#fossil watches for women

[zimson-watches]

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Visit store :

[zimsonwatches3]

Fossil watches for men - Zimson watches

Explore the outstanding collection of Fossil watches for men at Zimson Watches. Fossil is celebrated for its combo of timeless style and current innovation, imparting a number of watches that cater to each man's taste and way of life. Whether you opt for the classic sophistication of leather strap watches, the rugged enchantment of chrome steel designs, or the advanced capabilities of smartwatches, each Fossil timepiece is crafted with precision and high-quality substances.

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[thehourmarkers]

Watchmaking and clockmaking share a deep, intrinsic connection that spans centuries of horological history. At their core, both disciplines revolve around the precise measurement and display of time through intricate mechanical movements. The fundamental principles and technical challenges faced by watchmakers and clockmakers are strikingly similar.

We caught up with Vianney Halter to understand more about his relics of the future, a fascination for vintage items and more!

THM: You started at the young age of 14, and then worked as a pendulum clock repairman. Tell us about your journey so far.

Vianney Halter at his workshop

Initially, my interest was not in creating new watches but rather in repairing and understanding the workings of antique and vintage timepieces. I was drawn to discovering the different constructions, complications, and ingenious solutions employed in their design. Creating my own watches came later, almost by chance. Although watchmaking was in decline in the late 1970s when I began studying it at 14, I was undeterred, lured by the intrigue of antique horology more than any prospects of commercial success. My motivations were rooted in a childhood fascination with the inner workings of timekeepers.

THM: Has there been any watchmaker that has inspired you on this journey?

Workshop (copyright-Ed.Nguyen)

I spent hours studying the impressive antique clocks, particularly the works of Antide Janvier from the late 18th/early 19th century. His innovative mechanisms and technical architecture for displaying time mesmerized me — the golden age of watchmaking. Janvier’s pieces deeply inspired my perspective on this art. I also admired the work of contemporary Paul Garnier, whose intricate machine constructions behind the dials were engineering marvels. The astronomical devices by clockmakers like Le Roy & Modele families, with their precise complications, further stoked my fascination.

THM: As an independent watchmaker, what were the challenges you faced to establish your brand?

Anitqua

Unexpectedly, I transitioned from just being a supplier to an independent watchmaker with my own designs. As my customer base grew, my distinctive style combining historical inspiration with modern, almost science-fiction elements became recognized. While still a bench watchmaker at heart, I’ve become more — using my experience and skills to create unique pieces that inspire new generations with a free perspective different from the industry. Chance allowed me to avoid being confined to a single company, instead forging my own independent path in watchmaking.

THM: You’re known to produce watches in a limited number. Is there an ideology behind that?

Classic Janvier

Occasionally I deliberately restrict a model to a very small limited number, like only 12 pieces for the Classic Janvier or Anniversary of Liberty editions. This is not to artificially market it as “limited”, but because making just 12 examples is an immense workload representing potentially half of what I can produce in a year. Capping the number allows me to move on and explore new designs and complications, rather than being consumed by one popular model’s success.

Money provides freedom to invest in exploring new horizons, “to seek out new life and new civilizations”, as they say. But wealth itself is not the end goal, to die the richest person in the cemetery. I prefer spending my money during my lifetime than hoarding it.

THM: What is your team like at the workshop?

La Resonance (Credits: The Horophile)

THM: Your latest Art Deco Metropolis watch pays homage to the 1920s industrial design movement. How did you translate those design principles into a modern wristwatch?

Art Deco Metropolis

As for the Resonance, I had dreamed of creating that technical solution 25 years ago, and finally brought it to life when the right conditions aligned — my motivation, the team’s enthusiasm, and a suitable design direction. My creative process isn’t formulaic or driven by rigid targets. It flows naturally as we discuss ideas, get inspired by each other’s work, experiment at the workbench, and gravitate towards concepts that resonate.

THM: How has India been as a market for you and are you looking to explore further?

Vianney: While India has historically been a challenging market for my unconventional designs, I’m hopeful the younger generation there and elsewhere will connect with the deeper meaning behind my work — the spirit of sharing unique perspectives, human experiences and emotions transcending pure timekeeping. My pieces are an expression of the time and passion invested in creating something extraordinary.

THM: You’ve done some interesting collaborations. If there was a dream collaboration which one would it be?

Deep Space Tourbillon

From my early days creating pieces to the design explorations with Harry Winston, collaborations open up possibilities that might never have materialized working independently. It takes a company’s advertising power and reach to truly share your work globally. Collaborations require finding a balance between your vision and compromising on aspects you may dislike. But that friction pushes you out of your comfort zone, adapting to different business perspectives. It’s a way to connect with broader audiences who may not have access to your mainline pieces. I enjoy meeting people from different fields — movies, art, science — as collaborations expose you to new circles you’d never encounter alone.

THM: What can we expect from Vianney Halter in the future?

