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riot-ghost · 7 months

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Commissioner Gordon was ostracized within the Gotham Police department. He knew this was because of his ties to the Bat, his late hours, constant overtime. He knew that even the good officers, while he couldn't tell too much who was who, didn't mean to ostracize him. It happened on accident, he's sure. He picked up some clues from the world's greatest detective. Rumors went around, running rampant about him. He just couldn't care so much about them.

Everyone knew that Commissioner Gordon always took his late dinner at 9:37 at night. Everyone cleared from the break room. Gordon opened the door, taking a heavy breath. He was still expecting the empty room. It felt empty, in a way Gordon had picked up from The Bat. He pulled his burrito out of the fridge, opening the styrofoam container and eating a bite. "You're not going to heat it up?" Gordon barely manages to catch his burrito, his whole soul leaving his body.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you scared me." Gordon lets out a heavy breath, seeing the new detective sitting at a table in the corner. He's eating... Something indescribable. He looks tired, his long black hair bulled back into a high ponytail. His face seems disproportionate, large prominent features. A crooked nose, a wide, thin mouth, large eyes accompanied by large bags. His skin was pale, dusted with faded freckles and litchenburg scarring. The young man- still a boy, practically, shrugged at Gordon's words, eating another bite of the odd food. "No one warned you I'd be in here?" Gordon decided to sit with him.

"No, they warned me. But the past couple of days they've been... Avoiding me." Dr. Fenton, Gordon remembers his file passing over his desk. He could never be a cop- he was a detective-by-hire because of some medical condition. Gordon feels a pang at the emotionless words.

"Ah, they avoid me too." Gordon takes another bite of his cold burrito. "So, how have you been enjoying working here?"

"Well, it's been alright, I guess." Fenton took a drink from his thermos- which has a straw in it. It goes unsaid that this was the only job Fenton could really get. Close to the force, anyways. His medical condition refrained him from being a proper officer, so he wasn't officially a Gotham PD detective. He was an out-contract detective, receiving the same work, pay, and hours as the regular detectives.

"Getting around the town well enough?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Almost got robbed." Fenton held three doctorates- criminology, psychology, and natural sciences. All at the young age of 22.

"Almost?" Gordon snorts a bit at that. "Scared them off with your badge?"

"I don't have a badge. And I don't have a gun, if that's what you're thinking. I guess they just thought I was too pathetic to have much cash." Danny shrugged.

"Oh come on, you're not pathetic." Gordon is a bit taken aback that the boy doesn't carry any weapons. He makes a mental note to get him a badge.

"I looked pathetic enough not to rob."

Gordon feels like he missed something there, because Gotham robbers would rob a kindergartner if they were unattended. Regardless, he and Fenton sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. "What are you eating?" Fenton asks eventually.

"A burrito from the Mexican stand on Westwood."

"Why are you eating it cold?"

"Because if I reheat it, then the sauce becomes a solid liquid and everything gets soggy. What are you eating?"

"It was supposed to be stir fry?" Danny stared down at the leftovers container. "I'm not good at cooking. No videos ever make sense, so they don't turn out right."

"Your parents didn't teach you?" Gordon asks.

"No, they weren't the best chefs. They did pass on the family fudge recipe though. I can make some killer fudge." He laughs a little bit at that.

"I'll bring you lunch in from now on." Gordon says. "Until we can get your cooking sorted out, anyhow. Normally my daughter and I spend Tuesday nights fixing dinner together, so you'll get the best meals Wednesday."

"You don't have to do that." Danny seems a little caught off guard by the kindness.

"I can't have one of my youngest detectives going hungry!" Gordon smiles. "Besides, you're the first person in the precinct to eat dinner with me in nearly twenty years. You keep eating with me, it'll be no problem. I enjoy the company." Danny smiles at him and Gordon is reminded of someone, but he can't remember who.

Over the next couple of weeks, Gordon and Danny get well acquainted in their overlapping shifts. Danny works the nights and sometimes early mornings, similar to what Gordon does. Gordon finds himself feeling fatherly to the young man, who's working and picking up significant overtime to pay off his student loans. He learns that Danny moved here from Illinois- it was the only PD he could work at. He had no formal fighting training, but apparently his mom had taught him some moves. They had yet to overlap in the field, and it was easy for Gordon to forget that the boy was really a detective.

"Danny?" Jim paused, having finally made his way to the crime scene. Danny was crouched over a dead body, using his gloved hands to inspect the wound- the word Joker carved using some sort of knife.

"Gordon?" Despite all insistence, the boy still used his last name.

Jim has to stop himself from asking him why he's here. Danny's eyes shift to a spot behind him and James sighs. "What happened?" Batman's voice startled the last officer in the room, who quickly stuttered an excuse and left.

"The Joker broke in, tortured her, and left." Jim says. "We just have to figure out why."

"No, we don't." Danny looked back at the body, his eyes unfocused. "It was political. Do you see the swelling here on the neck? No lacerations, and no bruising. Allergy, I suppose, or a poison that reacts similarly. No clawing at the neck or face, but heavy rope burns on the wrists and ankles. The cuts were sloppy, and from the bleeding, it was done after she had died. Maybe five, ten minutes after? The window wasn't fully closed when it was broken into, do you see how the glass fractured there at the top?"

Jim blinked, and Danny continued. "It doesn't fit the motive of a mad-man like the Joker to do this. Who you're looking for is a woman, younger than the victim, maybe around twenty or thirty?" His eyes unfocused again. "Hmmm." He snaps back, looking around. He stands, his hands shaking a little. He looks around, eyes landing on the shelf. He scans it, using gentle hands to lift the potted plant. He pulls out a camera, unplugging it. "A Direct Link- model E47C." He sets the camera in an evidence bag.

Batman gives a grunt- and if Jim isn't mistaken it was one of approval? Danny held the camera out to Jim. "That was some fine detective work today, kid." Jim sets his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny glances off to the side nervously. He locks eyes with Batman. "Danny, this is Batman. Batman, this is Dr. Daniel Fenton, the newest detective on the force."

Batman holds a hand out. "I look forward to working with you." Danny pulls off one of the disposable gloves, reaching out to shake his hand. "You're shaking a little, are you alright?"

"Medical condition." Danny answers. "You're taller than I expected."

"It's the ears." Jim represses a smile. "You go ahead and get your deductions filed. I brought pasta." Jim watches Danny leave. He turns to Batman, who's staring him down with that signature I-know-everything™ face. "What?"

"When are you going to let him know that you're mentoring him?" He says it like a sentence, and was that amusement in his tone?

"I'm not." Jim turns to the window.

"You brought him pasta."

"He never learned to cook."

"So you're teaching him." There was definitely amusement in his tone now.

Jim huffed. "We're getting old." He finally sighs. "We both have full grown kids. Crime and corruption are still thick in this city." Batman is standing next to him with a swoosh in his cape. "Retirement... I could see myself with it. Sipping cocktails on the beach. A beach with sunshine and no broken down carnivals."

Batman is silent for a moment, as if considering this. "So you see Fenton taking your place?"

"Like you see your Robin." Jim admits.

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sophiethewitch1 · 5 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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write-tama · 2 months

Text

"to live with the milkman."

╰┈➤ francis mosses (the milkman) x doorman!reader

sypnosis ; reader is worried because francis hasnt been seen in a week. they decide to pay francis' apartment a little visit..

containing! ; lois stilinksy, working as doorman, gender neutral pronouns, use of y/n, francis being a little sick and out of uniform, francis and reader eat mac n cheese tg :3

authors note ; this is lowkey a slowburn-- i didnt mean to write so much D: i started writing yesterday morning and just finished this morning LOL but ya its very just wholesome and soft ^^

4.12.24 | 2.7k words

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

As a doorman, you realize a pattern of people would often come and go through the apartment. You know who goes to work in the morning and who comes home in the afternoon, and you know what days they typically go out and days where they don’t.

So, I'm not totally creepy when I say I've noticed a shift in Francis’ schedule, right? He’s not one to typically go out unless he has work in the morning— which is usually Tuesday through Friday, but lately, I haven’t seen him all week.

Nothing but the worst truly went through my mind. He could’ve been eaten by a doppel, or worse, was mistaken for a doppel and was exterminated on sight! These anxious feelings went through my head as I nervously clicked my pen. I glanced at today’s list again, as if magically waiting for his name and picture to show up on the piece of paper.

click, click, click.

Through the office window, I heard the subtle steps of heels clicking against the worn tiles. Sighing, I sat up straight and folded my hands in front of desk, forcing my anxious thoughts to the back of my head in order to continue doing my job. I looked up to meet the gaze of thick magenta bangs with eyes barely visible I sort of wonder how she even navigates through her surroundings.

“Good afternoon.” She greeted, her thick lips curling into a polite smile. I nod as I took her ID and entry request through the letter box, scanning through the documents for any misspellings or misinformation. As I carefully examined the print, I notice Lois’ lips pursing into a curious point.

“You looked troubled, sweetheart.” She noted. “Is everything alright? Besides work-stress that is.”

I sighed a little, placing her card down before looking through today’s list. I checked off Lois’ picture before turning to my request checklist. “Yeah, I just.. I don’t know. Have you heard from Francis recently?” I asked, not even masking the worried tone in my voice. Lois hummed a little, as if thinking about the last time she has even seen the man.

“The last time I saw him, he looked extremely tired. Like more tired than usual. I think he was just coming home from work? He was coughing and sniffling a lot.” She recalled. “Poor boy.. He must’ve been sick for a while.” Lois shook her head. With her words I felt like a pressure had been released from my chest. Oh, good, so there is a chance he’s alive, I thought to myself. I slid back her ID and smiled.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry, I just get worried knowing that a neighbor could’ve been killed by a doppel or any force of nature of that matter.” I lightly chuckled. Lois smiled, taking her ID before looking at me.

“You should talk to him. I’m sure he could use the company right now.” Lois suggested, but through that grin I could see that teasing smile.

I sighed a little, a little grin starting to form on my face. “C’mon, Lois, that would be way too embarrassing!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms in my chair. Lois lightly giggled, raising a white glove to stiffle her laughs.

“Oh, it won’t hurt, honestly! You never know what could happen~” she said, all singy-songy. I rolled my eyes before pressing the unlock button.

“Yeah, yeah. The door’s right there.” I sarcastically replied, a big grin on my face.

“Just think about it!” She called out as she walked through the door. I shook my head in amusement, listening to the door click behind her. I locked the door and returned to my previous slouched position.

Maybe I should pay him a visit.

My shift ended around late evening. I packed my bag and slid on my cardigan before locking the door behind me and hiding the key in a place only the next doorman would be able to find it. As I walked towards the exit of the building, I thought about what Lois had said earlier about paying him a visit. I never even really attempted to go past the lobby area of the apartment building. I had no purpose to anyway. And plus, it would’ve been a lengthy process to even request a visitor’s pass due to the security. I looked over to the doorman’s office, realizing that as of now, no one is on duty. Would it be morally wrong to go against the rules of the literal job I worked in?

Maybe.

But maybe my curiosity and anxiety could take over just for this one moment.

I walked back to the doorman’s office and unlocked the door. I placed the key back in its original hiding place before entering. I made sure to lock the door behind me before taking a look around the room again. Behind the doorman’s seat, there’s a door that leads to the stairway of the apartment complex. Its main purpose was to serve as a fire escape just in case of an emergency. Eagerly and swiftly, I gently pushed the door open, making sure to not make much noise. Once I walked out, I was met with the smell of old concrete and a spiral of stairs. I sighed to myself, remembering that Francis does in fact live on the third floor.

The stairs felt endless as my shoes clicked on the hard concrete. Fortunately, I only had to take a break only two times. I was finally at the end of the stairs, my legs tired from the endless climbly. I pushed the door open and was greeted with a typical carpeted hallway with blinding yellow-white lights that nearly burned my eyes. I sighed before trailing through the doors, looking at each number plate in order to locate the right room.

