#task 84

[kedreeva]

I managed to wake up on time for class even after having been sick with the rona a lil over 2 weeks prior!! My brain's still hella foggy but I got that done! I went to class and did the learning thing! I'm an anthropology student so I'm learning archaeology stuff rn

Good job! I hope you are enjoying your -ologies!

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From the rasp of Dalton’s breath, she was only giving him just enough room to stay alive.

“Let him up!” Osker was at her side in an instant, shouldering her off of Dalton; or rather, attempting to, as he swiftly found that despite her small frame, attempting to move her anywhere was like arguing with a boulder.

She made an unimpressed snarl, startling him, but Steve silenced her with a sharp noise of reprimand and she relented. Osker continued pushing at her as she removed her knee from Dalton’s airway. Immediately, Dalton surged into a sitting position and began to cough.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[girlwithrituals]

101 ways to improve self esteem

1) Master a new skill.

2) List your accomplishments.

3) Do something creative.

4) Challenge your limiting beliefs.

5) Talk to a counselor.

6) Don't worry about what others think.

7) Read or watch something inspirational.

8) Stay true to your character.

9) Let go of negative people.

10) Set healthy boundaries with others.

11) Care about your appearance.

12) Welcome failure as part of growth.

13) Be a lifelong learner.

14) Face your fears.

15) Become a mentor.

16) Accept compliments.

17) Eliminate self-criticism.

18) Practice coping skills to manage stress and big emotions.

19) Notice negative thoughts and beliefs.

20) Challenge negative thinking.

21) Think about what you learned from negative experiences.

22) Practice gratitude.

23) Exercise.

24) Eat healthy and limit junk food.

25) Get good sleep.

26) Spend time with positive and supportive people.

27) Encourage yourself.

28) Write a list of your strengths.

29) Don't compare yourself to others.

30) Avoid perfectionism.

31) Do at least one positive, enjoyable activity every day.

32) Celebrate small victories.

33) Be helpful and considerate to others.

34) Be honest with yourself and others.

35) Accept your flaws.

36) Don't give up.

37) Practice self-care.

38) Go easy on yourself.

39) Practice being assertive.

40) Practice saying "No".

41) Practice relaxation techniques.

42) Take on challenges.

43) Volunteer to help others.

44) Forgive others and yourself.

45) Set goals and work toward them step by step.

46) Seek balance in all areas of your life.

47) Discover your passions and purpose

48) Groom yourself.

49) Dress nicely.

50) Be kind and generous to others.

51) Practice good posture.

52) Change a small habit.

53) Smile.

54) Don't procrastinate.

55) Don't take things personal.

56) Organize your personal space.

57) Challenge unkind thoughts about yourself.

58) Spend time outside.

59) Notice the good things.

60) Celebrate your successes

61) Write a list of things you like about yourself.

62) Don't take too much on.

63) Do something for yourself every day.

64) Develop daily habits.

65) Remind yourself it's okay if not everyone likes you.

66) Practice mindfulness.

67) Learn to tolerate discomfort.

68) Use problem-solving skills.

69) Take responsibility instead of blaming.

Tell Yourself Positive Affirmations Such As:

70) I am grateful for every day.

71) I am worthy of happiness and love.

72) I am in charge of my own happiness.

73) I love, respect, and believe in myself.

74) I deserve to be happy and successful.

75) I approve of myself, right here and now.

76) I am learning and changing for the better.

77) I accept 100% responsibility for my own life.

78) Every day in every way, I am getting better and better.

79) I can learn to accept the parts of myself that I don't like.

80) I am thankful for my challenges as they make me a stronger person.

81) Write down three positives about each day.

82) Make a collage with your talents, goals, and dreams.

83) Practice laughing.

84) Be proud of yourself.

85) Say mistakes are an opportunity to learn.

86) Show respect to yourself and others.

87) Resolve conflict peacefully.

88) Ask for help or support.

89) Complete a daily task list.

90) Have a growth mindset.

91) Be optimistic.

92) Treat yourself with kindness and compassion.

93) Focus on the things you have control over and can change.

94) Get started on tasks you have been putting off.

95) Practice good daily hygiene.

96) Focus on solutions not problems.

97) Talk about your feelings with someone you trust.

98) Drink plenty of water.

99) Start a new hobby or join a club/sport.

100) Do random acts of kindness.

101) Create a dreams list.

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors:) Sleepwalking: Due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend's band. You thought you've both made peace with it, but suddenly he's very eager to prove to you that first love never dies. https://taexual.tumblr.com/post/728185560199577601/sleepwalking-1-jjk

I'd Love To Stay But That's Simply Insane: Jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you're a goal-oriented top student that's known his rich and complicated family since childhood. You don't want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do. https://taexual.tumblr.com/post/616477412997414912/id-love-you-to-stay-but-thats-simply-insane

Pub Golf: One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. https://taleasnewastime.tumblr.com/post/667208016185212928/summary-one-night-one-stupidly-hot-man-who-just

Yes Coach: You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point. https://taleasnewastime.tumblr.com/post/653257951195365376/yes-coach

Tempter: 𝐓hey told tales of the twilight creature to the loveless ones that roamed the woods at the sun’s setting hour. When the orange rays crept through the living, breathing trees and painted the soil gold, made the poison ivy too beautiful and inviting to 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩. They spoke of a beauty that they could not describe, of a voice that reflected the purity of heaven alongside the burning fires of hell as he prayed upon them. https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/615289283146842112/%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8C%F0%9D%90%8F%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%91-%F0%9D%98%9B%F0%9D%98%A9% F0%9D%98%A6-%F0%9D%98%9B%F0%9D%98%B8%F0%9 D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%A8%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%B5-%F0%9D%98%8A%F0%9D%98%B3%F0%9D %98%A6%F0%9D%98%A2%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%B6%F0%9D%98%B3%F0%9D%98%A6-jjk

Raven Unit: With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook.  https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/189288109708/raven-unit-i-m-jjk

Hate Me: You really do hate Jeon Jungkook. You hate everything about him. From his strong veiny arms to his obnoxiously pretty face.   https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/632321712395026432/hate-me-m-jjk The Art Of Wanting: You find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you. https://www.tumblr.com/venusiangguk/643372881526554624/pairing-jungkook-x-reader-dilfjk-x-grocery?source=embed

Down The Rabbit Hole: Yoongi's sister buys tickets to the Autumn ball held within the Meadows, a notorious city known for its hybrid inhabitants where she hopes to meet a certain bunny princeling. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781145 Rabbit Season: Predator met prey like an Animal Planet rerun of lions devouring antelopes in large, unremorseful bites. He took every aspect of this game seriously. He was competitive where most might not think so in this particular arena. His behavior projected through television, even while in person, was an act, perhaps the best he’d ever performed in front of his every day audience. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781727

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[mistydeyes]

141 and what their patient file looks like

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summary: This is what I imagine everyone's favorite pharmacist as well as medics see when they look at 141's medical file.