Vianney: Ultimately, we are highly motivated to create watches. The Art Deco Metropolis was an important step for me, as it transformed industrial 19th century design into a contemporary 20th century style that I found fascinating. Going forward, I plan to develop complications for different models stemming from this original design. On another front, I’m working on a complicated piece with a futuristic space and science fiction inspired perspective. This contrasts with another watch design I first drew 25 years ago, which serendipitously resurfaced recently for us to develop further.

I hope to launch these contrasting pieces encapsulating my roots and future vision within the next 2–4 years. It will be an intriguing blend of where I came from and where I see myself going. Additionally, I have ongoing collaborations where I meld my viewpoints with others. Considering the production schedule, many exciting developments lie ahead over the next decade!

[monawatch23-me]

Why Buy Fossil Watches Online For Men? Benefits Explained

Fossil Watches are a popular brand and they have been around for quite some time. They make some of the best watches out there and many people love them. If you are looking to buy a Fossil watch, then you have come to the right place. We are going to look at the benefits of buying Fossil watches online for men.

[watermelinoe]

you may fascinate a woman by taking her to a beach to gather fossilized shark teeth and other assorted fossils

[lolazaki]

Fossil Riley Women's

Fossil has always been inspired by American creativity and ingenuity. Since 1984

[pushpakkurekar]

Elevate your style and stay connected with the best smartwatches for women by Fossil, including designer ladies' smartwatches. Shop now!

[fitnfemme]

Which Fitness Watch Is Best For Women? A Comprehensive Guide

Check out our comprehensive guide on the best fitness watches for women, including the Fitbit Charge 4, Garmin Venu, Apple Watch Series 6, and more! #fitnesswatches #womenshealth #technology

Are you looking for a fitness watch to help you keep track of your health and fitness goals? With so many options available, it can be overwhelming to choose the right one. In this post, we’ll take a closer look at the top fitness watches for women and help you make an informed decision. Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com 1. Fitbit Charge 4 The Fitbit Charge 4 is a popular choice among women who…

[finsplurtz]

virginbitch — gojo.satoru

— dom ! male.reader x sub ! Gojo Satoru

— contents : Virgin bitch Gojo , mentions of boy pussy , virginity loss , jerking off , drunk Gojo for a min , mirror sex , gagging choking , overstim , degrading nd praising

warnings : like choking but nun too srs idk

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Gojo satoru is a MAJOR virgin. I KNOW .. CRAZY.

His fossil ass hadn’t lost his virginity yet, he’s been waiting for “the right person” but nobody seems to catch his eye…

Till yn was introduced.

It was kinda funny when they met uhm Gojo was having silly conversation with Yuji about girlfriends n shi and like…

“So you don’t have a girlfriend? Are you a virgin?”

“Nonono! I’m not a virgin Yuji cmon I’m literally a lady magnet. I used to fuck girls left and right in highschool! I just don’t have a girlfriend right now because nobody really seems to grab my att…-“ He fell quiet when the finest guy to ever fucking exist walked in.

Yujis confused and looks at yn and he’s like “OH YN, you’re here!” He’s so happy to see them. Yn smiled and pulls Yuji into a hug spinning him around.

“Lord, it’s been so long! You still look adorable” He ruffled Yuji’s hair who giggled.

“Oh- by the way, this is my teacher, yn meet Gojo, Gojo meet yn. Old friend” Yuji stepped aside and yn held his hand out and shook Gojo’s.

“Nice to meet you, Gojo” the way his name rolled off his tongue made him bite the inside of his cheek.

“Nice to meet you too..yn..” Gojo smiled sickly.

Yuji grabbed yn’s wrists and pulled him around excited to show him everything he’d learnt. Gojo was bewildered. I mean yn was fucking- jaw dropping handsome!

Gojo was too busy to worry about a girlfriend. He never really thought he’d be jerking off to some fucking guy he met that same day…

Gojo was a very flirty guy, he’s always flirting with women who’d obviously get down on their knees for him if he asked and yet still he finds nothing interesting about them.

He can lie about not being a virgin and have people believe him, but as soon as this hunk, yn, asks him about it, he’s a stuttering mess.

“Hm. So you’re realll experienced mister Satoru~?” Yn tilted his head looking at Gojo’s blindfold who obviously flushed red.

“Y..yes..yes I am!” He cursed himself out in his head for sounding too excited.

“Yeah? what about with a guy..” yn smirked watching Gojo’s lip tremble slightly.

“Uh-h..huh…” Gojo’s mouth was slightly open as he nodded making the other chuckle.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, Satoru.” Yn gently closed Gojo’s mouth before walking off.

Gojo was a sensitive guy when it came to his dick, he’s never been inside anything at all. He was now rutting into his pillow pretending it was yn.

“Ugh..I’m y-your good b..haa…boy..y-yn….” His body shook like crazy when he came on his pillow like never before. He was panting like a dog feeling lazy about cleaning up.

He sat up and looked at the mess he made before sighing and throwing the whole pillow away.

