking up. Turning to him, you’re expressionless.

“What?”

He’s still sat down, hands resting on his thighs, mask back in place, eyes on you. “I saw it. At the warehouse. Why does he scare you.”

A corner of your mouth lifts a fraction. “Nothing scares me, Simon.”

“I did.”

You pause before you can catch yourself, so you make your mouth lift a little higher. “You didn’t. You startled me, there’s a difference.”

His eyes haven’t left you. “I know what I saw. On all accounts.”

Exhaling a breath, you push your hair over your shoulder. “Think what you like.” Turning away, you head towards the door.

“Stray.” 

His tone has you halting, but you keep your back to him, staring at the door. 

You hear him stand, take a few steps towards you.

“I know you were scared of me. I know that. What I don’t know…” You remain silent. “... What I don’t know is if you were scared for me.”

Silence.

He can’t believe he’s fucking said it.

Not even a proper question, just words, but words that have been rolling round and round in his mind incessantly.

He gazes at your back, that tautness in your shoulders, your waist moving as you breathe, your head slightly tilted down.

Then, you half turn to him… and there’s nothing on your features.

“Why would I be. I’m nothing but a whore, remember.”

A coldness spreads through his chest as he watches you go, his own, fucking regrettable words, in your voice, echoing in his mind.

─

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Masterlist

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[lazypanartist]

Ben Reilly x Academic! Punk! Reader HCs

Established relationship

Reader is like a projection of me + a girl I'm interested in 👀 May also lead into another project

---

He's not impressed by much, but you..

Well

When you explain anything mathmatical to him, he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky

Even if he knows, too

Just

Every little thing you do impresses him

He'll hang over your shoulders and watch you do homework

Nodding along as you balance equations or whatever

(IDK, I failed out of math last semester)

If you have anything with patches, he'll ask you wtf they mean

Like

"What's.. Bikini Kill?"

"Riot Grrl band from the 90s."

"Who are the Dead Kennedys?"

"Another Band."

Please remember he's

1) a clone

2) only recently out from under Ock

3) just got back from the bottom of the bay

And he doesn't know popular bands, either

"Who are the.. Reagan Youth?"

"Band. Anti-facist, founded when Reagan became president."

"Okay."

Might not get all the history references either, but he LOVES that you do

Man loves studs

When you introduce him to any spiked piece of clothing, he decides that he Needs One, Too

Which leads to a mildly confused Peter

"Where'd you get the choker?"

While mans is just chilling on May's couch

"Stole it from Y/n."

"You mean borrowed, right?"

Ben just looks up from what he's doing

"They're only getting it back if they steal it."

Next day you're just like "Hey, Ben, have you seen my choker?"

He hands it back wordlessly

Please get him one of his own

You steal his hoodie and he tries stealing your clothes in retaliation

Queue this becoming a normal occurance

Even if he doesn't really fit into your fit 😂

He at least grabs accessories

Looks at a sticker on the back of a glove

"Who's... Panicking at the Disco?"

"Brandon Urie. Used to actually be a band, now he's kinda the face of it."

"Okay."

[mor-mirmir]

Pokemon Adventures Green - Mountain Town Heist.

A Pokemon Adventures/Special Fic

Chapter 1 - Call and Lodging - Part 1

My Xtransciever should buzz with a call from my contact any second now.

I’d touched down by Mountain Town only moments ago. The name seemed seriously uninspired, but, in a way, that sort of thing is what makes a place noteworthy to begin with. I should know.

It was half past seven in the morning, and the inexplicably turquoise grass beneath my feet crunched with the shattering of frost as I dropped down from atop my Jigglypuff, Ririri.

Mountain Town is a precinct within the Jaf’va region, a politically peculiar land situated between Kalos and Unova. I’d never had a good excuse to find myself in the area, so, when I was contacted about a hit in Jaf’va, I couldn’t control my curiosity. I accepted the job more than a little hastily, so much so to the extent that I don’t actually know what it is that I’m to do here myself, just that I am.

Here, that is.

What I do know is that I was told to arrive at these exact coordinates, at this exact time, and to keep a low profile. I’d descended through the air on Ririri into a meadow a little ways south of Mountain Town as per the instructions. In the distance, I could see a great barrier wall that ran along the border of the town in its entirety. The southernmost gate faced me, and the pointed watch towers on either side of it were both empty; a fact that isn’t to be taken as a coincidence. My contact is well-informed, that’s for sure.