Based on this pharmacist and 141 interactions

pairing: Task Force 141 x pharmacist!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds, mention of substance use disorder and abuse

Terms

PMH - Past medical history - the total sum of a patient's health status prior to the presenting problem

FH - Family history - contributing family history, generally parents and siblings

SH - Social history - contributing social behavior and routine

a/n: not canon at all! this is just a reference for me

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Price

PMH

Height: 1.88 m (6' 2'')

Weight: 93 kg (205 lbs)

Blood type: O+

Extensive physical injuries

21+ stab wounds - 2 required antibiotics for recurrent infection

9x bullet wound - 5x in the extremities, 4x in the chest (no perforation of vital organs), healed without complication

5x abrasion collar - 1 near right eyebrow became infected following medical eval and stitches

3x diagnosed concussion

Aspirin-sensitivity

Previously evaluated for tinnitus and hearing loss

FH

Father - deceased at 76 from liver disease - 50 pack years, mycardial infarction (x2)

Mother - deceased at 84 due to chronic heart failure (CHF) -Glaucoma, asthma, CHF

Sister - Sports induced asthma, hypothyroidism

Negative family history of diabetes, hypertension, and cancer

SH

Smokes - 30 pack years

Drinks regularly - 4-5 hard liquor each weekend; 1 glass of whiskey occasionally

Physically active - Enjoys recreational activities such as hiking, swimming, and biking

Has 1 dog, currently under the care of pt's younger sister

History of monogynous long term relationships, currently single

Medication list + indications

Amoxicillin/Clavulanic acid 625mg - Infection

Morphine 15mg + Ketamine 3mg - IV - Pain

Paracetamol 750mg - Pain

Buproprion SR 150mg - Smoking cessation - not-taking est 2004

Allergies

Aspirin allergy - Reaction: hives and asthma - ONLY PRESCRIBE PARACETAMOL

No environmental, food, or animal allergies

Notes

Patient has denied smoking cessation options

Soap

PMH

Height: 1.88 m (6' 2'')

Weight: 91 kg (200 lbs)

Blood type: O+

7x stab wound - 6 required antibiotics for recurrent infection, 2 MRSA resistant

2x bullet wound - 2x in lower extremities, healed with no complication

6x abrasion collar

2x broken collar bone - healed, with no complication

Lactose sensitivity - Recurrent IBS if ingested

Chipped first left molar following opening a beer with teeth

FH

Father deceased at 68 due to heart failure - Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus, high cholesterol

Mother - Stage I HTN (hypertension)

Sister #1 - Postpartum depression, generalized anxiety disorder

Sister #2 - Elevated cholesterol/triglycerides

Brother - No known chronic health issues

Positive family history of diabetes and hypertension, but no cancer

SH

Drinks regularly and heavily - 8-12 beers and 2-3 glasses of hard liquor each weekend; 1 glass of scotch occasionally

Smokes socially - 5 pack years

Physically active

Close relationship with family, has 4 dogs at home under the care of pt's mothers

Avid fan of The Glasgow Football Club

Medication list + indications

Clindamycin 300mg with ciprofloxacin 400mg - Infection

Amoxicillin/Clauvanic acid 625mg - Infection

Vancomycin 18mg/kg - MRSA resistant infection

Paracetamol 500mg - Pain

Morphine 15mg IV - Pain

Doxycycline 100mg - Acne discontinued in 2004

Allergies

Insect stings - Observed anaphylaxis to childhood bee sting

Notes

Patient demonstrates medication non-adherence, counsel ESPECIALLY with antibiotics

Scored 6 on Alcohol use disorders identification test for consumption (AUDIT C)

Gaz

PMH

Height: 1.86 m (6' 1'')

Weight: 93 kg (205 lbs)

Blood type: B-

3x stab wound - healed, no complications

1x broken collar bone

2x broken femur

Diagnosed concussion - evaluated in Oct. '19

FH

Father - Type 1 Diabetes, high cholesterol

Mother - Vitiligo, Stage 3 breast cancer

Positive family history of maternal cancer and diabetes, but no hypertension

SH

Social drinker - 3-4 beers each weekend

Does not smoke

Physically active - Enjoys morning and evening runs

Enjoys spicy food and tries to introduce into diet

When on leave, enjoys attending concerts and music festivals

Medication list + indications

Piriteze 10mg - Allergic rhinitis

Fluticasone Propionate - 93 mcg/actuation - Allergic rhinitis

Paracetamol 500mg - Pain

Allergies

Seasonal - Pollen and pet dander

β-Lactam allergy - Reaction: anaphylaxis evaluated in '19

Notes

Organ donor

Ghost

PMH

Height: Weight: 1.93 m (6' 4'')

WeighT: 100 kg (220 lbs)

Blood type: AB-

Extensive cuts and scarring to entire body

4+ stab wounds - healed, no complications

Gun shot to lower abdomen - healed, no complications, evaluated in Nov. '22

13+ collar abrasion

2x broken nose

Childhood injury of broken tibia and large toe

Psych eval - History of depression and post traumatic stress disorder, childhood history indicates emotional and physical abuse

FH

Father - status unknown Diagnosed alcohol use disorder

Brother - deceased, cause of death non-contributory - Substance use disorder

Mother - deceased, cause of death non-contributory - Hypertension, thrombophilia (blood clotting disorder)

Positive family history of hypertension, but no diabetes or cancer

SH

Social drinker - 3-4 glasses of hard liquor each weekend

Smokes socially - 10 pack years

Physically active - Enjoys nightly walks

Psych eval - Other squad members act as his emotional support

Expressed interest in cats and tattoo art (FLAGGED: Further input and comments from other medical professionals would be appreciated)

Medication list + indications

Paracetamol 1000mg - Pain

Amoxicillin/Clavulanic acid 625mg - Infection

Morphine 20mg + Ketamine 4.5mg IV - Pain

Mafenide acetate 5% topical - Antimicrobial, burn wounds

Fluoxetine 20mg twice daily - Depression - not taking est 2001

Allergies

NKDA - No known drug allergies

No environmental, food, or animal allergies

Psych recommends evaluation of a pet, such as cat, for pt while on leave

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[srbachchan]

DAY 5958

Jalsa, Mumbai June 10/11, 2024 Mon/Tue 12:53 AM

June 10, 2024 Wedding greetings - Ef Rajesh Shrivastava .. विवाह के इस पावन अवसर पे हम सब की शुभकामनाएँ 🙏🚩

🌺

Yes indeed the Battle begins now ..

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐖 💥

Presenting #Kalki2898ADTrailer to you all!

Birthday - EF - Dharmesh Kumar Patel .. Ef Chitra Sinha Tuesday, 11 June .. all our wishes for this day of birth in your lives from the Ef brigade .. love ❤️

Trying desperately to fix my phone .. and what was set before suddenly changed so tried to get help from all quarters and failed .. so frustrating ..

was wanting to have English and Hindi typing , by typing in English, a Hindi word and it comes out on Devnagri .. but despite several hours of following links and experiments , I am now very close to -

BREAKING MY PHONE , BY THROWING IT OUT OF THE WINDOW !!!!