“Room 02, room 02..” I hummed to myself, just like how I would while scanning through files. After turning a corner, I was finally able to locate Francis’ room. I raised my fist to knock at the door, but the soft, soothing sounds of piano muffled through the wood. I stopped in my tracks, feeling as if my knock would disturb the perfect flow of the keys as I’m sure its song filled the apartment with grace. I waited for the keys’ song to slow to an end, the melody slowly fading out of the air and a sigh following its silence. I couldn’t help but smile, and sure this gave me enough proof that Francis was in fact still alive, but.. Something about his skills on the piano made me even more intrigued by the man.

I gently knocked with my knuckles, but making sure I was firm enough for the knocks to even be heard. From inside, I heard a chair scrape against wooden floorboard before footsteps steadily approaching me. A couple locks were undone before the squeak of the door filled my ears. I looked up and there Francis was— his eyebags were relatively darker and he was still in sleep attire with a baggy set of pajama pants and a fitting white tee.

“Oh— uh, (y/n)—” he said a little shocked to see me. I smiled a little, tilting my head at him.

“You shouldn’t have opened your door so fast. I could’ve been a doppel, y’know?” I advised. I heard him suck air through his teeth as he realized his rookie mistake.

“Mmm.. I’m sorry..” He mumbled, making me raise an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve been worried about you since I haven’t seen you in a while. I just.. Wanted to check if you were okay.”

Francis raised his eyebrows in surprise. It made me wonder if anyone else but me paid him a visit due to his absence. We lingered in silence for a minute. he stared down at me as I stared up at him.

“..May I be invited in?” I requested, breaking the silence. Francis blinked his eyes a little, as if he had been lost in thought previously.

“Mmm.. ID and entry request, please?” Francis teased, smiling a little. I scoffed, immediately catching on to his wittiness.

“Ha ha, very funny, Mr. Mosses.” I sarcastically replied, rolling my eyes. His grin grew wider, clearly amused by reaction. He stepped aside from the door, allowing me to enter. I walked in, bag still clutched to my side as I took a look around the apartment.

It was humble but quaint space. The ceiling lights were off and frankly looked like they were never used, however, his lamps illuminated a soft warm orange on his furniture. He had a small box TV and dull red couch with a small round coffee table planted in the middle. Huddled in a corner was his old piano he must've been playing earlier. Francis closed the door behind me, making sure to lock it as well. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” He apologized, quickly rushing to his couch where clothes scattered over the armrests. He went down a small hallway I assumed to be where his bathroom and bedroom was. I took off my shoes and placed my bag on the table that sat next to the door before sitting myself on the couch.

I sighed a little, almost drowning into the soft pillows. It almost made me question why he would be struggling with sleep if he has a couch as comfortable as this. I could see a bit of his kitchen from sitting on his couch. It was a decent size with counters on one side and the appliances on the other. It seemed like he had something on the stove cooking as well.

Francis walked in shortly after and took his seat on other end of the couch, keeping a distance between the two of us. I brought my knees to my chest while hugging his couch pillows. I looked at him for a bit, trying to figure out myself as to why he hasn’t been out recently. Not only was his dark circles were more apparent, his hair was a little longer and messier. He looked paler than usual as well. Francis turned to me, a curious look on his face.

“Is it apparent..?” Francis asked. I furrowed my eyebrows, a little confused on what he meant.

“Hm?” I hummed in response.

“That I’m coming down with something.” He chuckled slightly. I shrugged a little, leaning back on the couch cushions.

“I mean.. Your hair is messier.” I smiled, admiring the frizz on the top of his head. Francis quickly glanced up before running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s not that messy..” He sighed.

“Well, I wouldn’t know. You always got that milkman hat on the top of your head.” I laughed. I glanced over to the kitchen again, realizing that steam was coming through the glass lid. “I think you might want to get that.” I suggested, nodding my head towards the stove. He hummed a little before getting off of the couch and heading towards the kitchen. I watched as he reached the top of the cabinets, stretching up with ease. I couldn’t help but stare at his broad shoulders to his slim waist defined by his white shirt.

“Hey, I made mac n’ cheese if you’d like a bowl.” He offered, his voice immediately cutting through my daze.

“Oh— uh, yeah of course. I was about to get dinner after I got off my shift but here I am.” I chuckled. He nodded before grabbing another platter to make my own plate. I sat patiently on the couch before noticing the remote on the coffee table. “Hey, can I turn on the TV?” I asked.

“Hm?” Francis hummed from the kitchen. “Mmm.. Sure. I don’t mind.” He shrugged before turning back to his task.

Something about this felt so.. Safe.. And homely. I felt comfortable, despite me never even being in Francis’ apartment before. It felt familiar, and I couldn’t lie to myself and say that this is the most peace I’ve felt since the news of doppelgangers came out. I picked up the TV remote and flicked it on, browsing through the channels before find a movie we could idly have in the background.

Francis came out of the kitchen, holding two bowls with forks in each. This time, he took his seat much closer to me before placing my bowl on the coffee table. “Thank you.” I politely nodded. I took the bowl and started to eat. Honestly, to my surprise, the food was actually pretty good for a man who worked day and night. I was enjoying the comfortable silence between the two of us as we enjoyed our dinner together— something I barely saw myself seeing tonight.

“Hey.. (y/n)?” Francis mumbled quietly.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I replied, taking another scoop of the creamy mac n’ cheese to shove in my mouth.

“Why did you.. Come here?”

Something about that question made my heart skip a little. Why did I come here? I mean— I came here to make sure he was okay. That’s my job as doorman. To make sure all of the neighbors are safe and alive. But even when I heard him through the door, clearly shown to me that he is still breathing, I stuck around anyway.

Why did I come here?

“Well— I uh..” I trailed off a little, sort of lost to where I should even begin. “I was just worried about you. That is my job, no?” I said, clearing my throat. I kept my eyes on the screen, a little embarrassed to even face him.

“Mmm.. I don’t entirely believe that.” He hummed. “You could’ve called.”

Oh, fuck, yeah no— he’s right.

Ugh, Lois!

You set me up!

“That’s true..” I chuckled. “I guess you caught me.”

“Mmm..” He mumbled. He placed his now empty dinner on the table before folding his hands in his lap. “So..?”

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart beat fast inside my chest and a warmth creeping up my whole body. I placed my bowl onto the coffee table as well, and finally mustered the courage to look at him in his eyes.

“Francis..” I mumbled. He leaned in a little closer, as if he wanted to lean into my words and trusted them to embrace him.

“I.. I just.. I think I like you..” I trailed out. My head felt cloudy as a tingling sensation danced all over my skin, feeling like a little kid during recess confessing to her elementary school crush. “I've liked you.. Ever since we met. I never really said anything because I felt like you weren't necessarily interested in a relationship.. But Lois and Rafttellyn would always point out how you would look at me and I just—!”

A strong hand placed firmly on my cheek— so cold against my blushing face— pulled me in to meet those soft lips of his. I was completely silenced and wide eyed, but I knew what he was telling me. Everything in those pink lips told me that everything was going to be okay, and he liked me just as much..

I fluttered my eyes closed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to his chest. The TV buzzed in front of us, sputtering incoherent actors cracking jokes and delivering their lines. Our finished bowls of dinner were scattered on the table, but it was easy to tell the food was delicious for no piece of macaroni was left unnoticed. I pressed harder against his lips, letting the thought of breathing slip my mind.

If this is what it's like to live with him—

To spend our evenings chatting

Eating dinner on his couch

Watching TV while enjoying each other's presence

Then maybe I could get used to this.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

tagging ; @crybabies-heart @shypizzaperson @your-local-oc-maker @spearsillustration @mochi46106 @seraphlin @glxyaaandromeda (some ppl i tagged either bc they followed me on my old acc and just some ppl who interacted with my past content and just thought they would be interested in this fic :3

thank you so much for reading and reposts and likes are always so, so appreciated <3

#milkman #milkman x reader #thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbour milkman #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #tnmn milkman #tnmn #francis mosses x you #lois stilnsky #fanfiction #wholesome

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reiderwriter · 8 months

Text

Hating You Is The Easiest Thing I Can Do

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When your boss pulls your case out from under you and gives it right to the BAU, you're pissed. You're even more pissed when Doctor Spencer Reid suggests you can't do your job properly. After a week in his company, you decide to give him a piece of your mind

Warnings: Day One of Kinktober - Hate Sex, enemies to lovers, dom/sub, Mean!Dom!Spencer, Brat!Reader, spanking, degradation, spanking, spit kink, sir kink, vaginal fingering, slight creampie, Reader's boss is an asshole, typical office misogyny. Spencer is also an asshole, but that's just because he's a dumbass.

A/N: Special thank you to @reidmotif and @mrs-dr-reid for proofreading this one for me! I wrote this when on a major Pride and Prejudice moment, which is why there's a whole lot of plot before the sex. I hope you like the build-up just as much as the smut! <3 If you like it, don't forget to leave a like, reply, or reblog and tell me your thoughts! ((just as a reminder, apart for Sundays and Tuesdays, I'll be posting all the kinktober fics on AO3 exclusively, so check out my writing there - reiderwriter))

My requests are also back open now, so if you like my writing and have an idea, check out my request guidelines and drop me a message in my inbox! You can find the rest of my masterlist here :)

To say you were angry was an understatement. You were seething, the anger bubbling up inside of you and threatening to lash out at anyone who so much as crossed your path as you made your way down the crappy motel corridor. You'd only known Spencer Reid a week, but you could think of no one you despised more.

The FBI had always been a boys' club, you knew that. There were some goddamn strong women in your field office, of course, but you were outnumbered 10 to 1. Which was why you were so determined to do well on the first case assigned to you as lead Agent. The first week of the case, you'd made sure you were thorough. A body had been found in the park by a jogger, and you darted to the crime scene the moment you got the call. A woman in her early twenties, like you, had been raped, tortured, and then dumped here, her body posed in a demeaning way to make it seem as if she were performing a sexual act. Your entire body shuddered at the sight, but you couldn't let your coworkers see you weak so you powered through. Collecting evidence, getting an ID on the victim, interviewing potential witnesses, and yes, even breaking the news to the poor girl's family, you had been so attentive to every detail of the case and you felt you were making progress, your boss delivered a humbling blow.

"Another body has been discovered. I've invited the Behavioural Analysis Unit in from Quantico because you're in over your head." He'd told you, not even looking up at you from the file he was reading on his desk.

"What? I wasn't told about another body, why wasn't I notified?"

"I didn't think you needed to know, now that the BAU is coming in."

"So I'm off the case? That's it?"

"No, I want you to assist them in their investigation. Tell them everything you've gathered so far, get them situated in the office as best you can."

"Get them coffee when they want it? Rub their feet if they ask for it? This is bullshit, I was making progress, if you'd only have given me more time-"

"Agent, I suggest you walk out of this office right now and get your PMSing under control before I have to suspend you from fieldwork." You pressed your nails further into the beds on your palms then and bit back your tongue from replying, simply giving a terse nod and exiting the office.

It wasn't even an hour later before the new team arrived, and you offered a tense smile and welcome as you got them set up in their own office. The Unit Chief didn't seem too bad, but Aaron Hotchner couldn't exactly be described as the most welcoming of people, and you felt an instant camaraderie with JJ, the other agent who'd come into the office with him. There were more agents apparently, but they'd gone out into the field to check out the new victim and reinterview the family, something you weren't exactly happy about. But, if you were going to be their little bitch for the next week, you were at least thankful they were tolerable and polite.