Now he can’t even look at yn’s face at all. Cause he gets reminded of what he did that night, it’s not like he’s guilty or anything he genuinely just might go red..

Well he got closer to yn, always being around each other, doing the same things everyday. It was a routine they both loved.

Gojo grew to genuinely feel attracted to yn, he loved his personality and looks. He’s not scared of homophobia or anything I mean he’s the strongest guy alive, what’s there to be afraid of?

They went out drinking one night and since Gojo is obviously, a light weight, he got drunk pretty fucking fast. He tried to keep up with yn but ended up getting himself fucked up instead.

Yn was dragging Gojo back to his house and lied him on his bed getting him some water.

“Satoru, drink” He sat the white haired male up and handed him the drink.

“N…no it’s too hic h..hot..” He pushed the drink away and tried to take his shirt off but yn stopped him.

“‘Toru- if you’re hot maybe you should take this fucking..blindfold off” yn slid the cloth off Satoru’s head and his eyes widened at this guys eyes…

“Your eyes…” He whispered pushing some hair out of Gojo’s face who blushed looking into yn’s hues.

“They’re gorgeous..” He smiled making Gojo’s insides spin.

“Take my..c-clothes o hic off…” He whined successfully pulling his shirt off leaving him only in his pants. Yn scoffed and grabbed Gojo’s jaw forcing him to look at him.

“Drink…the water.” Yn held the bottle of water up to Gojo’s lips who pulled away and tapped yn’s lips.

“No, you drink..”

‘Tsk’ yn filled his mouth with water and kissed Gojo with tongue allowing the water to go into the others mouth.

Gojo wrapped his arms around yn’s neck and didn’t let go of the kiss. Exploring the guys mouth.

Gojo moaned into the kiss and bit yn’s lip who quickly pulled away.

“Satoru you’re- drunk. No more kissing..just drink the water.”

Gojo again protests but yn forces him to open his mouth and shoves water down his throat getting it everywhere on his body and face.

“Ugh..I’m all wet y-yn…’nd it’s y-your f..fault hic” yn looked away blushing. He flinched when Gojo lied him flat on the bed and straddled him.

There was a big mirror facing the bed and Gojo could see himself. He shuffled before sighing and just knocking out on top of yn.

Next morning he freaks out, stuck in yn’s embrace.

“you good?” yn checked.

“Feel….like shit.” Gojo grumbled trying to hide how red his face was.

“Since you’re sober…wanna fuck?”

Gojo’s beautiful eyes widened.

—

“AGH- UGH MMM!~” Gojo screamed arching his back while watching himself in the mirror get fucked like a slut.

Yn’s hips pounded into Gojo’s ass, the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room along with the sweet smell of sex.

“Gosh…look at you..taking my cock so well~ your virgin boy pussy isn’t complaining about it at all..~” yn smirked devilishly grabbing Gojo’s hair and forcing him to look at himself in the mirror.

“‘s t-too much!~ co-ck sho’ b..big..” he moaned as yn let go of his hair.

“I should put your fuckin’ mouth to work..” yn shoved his fingers into Gojo’s mouth, having him gag and choke on his fingers.

“Goood boy~ you’re my good little whore aren’t you Satoru..?~” Gojo smiled and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“‘m your g-good..boy..! All yourz..~” He screamed and shook violently as he came so hard all over the sheets.

“Hah- first time and you’re already a fucked out mess!” Yn laughed watching Gojo’s face contort at the overstimulation of his prostate still getting abused.

When they finished, Gojo’s body was completely weak. It hurt and he couldn’t even stand up. Good thing he didn’t really need to, yn doing basically everything for him.

He cleaned the male up nicely, tucked him into bed and cuddled.

Gojo is having trouble walking as of lately.

i have a million fics of this man i need him butt booty naked

[tgcg]

ill break your shit adam

warning for adult lang

fuck you adam sandler

youre lucky karkat likes you

stupid fuck sees an amnesiac girl

and asks her can i marry you

that lady got issues mentally

you still down to do shit anally

deplorable zit on the ass of romanza

karkat told me to put that shit in this stanza

do raps even count as having stanzas

slam poetry tyke at preschool im no manza

youd probably jack it to a log with holes if they were wet ones

sitting on that stupid dock with her papa cracking cold ones

piece of shit id push you off that dock and watch you bubbling

kick your ass like her shitty bro failed when you were troubling

penguins dont quack like fucking ducks you dumbass

thats not part of the rap i just think that youre a dumbass

back to the rap sandler i bet you couldnt drop a single bar

too busy picking up stupid women at the stupid women bar

who even let you into hawaii

also did i say karkat liked you i was kidding he wants to kick your heinie

seriously watching that shit again made him start slamming his head into the cushions and screaming i had to pry them out his hands and he almost bit me

sorry i forgot i was rapping again

piece of shit forgot that you can like women while dating other men

still not over that chuck and larry shit adam

if you just said to the gov you were bi you coulda had em

firefighter of the year? well try putting out this heat

karkats gonna beat your ass like you do every night to your meat

gotta ask is this shit wish fulfilment for you

gotta say larry deserved better than you

i could treat him way better than you not in a gay way though

i just mean youre a massive sleaze basically the worlds shittiest bro

back to 50 first dates man sandler your shit is a bore

the stupid bits with schneider got my ass addicted to snore

if i was that stupid walrus id tear your ass to shreds

if i was that penguin i would also tear your ass to shreds

itd be harder but id still do it

bro fuck adam sandler im through it

===

TT: Wow. Bravo, Dave. You've outdone yourself.

