Most cop thing I've ever read. what the fuck are you talking about. The posts you're looking for might be on this website but we won't show them to you???
just so you know, if you completely ignore the search feature on the website and just type "tumblr.com/search/term" into the address bar, it bypasses all of this. broken-ass website
Remember when Lil Nas X beautifully explored his sexuality, seduced and killed the devil to the banger of all time, and instead of cheering on this openly gay and proud Black artist for his artistry and fighting back against respectability politics, suddenly said respectability politics was all the Queerest Place on the Internet cared about? Hm. Wonder what happened there.
Anyway I miss him and hope he's doing better with his mental health 🙏🏾
cw: 18+. DO NOT LEAVE SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS. I WILL DELETE AND/OR BLOCK. also not really edited at all.
navigate to: part 1 | part 2
part 3 (final)
You open a canned cocktail and then last all of two hours. Validation-seeking-ass bitch.
» Hey, thanks again for fixing my tires. I really appreciate it. Sorry for making you do extra work after you just finished working, especially in this heat.
» I would've hated It would've been I don't want you to think I was serious about the drink offer, btw. If you don't drink, it can be something else. Please let me know when you're free
You turn the phone face-down and go pace around your bathroom, reorganizing your serums and SPF and cleansers and vitamin C and retinol and then you hear the phone vibrate from your bedside table and you're striding back.
» don't need to be sorry
» Well, then, thanks. better?
» better
» trust you got home ok then
» I did. Even took the highway
» good to hear
» you should ask security to walk you to your car any time past 5
» they'll do it no questions asked
» Oh I finish before 5. you just caught me in two extenuating circumstances lol
» made me look that word up
» lol sorry
» what'd i say bout that
You set the phone down. Lie flat on your back on your bed and breathe out a giant shrill exhale. Drag your hands over your face in multiple repetitions. Shake your head over and over. Processing. Processing.
» are you about to say it again
» 100%
» cute
» finish at 7 tomorrow. let's grab something after
» ok sounds good. have a good night
» cheers
—
Sasha debriefs you; she'd felt bad about revealing your secrets, so with John and Kyle, she'd pivoted to some question about integrated webcams instead while you were hiding in the washrooms. "Secret's safe with me," she'd smiled and apologized.
You debrief Sasha. She slaps your shoulders and upper arms until you push her away laughing to defend yourself.
She grabs a piece of paper and pen.
what we know
name G_02
sees you maybe daily or weekly - passes you or vice versa
seen your cubicle
knows your full name or enough to message you
has access to company chat
possibly G for ghost
possibly G for garrick (??)
possibly others
Sasha taps the pen against her lips. "Easy enough. Let's strike out a few of these." Opening the chat app, she uses the search user feature to eventually find Kyle Garrick.
"Hm, his username is just KG though."
"Okay, look for Simon."
"He has an account. They must assign them to everyone. Username SR."
"Fuck me. This person managed to make their name slightly different than the usual nomenclature. An IT person perhaps?"
A few hours later, you're on your own, wandering through the floor to find an HR officer for a pay question on your file. Your eyes eliminating pods of cubicles as you go. "Oh! Hey."
Kyle squinting and tabbing between a set of two monitors, a pair of 1950s style glasses propped on the edge of his nose. At your voice, he glances up in surprise. A big smile curling up. "Heya! How's it?" He leans back in his chair and pushes the glasses up over his hair. "You need some help?"
"No, no, I was just on my way to grab someone from HR, and wandered through. Still getting used to the maze."
He stands, adjusting his relaxed summery pants, grabbing at his glasses and laying them on the desk. "Let me join ya. Today's doin' my head in. Need a break anyway."
"Oh, sure," you smile. "Do you know Una? That's who I'm looking for. I thought they were around here…"
He laughs easily and surprising you, sets his long fingers at the tops of your shoulders and spins you around so you're facing the opposite direction. "Thatta way. Hate to break it to ya, you're not even close."
He shoves his hands in his pockets and stays beside you, close, his elbow brushing the bare skin of yours when he needs to pinch in to make room for someone else passing. "You know, you were pretty noncommittal the other night, about the next cinq à sept." His elbow brushes yours again even though there's no reason.
"I'm not a big drinker," you deflect.
"Don't need to be. Just come out and have some fun with us. Easy, yeah?" Your eyes slide over to his and he's looking down at you, a warm smile on his face and a little wink in his eye.
You reach the area with clear Human Resources signage. "Well, here y'are. Now y'owe me a drink," he winks again and lopes off, cool as a cucumber always.