😡

no no no .. no such luck .. just letting off steam ..

🤣

so been in the company of prospective script readings and hearing various ideas and thoughts , to decide what to do next after KALKI 2898 AD, and Section 84 IPC .. to fathom the conditions from market bhujjes भज es .. which in common parlance means the genius genies of the market condition personnel .. who guide and give inputs on their reckoning what is doing well, what the cinema going audiences are liking or not liking etc., ..

Agents , management experts and the lot who run their business es on a professional level and make a living ..

hmm ..

never ever had any of these facilities in my time .. we just looked for the opportunity of another job, so we could survive the condition of running the home .. and have a living ..

now it is different ..

the next generation thinks and operates in this manner ..

I just look for another job .. and hope it comes , so our 'kitchens can run'

... and have still not got over the victory yesterday of Ind v Pak game WCT20 ..

and coming to a conclusion that the pitch at Nassau Stadium in NYC is .. well .. different .. and the scoring an arduous task .. low scores and rather unrehearsed playing in difficult to read the bowler action, quality of the ground etc., ..

And before you shut me down by wondering why I am trying to pose as a cricket buff, my apologies ..

Its just what I keep hearing from the commentary box ..

And ... the commentary box .. !!!!!???

some other time .. 🤨

Love

Amitabh Bachchan

[babygirl-riley]

Lies Pt. 2

It’s been a few months after you quit the Task Force. You go out with friends to a dancing club, little did you know 141 would be there celebrating.

Warnings: angst, depression, anxiety, mental break downs, fluff, smut, interrupted sex :(, happy ending

A/N: Here are the people who asked for part 2! So little tag list I guess 🫶🏻 @fullmoon-84 @kerst666 I tried to do the others in the comments in part 1 but wasn’t working!

“You look good as the day I met you, I forgot just why I left you.”

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst list

pt. 1 Alternative Ending

It has been an emotional rollercoaster for you, it felt amazing to not be in the task force. Finding a small ma and pa shop to work for. However, you felt empty. You would look around your apartment to see where Simon would be. Where he would sit and drink his tea. Or hold you close in the morning. Or wrap his arms around you while cooking. None of that was there.

You wanted to call Price and ask to come back but pride came into your veins. You didn’t want to look ridiculous after the whole ordeal. That was almost 6 months ago. 6 months ago quitting the team. 6 months ago not seeing Simon. 6 months of healing.

Fortunately what came with the ma and pa shop came with friends. They didn’t know you were an SAS before, they only know the made up story of moving from the US to here in England. Throughout the time with them they would invite you out to the city, clubbing to little lunch ins.

Tonight was the night of bar hopping and dancing. It is a much needed one for sure. You wore a tight red dress, that would make out your body shape. Little short up to your thigh but it was needed. Heels and hair down. Simple make up. The usual. When getting to the bar, the air was filled with positive energy. People grinding on each other to just casual talk with drinks.

You usually don’t dance with anyone but the girls you go with. You couldn’t look at any other man without seeing Simon. So men was off the table. The first round of shots got you into the nice buzz, rocking your hips to the rhythm of each song. Laughing and dancing with your friends it was a good time.

Until one of your friends disappeared with drinks and a man. “Y/n?” Your eyes snapped open and was face to face with Soap.

Your friends looked over at you with curious eyes. “Soap?” You said hesitantly, immediately looking around.

“It’s been a while.” He hugged you tightly before smiling over at the friend. “Old co-worker yeah!”

You nodded smiling. “Yeah we used to work together.”

The girls smiled huge. “That’s fun you both knew each other.”

“Yeah,” Soap said staring. “Simon is here.” You snapped your eyes at Soap. “He’s over there.” You followed his finger towards the direction he was pointing at. There he was, sitting next to Price at the bar, back facing away.

Your heart dropped thinking of all the days and months that you had healed go into the drain. The want of talking, touching, hearing him flooding back. “He talks about ya.” He said. “Should go talk to him. We here celebratin’ but he mostly will want to talk.”

You nodded once before looking at the girls who encouraged you to go. They all scattered off as Soap dances with one of them and the other two left with each other. You slowly walked up as the fast rhythm and your heartbeat became in sync. You heard Price yelling over the music before barely looking over his shoulder to see you.

His eyes widened but his smirk was bigger. “I’ll let ya two catch up.”

Simon glanced behind him as well. His eyes dropping as he of course wore a balaclava mask. Before Simon said anything Price was gone and Gaz disappeared. You both stared at each other for a moment, Simon couldn’t believe his eyes. You were gorgeous as the day he lost you.

His hands became clammy, his heart raced, his mind frozen. Simon didn’t know what to do or say. Neither did you. You bite your lower lip trying to find something. “Uh hi.” You whispered.

Simon didn’t hear you from the music but he saw the words form on your mouth. “Come sit.” He asked gently but loud enough to hear him.

When you got closer he smelt that beautiful scent he had been missing. The musk of vanilla and trees, he wondered if it was from your perfume he enjoyed. Then he wondered if you were already with a man that loved that scent too and wore it for him. His mind couldn’t think straight, after the months he tried to heal so the you gone has been…well…not so good.

His anger would take over and his patience was thin. Especially with new recruits, eventually Price had to switch Soap and him so he could have a break from training. Sent him on short leave and missions to keep Simon occupied. Price knew that it broke Simon’s heart even if Ghost didn’t let him see that.

Yes Ghost. Ghost was the impatient and angry ball of hate. Simon was cornered into a small room trying to fight the urge to cry. To scream. Ghost had to protect Simon from the heartache. He couldn’t let Simon fall apart now, he had to be focused for the team.

Now you sat there next to him everything tumbled. Ghost was frozen as Simon poked through, Ghost trying to put Simon back into place. Simon tried was terrified, he had almost had a handle on it but now you’re here. He wanted to hold you. Touch you anything to know you are back.

“I can see you’re mad at me.” You said as a glass was handed to you.

Simon snapped his head over realizing you asked something. “‘M not.” He said shortly, smacking himself for being short.

“Right.” You said softly drinking your glass.

You saw right through him, he was hurt. In pain like you are, wanting each other but didn’t know how to handle it. Simon knew that as well, you read him better than he did himself. “Fine I am.” He mumbled shooting his whiskey back. “I’m bloody upset you left without another glance.”

You frowned, you could have given him a chance. It was just too much for you, all the heartache all at once. “I had to.”

Simon looked over at you and frowned underneath his mask. He knew that. He would have done the same thing. “I know.”

You looked over at him eyes glossing from tears threatening to leave. You looked away just as fast as you looked over at him. Complicated. It always has been complicated for the both of you. Hiding your relationship to this. You sighed. “My place is close here, we can probably talk better there.”