"So here's everything I've got so far. I've been pretty thorough in my interrogations of potential witnesses, and there are no CCTV cameras in the general vicinity of the dump sites, so I don't think you'll find anything else there that'll aid in your profile."

" If you'd have been thorough you'd have found this though, right?" A new voice popped up from the door, and you felt yourself tense up under the sudden accusation. Looking up you saw he was holding up his phone, a picture of a strange marking on a tree lighting up the screen.

"Excuse me?"

"This was left on a tree roughly thirty feet from the first dump site. I called Rossi and Morgan and they found a similar marking near the second victim. It's a Mesopotamian symbol relating to the worship of prostitutes and sex workers to promote fertility." He spoke plainly, but all you could hear was the condescension in his tone, and your blood boiled with rage.

" Agent Y/L/N, I'm sorry about him, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, he's another member of our team." JJ introduced the man, sending him a warning glance, as if letting him know that he hadn't just put his foot in his mouth directly.

You looked at the man then, really focusing on him now instead of the pictures, and almost cursed out loud again. He was a jerk, but fuck was he attractive. Tousled hair, dark eyes, and a perfectly sculpted jaw, it was as if he were sent from hell directly to piss you off and tempt you. You pushed the attraction aside for the minute then, choosing to be the bigger person and introduce yourself.

"I'm Agent Y/N Y/L/N. And I'm sorry that I'm not an expert on Mesopotamian prostitutes, but I guess that's probably your specialty, right, Doctor?" You held out your hand for him to shake, but he just looked down at it.

"If you're referring to my doctorate, I actually didn't study classic civilizations. I hold PhDs in Math, Chemistry, and Engineering and additional BAs in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology. And I don't do handshakes." He glanced straight past you after that, walking back over to Hotch and filling him in on other things you must've overlooked during your brief time working the case.

You glared at his back, finally letting your hand drop to your side again as you let out an angry chuckle.

"Don't take it personally, Spencer is just… He’s He's not great with people. He'll warm up to you." JJ put a reassuring arm on your shoulder and you nodded. But inside you knew there was not one thing the man could do to reverse the bad opinion of him you'd just gained.

–X–

After the initial anger of having the case seeped out from beneath you wore off, you actually began enjoying your time with the BAU. You hadn't put much thought into profiling before, it usually being so far off your radar while you were working in the field office but you were actually coming to enjoy how they worked, and you'd learned a lot.

Your relationship with Spencer, however, only degraded.

Your hatred had reignited the moment you'd been joined by the rest of the BAU Team. Your boss has finally come down to greet them, and, almost as if making you pay for your earlier comments, had genuinely sent you on a coffee run for them. You could deal with the fact that the man had the most annoyingly complicated coffee order you'd ever heard of in the Bureau, but what you couldn't forgive were the sly comments you walked in on when you returned.

"Come on, Reid. That Agent is easy on the eyes, you should talk to her, get you a slice of that." You'd been introduced to Derek Morgan earlier and you'd instantly pegged him as a flirt, so this wasn't exactly shocking to you. What was a bit surprising was the other man's reply.

"If she's attractive I hadn't noticed. I've been too busy trying to clear up her mess with this case."

You walked in the door then, coffees in hand, and slammed his drink down on the table for him. You handed Morgan to him, double-checking that you'd got both of their orders right before shooting another glare at the man and walking away to find the rest of the team.

But not before hearing Morgan chastise Reid in another whisper: "God man, you gotta be nicer to the kid…"

To say that your working relationship had soured totally after your two personal encounters with the man was simply an untruth. You didn't have a working relationship, you had a working rivalry.

From then on, you'd slyly interrupt the man when he was speaking, telling him to cut his genius rambles in half, that you didn't have all day to sit around and wait for him to stutter his way through his theory while there was a murderer on the loose.

He didn't hold back either, constantly asking you questions he knew you didn't know the answers to, just to smile slyly down at you and make you admit that you weren't as good as him. It was getting so detrimental to the office atmosphere that you had to be genuinely separated after only three days, Hotchner bringing you into the field with him on multiple occasions and forcing Reid to stay behind with JJ to work on a geographical profile.

You'd been with Hotchner at a family interview, working with him to gain details of the second victim's actions and whereabouts leading up to her murder to establish a timeline when you got a call.

Excusing yourself from the room, you quickly picked up the call.

"This is Agent Y/L/N."

"Hotch isn't picking up his phone." That was all the explanation you got from the man on the other side of the phone, his voice instantly grating.

"Yes, I'd assume he isn't, Doctor Reid, because we are currently interviewing a bereaved mother and father and he put his phone on silent. Is there something you need?"

"I need to talk to Hotch."

"Well, you called me. What do you need?" You heard him breathe out a frustrated sigh on the other side of the line, and you rolled your eyes, slightly enjoying being this stubborn and getting under his skin.

"Just tell him we're ready to give the profile, okay?" He hung on you after that and you cursed him down the line, receiving nothing back but the empty beeps of the dial tone.

–X–

It didn't take long after delivering the profile to get your guy, but as he hadn't been in the middle of committing any felonies when you picked him up, you'd had to spend a few days in the interrogation rooms.

Hotch had taken a crack at him and gotten nowhere, and so had Rossi and Emily and Morgan. JJ had been the one to make the arrest, so she went in last and still came out with nothing much. He hadn't layered up yet, as they'd suspected he wouldn't, too egotistical to allow anyone else into the room that he thought he was going to talk himself out of.

"We're getting nowhere with this, Hotch. I think I have an idea that could get him to start talking." Reid said as you all stared at the man through the one-way glass.

"What, you think you can charge in there and get him to talk?" It was petty, but it'd been a stressful week, and he was used to this flow of conversation between the two of you.

"No, you are. Hotch, she fits his type, she's attractive, same build and coloring as the previous two victims. I think it'd work." You scoffed at his suggestion.

"Oh so now you think I'm attractive? I thought you hadn't noticed because you were, what, too busy cleaning up my mess?" You crossed your arms as he gave you an incredulous look, and you realized that he didn't think you'd heard him.

"Spencer's right, Y/N." Hotch nodded, looking between the two of you to see if he needed to pull you apart to keep you from fighting or to keep you from jumping each other. You personally weren't sure which you'd like most at that point, cursing yourself as you let your eyes trail down his body.

"It's going to excite him having you so close, you should pop a few of those buttons, too," Reid suggested looking down at your chest as you scoffed and crossed your arms.

"Oh you'd really like that," you mumbled under your breath, but a swift look from Hotch had you shutting your mouth again as he began to brief you.

Going in you felt a surge of pettiness seep through you. You were going to nail this guy, get him to talk about every little nasty thing he did to those girls, and prove to your boss that you could do this when every member of the BAU had tried and failed. But a small, dim, and annoying reminder at the back of your head whispered in your ear that you'd be pleasing Spencer then as well. Proving him right. You weren't sure if you wanted to succeed to hear him or your boss say "good job" to you after you finally succeeded, but when you imagined it with him, he was a whole lot closer, right in your ear, body pressed against yours.

You focused on your anger over your attraction and pushed into the room, ready to stare down a monster and escape unharmed.

–X–

It had worked, of course. It had taken a few hours of building rapport but you'd done it. You'd had him eating out the palm of your hand while he confessed to the three murders you knew about and an extra four that you didn't.

A day of retrieving bodies later and by 10 pm, the case was finally closed.

"Well done, kid, you really got him in that interview. That was some great work." Morgan nudged your elbow as he grabbed his duffle, exiting the makeshift office.

"Don't forget we're getting drinks at the cocktail bar in half an hour. Shower off that mud and change into a hot dress, Agent, and I'll buy you your first shot." Emily called back to you from the exit too, leaving you in a fit of giggles as you promised her you would.

Once they'd all gone, you started packing up your things ready to leave yourself when there was another knock at the door.

" Hey, I need to grab my bag." Reid stood in the door awkwardly, and your smile dropped into a politely neutral face as you nodded to him.

"Don't let me stop you, Doc."

"Spencer."He said, stepping a bit closer to you.

"What?"

"I want you to call me Spencer. You keep calling me Doctor or Doc, I want you to call me Spencer."

"No. Doctor Reid is just fine for me."

"And what if I want more?" He grabbed your wrist as you turned to go, using a bit too much force and leaving you stumbling into him, hitting his chest as you looked up at him, your noses almost touching with the proximity.

"Let me go," you growled, but his grip loosened and you didn't move an inch.

"What if I want more?" He asked again, a little more insistent this time, his eyes dark in the dim room, expression unreadable.

"Why should I care what you want, Doctor Reid?"

"Because I think you want it, too. Because I think that despite all the odds, you want me just as much as I want you."

Your anger burst out of you in a sarcastic laugh then at his presumptuous words.

"Despite all the odds? What odds are those Spencer? You treat me like shit, ignoring me, refusing to even shake my hand, and downplaying the hard fucking work I put in before you got here? God, you are so fucking narcissistic." You finally stepped away from him then, turning away to regain your composure.

"Me? I'm not the one who missed some vital fucking evidence in a murder investigation, Y/N, so I'm sorry I wasn't the most welcoming person, but God if we're talking egos, you should probably check yourself."

"Forget it, you're impossible. I really tried to be nice to you, but more fool me for making messes you had to clean up."

"Are you still stuck on that? Y/N, I'm sorry, but Derek just has a way of-" He stepped closer to you again and you could feel the oxygen being sucked from your lungs.

"Don't you dare blame this on Morgan. You're attracted to me and you fucking despise that, and it's none of Morgan’s fault. Now please, just get out of this fucking office and go back to your motel room." You practically hissed those last words at him, holding back the urge to scream in frustration. Your lips were so close now, as his chest heaved, hands clenched by his sides as he resisted the urge to grab you.

"Forgive me… for suggesting something so obviously repulsive to you." With that, he brushed past you and walked out, leaving you reeling at his almost confession, head light from the lack of air. He'd taken your breath with him as he left the room.

–X–

The promise of free shots had convinced you to get back out to the bar as promised, not letting Reid and his fickle moods control when and where you'd be enjoying yourself.

You finally showed up at the bar and were greeted by hugs from JJ and Emily, already one drink in as they immediately handed you a shot from the bar. Guiding you back to the table, you paused as you saw him there.

Morgan was sat at the table, happily chatting away with Reid, who'd since grown quiet, eyes meeting yours before leaving to rake down your frame. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, confidently standing tall as he devoured you with his eyes. Changing out of your work clothes, you'd decided that you needed some fun tonight, donning a short red dress, barely hitting the tops of your thighs, hugging your curves tightly, and pushing your chest up so it nearly spilled out completely. You'd completed the look with thigh-high black boots and a red lip, looking the absolute image of lust - or anger - personified.

"Whew mama, you look good, Y/N." Morgan greeted you, standing up to give you a kiss on the cheek. Reid still said nothing but kept his eyes trained on you as he took another sip of his drink.

"I was promised shots and dancing, I think I'm dressed pretty appropriately don't you think?" You smiled and giggled up at Morgan, letting your touch linger on him a little longer to see if it would spur Reid into action.

"Have I ever told you about my very good friend Penelope Garcia? I think you two would get along just fine."

The rest of the night continued in a similar vein. You'd stepped out onto the dance floor with Emily and JJ, letting whatever man wanted to sidle up close, begging one of them to be a distraction from the man whose eyes were boring into you from the other side of the room. It didn't work. Their hands were on your hips, guiding you to the sound of the music but in your head, all you saw was him, doing the same.

It didn't help that he was getting hit on constantly from his perch beside Morgan, and you watched with a bitter feeling at the bottom of your stomach as women tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to pay attention to them. After another frustrating invitation for a tryst with a local man, you excused yourself from the dance floor, finding Morgan in the bar, letting him know that you were calling it a night.

"Where's Reid?" You asked, trying and failing to sound casual as you glanced around the now crowded bar for signs of him.