—
You decide to work late today and just wait at the office for 7; feels unfair to go home and get ready before drinks when he'll be getting off and still in his uniform.
You're fiddling with your phone in the lobby when you hear a ding. You've been trying not to glance up, but your eyes won't listen, and then you see black boots thud out of one of the freight elevators tucked off from the bank of regular elevators. Simon in his uniform, long thick legs striding out calmly, a plastic water bottle crinkling in his big hand.
"Hey," you say brightly, and all of a sudden, this feels very much like a date.
Simon gives you a small smile, chucks the water bottle in the nearby garbage (not recycling, just one bin over), and says, "Y'alrigh'?"
"Yeah, good, thanks. You?" You shiver as he ushers you out the main door. You give a small goodbye and nod to the front desk security guard. Simon calls them by name and gives a more personal goodbye.
Outside, the air is humid but there's a breeze pushing your dress against your legs, keeping the worst of it at bay. "Do you wanna walk somewhere? Or we can take my car, or—?"
"Too hot to walk," he says calmly. "Take my truck an' keep yours here f' now."
"Okay." You walk quietly around the back of the building to his lot. He opens the truck door for you, which has your stomach twisting like crazy, and all you can do is give him a tiny smile and a thanks before climbing in.
You have a few seconds of unwitnessed time to glance around the cab of his truck without him in here. Surprisingly tidy. Not clean, either. Smells warm and sweaty, trapped heat over a long July day, and a faint smokiness. You watch as he comes around the front of the truck and hauls himself in, a slight something on his face.
"You have a sore back?"
He lets out a laugh-adjacent huff. "Years of sore back. Old injury never properly healed, an' heat makes it flare up."
"Ouch."
He flicks on the air conditioning and fiddles with the vents, leaning over a little more into your space to adjust yours. "That good?"
The air is cold and instantly soothing on your hot cheeks and neck. "Yeah. Yeah, perfect, thanks."
"Don't start apologizin' again."
You laugh self-consciously and play with the strap of your bag in your lap, crossing your legs. "No promises."
He makes a small humming sound.
Very quickly, he's pulling into a parking lot of an Irish pub. You go to open your door and he makes a soft noise, so you leave it hanging so he can come round and open it fully. You laugh at him for how silly it is, and he doesn't say a thing. You get ushered into the pub, and sat right away at a booth by the window.
It's dark, quiet, and very, very air-conditioned.
You order a whiskey ginger and he gets a coffee. "Oh, are you…sorry, I shouldn't have assumed we were drinking."
He makes a pinched face at your sorry. "I'll join you shortly. Just don't wanna be too tired."
"We could have rescheduled…"
His eyebrows dart down like he doesn't follow. "Why would we do that?"
"If you're tired."
He chuckles softly. "'m always tired. Nothin' that coffee can't fix. 'sides, wouldn't cancel on you."
Heat pulls through you, snaking and slippery. "Well, let's just hope there aren't any more emergencies that you need to babysit me for."
Another confused face. "Babysit you? What'd'ya mean?"
You watch as his mouth forms over the ceramic lip of the coffee mug and takes his first sip. You mirror with your sweating glass of whiskey and ginger ale, with extra ice.
You laugh. "Do I need to explain it?"
"Nah, I know where you're drivin' but s'not it. Bit of shit luck, is all. You weren't losin' the plot or nothin'."
The drink is sweet and sour and you take a much deeper sip. Preparing yourself. "I can't tell if you're annoyed by me."
His eyebrows raise high. "Y'havin' a laugh?"
"No."
He folds his hands, tattooed down to his knuckles, around his coffee mug and stares at your drink. Not you. Your drink. "Think I'd hang 'round if I didn't want to?"
You've misstepped. Might as well make it a fuckin' dance. "Well, the last two times were against your will."
"You think so?"
"Well…courtesy, at least."
"'What're you doin'." It's spat out plain.
"What?" You take a desperate drink.
"All this. Feels like you're tryin' to tell me the ways I shouldn't'a helped you."
This tête-à-tête has you all circled up around, tangled in your own dumbass thoughts. You sigh heavily and pick at your thumb polish. "I dunno anymore. I'll just be transparent then. I've been getting weird messages at work. I can't figure out who it is. They hint that they know me, see me. Their, uh, initial. Is the letter G."
You lead him to the trough to drink, but can't say the words aloud that someone called you G and I think or thought it might be you so you just watch as he processes the information slowly, like a meal, until he gets there.
"Ah. S'bit weird." He sips at his coffee. "Someone doin' all that."
"Yeah. I thought so, too."
"D'ya need me to say it?"