Simon glanced over, they could barely hear each other. He wants you back but for what cost? Simon sighed and nodded. “‘Ight.”

With that you both left, you made sure to text the girls you were leaving. One of them wanted all the details after. That made your eyes roll knowing what she actually meant. However, you know better not to play that game. The walk to your apartment was quiet, it usually was between the two of you, sharing the best company. This time though it was different, awkward silence, you wanted to say something but waited until both you settled into your apartment.

Simon was felt sad when walking in, remembering the things they used to do causally around the apartment. You took your heels off, his eyes wonder to your ass, quickly he looked away. He doesn’t need to stare, it’s been months, and who knows if you have moved on. He wondered in more looking at anything a miss or something newer.

Like a man. Clothing. Scent. Items. Only to be left with just your scent, clothing, items. His eyes landed on a bracelet on the book shelf near your door. The one that he gave you. The one that his mother wore. He reached out to grab it, holding it, he was surprised you still had it. “I didn’t want to get rid of it,” You spoke softly, making him turn. “I wanted to give it to you but…it was the only thing I had of you.”

Simon looked back down at the bracelet. The words ringing in his head, it was the only thing I had of you. He sighed quietly placing it back down. “Tea?” You asked already having a pot on the stove.

“Ya still have…” He paused watching you wiggle it in the air. He smiled softly before huffing in amusement. “Didn’t get rid of a lot did ya?”

You scoffed. “No.”

He walked over to your island and sat on a bar stool. “Why did you leave?”

You froze as you stared at the mugs for a moment. “You know why.”

Simon glared for a moment before inhaling deeply. “‘Ight why didn’t ya give me a chance?”

“Because you lied,” You sighed calmly stating the obvious. “You broke a promise that you did not keep. To protect me. Instead you hurt and lied to me.”

“Ya know better than anyone that I wouldn’t do it if it didn’t mean something.” He said softly.

“And I didn’t mean anything?” You said, noticing the venom slipping in. You winced at the statement, you knew it was rude. But how long you have been wanting to talk to him. Wanting to know everything. All the pain you had.

“You know that isn’t true.” He said his stern voice also coming through.

You turned leaning your back against the stove. “Really? I get it best for the team or the mission. But everyone Simon? Everyone knew but me and Samson. I was the only one grieving for you. Wishing I had did something to prevent it. When the whole fucking time it was.”

Simon didn’t say anything for a moment. “It was for the mission I had to in order to get Samson out. So we could get closer to the Russians, sometimes we have to sacrifice things in our work.”

You laughed rolling your eyes. “Sacrifice things? No this was not a sacrifice this was a hoax, a mock. That’s how it felt. You all used me for my feelings, you all knew that it would have broke me. So why did I not give anyone a chance because I can’t go through that heartache again!”

He stood up once your voice raised, Simon shook his head. “It was never a hoax! It was never meant to be a hoax!”

“But it was,” You said standing your ground. “You may not want to accept it Simon but it was. Instead of stating that it was wrong you make it a valiant effort for the team!”

“Ya right I make it so bloody valiant for everyone! I didn’t care ‘bout how ya felt! I didn’t try to beg Price not to do it over and over,” Simon was now out, all the pain and feelings that he had suffered came flooding out. He ripped his mask off throwing across the room. “I didn’t stop ‘em from hurting ya! I didn’t walk in when you wailed! I didn’t…”

Your ears rang, watching all the emotions leaving Simon’s body. Your heart broke, you didn’t think that he would say or even show the feelings. You reached out to place a hand on his cheek, feeling your anger being cooled as you watch him flinch.

Simon didn’t expect you to touch him, especially when yelling at you. He has never yelled at you. He stopped talking feeling your soft hands on his stubbles cheek. He was heaving a bit, didn’t realize that tears spilling from his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered once it felt like hours of no talking.

Simon sighed closing his eyes, he shook his head. “I should be s’rry, I left you behind.”

“We left each other behind.” You whispered again walking forward placing your other hand on his cheek. He grabbed both of of your wrist closing his eyes. The feeling of warmth radiated through his chest as you stroke your thumbs across his cheekbones.

“I never meant to hurt you.” He whispered as you stood on your tippy toes. Kissing his tears that started to fall.

“Shh.” You whispered as his hands fell to your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him close. Your noses touching each other softly. “I never wanted to either Simon.”

You both stared at each other, he glanced at your lips. Both of you slowly moving ever so closer to each other. You begged for him to kiss you, to place his lips against yours. Feeling each other’s feelings, show each other how much you missed each other. “Can I kiss you.” He whispered.

You nodded once as he closed the gap as his kiss gently pressed against yours. At first it was soft gentle. Like it was the first time you both kissed, then his hands squeezed at your hips. You brushed your tongue along his bottom lip, begging for access. He opened his mouth and next thing you knew if you both were clawing at each others clothes. Mouths fighting for dominance, teeth clashing, lip biting.

He backed you into a wall as he hoisted you up to give a better access to your neck. Simon sighed as he bite your neck before kissing it softly. “I missed you, I missed you so fucking much.” He whispered grinding up to your clothed cunt.

You gripped his blond locks. God how you missed him, his touch, his voice, fuck his kisses. You both grinding on each other like fucking teenagers, gripping areas. “I need you Si.” You whispered as his hands rolled up your dress up to your lower abdomen.

Simon smirked as he looked over you. “We got to take this,” He started to push it up more moaning as he noticed your breast had no other covering. “Let’s take this off ya?”

Before you knew it, he wrapped his hands around your back before tearing the back. You gasped. “Simon! This was my favorite.” You snapped laughing as it fell to the floor.

His eyes looking over your body as he placed your legs down. “I’ll get ya another one,” He started to get to his knees, softly scraping your hips to your thighs, then your ankles. “But first I am gonna treat ya.”

You bite your lower lip has he rubbed his hands up your thighs, kissing your inner thighs. Sloppy messy kisses. He bit hard into your thigh causing your eyes to roll. “Stop teasing.” You whined holding his hair.

Simon smirked, god how he loved hearing that desperate tone. “Yes ma’am.” Your eyes rolled as his tongue made a strip from your needy hole to your clit.

You groaned out lifting your leg over his shoulder as he helped you, placing it gently before making circles on your skin. He moaned as he licked your cunt slowly. “Fuck how much I missed your taste lovie.”

You sighed as one of his fingers probed your entrance. He pushed his middle finger inside of you, goood how he wanted to cum right there. He could tell that you were tight and he thought how his dick would feel inside you right now.

And god how you forgot how his fingers felt, without his cock it made you feel whole. He started to slowly pump his one finger in and out of you before adding the second one. You gasped as he sucked on you clit making you basically squeal with delight.

Simon looked up at you, watching your back arch, eyes rolling back, your hips grinding on his mouth. It was like he was in a dream, god the noises you made for him made everything stir inside. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” He mumbled slurping your juices as he watched it slowly drip down his wrist. “I missed ya, fuck. Taste so fucking good.”