TG: i wrote this one exceptionally fucking terrible to represent my inner darkness

TG: i can never unwatch those cinematic fossilized turds theyre like time capsules devoted to everything wrong with america

TG: you dont even understand how egregious that was

TT: I can sense the utter malaise and contempt in every word. It's beautiful.

TT: One particularly interesting point I'd like to make is the fact that you managed to refer to butts in a song about a male target, 10 times in the span of 37 lines. It's not an exorbitant amount, but it appears to be a running theme in your works. Very interesting, if you ask me --

TG: nooooo

TG: nope no

TG: not this shit again

TG: listen one of them is karkats fault

===

CG: ROSE, YOU JUST DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S DOING HERE AT ALL.

TT: No? Please, enlighten me Karkat.

CG: GLADLY.

CG: HE STARTS OUT WITH THE FRIGGIN WORD "ANAL" PRECEDING ALL OF THE OTHER MENTIONS, OF COURSE IT'S ON PURPOSE. IT INSTILLS THAT IMAGERY IN YOUR NUGBONE THROUGHOUT THE TRACK.

CG: AND YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED A RECURRING USE OF THE WORD "SHIT", IN TANDEM. BOG-STANDARD FOR DAVE, RIGHT? NO! IT'S PART OF THE EFFECT!

CG: MY THESIS: ADAM SANDLER MOVIES ARE PIECES OF ABSOLUTE SHIT AND THE REFERENCES TO WORDS LIKE "LOG" AND "SHIT" AND "ASS" ARE TO INVOKE THE SENSE OF TAKING A MASSIVE DUMP THROUGHOUT THE SPAN OF THE RAP, WHICH BY ALL MEANS WOULD BE AN EQUAL OR GREATER USE OF YOUR TIME THAN WATCHING THOSE MOVIES.

CG: RIGHT, DAVE?

TG: … yeah

TT: Okay, I'm willing to concede to that. On this subject matter, as an avid terrible movie enjoyer, you admittedly know better than myself.

CG: SHOULD KNOW BETTER.

TT: And you love them anyways.

CG: YEAH.

TG: hes right

TG: you hear that shit hes right

TG: fuck death of the author im verifying that interpretation

[riotlain]

Dates with Batboys

evil emoji

duke's is short as hell im sorry 😭😭

NWLNW FICS!! WOMEN DNI

Bruce Wayne

Expensive as sam hell

Like the first few dates will be really expensive restaurants and shit and then it'll die down into smaller stuff

Wanna go to the aquarium? Done.

He would mainly want to go in dates at night because paparazzi

His fav is when the manor is empty for once and you 2 can have a nice candle lit dinner together

Dick Grayson

Doesn't overthink it, as in literally has no plans and will just go out and see what happens with you

Its always a nice mixed bag

Either you all could end up talking to each other while swinging in the park or having a nerf gun war in his apartment

Its like this whenever he is the one to initiate a date

Also speaking of the park, he enjoys showing you his acrobat skills on the poles in the park

Ignore how he hits his feet on the ground bc he's tall as hell. Watch his cool flip !!

Jason Todd

He would love a nice picnic at night, yknow the wine and all

but also the night is dangerous for a man like him

So he settles for a good picnic in the daytime

If he's in a good mood, he'll sit on a roof with you at night and stargaze

He likes just walking with you and talking

Also car rides

Tim Drake

Doesn't know what the hell he's doing tbh since he doesn't date that much

He's too busy being Robin to date people (until you)

So he settles for a nice movie with you

Drive in dates !! Drive in dates !!

Sucker for diners

Library dates and study dates

I feel like he can't cook but is lowkey trynna learn

So cooking dates too

Damian Wayne

Not a fan of people. So yall will go into the forest

Forest picnic. Kinda sorta

Botanical gardens typa guy too

Doesn't like zoos. Don't take him there. He will steal an animal

Does training together count as a date?

History museum chump. He will call out if the museum got something wrong. He liked the fossils idc.

Enjoys a nice dinner. As in he will rent a restaurant out to have dinner with you.

Duke Thomas

Probably the most normal guy ever on this list.