"He left like ten minutes ago. Said he was tired and went back to the motel."

"Was he…" You didn't want to finish the question, not knowing which answer you'd prefer, but Morgan filled in the gaps himself with a wide grin.

"Alone? Yes, kid. Here, it's the address of the motel we're staying at and his room number." You hesitated before grabbing the paper and grabbing your stuff, practically running from the bar and hopping in the nearest taxi.

–X–

That's how you found yourself stomping down the corridor of the motel, pounding on his door at 1 a.m., unashamed in your brazen actions. He opened the door, slightly shocked to see you there, and you pushed your way inside and turned on him as you shut the door.

"What the fuck was all of that?" You demanded as soon as he turned back to you. His shirt was open now, jacket and tie discarded on the floor somewhere deeper into the room, but you forced yourself to look up into his eyes, away from the pale plains of his skin.

"What was what, Y/N?"

"You, staring at me like that the whole night and then just leaving."

"Did you want me to stay?"

"I want you to stop answering my questions with questions, Reid. This is bullshit, you can't act like a dick to me all week and then look at me like I'm a piece of meat you want to rip apart, for fucks sake."

"You made it very clear earlier tonight that you wanted no part of this, Y/N. Are you saying I should've done something else?"

"That's another fucking question, Spencer! If you don't start actually talking to me, I swear to god, I'll-" You ran a hand through your hair, and when you looked up again, he was closer than ever. You backed up into the wall, but he followed you, pressing a leg between your own. Slowly and with that condescending grin plastered across his face, he drawled out his next words.

"You'll what?"

Your lips crashed against his with the fury of your frustrations, a mess of teeth and tongue and biting anger as you surged forward into him.

With a rough push of your hips, he slammed you back into the wall, taking charge of the situation, coaxing his tongue into your mouth, battling you for control, and winning. Grabbing you by the neck he slowly pulled his lips away from yours, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Don't be such a brat, Y/N. When I ask you questions, it's because I want answers." You moaned as you tried to regain his lips, but he chuckled and kept you pinned.

"Tell me, baby, what should I have done earlier instead? Got down on my knees to beg your forgiveness, or thrown you over that desk and used you like a cheap little whore? I think I know which one you prefer."

You moaned at his words, but kept your mouth twisted in a grimace, choosing not to answer. He got tired of waiting, and, with a swiftness you didn't know he possessed, twisted you around so your hands were planted against the wall, your chest pushing against it too as he pulled your hips up and out, effectively baring your pantie-clad pussy to him as your dress pushed up and over your ass all by itself.

"So fucking slutty. You let all those men in that club touch you while you stared at me the entire time." He ran his hands across your ass massaging you underneath your underwear before pulling his hands away again and grabbing your hips. He pushed his clothed cock against you from behind and you moaned at how hard and big he felt already.

"Was this what you wanted, brat?"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I think you'd much prefer it if I fucked you, don't you think?" He turned you around again, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around him, the new angle pressing your core further into his cock.

"Open your mouth, now." Against your better judgment, your body reacted to him quickly, your tongue dropping out of your mouth as he ground his cock into your core, effectively dry-humping you. With a swift motion, he spat in your mouth, your eyes going wide as you instinctively shut your mouth and swallowed.

"Good girl," he stroked your hair, lifting you up and carrying you to the bed. His lips locked with yours as you tasted his spit on your lips, letting him take control and move you in any way he pleased.

"But you've been a brat," he said pulling away. "And brats need to be punished."

With that he forced you over his knee, pulling your panties down as he positioned your hips higher, your ass raised. He fisted one hand into your hair and began softly stroking your ass with the other.

"You're going to count for me, baby. If you lose count, we'll start again. With each number, I'll tell you what you did wrong, okay?"

"Fuck, yes, yes sir." With another soft touch, he pulled his hand up and bought it back again down sharply, letting it cup your ass as you hissed from the sting.

"O-One."

"That was for being a brat in the office. Being so confident you missed some vital evidence that was staring you right in the face."

He did it again, and you squirmed under his touch.

"Two."

"That was for teasing me in front of Hotch. Making me get hard right there in the office before you went to interrogate that creep."

"That made you hard?" You gasped out as he cracked out another slap to your ass. "Three."

"That was for talking. You need to stop fucking talking." He stroked your ass again, delivering a fourth, fifth, and sixth blow in quick succession as you felt yourself leak your arousal all over his lap.

"That was for dressing like a little whore tonight. That was for flirting with Morgan. That was for letting another man touch you. What do you have to say for yourself now, brat?" Your breaths stuttered out of you as you tried to compose yourself, confident that he'd finished your punishment now.

"G-Go…. FuckFuck yourself." He growled and threw you back on the bed, ripping your dress off over your head and letting his lips return to yours as he trailed his hand to between your legs, finally pushing two fingers inside of you as you moaned and writhed beneath him.

" I hate you," you moaned in his ear as his lips trailed down to your breasts.

"You have a funny way of showing it." Your orgasm was rapidly approaching, so close you could practically taste it. He sensed it as well, though, and pulled his fingers out of you before you could reach that bliss.

"You thought it would be that easy, brat?" he whispered in your ear with a low chuckle before flipping you over to your front and thrusting his fingers back into you from behind, causing another moan to rip from your throat, uncontrollably loud in the otherwise silence of the motel at night.

Unzipping his pants and freeing his cock, you felt the weight of it on your ass as he rubbed his precum against your now bright red asscheeks.

"You're going to look so pretty with my cum decorating your ass baby. It's going to make your ass feel better, too."

"You're disgusting," you spit at him, but your hips push harder into his dick, trying desperately to capture him inside of you and force him to use you.

"No more talking, bitch. Take my fingers." He pushed a hand into your mouth and you started twirling your tongue around them, using your distraction to finally violently thrust his dick all the way inside you. You screamed at the sudden filling, cumming around his cock in an instant, trying to milk him for all he was worth. But he clamped a hand down over your mouth so that all that fell from your face was escaped tears and muffled pleas for more.

"Gonna use you like this baby, gonna make you admit you love me."

His thrusts gained a steady pace as your brain emptied beneath him, desperate for more of the pleasure his body was supplying you with. He released your mouth then, content that all your energy seemed to be spent on pushing your ass back into his, listening to the wet, sloppy sounds of your activity.

"Do you like that, brat? You like me making you feel like this, huh?" He slapped your ass again as he thrust, and you moaned back with a nod.

"Yes, Spencer, don't stop… Don't stop." You moaned again, another orgasm rolling over your body, causing you to clench unconsciously around his cock.

"So good baby, you're responding so well to my cock." He trailed a hand underneath you to your clit and started rubbing it in time to his thrusts.

"One more for me. One more and I'll pull out, okay? Just one more."

"I can't, Spencer I can't do it.." You whined underneath him, face fully buried in the motel pillows. You were surprised he even heard you through the tears as the material.

"Yes you can, baby, look you're so close already, just do one more."

"I hate you," you moaned again, feeling your third and final orgasm wash over you, your eyes rolling back in your head as your body started twitching and didn't stop. You felt a small twitch from him too, as he finished thrusting inside of you, letting a little bit of his cum escape into you before pulling out and decorating your ass with his ejaculation.

He fell by the side of you and gasped desperately for a few minutes, before grabbing a hot wet towel from the bathroom and cleaning your ass off.

"Spencer…" you croak out eventually, regaining some clarity, but still not moving much from your spot in his bed.

"Spencer, I don't hate you."

"I know. I don't hate you either. Which is probably for the best."

"What? Why?"

"Hotch just requested your transfer to the Quantico Office so you could start training with the BAU. You did a good job this week, Y/N." Your eyes started watering again and you gently pushed away tears as he laughed at you, asking why you were crying.

"I'm not happy," you joked.

"I just realized that means I have to work with you more." You both laughed at that. You didn't hate each other exactly, but that didn't mean you could work together well either.

And you didn't want to if this was the outcome of your bickering and hatred.

#kinktober 2023 #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #hate sex #enemies to lovers

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kremlin · 9 months

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"This event ends the moment you write us a check, and it better not bounce, or you're a dead motherfucker" -- Big Bill Hell

There was a time when you'd see little old ladies paying for the groceries with a hand-written personal check, holding up the line, causing an immediately-forgiven slight sense of annoyance with those behind her. Buddy. Those days are over. They've been over. What, did you think you were going to just pop a couple extra zeroes on the end of your paycheck there? Maybe scan your paycheck, open it in photoshop, make a template, print em out all nice? You think you're the first to think of that, dipshit?

It takes the law a long time to catch up with the state of the art. You're reading this on the internet, which means you never use checks. The law has caught up. Your ass will be going to prison immediately and you will see zero return.

You can't even kite checks anymore, and hell, nobody under 40 will even know what that means, due to the blazing fast, two day settlement on all ACH transactions. Let me paint you a picture.

You get paid on Friday, but it is Monday, and bills are due on Tuesday. And you're broke: $0 in the bank. Goose egg. Pop open your checkbook, go to a store, "buy" some things, write a check for the amount. The cashier takes it!

Now take those things you "bought", across town, to another store location, and return them for cold hard cash. Sweet. Bills paid. Friday rolls around, and you just make it to the bank to deposit your paycheck before it closes. After the weekend, the checks you wrote finally post, and they don't bounce! You've kited a check. You've surreptitiously taken a zero-interest loan. And we know your broke ass. The interest rate on that short-term payday loan should have been straight up usurious. We're talking 29%. That makes predatory fuckers like us horny for sex. We're so mad. Now you are going to Federal Prison. For a good minute. Fuckface.

COST: $0.10 (With banks offering free checking accounts + Bic pen)

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor sleet, if you fuck with the mail, we'll rip your nuts off" -- Ronald Mail (Inventor of Mail)

Many people have this misnomer that the most powerful people in politics are democratically elected. The president, of the United States, of America, is a stupid cartoon hotdog. All of them, I don't care. Way less clout than you'd think. Brilliantly, it is the people that the hotdog president appoints who are actually doing anything significant. The director of the CIA. The fucking chairman of the Federal Reserve. Probably the, like, most senior, uh, general of the military, and shit too. I don't know, we don't "do" army here at Bloomberg. You probably don't even know their names! I don't! These are the ones you should be seeing in your sleep.

There's another position like that. Appointed directly by the hotdog. The Postmaster General. That's a real title. He's the CEO of the mail, and buddy, what he may lack in political power relative to the director of the CEO, he makes up in raw sexual energy. Total Tom Selleck energy. Like an airline pilot. We're talking Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm tentpoling in my black business slacks just writing this, and all my Bloomberg newsroom bros are peering over my shoulder and also tent-poling. We're not gay though, and especially me, I'm probably the least gay, but sometimes I just lay awake for hours at night what that mustache would feel like pressed against my lips, the unbelievable and utter, total sense of security I'd feel burying my head into his hard chest.

You get it. He's your dad. And if you fuck with the mail, you've fucked with the tools in your dad's garage. And dad's been drinking. You're in for it, bucko, you are in trouble. Do you think the United States Postal Service actually makes any money? Hell no. It costs like five bucks to mail a box basically anywhere I can think of and they give you the boxes for free. You can just walk in the post office and take them. I do that, and then just throw them away, I don't know why, some kind of compulsion. Being able to move shit around like this, quickly, cheaply -- Jesus H, I've got a huge amount of money in my bank account, probably tens of trillions of dollars (due to financial knowledge gained from reading Bloomberg articles) and I could probably mail every single person ever something and still come out in the black.

No way pal. They've thought of that already. The Postmaster General is going to know every time, and he's going to grab you by the shirt collar, wearing his cool as fuck hat, and you're going to get your pants pulled down, and your bare ass spanke...I need to go use the restroom real quick.