The words were going straight to your core, you started to reach anywhere on him. The coil in your stomach getting tighter and closed for your release. “Fuck Si don’t stop please please please please!” His fingers pumped harder and faster, hitting that fucking spot that made your toes curl. His lips sucked you clit as you screamed his name over and over again.

Simon moaned as you gripped his hair and stilled as your orgasm hits you hard. You kept gasping trying to recollect yourself, your mind hazed, your body buzzing with delight. You heard Simon slurping your release, making you moan. Your ears were ringing and the tea pot…

The tea pot! You snapped your head over to the pot that was screaming for someone to grab it. You quickly detached your leg from his shoulder as his hand pressed against you abdomen. “Let it scream love.” He kissed your thigh, you chuckled leveling down with him.

“Simon Riley saying to leave the tea alone,” You teased, watching his eyes, which was blown with lust and love. You kissed his lips tasting yourself on him, swiping your tongue in his mouth. “Let me set it aside and then we take care of you.”

[torukmaktoskxawng]

84 w/ lo'ak x omatikaya!reader? there weren't any more lo'ak fics so I'm here requesting one, ty‼️‼️

#84: Falling Asleep On Their Shoulder

Pairing: Lo'ak x Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: Short, fluff, sfw, proofread by me

Na'vi Words: olo'eyktan - clan leader, kelku - home, Iknimaya - Rite of Passage

Taglist: @mooniequeen @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter

A/N: I am so sorry for such a late response 🙏 I hope this makes up for it

~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion was inevitable.

As a son of the olo'eyktan, Lo'ak finds himself dragged into all sorts of tasks throughout the village. He wasn't Neteyam, but he still had certain duties that were required of him, and while he was able to get away with not doing some of it when he was a kid, he couldn't ignore them now, as a fully seen adult.  

You always find yourself busy as well, being a prominent figure in your clan. You had worked up a reputation as someone hardworking and eager to strengthen the Omatikaya, which is why many people were shocked to learn when Lo'ak first started to court you. The two of you were complete opposites, and many thought you would be a better match for Neteyam -not that they would have the balls to say it out loud- but as time went on, everyone could see how yours and Lo'ak's differences clearly made the best dynamic. You two are a team and a really good one. 

Regardless, it was hard to find time for each other. You would think being recently mated, you would have all the time in the world together, exploring the newest dynamic in your relationship. The "honeymoon phase" as some humans call it. But alas, you barely see one another, and when you finally do, you're too tired to do anything other than fall asleep in each other's arms.

Lo'ak doesn't mind it, and he tells himself that as he looks down at your sleeping figure, head tucked into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. He wasn't as tired as he'd normally be by the end of the day, but that didn't mean he was going to disturb whatever rest you clearly needed to spend some quality time with you. Instead, he stayed up, sitting in front of your kelku's hearth, while you sat in his lap and leaned against his shoulder to rest. His thumb absently rubbed soothing circles against the small of your back, smiling to himself when your tail unconsciously thwacked his knee in response. 

Even if it wasn't real quality time, Lo'ak would never take advantage of it. There was a time when you were younger that he couldn't even sit close to you because of common Na'vi courtesies. He wanted to do this right, such as asking your family for permission and taking the needed steps to eventually have you as his mate. If his father thinks he does nothing but screw up all the time, Lo'ak didn't want this to be one of them. He had to restrain himself until both of you completed your Iknimaya and began courting. 

Now that he finally has you in his arms, he'll take whatever you want to give him, because even just falling asleep in his arms is enough to satiate him. 

~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[hotvampireadjacent]

“Take Amazon’s mechanical Turk; which the company describes as ‘crowdsourcing marketplace that makes it easier for individuals and businesses to outsource their process and jobs and to a distributed workforce who can preform these tasks virtually’ bit let us call it what it is: a cloud based sweatshop where workers are paid price rates to work virtually. “ Technofeudalism, p.84, Yanis Varoufakis

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Guardian Angel Neil AU

Neil Josten died at the hands of his father a few months before canon begins. After his death, he was made into a guardian angel. He's tasked with keeping Andrew Minyard safe at all costs. When they meet on the roof for the first time, Andrew thinks he's imagined Neil. And he worries both about his mental health and his love life because this boy is perfect. But he's not real.

Fanart for this au can be found: here, here, and here! <3 Paste this link into your browser to read it from the beginning, in chronological order!

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38, Part 39, Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45, Part 46, Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50,

Part 51, Part 52, Part 53, Part 54, Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60, Part 61, Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68, Part 69, Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75, Part 76, Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83, Part 84, Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 89.5, Part 90, Part 91, Part 92, Part 93, Part 94

Angel Neil Masterpost Page 2 ->

[barbie4princess]

I still have 84 more orgasms to give before accomplishing the task Princess gave me.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 30 December 1973, negotiations took place between the crew and mission control after what has been described as the first strike in space, on the Skylab 4 space station. The workers had been set a punishing schedule, and mission commander Jerry Carr had argued that "We would never work 16 hours a day for 84 straight days on the ground, and we should not be expected to do it here in space.” Pilot William Pogue complained that they were so overworked "There is no way [they could] do a professional job", and for their first month they had to work through their days off. Carr eventually sent a wire stating: "We need more time to rest. We need a schedule that is not so packed.” Pogue said they wanted to have more time for "studying the stars, the Earth below, and ourselves". Ground control began describing the crew as "lethargic and negative". In late December the crew reportedly lost radio contact with mission control for a period of time. Science pilot Edward Gibson described this as an accident, while Carr told the New York Times in an interview that they deliberately took time off: "We looked out the window, took showers, and did that sort of thing… We said, 'We want time off to mess around and do anything we want'". Subsequently, on December 30, negotiations took place and bosses agreed for the astronauts to get more time off, and be able to schedule tasks themselves rather then be micromanaged. Carr later reported that the new arrangement "worked beautifully", and still enabled them to finish all of their experiments. Numerous sources including a Harvard study and the Times describe what happened as a strike, which NASA denies. But either way, it is indisputable that there was conflict on the trip between workers and management, and that while initially ground control were content to ignore complaints by the crew, soon after the reported loss of radio contact they arranged a meeting and met the demands of the astronauts. https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.1819457841572691/2174824939369311/?type=3

[katsitsiyo]

Here’s a little art I made of the OC Bickie from the fic Détraquée by Hystaracal. Introduced in chapter 84, Bickie is a House Elf that works in the Office for House-Elf Relocation. She, with her coworker Ben, and Hermione work together on pushing reform for house elves.