"Ah," you laugh, cheeks inflamed. "I don't think so."
There's amusement lurking in his honey-brown eyes. "S'not me. Not my style."
What is your style? How would you show a woman you like her? How would you seduce her? What does it look like when you like someone?
"Well, thanks." You smile into your drink, playing with the edge of your serviette. You feel his boots all of a sudden under the booth, legs spread wide, a toe touching the edge of your sandal. You don't move your legs and you don't look at him.
He finishes his coffee quickly. Orders a Newcastle brown. You both order fish and chips — he assures you it's good here — and you ask how long he's worked for the company, when he moved here, until he nudges you back to the hot seat.
"Got any suspects in mind for G?"
You tap the fork against your mouth, a little loosened by your drink. "Not really. It was you or another guy, but honestly, it could be anyone. Could just be someone's idea of a weird prank."
"Who's the other guy?" He doesn't make eye contact, just breaks apart the fish fillet with his fork, head down.
"A guy in IT, Kyle. I met him yesterday for the first time. Last name starts with a G," you explain.
"I know him. Cool bloke. Think you want it to be him?" A long drink from his tall glass of dark ale. Eyes flickering over you, not touching down anywhere solid. Too casual.
"I don't know how to feel about any of it," you demur.
He nods.
When the bills come, he pays for you, ignoring your soft protest, and gets you to package up your leftovers to bring home. You hold it in your lap on the ride back to the parking lot; your car, alone once more. He leaves the truck running, cold air streaming out across your rippled skin, letting his big hands rest on his bigger thighs. He picks off a fleck of something.
"Simon."
"Yeah."
Your eyes slip from his thighs up to his face, his profile in the dusky light, the blue interior lights of the dashboard. "You promise it's not you?"
Quickly, his eyes meet yours. "Yeah, promise."
"Okay."
You set your container up on the passenger dashboard, tucked under the windshield, the corner squeaking. You unclick your seatbelt. You slide off your bag to the floor. You turn to him squarely, eyes mapping his face, and when you see the wary hunger in his eyes, you lean over and kiss him on the mouth.
His mouth is slow to move, his hands suspended off his thighs, nowhere to set them down. You wonder when he was last kissed.
You pull your lips off his with the tiniest smile, and lean down to grab your bag. Container in other hand. You open the passenger door before he can react, before his body can shift to anticipate your move.
He meets you in the space between your parked vehicles. You're about to make a pithy teasing joke, but then, in silence, he's grabbing your container and setting it on the roof of your car, bag with it. He doesn't look at your face long, can't hold your gaze, but his hands are tunneling into your hair and scooping your face up, tilting you so he can drive his mouth down on yours. This time, his tongue meets yours hungrily, no longer dazed, like you've awoken something dormant. His mouth is soft and flavoured strong with yeast and malt and coffee, and it tastes right to you. When he string a moan out of you, it spurs his own sounds; big silent man keeping them all to himself.
He presses you up against your car, molding your back over the sun-hot glass and metal until you hiss, and you both laugh a little, so he switches your back to the truck instead. His hands move desperately across your shoulders, collarbone, down your arms and elbows to your hands, which are roving over him, then down to your hips. When you wriggle and moan, his hands scoop further down until he's cupping your ass cheeks and hauling you up against him, the press of canvas and hard muscle underneath scratching against your soft skin and thin summer dress.
"Fuck me," he mutters into your damp throat. "S'not fair."
"What?" You wind your arms around his shoulders and neck, carding your fingernails over his buzzed head. Breathless, kissed stupid, kissed right.
"Not fair to be this fuckin' soft."
You couldn't say what comes over you except standing on the precipice of summer-soaked lust, but you knot your legs around his waist so he doesn't need to use his hands to hold you. You grind desperately against him, any part you can feel, a deep groan winding out of you as his arms band tight around your sweat-damp back. "Oh my god," you pant.
"What?"
"You're so…" and you got nothin', so you just mold your mouth against his again, hoping your tongue against his teeth will tell him what you can't put into words. "I wanna get in your truck."
It takes maneuvering. Big guy. You. Seat reclined, steering wheel pushed back in, water bottle tossed into the backseat. You unbuckle his dirty notched belt and he gasps when your fingers graze over his fly.
"You sure?" His voice has a funny tone. "Been workin' all day. Probably smell rank."
You smile down at him. "I don't think I'll mind." You shove his pants down with his help, and then pull his achingly hot cock out of his precum-damp briefs.
Both of you inhale sharp when you finally get your hands on it, so silky and darkened with rushing blood. Already, the air smells ripe with him and you could siphon it into your bloodstream and get drunk on it.