We rely on the mail system to get important shit done. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it isn't. Trust me. This is why, like almost every other person who receives mail in this year 2023, I just fucking put a wastebasket under my mail slot. I don't even shred that shit anymore. I just burn it. Takes less time.

COST: $0.63 (Postal stamp)

"Can call all you want, but there's no one home // And you're not gonna reach my telephone // Out in the club, and I'm sipping that bubb // And you're not gonna reach my telephone" -- Lady Gaga

I read something wild that the children of today do not know what a dial tone is, because of how fucked up and stupid they are. Isn't that super fucked up?

While it's not really our style, allow me to fill you in on some ancient, arcane knowledge about the telephone. You can turn it on, and then you can punch in numbers. Any numbers. Random ones, or maybe not random ones. If the ten numbers you punch in are the same as the numbers in someone else's telephone number, their phone will ring, and then you are talking to them. This is called "Phreaking".

Here's the kicker: You can tell that jackass anything you want. "Oh, Hi, Yes, I am Reginald Sumpter calling from Avalon Consulting LLC, we are just following up on the invoice we sent you. Please remit to ###### routing ###### account."

BOOM! Your name isn't Reginald whatever and that company doesn't exist, but you just received a deposit. It's fucking beautiful. What have you done wrong? It isn't your responsibility to handle who your business' clients/etc are, it's their's. If they want to just pay you money for no real reason, well, that's kind of on them, isn't it? I haven't stuck a pistol in your face and demanded everything in the register.

Well, it's too clever. It's too slick. This is the United States of America. It's one thing to commit a felony like armed robbery, it's another thing to piss off someone in charge of the accounting division who uses a special bathroom you need a key to get into.

You can do it on the computer too, I use a PC Computer at work and send email, so you can see how it'd work there. You can make a document that is indifferentiable from a real invoice and, straight up, 1/3 of the time they will pay that shit. Lmfao.

It's called wire fraud because, uhh, duhhhh, there's wires. What do you think that thing is strung between the telephone receiver and the dialer? And computers? Give me a break. There's so many wires with those.

COST: $0.25 (Coin for payphone)

"People calculate too much and think too little." -- Charlie Munger

It is insane how dumb the common man can be when it comes to our world of expertise. I hear this same sentiment, like, ALL THE TIME:

"Durr hurr I will buy an insurance policy for my car or house or whatever so that in case something happens to it I will get money". And then that same person proceeds to drive safely or not burn their house down. Dumbest crap imaginable.

Let me break it down for you. Insurance is a two player competitive game. There is a winner and there is a loser. Go take out an expensive insurance policy on your American sports car. Buy a neck brace, a football helmet, and pack that bitch with throw pillows. Then get in the left lane of a major highway at like noonish, let it rip and then SLAM on your brakes. Hit from behind! Your fault! Congratulations. You have won insurance. How this gets past people is beyond me.

You can only do this once or twice before the insurance companies catch on. Then they don't want to fuck with you. It is also..I don't know man...something feels off about taking a car or a house, which like, some guy had to build and just destroying it, but that is only a weird emotional thing, since you're making money, more than whatever the destroyed thing is worth, so in reality you've built that house plus some extra. You've contributed.

COST: $106.00 (Average monthly car insurance payment)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUBSCRIBE TO MY WHATEVER FOR PART TWO, COMING SOON. i'll post it later today probably. whatever time frame will juice the numbers. have a sneaky peaky

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cheolsblackgf · 1 year

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bags

⇒ woozi x reader

⇒ word count: 750 (it was last time i checked, but then i added some stuff so just disregard this)

⇒ warnings: none

⇒ content: certified fluff zone; established relationship with dare I say tsundere!jihoon

⇒ note: enjoy ♡

“i’m bored.” you say, throwing another crumbled paper ball in the recycling bin. your boyfriend’s eyes dart to you quickly, before going back to his computer screen. “you’re always bored when you come here,” he remarks, followed by some audible clicking, “I don’t know why you keep coming.” he adds in a barely audible voice. you pretend you don’t hear him, and he pretends he didn’t say anything. he knows why you come here every tuesday after work and he loves when you come, though he won’t say it in as many words. ever since you first got into a relationship with him, he’s made it seem like he doesn’t like having you around. though it’s probably because his confession could’ve been described as embarrassing, you don’t see it that way. (your name spelled (incorrectly) in butter on a piece of toast, followed by “I like you”.)

at that point in your life, you didn’t have an adequate amount of time to make breakfast since you were always running late, so it was always toast. he picked up on that and managed to catch you one day outside of your office building. the piece of toast was cold, and the butter was barely visible, but he had a whole little speech planned out and even through the obvious sleep deprivation, he was adorable and you’ve liked him ever since.

now, in order to somehow make up for the dignity he supposedly lost during that encounter (and the relentless teasing from you), he pretends you’re a nuisance any chance he gets. at first, you just thought he was being silly, but over time, and the more he called you silly names very obviously filled with love like “dummy” (your favourite) among others, you realised he was totally committed to this bit. it didn’t annoy you like it may annoy someone else because he’s jihoon, and you know what he’s capable of.

about six months from the beginning of your relationship, jihoon invited you to his workplace. it’s a cozy little studio on the middle floor of a big building in the city. it’s about a fifteen minute walk from your office, but you don’t mind it.

at the start, he wasn’t really meaning for it to become a routine or expecting you to come each time, but the more he invited you, the more you built it into your schedule. tuesday was always the golden day. work ends early for you on that day, and you don’t have as many errands.

he always orders takeout for you when he knows you’re coming by, too, which might be the sweetest thing. you don’t always get to eat lunch on tuesdays because you wouldn’t be able to leave early if you took the optional lunch break they offered at your office. jihoon knows this, and he always makes sure to ask you what you’re feeling that day so he can order accordingly.

today, he ordered fish and chips from the “anything” restaurant down the street. he never gets anything when he orders you food, but he “tastes” your food each time. so much so that you portion off every meal with him. this should bug you, but how could it? you almost never finish all your food by yourself anyways.

“oh shit,” you exclaim as a notification comes through your phone. it’s the grocery carrier announcing your groceries being dropped off. “I have to go, my groceries are sitting outside my doorstep and I don’t want them to go bad. damn, I thought he would’ve come later.” you curse. when they say speedy delivery, they mean it.

jihoon’s pout is barely visible, but when he turns to look at you, you see he’s not thrilled to hear you’re leaving. he goes to grab your bag from the hook on the wall for you, but moves like there’s double sided tape on the bottom of his shoes.

you get up and tidy your area before going to stand in front of your boyfriend to bid him goodbye. he grabs both your arms and pulls you in, causing you to completely forget your script. “see you later.” he says placing a fairly quick peck to your lips. he lets you go soon after, but when you don’t move, he’s confused.

“do that again.” you request. jihoon doesn’t usually kiss you. he’s usually on the receiving end because his version of affection involves less intimate contact, which is fine with you. it won’t stop you from kissing him, though.

“you’re pathetic.” he replies, and kisses you again. “okay, again.”

“your groceries–” he reminds you, though you haven’t forgotten. to hell with the goddamn groceries.

“it’s just yogurt. kiss me again.”

“okay, okay!”

#woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fluff #woozi imagines #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon fluff #lee jihoon imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Text

Dinner Mix-Up

Larissa Weems x Reader

This is a super special birthday story for my wifey @funky--lesbian. She was the one who gave me the idea and I'm simply writing it out for her. It was so wonderful meeting you IRL Tuesday <3

She had been insanely busy. So busy that she was coming home late in the evenings, long after you retired to bed. In the mornings, she left before you woke, needing to get into the office before she had any students cause trouble during the moments she slept. You could tell Larissa was running herself into the ground.

With the arrival of the Addams’ girl and her family, not to mention the beast on the loose, Larissa was at wit's end with the school year. Time and time again, you tried reminding yourself that this semester was one of the worst the headmistress had ever seen, but you couldn’t help but feel forgotten about, in a way. She was always so tired and completely unwilling to share the burden with you, making it nearly impossible to support your girlfriend.

Two days prior, you waited up for her, watching her trudge into the bedroom, strip herself of her clothes, and crawl into bed. Sleepily, you gather her into your arms and gently dance around your feelings as you pull the pins from her hair, “I missed you so much today, darling. I wondered if you would like to go on a date with me on Friday?”

“Mhmm... I would love that. I miss you.” Larissa hummed, happy to have her hair loosened and her face buried into your chest.

“How about that sweet little Italian restaurant that just opened in Burlington?” You scooch yourself down in bed, keeping your arm around her. The two of you had been dating for years, Larissa always keeping you level-headed while you helped her find peace on her craziest of days.

You could tell she was on the verge of sleep from how her breathing began to slow just a bit, her grip around you loosening a tad, “Mmokay, darling... I’ll call tomorrow for reservations...”

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, you whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you too...” She mumbled back, nuzzling her face into you before going still. You knew it would be just a few moments before she was sleeping, which made you smile in the fact that she was at peace. Even this short conversation was making you feel closer to Larissa, settling many of your worries about the two of you growing apart.

Well, that was until you got to the restaurant and waited... and waited... and waited.

You sat in the restaurant like a fool for over an hour. Larissa hadn’t even bothered to call or respond to any of your attempts at communication.

At first, you drove home fuming, ready to give Larissa Weems a piece of your mind upon returning home, but when you entered and Larissa was nowhere to be found, you broke down. You couldn’t help yourself when you curled up on the couch and wept as Larissa had absolutely broken your heart.

Was a relationship just too much for Larissa right now? Perhaps Larissa was reminded of her old feelings for her roommate with Parents Weekend two weekends ago? Or maybe she didn’t really mean it when she said she loved you? There was always the chance she was saying it out of habit and it had lost all meaning to her.

All of your ruminating had you spiraling. Your whole body shook from the sobs and the decorative pillow on the couch was soaked with your tears. How could you and Larissa have fallen this far? You would do anything to make her love you as she once had.

The front door opened with a jolt, Larissa slamming it behind herself when she saw your form sitting on the couch. With her deep rapid breaths and the way her eyes narrowed in on you, she was in an absolute rage, “Where were you?!”

“Where was I?! Where have you been? What is wrong with me?” You began to verbalize your spiraling, shouting straight back at your girlfriend, deeply conflicted by your feelings of anger and sadness, “I just don’t know what I can do to make you love me! I can- I can be different. I can change. What do you want from me? Do you want me to be more like Morticia? I’ll do whatever you want... Please... I love you...”

“Nothing is wrong with you! I just waited like a fool for hours and you didn’t show up!” Larissa circled the couch and dropped onto the cushion next to you, ready to argue. Her brows furrow at the mention of Morticia’s name, the sight of you weeping so openly bringing tears to the woman’s eyes, “I don’t know why you even mention her! I love you, not her.”

“What do you mean I didn’t show up? You didn’t show up!”

“I was sitting there at a beautiful, romantic, candlelit dinner waiting for you! You are the one who bothered not to show!”

“Candle-lit? The place isn’t that fancy! Don’t pretend you were there!”

“It’s a five-star restaurant! What do you mean it isn’t fancy?” Larissa’s tears were fading into a cry-laugh, her anger fading into an amused confusion. She reached into her coat pocket, pulling a handkerchief to dab at your tears.

You spoke with a slight shake to your voice, “We went to different restaurants... Didn’t we?” Her soft laughter began to make you laugh, coming to realize that you had been at different restaurants, standing one another up while being stood up. Larissa’s beautiful hand reaching out, coming to grasp your face.

You dove forwards, wrapping your arms around Larissa’s middle, and felt her arms hold you tight. Her tone was thick with regret, “I think we did.”

“I’m sorry, Riss...” You mumbled into her neck, the floodgates had opened and all of your emotions were ready to come pouring out. There was so much you had kept from Larissa during the previous months and now you were ready to divulge it all with her.