The first art is a little after the fic ends and Hermione continues to have a shared lunch in their cozy office. 🥰

Bickie is simply one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever read in a fic. She is so upbeat, has so much gumption, and is ready to tackle the nigh insurmountable task of making important societal changes. I just adore her. 🥰🥰

Here’s another sketch of her on her way to give a speech. 🥰

Umm so obviously I’m brainrotting pretty bad over this fic. That means you should go read it!! 😘🩷

[ontinetine]

Whenever the big kid is taking 84 years to complete a simple task, I say "Eduardo, andale, let's go!!" in my best Richie Tozier voice and let me tell you she HATES that shit

[the-pale-goddess]

Vices & Virtues - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Dr. Ramsey's weaknesses don’t disturb his everyday life often, but when they do, a certain intern happens to always be involved.

Book: Open Heart, Intern Year (between Chapters 5 & 6)

Warnings: language, my rusty writing, a truckload of pining

Rating/Category: Teen+ / fluffy angst

Author’s note: [insert the ‘surprise, bitch’ & 'it's been 84 years' reaction GIFs]

I’m eternally grateful for the very few angels still waiting for new E&T content—this one’s for you 🫶🏻 Hope you’ll find a moment to read my word vomit and enjoy the mess (aka my writing). I appreciate every comment and like more than words can convey!

Edenbrook is indigestible on Mondays. Though Ethan Ramsey doesn’t believe in whatever ‘curse’ humankind attributed to an absolutely random day, he cannot deny the madness that usually ensues upon the beginning of each week. An inexplicable air of post-weekend malaise does tend to envelop the globe, and Boston is no lucky exception.

“Mondays suck!”

Striding across the hustly-bustly pediatric ward, Doctor Ramsey overhears an agitated boy explicitly expressing his annoyance.

Ethan’s Monday has been a doozy of a day as well, but he’d rather keep his troubles six feet under, preferably in concrete. Nevertheless, a drop of sympathy implores him to stop near the patient’s room and watch the scene unfold at a safe distance.

The child blows a raspberry at the nurse preparing him for a corridor-long wheelchair ride, clearly upset about the surgery he’s being taken to.

A heavy sigh followed by the unmistakable giggle of a certain copper-haired radiologist interrupts Ethan’s first break during today’s demanding shift.

“It’s not Monday, kid. It’s just your life.” Doctor Herbert whispers into Ethan’s ear, a large cup of raspberry tea in her hand. “But at least it’s going to be all rainbows and candy again in three weeks.”

Meanwhile, the situation has escalated quickly: a river of tears streams down the young Monday-hater's cheeks now, his concerned mother shooting pleading looks between her shuddering offspring and the strict nurse trying to efficiently finish the task so she could move on with her hectic schedule.

A pang of dejection pierces Ethan all of a sudden when a long-forgotten fragment of the past he buried flashes through his mind. Before its splinters reopen old wounds, he swiftly pushes the unwanted memory back to the unexplored depths of his psyche.

“I don’t think he’s heard you.”

“Gee, Doctor Ramsey, share some of that cheerful attitude with the rest of us!” Liz nudges his side, almost spilling her hot beverage on his foot. She mouths an apology, but his unimpressed gaze falls elsewhere.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”

“Thank God your interns still haven’t caught that grumpiness you’re suffering from.”

“No need to worry, it’s not contagious.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, partially to announce his departure, then continues the journey to his primary destination: the harmonious sanctuary of his private office.

As soon as the elevator door closes behind Ethan, the confined space becomes his temporary resort. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his sunken, aweary eyes to relieve the tension—an aching remnant of the sleepless night. The exhaustion begins to mess with his senses, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary; permanent fatigue has been his steadfast companion for more than a decade of his career as a doctor.

There’s a crack in that orderly, borderline clinical life of his, as big as a closed fist, and he’s slowly beginning to realize its detrimental consequences.

But none of that matters now.

What matters is that his desperate efforts to bend Naveen’s stubbornness weren���t in vain; there’s still hope—a notion Ethan isn’t exactly on board with, but he puts his trust in science, and beyond any doubt science will point him in the right direction. As long as there’s time, he’ll do whatever it takes to save his mentor, his friend. He’s confident he can do it, he’s capable of diagnosing and curing whichever mysterious illness keeps Naveen captive.

He’s the only one who can do it.

A double shot of deep roasted espresso shall help this cause. Or, at the very least, make his Monday slightly more endurable.

Loud metallic thud followed by a streak of bright fluorescent lighting annunciates the arrival. Empty, windowless corridor welcomes his nostrils with the odious mixture of staleness and antiseptic, typical of the office wing on the sixth floor. He operates on autopilot, mindlessly trudging ahead, marginally consoled by the aura of eerie quietude. Blissfully oblivious to what the so-called Manic Monday has prepared for him next.

All his rational thought and peerless logic evaporate into thin air the second his drowsy gaze zooms in on the old waiting room under renovation currently withheld by the recent budget cuts. Within its hoary walls, a familiar sylphlike figure catches his eye, unwittingly staking her claim to his undivided attention.

Ethan’s dire need of coffee has vanished as well; he’s wide awake now.

Smiling to herself, a sense of pride evident in the alluring dimples carved into her cheeks, Doctor Addams arranges a stack of papers atop a massive couch protected by thin plastic sheet.

Ethan acknowledges that he must ignore the tempest raging inside his chest, but he’s unable to focus on anything else other than the energy she exudes, luring him in like a siren’s song.

This isn’t the first time the infamous Doctor Terminator is utterly powerless in the face of her—the most intriguing mystery he’s tempted to unravel for some godforsaken, unfathomable reason.

Everything he knows about Tiffany Addams has been collateral damage from their close proximity and the isolating nature of their work. Against better judgment, Ethan has stored every single crumb of information thrown at him, like it’s a treasure guarded in the vault of his mind, acquiring new pieces and adding them to this clandestine collection.

With certainty, there’s a new element behind that glass wall, ready to be studied in secret.

As though pulled by a magnet, his feet carry him towards the room while Ethan shuffles through a myriad of excuses plausible enough to start a conversation. A good excuse, however, requires an elaborate background story, supported by a carefully planned follow-up—both of which clearly out of his reach at the moment.

Fully aware of the possible disaster awaiting inside, Ethan steps into the room quietly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest. A sophisticated scent of sultry vanilla wrapped with notes of luminous lavender pervades the space, handily smothering the musty odor of the old hospital furniture stored here for at least a year.

Heedless of his presence, Tiffany remains locked in her own bubble. She’s seated on the couch, browsing through a large leather bag with a lot of noise.

Long onyx locks neatly tamed in a sleek bun reveal the exquisitely sculpted contour of her features, its sharp edges so far removed from the overpowering warmth hiding in her sparkling emeralds and tenacious kindness dripping from the corners of her full mouth.

That stark contrast surely must be a part of her allure, he reckons. Not that there’s any evidence at his disposal—he’s her boss, for fuck’s sake. But the set of cardinal rules applying to the situation doesn’t stop him from looking, nor does it dilute the poison seeping from that singular contaminated thought…

Loud, treacherous voice snarls inside his mind like a beast at the gates of his sanity.

This isn’t staring, this is a comprehensive risk assessment.