Anyway, he enjoys talking with you so he doesn't mind where yall really go

A nice cozy restaurant is favorable for him

Also nice walks in parks

He's a simple guy. Being with you and having a good time will make him a happy man

[zimson-watches]

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[zimsonwatches3]

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[socially-awkward-skeleton]

Pairing: John Price x Fem!OC (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 3K

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, character with trauma, mentions of past events including physical assault and witness to human trafficking, established relationship, pet names, swearing, somewhat abrupt ending

Summary: Rory suffers from insomnia regularly, John catches her up late one night in their kitchen. AKA author needed to write some ship emotional comfort stuff

A/N: Title based on the London Grammar song "Stay Awake" which just so happens to be on the ship playlist. "Human Fridge" is a reference to an rp with @/g0dspeeed including her oc Cappie.

It's in the ticking of the cherry red clock hanging on the kitchen wall – a tacky thing John insisted on upon moving in, the Liverpool team crest emblazoned upon the face of it – and its persistent pursuit of the flow of time. It’s in the quiet hum of the fridge shutting off and lying dormant. It's in the quiet creaks and groans that mark a home settling with the stillness of the night. Even the townhouse manages to find rest, but she can't. Not tonight. Instead, she haunts the halls of her home waiting for the hours to pass, but it moves at a dead crawl. 

Rory had done everything right to provide herself a good night's rest: laying her head upon the cool side of the pillow, the evening breeze blowing in through the balcony doors left open a crack, the luxurious goose down comforter tucked up tight to her chin. She even had John's weighty arm slung over her hip, holding her tight to him, chest pressed to her back and nuzzling into her hair as he seemed to fall head first into sleep. Alas, it wasn't enough to silence the whispers in her head, the memories that dragged her down into an open, waiting pit. 

Spending hours staring up at the ceiling, tossing and turning, watching the numerals on the digital clock on her bedside table lose and gain dashes and strokes, Rory counts down the minutes until she would finally either give in to sleep or give up on the idea all together. The insomnia was one of the worst repercussions that came out with her from that bunker years ago. Flashbacks and memories she could breathe through, ignore, remind herself that they were the lingering artifacts of a horrific event that she wasn’t alone in witnessing. A restless night meant she was entirely present for every moment of wakefulness, the exhaustion creeping in but being unable to do anything about it, and when she’d come out the other side of the morning sun she would be made acutely aware of the strength lost to combat the darkness that swirls in the hidden recesses of her mind. 

Slipping out from under the enveloping caress of covers that should have saved her from the deprivation of sleep, doing her best not to cause the mattress to creak with the loss of her weight and waking the sleeping bear who already seemed to hibernate with one eye open, she drags herself down the hall and sets up camp on the stool at the kitchen island. Half  expecting the barman from the Shining to appear, grabbing her a glass and the whiskey bottle from thin air and telling her about Mr. Grady, the former caretaker of the Overlook, Rory snorts at the absurdity of her own imagination, shaking her head and tapping her nails against the marble countertop. Instead, there is only emptiness in the pitch black, and the faint child’s cry that never seems to leave her. A fossil in amber that seems to be able to uncover itself at any given moment. The key to a lock she tries to keep firmly shut. 

Memories of Syria, of the black mission where it all went wrong, of the women and children penned up to be sold, of the cries and the screams, and the force of Zorokov's hands tightening around her throat.

Rory sighs, resting her head against the cool marble top and groans, her arms folding over the back of her head. She understands the spirits in ghost stories, sometimes she feels like one. Doomed to a repetitive nightmare, trapped in a time loop of her brain's own making, replaying the monstrous things she'd seen over and over like a broken tape. That was the part that could drive a person mad, add onto that a lack of sleep and, well, it was a recipe for disaster.

“What're you doin’ up, sweetheart?” The gruff rumble of John's voice is only made thicker by the heft of the grogginess that still hangs over him. The bags under his eyes big enough to create shadows as he flips on the sconces above where she sits. 

The light burns with the scorch of the sun, and both hiss at the sudden intrusion. The house that had fallen asleep begins to stir, and with the spark of luminescence, shadows begin to form from the corner of the eye. Life returns, and the footsteps of phantoms fade.

“Fucking hell,” Rory mutters as she rubs at her eyes, having grown accustomed to the world at night.

“You often just sit in the dark, my girl, or is this a new habit you've picked up?” He leans his broad form against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, making him appear all the more formidable, while his hands tuck up under his pits. “Either way I’m blamin’ Simon for it.”

She snickers quietly. “Piss off.”

“Now is that any way to greet the man o’your dreams who just woke up t’ find your side of the bed icy cold?” He smirks, dimples piercing the cheeks buried below the scruff of his facial hair. But the wry grin fades as he looks her over with the quick scan he gives when checking for injuries after a firefight, an act ingrained into him, to make sure those under his command are still fit to continue.

And she’s never felt more exposed. He’s the only one she’ll allow the mask to drop for, the only one who gets to see her scared and small, seen without a smile. That constant smirk she wears is the super glue holding cracked china together, and only John is given a glimpse at the weakening joints. Only her Captain is trusted with the chinks in the armor that need to be refortified. 