"God, you're so fuckin' hot," you breathe out without meaning to, laughing incredulously. You catch the look on his face at the last second, eyes almost too focused on his lower half. "You don't believe me?"
He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head, and his eyes finally fix on yours for the first time. Needing to figure you out.
You flutter your dress hem up, reach down and pull your underwear to the side, and align yourself over the head of him. "You don't believe me?" You stroke down, sheathing him in inches, a slow descent designed to make him gasp and buck. You're successful. "I wanted you to be G. But — oh, shit — I didn't want you to be that type of guy. Fuck. I don't like games. I don't want—" a sharp gasp ripping out of you as he bottoms out "—someone who treats me like that."
His big arms band around you again, pulsing you right in place over his cock, his eyes shuddering closed tight, an almost pained expression over his face. Despite the cold air of the truck cab, you're both sweating now.
"And I don't want Kyle," you moan raggedly, staring down at him, angling to get friction against your clit as his cock slides hotly. "Not my type."
"No?" Not doubtful anymore. Awed.
You shake your head, and his cock strokes just right and you let out a squeak, your fingers clamping over his neck. "No. No. Not him. Not him at all."
"Tell me."
"I like you."
A thumb jagging over your clit under your crooked dress. "Yeah?"
"Yes." A cry. Moan. Warning sign.
He groans. "Like you."
"You like me?"
"Thought it was obvious. Fuck, Jesus Christ, oh m—"
A disgustingly wet, desperately-held-together kiss that seals you both as his orgasm overtakes him, washing him away, his hips slamming up into yours sloppy and fast, but his thumb still rubbing hard and right until yours has you clenching him so tight that he lets out a loud mangled noise that sounds almost anguished.
Cum pools hot. Flesh squelches wet and sticky. Sweaty skin needs to be peeled away from sweaty skin carefully. Both of you, destroyed and sweating and panting.
His hands then: roaming up your open thighs and bent waist and hanging breasts until he's bringing your face down to his for a deep, surprisingly tender kiss. When you finally pull away, his eyes are liquid-soft.
—
You skip the next cinq à sept.
Sasha finally pesters you into coming to the first one in August. It's the same-ish crowd as last time; you now require far less introductions, finding it easier to chat with most folks now. No longer clinging to Sasha as your party guide.
A spicy margarita in your hand, you wander around a bit more freely, and end up spotting the IT guys. You wave as you pass, and Kyle makes a gesture to grab you for a moment.
"Hey," you smile.
"Y'alright?"
"Yeah, great. Busy with the new slate of projects, but good. I think I've got my sea legs now," you laugh easily.
"Aw, that's great news." He drinks lazily from a bottle of beer. "No IT issues lately?"
You shrug. "Uh, nope? Not that I can think of. Nothing that wasn't resolved ASAP, anyway. Your team's good at that."
A strange expression sours that beauty. "No messages?"
Sinking. Sweat, immediately, and the sinking feeling in your stomach. "What do you mean?" Sasha told you she'd never revealed your situation.
He winks, those baby brown eyes lined with long gorgeous eyelashes. "G_02's been pretty quiet these days then."
Your mouth drops open.
He laughs breezily. "Sorry about all that. Bit of a silly idea that grew into somethin' else after drinks with Johnny one night. Just wanted to impress the new cute girl."
"Uhhh…"
The outdoor patio's crowded and you look around the clusters of people. Sasha's nowhere in sight.
"Didn't mean to freak y'out, love. Just some funny games, y'know?" The smile slips every so infinitesimally.
"Got your drink?" Coarse and quiet and steady, coming through the crowd. Simon in his uniform, joining you now that he's done for the night. Sidling up next to you, back looking extra stiff this evening, glass of beer in his hand. "Alrigh'?"
"Yeah," you smile up at him, wrapping your arm loosely around his waist, tucking your thumb under his belt. Ignoring that in your peripheral vision, you can see Kyle's expression registering and rearranging itself into something different.
You give Kyle the brush-off smile, the precursor to saying goodbye. "Yeah, I'm not big into games." Could be about poker. Trivia night. A video game he's trying to explain. "Terrible at 'em."
Simon's arm around your shoulder, his large hand massaging the knot out of your joint nicely.
You'll return the favour tonight when you get home, get him stretched out on your living room floor and fuck with his back until he's groaning sweetly and wanting you to straddle him while he's on his back instead.
I was feeling agitated and artblocked yesterday so I decided to give my brain a rest by watching TV and then the next thing I knew these were in front of me
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