Regardless of the pretext, watching her feels almost perverse, but he’s too transfixed to listen to his voice of reason hopelessly trying to redirect him to the path of impeccable propriety.

He can’t look away. Can’t move either. She'll notice him…Eventually.

Is that all he’s become? A disappointment, a fraud. One of the best diagnosticians of the generation, the esteemed Dr. Ethan Ramsey is consistently failing to do his job. His own mind appalls him—once the most treasured asset, his pride and joy, now compromised, useless, struggling to cut through the veil of his inappropriate longing.

Perhaps instead of triggering a spiral of destruction, he should address a more pressing matter: why is there a splotch of purple paint on her cheek?

Better late than never, his focus switches from Tiffany to the negligible surroundings. On her left, spread across the polythene-covered couch, lie a couple of ridiculously abstract drawings, colorful and confusing, each of them made with the skill and precision equal to a six-year-old if he has to guess.

Suddenly, it all clicks.

Along with his tongue.

The short clack doesn’t make her flinch, though she straightens immediately, a glimmer of surprise shining in her riveting eyes when she looks up at the intruder and deems him worthy of a smile. Her lush, rosy lips curl up generously, greeting him with a beam so dazzling his body heats up like bare skin kissed by the blazing midday sun in the middle of summer.

The older doctor doesn’t return the cordial gesture—he has a reputation to uphold and his bruised dignity to save. He quickly takes refuge in the shadow of his perfect decorum, dexterously covering the unjustifiable act of treason committed by his very own carnality.

Tiffany, however, is undeterred in her mission to melt his callous indifference with the disarming sincerity of her vivacious spirit.

“Before you drop your sarcastic grenades on me: no, I have not found my true calling elsewhere. I have not been slacking up either. These aren’t even mine, so insulting someone else’s artistic skills would be totally inappropriate.” Her hand waves over the drawings.

“I wouldn’t dare to insult a respected artist and credit you with their art.” He retorts flatly, then spills the aforementioned sarcasm like the Lord intended. “Early Pollock must cost a fortune or two. How come such rare artworks ended up in your possession?”

His comment inspires a peal of infectious laughter; the powerful melody of Tiffany’s unadulterated amusement conquers the room, all but obliterating the chronic sternness of Ethan’s face.

He cannot help but bask in the glory of this unexpected outcome: he’s the reason behind the glorious, velvety sound; she’s laughing because of him.

“You made a pretty solid assumption, Doctor Ramsey, but I have to disappoint you: early Pollock had an affair with surrealism and his style was way more compositional than this.” She points at the glittery mess splashed in the center of one of the pieces, not so subtly suppressing another wave of laughter.

Miss Addams and her irreplaceable wit painfully remind him of the golden rule he often pretends doesn’t concern his giant ego: do not speak on the topics your knowledge of is insufficient.

Lustrous vivid-green eyes fixed on him and the urgency he’s facing at the moment leave him no choice but to quickly shake off the embarrassment and adapt his reaction accordingly.

Reluctantly, Ethan clings to brutal honesty. “I’m not an art connoisseur, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Oh, trust me, you would.”

A smudge of amethyst retrieves the diagnostician’s attention for one split second, demanding a seamless change of topic.

“I presume you spent your lunch break on the pediatric ward again, trying to start a new art movement.”

Doctor Addams gasps theatrically and presses her slender fingers to her mouth, lowering her head slightly. “What gave me away?”

Ethan considers revealing the truth through another shot of bluntly delivered sarcasm (something he would have done in any other case), but his body betrays him, subconsciously drawing near Tiffany.

“Apart from the excited chatter on the second floor? Nothing.” He replies, straining to keep his impeccable composure just as she bites into her lower lip tantalizingly in what appears to be keen anticipation.

A few risky steps later she’s at his arm’s length, and he decides to measure that dangerously short distance; akin to an audience member of some ludicrous soap opera, the diagnostician observes his hand move towards the intern’s face in slow motion, as if that bloody limb wasn’t his and the falsely innocent intention swarming inside his incisive, virtuous mind filled him with repulsion.

Except he wants this. He needs to feel her.

Even though the mere ghost of an idea may bring his demise, he cannot break free, imprisoned by the torturous vision of her vanilla-scented skin gliding smoothly against his.

Much to his bewilderment, her breath quickens just as much as his; the evergreen forest in her eyes bursts into flames when their gazes meet, burning his hesitation down.

She wants this too.

Nothing could convince him to refrain from acting on this forbidden desire now, not a single reasonable thought seems to be charged with a cogent argument.

So he lets his thumb brush down her right cheek, down the lick of wet paint smeared across her warm skin, taking most of the dark purple off the silken canvas along the way.

The sky didn’t tear in half, there was no divine retribution exacted upon a sinner like him, no sign of punishment fit for his appalling misdeed.

“Nothing. At. All.”

Nothing but the silky smoothness of her face, rapid rise and fall of her shapely chest, and fiery heat searing through his veins…

Inevitably, the unbearable tension crackling between them dissipates in a flash when Tiffany snorts at the sight of his acrylic-stained thumb, a soundless ‘fuck’ escapes her mouth as she sprints to find a prompt solution for the paintmergency, stripping him of time to ponder on what the living hell just happened.

He takes advantage of the moment, immediately scolding himself, forcing his thoughts to flee from the crime scene concocted by his newly depraved brain.

“Must be your enviable instinct of an outstanding diagnostician then.” Cheeky as ever, she casts a playful eye over Ethan while rummaging through the drawers, summoning him to focus on her.

Within a long minute, she scuttles back to him, stretched arm offering one of the two pieces of paper towel sprayed with hand sanitizer. They use it to rub the paint off their skin. As soon as they’re done, Ethan quips back. Sort of.

“The balance between mockery and flattery is a bit too delicate to be used in a professional environment, don’t you agree, Addams?”

Unintimidated by the tricky question, Tiffany lifts her shoulder in a half shrug. “It all depends on the intelligence of the person you’re speaking with. You’re ultrawealthy in that department, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind some harmless friendly banter.”

“We’re not friends.” The speed with which he retaliates might have just sealed his fate. Deep down, he doesn’t quite believe those words himself, but there are rules to be followed unconditionally, rules that cannot be broken under any circumstances.

Dark, noble brows accentuating the breadth of her radiance crease together in sheer bewilderment. He can almost hear the scoff she’s choking back when she sees right through the cone-shaped hole in the thick wall separating them.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“We’re getting there.” She nods vigorously, openly mocking his well-meaning mendacity with lips pursed into a thin line and narrowed eyes surveying him diligently.

„An attending befriending his intern? I can’t see that happening.”

A winning grin lights Tiffany’s features up. „It’s already happening, whether you like it or not.”

The more she pushes forward, infuriatingly so, the more he resists, fortifying his helpless defense.

„Would you be kind enough to explain why on Earth would I let it happen?”

“It’s beyond your control.” She shakes her head. „There’s nothing you can do now.”