“Honey, it was just one big misunderstanding...” Your girlfriend attempted to soothe you once more, hand to the back of your head as she cooed to you, worried you still felt guilt for the switch-up.

Gripping her a little tighter, you crawled into Larissa’s lap, spilling your heart to the woman before you in hopes she could come to understand all that you had been feeling, “No... I’m sorry that life has just been so much recently. I’m sorry you are overworked and that I can’t do anything to help you.”

“Darling...” Larissa gathered your face in her hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “You keep me sane. Coming home to you each night... Just seeing you in bed waiting for me is... everything. From all of this, the one thing I’ve realized is how I can’t live without you.”

Her words were an incredible comfort to hear as you returned the sentiment, “I can’t live without you. I love you so much, Larissa.” You turned your face into her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, your eyes not leaving hers.

The headmistress chuckled, shaking her head as you hadn’t quite understood where she was going with her thoughts. Her hands on your face dropped, one coming to grasp your hand while the other reached into her jacket pocket, her gaze was more intense this time, “No... Darling... I truly cannot live without you.”

You finally understood when your eyes gazed down and saw the small box at Larissa’s fingertips. The beating of your own heart became rapid as you could hardly comprehend what was happening in this moment. After all of this, all of the pain and heartache you put yourself through, your girlfriend, your love, your everything wanted to marry you.

“Rissa...?” You questioned, still not able to fully understand how she could be proposing after all of this.

“Marry me... Please. I can’t live without you.” Larissa wasn't quite asking as much as she was pleading with you. She needed to know you would be by her side always. To be her peace and bring her sanity in the darkest times of her job.

You must have confused the woman as you shook your head ‘no’ out of pure disbelief, but your words quickly countered your actions, “Yes, yes, a million times yes.” Rather than put the ring on your finger, you dove into Larissa’s arms, tackling her to the couch and pressing a deep, loving kiss to her lips.

Tonight had been a rollercoaster, but you knew Larissa had been your rock and now she would be until death do you part.

#gwendoline christie #gwen christie #larissa weems #principal larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader #larissa weems x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #oneshot #wednesday netflix

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 6 months

Note

By Camila Tominey,

“Just as I have always admired the seamless way the Duchess of Sussex’s truth has sometimes clashed with fact, so too do I have a grudging respect for Omid Scobie.

"Lest we forget, this is a man who spent a decade raking over celebrities’ private lives for US Weekly, only to brazenly tweet in 2021: “Privacy means freedom from *unauthorised* intrusion. It is the right to choose what you share with others and what you don’t. That’s it!

"At the time, such outbursts left journalists like me in disbelief. Wasn’t this the guy whose entire career was built on analysing snatched paparazzi images of the rich and famous? Imagine our incredulity when Scobie launched into repeated attacks on the very royal press pack he followed around like a puppy. I saw with my own eyes how he tried to muscle in on the rota system in a bid to gain access to the very members of the Royal family he now seeks to trash in his second book, Endgame, which hit bookshelves on Tuesday.

"You have to admire the brass neck of the bloke, you really do. I remember one incident on a royal tour when he was literally begging me to tell him the sources of my various royal scoops. And to think he’s now so reluctant to discuss his own! Who on Earth could they be, I wonder?

"Perhaps the most amusing thing about Endgame is how much this fearless journalist gets wrong in his tireless pursuit of Meghan’s truth. “Palace aides were racking their brains to remember the ‘five’ private secretaries who have come and gone from the Duchess of Cambridge’s office (there have been three). And contrary to the claim ‘you’d be unlikely to read about it in any British newspaper’, The Telegraph reported on exactly that staffing issue last week.

"Hey, but why let facts get in the way of a good story? In one passage, I am described as The Telegraph’s Royal Editor – which I’m not and never have been. Referring to a piece I had written about the now infamous dog bowl incident, in which I suggested that it showed how much love William has for his little brother that he felt the need to physically wrestle him to the ground, Scobie comments that I sound like the “excuses of domestic abusers everywhere.”

"Domestic abuse? Is that what we are calling sibling rivalry these days? We are now being asked to believe that it was a “translation error” that the names of two “alleged” royal racists had been left in the now-pulled Dutch copies of Endgame – even though they were completely absent from the English version. And we’re supposed to accept this narrative even after Scobie had bragged on US television that he knew the names of both alleged racists?

"You know, I really thought I’d seen it all when Meghan told Oprah, with a straight face, that the Archbishop of Canterbury had married them three days before their official wedding ceremony; that she’d had her passport confiscated only to jet off on multiple holidays; that Kate had made her cry and not the other way round.

"I thought I’d heard it all when “sources” close to these two multi-millionaires (who were still receiving a £700,000 allowance from the King after Megxit) revealed the couple were so “desperate” they had no choice but to sign deals with Netflix et al – even though we know they were speaking to streaming companies as early as 2018, a whole two years before they stepped down as “working” members of the Royal family.

"I thought I’d heard it all when Scobie, of all people, claimed to be both a champion of privacy and an accountable press, only to publish not one, but two completely unauthorised intrusions into the lives of the Royal family so lacking in balance as to be laughable. We must believe all victims of bullying, insists Scobie (who was comforted by Meghan when he copped the kind of flak we all get, day in and day out on social media), except when they’re accusing the Sussexes of it. You really couldn’t make it up."

Thanks!

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emeritusemeritus · 6 months

Text

86 Baby! [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Part 1

Title: 86 baby!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader (friends to lovers), Implied Steve Harrington x Reader

Timeline: S4, set two weeks before graduation. Some Canon has been altered to fit the story; no Vecna, Byers never moved and Hop is alive.

Summary: In two weeks, you and your best friend Eddie would be graduating, taking your planned road trip and riding off into the sunset to leave Hawkins behind, until one little secret throws everything down the drain.

Warnings: it’s a little angsty, swearing, implied fake relationship, standard tropes, Eddie gets a little mean in part 2, drinking, deception.

Monday.

"Sooo..." Eddie draws out as he takes his usual seat next to you in the cafeteria, none of the other regulars appearing yet.

Eddie had met you outside of your classroom to walk with you to the lunch room, appearing outside the wooden door suspiciously early before the first bell sounded, a tradition that had begun on your first day of high school. He'd paused briefly as you approached the usual table and gestured flamboyantly for you to sit down first, sliding your chair in for you slightly before taking his own seat at the head of the table.

He sits awkwardly with one leg up on the plastic chair and one dangling next to you outstretched, but somehow for Eddie, that's what is comfortable.

“Tonight. I'm feeling a really crappy budget slasher and too much pizza," He says with a grin, placing down his metal lunchbox and absently pulling out a baggie of trail mix, which is mostly pretzels, navigating the array of suspicious paraphernalia inside.

"Oh," you reply, brain working overtime as you fight to think of a feasible excuse to avoid your weekly ritual, having forgotten all about it under your current stresses. "I'm sorry I totally forgot to tell you!" You giggle awkwardly, the little chuckle sounding absurdly fake to even your own ears. "I've got to help my mom pack tonight, she's going to see her friend from college over the weekend, I said I'd try and spend some time with her before she left, she's actually picking me up early tonight so you won't have to drop me home." You shrug gently, not quite meeting his eyes as you feel his curious gaze lingering upon you as he takes in your words. Okay, not a complete lie but also not the complete truth either.

"Oh, okay," he mumbles, sounding so dejected that you immediately feel the tugging weight of shame at your avoidance of him.

"Maybe we could do it another night instead, maybe Thursday?" You ask quickly, lifting your eyes to his, seeing that his face portrays every ounce of disappointment that his words did.

"On Hellfire night?" He asks sharply, his tone clipped and rudely sarcastic. "What's going on with you?" He asks brashly, eyes squinting as he examines your face, knowing that something isn't right.

"What do you mean?" You ask, trying to feign innocence.

"What do I mean? Lets see princess, firstly you forget our Monday movie night, a tradition unbroken since the dawn of time within the realms of our friendship, you disappeared on me last week, not warning me that your mom was picking you up early so I waited in the car park for 40 minutes. You didn't show up to our gig last Tuesday, and now you're forgetting Hellfire meets?" You can almost feel the twist of the knife with each of his words, his accusatory tone only increasing the guilt within you. Hearing all the examples together made you feel awful; all the evidence laid bare before you as to why you were a shitty friend recently.

"So come on, what's the jig princess?" He leans forward in his chair, eyes still squinting as you fight not to squirm under his intense gaze.

"Nothing! I told you I wasn't feeling well last week at first break, and I left a message with Miss Thomas to let you know I was going home!" You reasoned, still lying through your teeth at the motive, though you had thought to ask the office administrator to pass along a message to let him know you wouldn't be riding home with him, though they clearly had never reached out to him. "And Tuesday I had to take an extra shift at Benny's," you shrugged, trying to deflect the blame. “You know my car’s fucked, I’m trying to get it fixed.”

Mercifully, Gareth and Jeff were quickly making their way over to the table with their lunch trays and you visibly deflated with relief. Eddie shot a look towards the approaching party and turned once more to glare at you, fixing you with a look that told you that this conversation was far from over.

More of the Hellfire group began to spill in and you were thankful for the distraction, seeing that Dustin was hyped up over something that dominated the conversation you were barely listening to. Eddie was tense throughout the lunch, offering little to the conversation as he sat back and ate his pretzels, glaring about the room and huffing under his breath. The guys knew better than to provoke him when he was in this mood, knowing he was volatile at the best of times and so they carried on their conversation around him, trying to include him every now and then but not pushing.

When the bell rang, you quickly gathered up your bag and the lunch you'd only picked at, having found your appetite severely diminished by the tension and lingering guilt from the conversation with Eddie. Luckily, your Monday afternoon schedule did not coincide with Eddie's and you wouldn't have to see him for the rest of the day. You felt guilt and uneasy at lying to him, having never done so before, but you reasoned that it was for a good cause, even if you did feel conflicted.

The afternoon dragged on as you sat in History class, not paying a single ounce of attention to Mrs Click as you jotted down plans and lists and notes in your little notebook as ideas popped into your head. When the bell rang, signalling the time to head to the last class of the day, you all but sprinted out the front doors of the school and out into the car park where a car was waiting for you. Specifically, a burgundy 1983 BMW 733i.

You turned your head quickly to try and see if anyone was looking and quickly slipped into the passenger side, throwing down your bag into the footwell as you turned to greet your chauffeur.

"Hey," you smiled, looking up at the driver, who offered you a warm smile back, before you nervously look around once again to check that no one was watching.

"Hey you," Steve said with a wide smile, running his hand through his hair as he rested his elbow on the open window.

"Drive! I don't wanna get caught!" You prompted, quickly securing your seatbelt as you ushered him to drive away quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head but did as you requested and immediately began to drive out the parking lot and onto the main road.

"You know if you're ashamed of being seen with me, we might need to have a little chat," he grins, not looking at you but instead focusing on the road in front, a grin tugging at his lips at his own sarcastic comment.

"Oh hush, Hair-ington," you joke, rolling your eyes. "Simply thinking of you. You sure you wanna be seen collecting a kid from high school after you graduated last year, old man?" I joked, trying to push his buttons just a little. His face instantly scrunched up on displeasure until he shot me a disbelieving look.

"Pretty sure your boyfriend is older than me," he grumbles. I immediately know whom he's referring to.

"Eddie is not my boyfriend for the hundredth time," I say quickly, perhaps a little too defensively. "Plus he's still at school, so it's not creepy." You chuckle.

"Yeah because that makes it better," he adds sarcastically. You playfully blob your tongue out at him before nudging him gently by the shoulder.

"Not for much longer though," Steve says after a few moments, referring to our upcoming graduation. A pit of nervous excitement settles in your stomach as you think of your plans for graduation, glad to be rid of Hawkins High.