As if on queue, my Xtransciever received a call. Tachoda was the name displayed on the other end. I waited a moment as I pondered on what was inevitably a code name, trying to see if I could draw a connection of some sort from it, but hadn’t a lick of luck in my attempt at all. Finally, I answered the call.

A video feed flickered on from the other end and I came face to face with Tachoda through the screen of my Xtransciever. So, really, we weren’t face-to-face at all. I was certainly seeing him, though. He had strawberry-blond hair and the type of face that was froggy but attractive enough at the same time. He wore a gray suit and an obnoxiously lime green tie. His hair was swooped to one side.

“Green,” he said.

Which is my name, by the way.

My eyes were drawn to the upper right-hand side of the screen where a smaller window displayed the video that my own Xtransciever was sending out. I looked good today, but that was most days. I had auburn hair down to my mid-back and fluffy bangs that did a fantastic job of framing my face.

Every masterpiece needs a good frame. Ask any gallery director.

I wore a chic black mini dress, white gloves, and a totally cute pair of boots I picked up in Kalos on the flight here.

The dress was a similar one to another I had when I was much younger. I figured it’d fit the mood. I hadn’t done something like this in a while, after all.

Speaking of which, moods are important to set. Especially with men that you want something out of. It’s all about the way you approach a situation, sometimes you don’t even necessarily need to lie!

Although you really should anyways.

Furthermore, uniformly, there needn’t be any carry-through on your end either. Just the prospect of an opportunity in a man’s head is enough to throw him off balance.

They’re greedy and bullheaded like that. How simple!

“Tach,” I replied, batting my eyelashes alongside the other works one might expect. Oooo, I’m pretty good, huh-?

“Tachoda,” he responded sternly, “It’s Tach-oda. Let’s not get too comfortable, Green.” He stifled a laugh as I brooded on what had just transpired. “Green,” he continued, “you’re really not a very creative thinker, huh? What a code name!” His enunciation of the ‘o’ in ‘code’ ran a little high and upset me further.

Grr..!

He’s just trashing my name at this point!

His face suddenly snapped back to a straightly serious expression and he immediately began to proceed with the details of the mission at hand. “Take note of these things. Jaf’va is a region that is unique in its external openness but internal isolation. It’s easy to enter what is technically ‘Jaf’va’, but finding yourself anywhere but in the wilderness between the civilization within is more complicated.”

“You gonna quiz me on this or-?”

“The land within Jaf’va isn’t so much subdivided as it is claimed,” he continued without missing a beat, “The Daimyos of Jaf’va are a group of royally recognized landholders scattered throughout the region. For whatever reason, the culture around here developed such that taking more land is seen as lowbrow and deplorable, where it’s really at for these people is control and fortification. As such, the Daimyo aren’t interested in conquest, only the defense of their land. In other words, they are fiercely territorial.”

“So I gotta steal something from this Mountain Town Daimyo guy?”

“On the contraire, Mountain Town stands as an exception to the established rule I’ve explained thus far. If you’ll allow me to continue; as a result of the Daimyo culture in Jaf’va, there tend to be massive spans of what we’ll call unclaimed land. The Daimyo are so strict with who gets in or out of their respective claims that it wouldn’t be a stretch to label the people of Jaf’va as either claimed or unclaimed as well. This is where Mountain Town comes into play as an anomaly. Mountain Town is the result of unclaimed residents emulating Daimyo settlement culture inside the unclaimed land.”

“Okay..? And my target? Or, is there a target?” I asked, “What am I doing here?”

“We have a… point of interest within Mountain Town. That’s all you need for now. I’ll send you the documents that your entry sponsor provided. Present them to the guards once you reach the gate and they’ll let you in. Good luck, and enjoy your stay.”

“My what? My huh? Hey, quit it with the vagueness, Mister I’m-so-mysterious! I already know enough guys like that!”

“I trust you’ll work it out.”

“I trust I’ll work my foot-!”

“Green, one more thing.”

“Yeah, what is it!?”

“Stay out of trouble.” He smiled and ended the call.

Who does this guy think he is..!?

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I will probably have the second part of Chapter One up in the next week-ish from now so stick around if you're interested in that! I also post art. Please let me know what you think so far! All input is appreciated!