His voice softens, just like his eyes – a rare sight indeed. Price is harsh lines and sharp edges, rough and gritty like the desert he’s known for so long, all control amongst the chaos. John is the protector, the caregiver, the guiding hand, the reminder that she’s cared for and safe, that the darkness is gone, that it’s over, and God help whoever tries to cross him on that fact.

“Nightmares again, love?”

“No, can’t sleep. Not since we got into bed.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he returns to her with a furrowed brow. Internally, John’s already chastising her, they've been on this carousel so many times and he's said every piece he has, but he’s given up on trying to discipline and deter her. The clench of his jaw, relaxing and then drawing tight once more, is all the proof she needs that he's holding back. 

It's 2 AM. she should have fallen asleep four hours ago, and she's got four more hours until she should be awake. 

“Go back to bed, John,” Rory murmurs, brushing her hand through her hair, fluffing up the beachy waves that have fallen flat. “It's okay, I'll keep myself busy.”

He sighs, fingers digging into the corners of his eyes, mining the sandy rheum from them. “I hate that you've gotten so used to this,” he grumbles. “Shouldn't have t’ be like this.”

“It shouldn't.” She shrugs, stretching out her arms in front of her, her hands skimming over the counter as her knuckles start to lock and the tremor starts to vibrate in her nerves. “But it is.”

“How the hell do you do it, Ror?” He peels himself from the wall and draws near in several paces. Cupping her face in his large, calloused palms, his thumbs brush over her cheekbones, plotting out a course over the planes of her face. Chin tucked to his chest, he leans back to focus on her tired eyes. “How the hell do you stay so goddamn put together when everythin’ says you should be fallin’ apart?”

She hums, pursing her lips as if she needs to actually think about it, as if some sarcastic quip isn't going to be the first thing to drip from her lips. “Just lucky, I guess.” Following it up with a smirk, making sure the adhesive stays stuck.

His mouth scrunches, making all the lines on his face morph into deep cracks as he shifts his stance. A growl building in the back of his throat, one of frustration and annoyance, one she coaxes out of him regularly. “Y’know you can drop the tough act.” John’s hand curls around the back of her neck, that squeeze at the nape reminding her who’s always at her six, who’s never letting her go. “Not foolin’ me, love.”

Rolling her eyes, Rory fights back the pinpricks of welling tears. She’s always hated crying in front of other people, it only ever felt right to do so in front of her mom, and so it’s become a guilty pleasure over the last nineteen years to find a quiet, secluded corner to release the pressure valve when she needs to. Her nose turns pink – a traitorous thing – and she sniffles back anything resembling an emotion besides one she can use to keep her fighting. 

“For fuck’s sake, Ror.” 

It’s the curt tone that snaps her out of it. Trapped in the stupid and childish way of thinking that she needs to stop herself from facing the range of feelings she’s capable of, including the less than savoury ones, the ones that she vents in the mirror or to her therapist, but they never really leave. That somehow pretending to always be unaffected makes her stronger, braver, when really it only proves she’s been a coward all along, unable to face her demons. “I ask myself the same thing about you all the time, how you stay held together.” Their eyes lock. Hers, soft and warm, meet the cold, clear blue eyes that never seem to give anything away. “You might shout at the wankers at the top who don’t know what they’re on about, but I never really see you break. Surely there’s a dam that’s just ready to let go– but it never does. You take on everything, love, including my bullshit, and if I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of breaking, so how come you’re not?”

“‘Cause you need me.” The words come out hoarse, ragged, as his fingers coil and drag through her silken tresses. “Need me to be there for ya, need me to stay strong so you get t’be soft, even for a little while.” 

Leaning forward, pressing his forehead against hers, his heavy brow rests there and the wrinkles that have firmly set in over the course of his life meet her soft, seemingly flawless in comparison skin.  Breath ghosting over her, fighting back the cold air in the room, he keeps her in the cocoon of protection he’s offered her for years. 

“I promised I’d keep you safe, that no one would ever hurt you again, and I do my best to make sure I keep that promise every day. For you, my girl. It’s all f’you, everythin’.”

The huffed laugh that pushes from her lungs belies the warmth that fills her, moved by his sincerity, the earnestness of his words. “Well, fuck. If John Price, of all people, is getting vulnerable, I suppose it's high time I do the same, yeah?” 

“Fuck off,” he mutters with a sharp shake of his head. 

She should take these things more seriously, but she can’t help but slide into the comfort of making things a joke, of laughing it off. Turning the tension into humour so that she can carry on and keep going without crumbling into fine fragments. Stopping herself from becoming a burden someone needs to carry, only to slip through their fingers like silt. It's a load she knows John can carry, he’s willing and able, and she can almost let go, give in, but there’s always that voice in the back of her head that tells her to hold back. Put too much on his shoulders and he’ll run. So she holds onto that very last little piece of herself before she finally can’t take it, when she can’t hide the fear anymore, when she begs for what he offers.