"I know, less than two weeks!" You babble excitedly, earning a laugh from Steve at your apparent elation.

"You know it's really not all it's cracked up to be, the adult world," he reasons, suddenly looking downcast as he thinks to how his life has turned around.

"Hey, just because you didn't go to college doesn't mean you're a failure you know," I protest, knowing that his lack of college education was always a sore spot with him, having spoken about it at great lengths only last week.

"I know it's just, not really how I thought I'd end up. Always figured I'd be able to leave Hawkins and branch out, broaden my horizons and all that, or I'd get stuck working for my dads company. Never thought I'd be working in a rental video store 40 hours a week and still living at home with my parents at 19," he mutters, grabbing his nose with his hand as you'd observed him so anytime he was upset or stressed.

"Yeah but at least you're free," you counter, adding more before he could protest, "the way I see it, you're making money, that money can go on a deposit or the start of a college fund, whatever you want to do more. Then when you finally get where you want to be, you have the satisfaction that you made it all by yourself, no help from mummy and daddy, just your own accomplishments."

He's quiet for a few seconds as he ponders over your words, nodding gently as he processes them.

"When did you get so wise?" He chuckles, looking over at you, earning a laugh in return.

"I've always been wise, you just never chose to listen." Both of you laugh as you watch the tree line get denser and denser as you pull away from the main roads, out towards the Byers' house.

The Byers house was the perfect place for your secret little meetings. It was hidden away at the ass end of Hawkins, tucked away behind the lab, a fair drive from the centre of town and away from all your friends houses, including the furthest place from the trailer park, (not counting the Wheeler house but that was too risky incase saw you and Mike opened his big mouth). The Byers' house was close enough to Harrington's that he could park up at home on Cornwallis and walk across to the Byers' on Mirkwood through the woods and no one would be aware of anything out of the ordinary, should they come round poking their noses in.

Joyce was a gracious and willing host and had offered you her house for your little meetings, keeping you away from prying eyes, something both of you were thankful for.

Approaching the Byers' house, you climbed out of the BMW and gave a little wave as Steve drove back to his house to park the car; he would join you in 5 minutes after walking the little path that lead him out directly facing Castle Byers, ready for your meeting.

Your little meets had been happening more and more frequently in the past couple of weeks and you were almost sad that they would be coming to an end, both because you were enjoying your time spent with Steve and because it was fun to sneak around. Joyce had naturally been sworn to secrecy and true to her word had not told a single soul, except maybe Hopper. Jonathan had run into you accidentally one day as he arrived home early from dropping Will off somewhere but it really hadn't been too hard to cover up as Steve jolted out the back door and you had stuck around for dinner with Joyce and Jonathan, something not entirely unheard of.

The only issue was Eddie, as proven by your little set-to in the cafeteria today. He was becoming increasingly paranoid and suspicious of your whereabouts and your sudden flakiness, which was alarming. You'd called off your meeting with Steve Thursday in order to sit in on Hellfire instead, trying to prove to Eddie that you were still there for him, though you felt torn once you realised what you'd rather be doing.

The rest of the week came and went and you'd been entirely successful in hiding your rendezvous with Harrington, even seeming to put Eddie's mind to rest once you arrived at Hellfire, much to his surprise. He'd put on quite a show for you that night, his eyes flickering over to you frequently as you listened intently to his stories, the DM telling the cult of Vecna campaign so eloquently that you had been mesmerised by his performance the entire night.

You were never an official member of Hellfire, instead choosing to observe and assist rather than play. Sure you had a few Hellfire shirts gifted by Eddie, some you even used to sleep in that been printed with faults and some practice prototypes on different shirt silhouettes and you'd devised campaigns and character sheet with him occasionally but you never actually joined in the campaigns unless you were acting as an emergency sub. Eddie liked to call you his glamorous assistant, likening you to a magician's right hand lady but you always opposed this, stating you were more like the dungeon master's puppet, pulled by strings for his own means.

With your mom gone, you two had hung out at your place after Eddie had driven you home from Hellfire. You'd ordered a pizza and watched an old horror movie that Eddie loved, hoping that it would make it up to him.

Everything was going well until the following Tuesday came around.

Tuesday: the weekly ritual of Corroded Coffin's scheduled gig at the Hideout, 8pm til 10:30pm, never to be missed. You'd missed the previous week and you knew that you couldn't miss this one, after seeing how hurt Eddie had been, not to mention the offhanded comments from the rest of Corroded coffin at the lunch table. You thought your plan of ditching Phys-Ed Tuesday afternoon and having Steve pick you up around the corner from the school would be flawless; you'd even gone as far as timing your departure with his shift finishing at family video so it would look like a coincidental meet on Cherry, near the church plaza as no one would think twice about him seeing you across the parking lot from the video store and offering you a ride home. Eddie usually skipped that class anyway and had a few deals scheduled in during his self made free period, so he would be conducting business at the bench in the woods, far out of sight of the entire school, and more importantly, your exit route.

All had gone to plan right up until you checked the clock hours later and saw that it was 7:45pm and you were going to be late to the show.

"Shit!" You cried out, throwing down your stuff and quickly reaching for your backpack stuffed on the side of the sofa. You frantically dug through your bag to fish out the handmade corroded coffin shirt that you'd stuffed in there earlier today and quickly threw it on over your bra, which you had stripped down to earlier that evening so avoid getting your shirt dirty.

Steve, who lay on the floor beside you only moments ago looked on with a shocked expression, confusion littering his features as he watched you dress.

"Can you give me a ride to the hideout?" You asked quickly, running to the bathroom to quickly fix your hair and makeup, checking that nothing had smudged.

"Uh yeah, sure," he says, throwing on his shirt from earlier, grimacing as he slips the button up over his sweaty body. He runs a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it out as he watches you flutter around in a rush.

You appear a moment later, quickly shoving things into your backpack, careful to avoid any liquids from spilling as you try to straighten up Joyce's living room. You all but run out of the door only to exclaim profanities again as you realise you forgot your borrowed keys, knowing that they'd probably been thrown to the bottom of your bag in your haste.

"Relax, I've got it," Steve says, twisting the key in the door that Joyce had graciously had made for both of you for times exactly like this.

"Thanks," you said gratefully, trying to calm yourself but it was a pointless endeavour. Your heart was pounding as you entered the car, eyes never leaving the little digital clock that seemed to taunt you the entire journey. You were thankful that Steve never commented on your frantic demeanour, nor the reason behind it and even more thankful that he'd chosen to drive quickly, just barely on the right side of the law.

You're luck has officially ran out.

With minutes to spare, Steve pulled up to the Hideout and into the parking lot, only to be right in the line of sight of Eddie's van, and more importantly, Gareth. He peered over in curiosity, leaning against the van as he smoked a cigarette, his usual ritual just before they took the stage. He seemed to say something to himself briefly only to be joined by Jeff a moment later, who had jumped out of the van clutching his guitar. You could see their lips moving, both of them looking directly at you, no doubt running their mouths about the curious sight of you in the car with Steve Harrington. You sighed, defeated, knowing that they would never let you live this down and your stomach dropped an inch further with the realisation that there was no was in hell they wouldn't tell Eddie.

"Thanks Steve, I'm really sorry about this," you mumbled, not really knowing what exactly you were apologising for but feeling a level of embarrassment at your actions. You begin to open the car door and grab hold of your bag until he replies, keeping you sat inside the car for a moment longer.

"Hey don't worry about it," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Want me to walk you out?" He asks, his eyes peering into yours as he tries to offer support.

"No that's okay, I-" you begin to say, only to be cut off by an obnoxious shout.

"Harrington!" Jeff calls out, acknowledging the man in the car as both his and Gareth walk towards you, each with curiously smug smiles on their faces.

"H-hey guys," Steve stammers slightly as he greets them, stepping out of the car as he gives them a small restrained wave with his right hand, whilst holding on to the door.

"Y/n, didn't think we'd be seeing you tonight," Gareth says curiously, his words holding an air of suspicion which made you nervous.

"Well I'm here," you shrug, trying to downplay your panic, "just like always."

"Except last week," Jeff adds quickly, immediately grimacing as he shoots you a remorseful look at his quipped tone.

"So Harrington, what?" Gareth begins to ask, only to be cut off by a figure moving out from the back door.

"Guys what the hell, we're on in- oh." Eddie says as he thrusts his way out of the back door, immediately coming to realise what he was seeing. His face drops instantly, a harsh glare forming in his eyes as he looks between you and Steve, each of you clearly having just exited the car together.

"Harrington," Eddie nods once, clipped and unpleasant as he stares at you, trying to understand why you would be in the car with Steve.

"Munson," Steve replies, though his tone is lighter and more polite as he nods back to the man who still appears shell shocked. There's a tense silence that washes over us all for a few moments, with both Gareth and Jeff shooting glances at Eddie who's face seems thunderous.

"I should get going," Steve suddenly says, turning to face you with a look in his eyes that shows his discomfort.

"Yeah totally, thanks for the ride," you reply, trying to keep it short and sweet, not wanting to disclose any information to the 3 boys stood watching your every move. Steve smiles in return and ducks his head back into the car as you walk away from the passenger side, over to where the boys are stood.

"What, no kiss?" Eddie says venomously as he watches Steve drive away. You immediately frown at his words and sudden bad mood, trying not to let his words affect you.

"Yeah because I kiss every guy who offers me a lift when I'm too broke to get my car fixed," you sarcastically reply, hoping to deflect away the insinuation.

"I could have given you a ride," he says, eyes still fixed on the car as it drives away onto the north Highway, back into town. "If you'd been around lately."

He then walks off, not once turning to look back at you. The guys wordlessly follow him, knowing it's time to go on stage, but not before shooting you sorrowful looks of apology, neither of them realising that Eddie would be so wound up.

You follow them through the back door and instantly turn left instead of following them right towards the stage area. You stalk over to the bar, Eddie's bad mood clearly rubbing off on you as you throw yourself onto a high bar stool and order a double vodka and coke, hoping to ease some of the tension in your body with alcohol. The hideout was notorious for forgetting to check ID, and you used that little fact to your satisfaction tonight. The night didn't really improve at all, except that you'd had enough vodka in your system to numb the ache ever so slightly, freeing you from the overwhelming discomfort of conflicting emotions brought on by Eddie's venom. Their set was good but not great like usual, no doubt on account of Eddie's tenseness and vile mood which prevented him from playing as well as usual, his entire body seeming tense as he avoided all eye contact with you throughout the show.

You were in two minds to stick around after the show, not knowing if Eddie would offer you a ride like normal or whether you'd have to hitch a ride home some other way. Walking would be too dangerous and frankly too far to walk, given your alcohol consumption and overbearing weariness, plus calling Steve seemed like a really bad idea, like adding fuel to any already burning fire. You could call your mom but you knew she'd smell the alcohol on you straight away and you'd be lectured until the end of eternity. Maybe Jonathan would come for you ?

When you walked up to the guys after their set, offering to help load the van just like normal, Eddie virtually ignored you and instead hoisted the heavy equipment by himself. Gareth and Jeff had tried to make small talk, trying to diffuse the tension and Richard, the bass player, had looked on in complete confusion at the tense exchange.

"Gareth can you take her home? Got some shit to do," Eddie states blankly, nodding his head towards you, never once allowing his eyes to drift in your direction. He couldn't even use my name. Had seeing me with Harrington really hurt him that badly?

"Uh yeah sure man," Gareth replies, looking at me with what can only be described as pure pity. Eddie doesn't wait around for anything other than a confirmation before he climbs into the van and drives away like a maniac, leaving all of us standing out in the cold.

It's quiet for a few moments, no one really knowing what to say. Do they comment on it or do they avoid the elephant in the room entirely? Either way, you weren't waiting around to find out.