He frowns at her, takes her fierce expression in, feigning utter disinterest in the mesmerizing spatter of freckles adorning her glowy skin.

Is the intensity of his glare too revealing? Can there be a flash of ardent curiosity swimming in his eyes and acting up against him?

„You’re awfully confident about all the wrong things, Rookie.”

She mimics the military salute, right hand raised sharply, touching her forehead, fingers and thumb extended and joined, palm facing down. „The colossal pain in your ass reporting for duty, sir.”

This display of her goofiness, derived from the smidgeon of irreverence he’s found himself covertly fond of, successfully penetrates his ruptured facade.

At last, Doctor Terminator’s perpetually grim face blooms with an ear-to-ear smile, so wide and genuine that Tiffany blinks once, twice, most probably questioning whether the exceptionally unusual scene in front of her is real.

The way she gapes at his mouth almost drills a hole in him—she’s that awestruck, like a pious believer who stumbled upon irrefutable evidence confirming the foundation of her faith.

“You should smile more. You…” Her plush lips part when she trails off, then sucks in a breath, as if to stop the profanation of their professional relationship jumping on the tip of her tongue from slipping out recklessly.

She wants this too.

“It suits you.”

Ethan’s cheeks erupt with disgraceful heat, resembling an awkward teenager attracting his crush’s attention for the very first time—the feeling almost as mortifying and inexcusable as the unprecedented lack of any snarky response.

As if the worst was yet to come, Tiffany keeps on staring at him with such exhilarating wonder and sureness he doesn’t quite know how to proceed with such abundance of emotion meddling with his stoic approach.

She wants this too.

For a fleeting moment, the abyss of his solitude shrinks significantly, purple paint filling the crack on the illusory contentment with the life he’s chosen, just as her piercing gaze invites him further into the impossible fantasy.

Then, a jolt of sobering guilt runs along his spine in a rude awakening, at the same time when Tiffany realizes the gravity of her daring statement and its perilous implications.

“I, erm…”

“Uhm, my…”

Ethan smashes the uncharacteristic uneasiness descending on them, a benign half-smile and barely perceptible nod encourage her to continue. “Go on.”

Her gaze flickers towards the hall, a tinge of crimson reddening freckled porcelain. “My break is almost over. I should head back to the ER.”

Hell must have frozen over: his fearless protégée, strong-willed and sharp-tongued at all times, befuddles him with this uncommonly demure armor plate she has put on. The most challenging obstacles and cases fail to break her down, stress and pressure never threaten her admirable strength, and yet there she is—bleeding from her own sword.

This supremely fascinating token of hidden vulnerability sheds new light on the beguiling collection of contradictions making her whole.

He examines the younger doctor pacing around the room as she gathers her belongings up, stuffing her capacious bag with them. Half-way, she spins to address him directly and points at her cheek.

“Am I…Still…?”

“No, you’re alright. The paint is gone.”

“Splendid.”

As she goes forward, assembling her patients’ drawings into a neat pile, and—rather intentionally—ignoring Ethan, he readjusts his tie and dives headfirst into the pool of her discomfort.

“Addams?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to dedicate such a vast portion of your free time to helping others.”

She freezes, visibly offended, but still intent on avoiding his gaze. “I know. I want to.”

“What I meant...Is that you need to add yourself to the equation, Tiffany.”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” She scoffs, the barely noticeable defensive undertone reverberating in her firm answer not entirely convincing for the diagnostics virtuoso.

His evaluation is disrupted by the abominably loud beeping of Tiffany’s pager. Their eyes finally clash for a brief shootout with no winner before she shuts the damn thing up.

“Well then. See you later, Doctor Ramsey.” She blurts out hastily without giving him a second glance and turns round to rush out of the room, but stops in her tracks near the door.

Something sparks inside that brilliant mind of hers, reigniting her boldness. Dense curtain of long lashes flutters at him over her shoulder, inky-black and luxurious akin to the finest lace, the signature magnetic smile dancing on her lips again—this time infused with genuine concern. She inspects his countenance for a still moment, inch by inch, crease by crease, until her head falls to the side like she has just uncovered his biggest secret.

“Consider locking the door in your office and getting some rest.”

“Giving me advice isn’t included in your job description.” He sneers, the unnecessarily harsh huff of his disapproval concealing the alien sentiment spilling inside his chest.

Somehow it’s still not enough to antagonize her.

Her eyes bore into his audaciously; the gentleness gleaming from elusive emerald green, reminiscent of safety, offers shelter he despairingly seeks, but cannot take. “But it’s nice to have someone watching out for you, isn’t it?”

Somehow they might have more in common than one would think.

Careful not to expose the motley collection of feelings stirring his blood, Ethan draws in a long breath and slips his hands into the pockets of pristine white coat, perfecting his posture, with tense body standing even taller, as though to appear completely unaffected by her undeniable appeal, more unrelenting.

He’s been looked at countless times, yes, but this must be the first instance where he feels truly seen.

It is indeed nice.

The attending doesn’t say a word, for he would have to agree with the intern. She smirks triumphantly, accepting the tacit disbelief etched on his face as conclusive proof of her diagnosis.

Instead of claiming victory through verbal manifestation of her sass, Doctor Addams attacks him using a different weapon: a provocative wink. “Just think about it.”

With a graceful twirl indicating goodbye, his Rookie struts out, leaving a dizzying mist of her divine scent behind.

Wasting no time, Ethan scoots to the exact place where she stood prior to this moment, soaking up the delicious cloud of fragrance, unable to resist sniffing the air like some sort of disgustingly pathetic creep.

Thankfully, there are no witnesses to this particularly revolting descent into madness.

No witnesses to the beginning of his fall.

Mind over heart has never sounded more delusional than now, that his hard-won empire of spotless reason stands on the verge of crumbling. But he’s not giving up—he can’t give up. There’s too much at stake.

Beyond dispute, Ethan Ramsey is not an easy man to defeat. The King of Quiet Desperation wears his broken crown with arrogance, each burnished gem representing his sins, though the ultimate one hasn’t brought him down yet.

Having put the mask of nonchalance back on, Doctor Ramsey turns off the lights and stomps into the empty corridor—his hand still carrying the heavenly softness of Tiffany’s skin like a fingerprint, like a sin, shaky fingers curling at the very thought of the contact—then begins a seemingly casual stroll to his office.

He doesn’t have many vices—she is all of them.

_____

A/N2: Hope you enjoyed this bad boy ❤️ Sorry (not sorry) if it's too long and repetitive...I literally can't shut up when it comes to these two fsksjdkfjs Plus it felt really good to find my writing mojo after such a long time!

PS. If there are any typos and/or mistakes...No, there aren't lol I'm fighting COVID at the moment, so my brain's a little foggy. I had this fic sitting in my drafts and decided to just go with the flow while I'm feverish and can't see any faults sjfskfkjf I'll get back to everyone waiting for a reply when I'm more coherent. Stay safe, lovelies!