#resscott

[falle-ness]

Neubauten 

by Gwyllt and FalleNess

“Listen, Agent Ressler, on what grounds are you arresting me?” Prescott didn’t move, and Ressler wasn’t an asshole to shoot for no reason. “Isn’t it the part where you ask me to come with you and answer some questions?”

[yddraigwyllt]

I’ve done it.

I’ve written fic for Valentine’s Day, and I’m proud of it. One thing spoils my mood - this fic named after one Russian song, but it seems to me Spotify doesn’t go well with Tumblr and I couldn’t pin the song. I mean, it adds, but with a huge album cover, I don’t like it.

So, fic.

I know, it isn’t fair - to share a work in Russian without any translation, but I want it. Kinda my way to participate in fandom’s life.

Click here, if you want to read ;) But please, read tags and warnings carefully.

[falle-ness]

Donald Ressler and Henry Prescott playlist

For @yddraigwyllt and @randomprivateer

1. You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you // 2. No civilizing hides our animal impulses // 3. Got my bags packed can’t take no more, but then he pulled me back in with a kiss, bang // 4. I don’t wanna be just anybody’s man, I want to be yours // 5. […] as I whisper in your ear, I want to fucking tear you apart // 6. I like it when you take control, even if you know that you don’t // 7. You think I’m a fake, and I know you’re a fraud  // 8. Secrets run deep when you’re in a pit of vipers, slithering, whispering […] // 9. But the reality is, I’m getting away with murder // 10. Push me, and then just touch me

[falle-ness]

Die Interimsliebenden

Gwyllt ft FalleNess

18+ Donald Ressler/Henry Prescott

An unpleasant turn of events, but one never knew what could work in that kind of situation. If Prescott was here somewhere, in that case, so...

“Actually, yes, my friend recommended this place to me,” Ressler raised his hand, his thumb pointing vaguely over his shoulder, either on the wall or into space. “He’s already here, I’ve seen his car in the parking lot.”

 “What’s his name?”

For a fraction of a second, panic tightened his throat—Name, name, what’s his fucking name?!—but then it popped out from his memory.

“Henry,” Ressler said, trying to calm his heartbeat. “Henry Prescott. Like this high, dark hair...” He lifted his hand slightly above his head, looking for a trace of recognition on the musclehead’s face.

“Oh, you are a friend of Mr. Prescott,” the musclehead droned and suddenly stretched his big lips in a smile. “Please, come in.”