When the walls come tumbling down.

It’s never an easy fall. She claws and she bites at the sting in her chest and her eyes, but he’s seen it all before from her, seen the song and dance and what it inevitably leads to. When she’s hunched over the side of the bed sobbing into her hands like a little girl, or she’s smoked an entire pack of cigarettes lighting one after the other in an attempt to make the shaking in her hand finally stop, or finding her sat in the bottom of the shower stall, water pounding on her back, staring at the tile wall as if she’s a million miles away. There’s no denying it hasn’t always been a ride without bumps, but he’s there, the constant she can rely on who scoops her up into his arms and never judges her for it.

“I don’t want you to think that you have to carry me all the time. I know what it feels like to have to constantly drag something along with you. I don’t want to be some ball and chain you lug around.”

“I’ve told you, you’re not.” His retort is sharp as he looks down at her from under his brow, the tilt of his head acting as the underline on the Captain’s last word, brooking no arguments. 

“And yet my brain screams otherwise, love.” Rubbing a hand down her face, her shoulders slump and she heaves out a sigh. “I’m a fucking mess, John. Plain and simple. I put on a good show, but it's always there.” 

“Maybe you need to go on leave.”

That’s the last thing she wants to do. It never does her any good. Forced relaxation that just allows her more time to ponder on whatever it is that has infested her brain. Imprisonment that lets her body rot and her mind run wild with abandon. Work keeps her mind on something attainable, an achievable goal. Peace puts her at unease, it stirs the waters that she routinely maintains the calm of as best she can.

“And end up on desk duty again?” The hand quickly withdraws from her face, her tone resolute, “I think not. If Si can keep this shit up, so can I.”

“Yeah, but you’re not Simon, are you, love? And thank fuck for that.” 

Her brow cocks and the seeds of the cheeky half-grin find their way back into the corners of her mouth, taking root and curling her lips into the teasing, lopsided smile she can’t help but plaster there. “Not interested in a human fridge in a skull mask?”

“Human fridge?” 

“Nevermind.” She brushes the term away with the sweep of her hand, a jibe she picked up from a friend one night in a bar.

“Listen—” John’s fingers curl under her chin, his thumb pulling at the plump of her lower lip as he lifts her jaw to keep her eyes on his. “I know you’ve got things in your head that I’m never gonna fully comprehend. That you’ve seen things no one should. You’ve every right to stay awake at night, to have those nightmares roamin’ about in your head, but that doesn’t mean you ‘ave to face ‘em on your own, darlin’. I’m not runnin’.” His eyes glint, a hint of wetness in them that shatters an otherwise stoic exterior. “Haven’t I proven that to ya yet? You’re my girl, Rory. Always. I’ll take the good with the bad. I’m goin’ nowhere.”

With a sharp inhale, he stands upright. A return to the ever-standing, unbudging wall of cold steel that he presents to the world. “So… you get the remote, I’ll make the tea, and we’ll stay up together.” The rules of engagement listed in a quiet husk. “Same as always, yeah?”

Nodding along, ever the good soldier, Rory hops off the stool and cranes her neck up to look at him. “Same as always.”

“There’s my good girl. Captain knows best, eh?” The smug grin, chock full of roguish charm, makes its appearance on his weathered face once more as strong arms wrap around her, cradling her soft curves against him, melding her with his sturdy, steadfast physique.

His chin rests atop her head, and she finds her center in the quiet kitchen of their home. The steady rise and fall of his hirsute chest against her is a balm, the rhythm of his heartbeat the totem she clings to when she starts spinning out of control. He’s the grounding force in her life, the one who pulls her back to reality when she starts to sink. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she mumbles against his skin, fingertips tracing over scars and muscle, lips grazing against flesh that always seems to burn hot with every word she utters. 

“And you’ll never have to find that out, will ya?”

Warm breath fans through her hair with each exhale of his, and on every inhale he takes a little more of her in with him. Shrouded in the safety he offers, kept under the protective gaze of the one who leads, she nuzzles against him, breathing in the very essence of John that seeps from his pores: strength, resilience, drive. All the things she craves, requires, to keep existing in a world that’s riddled with more cruelty than she thinks she can take. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he coos in a soft purr, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead, “Off to the couch with you.”

Relaxing as his arms loosen from around her, and hesitantly pull away, neither quite ready to part from the other, her eyes twinkle with mischievous intent as she regards him fondly.

“Yes, sir.” 

A playful swat makes contact with her ass and she can’t help but laugh as she leaps out of the way. 

“Fuckin’ cheeky li’l thing,” John rumbles, heading into the kitchen. But before she can escape punishment completely, he turns back to point his finger at her delivering his sentence, “Just for that, you’re gettin’ Earl Grey from the shitty tin.”

[seresinsbabe]

Conveniently Yours

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader

Synopsis: In a desperate attempt to pay for your mom's cancer treatment you take a job as a dancer at one of NYC's prestigious strip clubs where you meet Jake Seresin who just happens to need a wife.

Warnings: Cancer, talk of death, talk of parental death, cursing, eventual smut. Uhhhh nothing else I can think of. If I missed anything I apologize!

Word count: 1k

A/N: Prologue is here! I'm going to try getting chapter one out today or tomorrow, just depends on what my holiday plans end up being!

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

Masterlist | Next Chapter

“The board thinks it would be good for the company’s image if you had a woman at your side.” Jake Seresin rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. The sleeve of his shirt pulled down enough to show off the expensive Rolex on his wrist as he rubbed his eyes out of frustration.

“That’s ludicrous. What does my relationship status have to do with a fucking tech company’s image?” He stared over at Javy who just stared back apologetically.

On the other side of the meeting table Chester Cain cleared his throat. Fucking fossil that asshat was. Jake had been hoping that when his father retired and passed the company on to him that Cain would take his leave as well. Apparently Cain decided to make it his personal mission to throw a wrench in every aspect of Jake’s life until he died a bitter old man. “The latest tabloid photos of your escapades have caused a downturn in our stock numbers. You either stay out of the public eye,” Jake let out a snort. That wasn’t going to happen. He was a social creature, he couldn’t just avoid the public eye. Not when you were the CEO of the world’s largest tech giant. He was named number one in Forbes latest “Forty under Forty”. Avoiding publicity wasn’t a possibility for him. Besides, he liked seeing his face plastered everywhere. 

“Or you settle down. Get married to a respectable woman. Not one of these aireheaded heiresses you like so much.” If looks could kill Cain would have met his long overdue death right now.

Marriage?

Sure, maybe when he’d been young and naive he had thought about marriage. Then he started to really date and he learned that money is what ruled the prerogative of most. Women didn’t want him for who he was, they wanted him for what he had. After getting burned more than he felt his fair share, Jake knew a meaningful relationship wasn’t in the cards for him.

Javy could see that his vision was growing red and he called the meeting. If they let it go on any further it was bound to get explosive. “We’ll come back next week and discuss this further.”

The other board members cleared the room, Cain staying longer, intent on saying something but Javy stopped him before he could. 

“I wish the old man would bite the dust already.” Jake mumbled dryly. “What changed? I mean, our stocks waver all the time. That’s the nature of the fucking stock exchange.” As far as he was aware the stock hadn’t dropped that drastically. Maybe a point or two, nothing they couldn’t come back from.

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“I’m sorry, we’ve tried everything to get approval through insurance, but they won’t approve it.” Doctor Sandlin’s eyes held an apologetic look as he watched you take in the information. For weeks they’d submitted everything they could, he’d been on the phone with the insurance company more times than he really cared and still they denied to cover your mother’s cancer treatments.

You felt your mother squeeze your hand from her spot next to you. “What does that mean doctor?” Her normally vibrant voice was weak. She’d already gone without several rounds of her chemo and the cancer was hitting back hard.

The treatments had been doing well and she was getting closer and closer to beating it and then suddenly insurance flipped the switch. Refusing to cover any of her costs.

“It means any future chemotherapy sessions will have to be paid out of pocket prior to treatment.” You stared at a poster on the exam room wall. Your vision started going blurry as you tried to wrack your brain for something you could do. 

In all her life your mom had never done any wrong to anyone she’d ever met. You wished you were half as kind hearted as she was. Ellen had never met a stranger, she never made an enemy. Your friends loved her, but maybe that was because she was like a second mom. Out of all your closest friends, you were the only one that had a stable home environment. Two loving parents, you didn’t have a ton of money growing up, but you never had to worry about a meal or having a warm bed to sleep in.

Everything came crashing down two years ago, when your dad had been killed in a mugging. Suddenly your family was without a father and without the main source of income. You’d nearly completed nursing school, but you had to drop out to work way more than full time to make ends meet. And then when your mother started her cancer treatments she couldn’t work anymore, which left you as the sole bread maker. 

“If she doesn’t get the treatments, how long does she have?” It was a question you weren’t sure you wanted answered, but knew it needed to be.

“A matter of months.”

“And with the treatment?”

“Provided it works, she could go into full remission and have years left.”

You drew in a shaky breath, tears brimming in your eyes as you pictured life without your mom. Of course you always knew one day it would happen. Just…you hadn’t imagined it being this soon.

“I’ll figure it out. We’ll schedule her next chemo treatment and I’ll have the money.” Both your mom and Doctor Sandling looked at you, your mom with concern and Doctor Sandlin with skeptical pity. You weren’t backing down. Not anytime soon.

You hadn’t been able to save your dad, but you would be damned if you didn’t at least try to save your mom.

While your mom scheduled the chemo appointment you walked around the corner, not wanting her to hear what you were about to do.

The phone rang a couple of times before Natasha finally answered.

 “Nix, is the club still looking for another dancer?”