"Y/n, you can-," Gareth begins to say, gesturing towards his car parked a few spaces away.

"Thanks Gareth but it's cool, I'll just call Jonathan, he owes me one," you shrug, trying to downplay the hurt you were feeling, embarrassed that you were left to be a burden on the other members.

Gareth tries to protest but you wave your hand dismissing him, silencing him in the nicest way you could as you begin to feel the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes, willing them to disappear.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow, great show," you manage to say before walking back inside the hideout, tears making their way down your face as you can finally hide away from their view. You walk to the pay phone and freeze, thinking of your limited options before dialling an all too familiar number.

"Hello?" The voice answers, sounding sleepy as if you'd probably just woke him up. You check the clock on the way behind you and fight back a sigh, not realising the time.

"I'm sorry, I've just woken you up haven't I," you said sympathetically, feeling guilty of the fact.

"It's fine, honestly, Y/n, you okay?" He asks quickly, sounding concerned. You can hear a faint rustle in the background and you can envision him sitting up in bed, covers falling at his waist as he runs his spare hand through his hair.

You sigh, willing the tears to go away as you fight to take a shaky breath, not really knowing how to answer.

"I- no not really," you fight to get it out, lip wobbling slightly in your pathetic state. "Could you pick me up? I'm alone and I didn't know who else to call, I'm really sorry Steve," you all but whimper, babbling.

"He left you?" Steve sounds outraged, immediately knowing that something must have happened between Eddie and yourself.

"Kind of, he took off," you said, sounding small, not really wanting to go into detail.

"Stay right where you are, I'm on my way. Don't let anyone talk to you or give you a drink or anything okay? I'm coming." He immediately goes into protective dad Steve mode as you hear him bolting around his room for clothes.

"Thank you, so much," you say pathetically.

"I'll be right there Y/n okay, stay safe, I'm coming."

Steve hangs up the phone and you sink down into yourself on the little phone booth, feeling utterly broken and pathetic. The vodka in your system had all but dried up, the actions of tonight sobering you up quickly as you were left alone to deal with the consequences of your actions.

Steve arrived in 7 minutes, which you were sure must have been some sort of record. He immediately burst out of the car after throwing it into park and enveloped you in a tight hug as you cried once again. He pulled back and ran his eyes over you, checking for any signs of you being hurt but then gave you a sad smile when he realised you were only hurting on the inside.

"Come on," he says gently, pulling at your hand as he leads you back to the car, opening the door for you. "Milkshakes make everything better." He gives you a warm smile and closes the door, before walking quickly to his side and climbing in.

"Steve you really don't have to, I already feel bad enough that you had to come get me," you protest but he shushes you quickly, a serious look falling across his face.

"I'm glad you called me, you should have never been left alone."

"He dumped me on Gareth but I knew he didn't want to get involved or really drop me home so I didn't know what else to do," you confessed.

"He should have taken you home, mad or not. You made the effort to be here, he should see that."

The two of you talked in the car for a little while longer, with Steve being the ideal shoulder to cry on, both figuratively and literally and by the end of the night you did feel better.

"I just don't know why he was so angry," you said honestly, finishing the last of the milkshake he'd bought you from Benny's.

"You really don't see it?" Steve replies, giving you a sad smile.

"See what?" You ask naively, unsure of what hr was talking about.

"He's jealous. He probably thinks we are together and that you hid it from him. Not because he thinks he's being replaced as your friend but because he thinks someone else swooped in and took a shot before he could."

"That's... crazy. Eddie doesn't have any intention of 'taking a shot' with me, believe me," you say quickly, feeling as if you'd disclosed too much already.

"So you want him to?" Steve asks curiously, though his question isn't laced with sarcastic undertones or any hint of teasing.

"Yes," you answer quickly and honestly, needing no time to think.

"He drives me crazy, he's so smart but so fucking stupid sometimes. When it started we were just friends then all of a sudden one day I started noticing things about him, stuff I'd never thought of before. I noticed how often he'd look at me or reach out for me, always checking if I was there or if I was paying attention before he'd burst out into dramatics, smiling and laughing with me when it was over. Then the butterflies came each time he'd do something like that and I'd think wow what if he's feeling this too. A few times I was sure he was going to make a move, it all seemed so intimate at times, the looks and the gestures but then, nothing. He'd change the conversation or he'd look away and I'd be reeling thinking of why. I guess he just doesn't see me like I see him."

You couldn't help but babble your way through a monologue Shakespeare himself would be proud of, hardly even pausing for breath as you reeled off your thoughts and emotions into Steve's listening ears.

"I think he does," Steve says calmly after a few moments of quiet. You look at him with sad eyes and he offers a little smile. "You're beautiful, funny, caring, he'd be absolutely blind or crazy if he didn't realise that." You blush at Steve's words, wanting to hide your shy smile but you persist. "I can promise you that the only reason guys aren't lining up at your door is because Eddie has either scared them off or they already think you're a couple. Hell, I'd have shot my shot at you if it weren't so apparent that you were inseparable with him, well, that and your horrible taste in music," Steve jokes.

"Hey! Judas Priest are metal gods and you can't deny that! But thank you Steve," You laugh, along with Steve who's expression had warmed.

"You'll get through this, you and Eddie. You just have to give him some time to come around."

So that's exactly what you did. Problem was, that wasn't what Eddie was doing, he was giving you both space and time.

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #stranger things #eddie munson masterlist #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 8 months

Note

Calum flying you out to one of the Europe shows bc he knew you always wanted to visit that country

Hi Blanca! Thanks for the request. We're going with Spain because I'm a nerd and they have the longest break after that show with the 5 seconds of Summer show.

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. Fluff--so much of it.

____________

Requests are now closed. Finishing up the last one from yesterday

Feel free to look through my masterlist for more.

_______________

Calum knows it’s ridiculous, but he does it because you like it this way--a hard copy backup of the flight information in addition to the app on your phone. He could call it overkill, but he’s not going to do that. Because it makes traveling easier for you. So he digs out the stapler from your desk and staples the pages together.

Calum listens, catching the crackle of your phone from the kitchen. It cuts over the hum of the stove vent. “No, my toes are not food,” you laugh. No doubt it’s Duke at your feet as you cook. You’ve insisted on this break during the tour to spoil Calum. He’s just glad that his outfits are by no means tight fitting so he can enjoy every single thing with which you spoil him.

Calum shuffles up from the offices to the kitchen. He keeps the itinerary at his side. He knows you may be a little annoyed at first. But he had the number to your boss’s line for a reason. And though this might not be for the reasons that he had it--mostly in case you got sick or godforbid injured--Calum’s sure that once you find out the location of the destination any annoyance you have will disappear.

“Smells good up here,” Calum comments, peering into the kitchen.

You smile up at him. “It’s your favorite. And I could be a smidge quicker but Duke’s annoyed he’s not being fed right now.”

Calum laughs, knowing the old man is pretty fond of his schedule. Calum’s arrival was a small interruption and Duke will not let himself be ignored. “I’ll get it for him. But in the meantime, you should probably get packing.” Calum’s careful to put the flight itinerary on the fridge out of the way of the hot stove or the mess on the counter that he’s sure is tomato juice from your previous chopping.

“Packing? Why would I be packing?” you ask, giving the pot a good stir. A few more bubbles are popping up and you know soon you’ll need to turn the heat down.

You spin to catch the paper Calum’s tacked up. The cabinets with Duke’s food squeak open. You’ve put all that you can think of on the hinges and nothing gets rid of the noise entirely. You read over the details--noticing you’re flying on what will be the date of the Lisbon show but going into Madrid instead--directly.

“Cal, what the absolute hell is this? What am I reading?” you ask, a little concerned that you hadn’t seen this coming. Though, maybe you should’ve. Your boss normally had a standing 1:1 with you on Tuesdays but the one for next week had seemingly disappeared. Your plan was to ask about that on Monday, but this seemed to be the reason why the date was no longer showing up on your calendar.

Calum presses a kiss on your cheek, arms winding around your waist. “A trip to Spain. Because you said you’ve always wanted to go.”

“Looks like a trip to Milan too? Just flouncing me around everywhere?” You laugh, turning back to look at him as best as you can. You can’t get more than a glimpse but Calum’s laughter is soft over your cheek.

“I like to spoil you too. Besides, you haven’t taken a vacation outside the one we took what? Two years ago. I know you don’t like to take time off unless necessary, but I think you’d benefit from just a few days ago, baby. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

You snort, tapping at Calum’s stomach with your elbow. He releases you and you spin towards the stove to turn the burner down. “I’m just so used to sort of holding things down while you’re gone, you know? You’re gone for big chunks when you do leave that I just don’t think about myself? Not in a bad way. I don’t blame you. I just do what’s gotta be done.”

“I understand that. Just want you to have some time to enjoy yourself. Get out there, explore the world with me because I know you want to do that too.”

You do want that too. You want to not feel chained to your work and responsibilities, but letting go is hard sometimes. Maybe a surprise trip wouldn’t be all that bad. “Have you planned who’s taking Duke?”

Calum nods. “Yes, they’re free and able to watch him. Plants will be watered too. Got someone who will check the house too.” This is how your brain works. You need a plan, clear and concise of what’s happening. Calum can give you that, so he takes your hips in his hands to get your attention back to him. When you look up at him, he kisses your forehead before continuing, “Car’s will get you from here and one will pick you up at the airport. You’ll be getting to the hotel before us as we’ll be getting in late that night and you’re landing about late afternoon, but the hotel knows we’re in the same room. Duke’s getting picked up the day before. I’ve already emailed over the instructions though it’s not really necessary. Spare key’s already in the box and they have the code should they need to get inside for anything.”

A plan. A good one. You nod. “And what am I supposed to do for the few hours that you’re off in another country playing a show? Hmm? Mister-I’ve-Got-All-This-Planned.”

Calum laughs. “Plan what we’ll do with my days off. Explore. Send me pictures of all the shops you’re doing to drag me.”

Your gaze narrows, a playful smirk lifting your lips. “Goddamn you know me so well.” Stretching upwards, you capture his lips in a kiss. His cheeks squish a little in your grasps. “Thank you for planning this, baby. I appreciate it.”

“With honor,” Calum mumbles. “Your boss was very shocked to get a message from me though and I had to swear like fifteen times you weren’t sick or dead.”

You laugh. “Sounds like Tom. I think he gets freaked out even more so when I take time because it’s usually always super serious. Like the time we had to spend the night in the hospital thanks to my food allergies.”

“Yeah, no, we’re never eating at the restaurant again and I need you to not bring up the night I’ve ever seen you in such rough shape. You looked like a balloon. I was so scared.”

It was not a glorious night. You’d noticed an itchy throat after you ate dinner, but hadn’t thought anything of it as the spring blossoms had also been giving you issues lately. But when you woke up, hot and itchy, you felt something was wrong. You couldn’t halfway swallow and the bathroom lights revealed the hives across your chest and arms. You knew immediately that it was an allergic reaction and woke Calum. His panic was immediate but he calmed down enough to administer your epipen considering you hadn’t been able to do it yourself.

The drive to the hospital was tense as Calum sped through a couple red lights. But you spent only a few minutes before you got checked in. An hour and a half of steroids and antihistamines rectified the situation but Calum was putting in the submission for the day off and emailing your boss on your behalf the second you got back to the house.

You pat Calum’s chest, before turning back to the dinner you’re preparing. “I know, baby. You didn’t like it and neither did I. I’m a-okay now though.”

“I got your epipen refilled too by the way. Please bring the new one for me?”

“Scouts honor,” you return. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving that thing behind.”

“Good, good. But this weekend, you’re packing. Because you’re going on a trip. No ifs, no ands, no buts.”

“I’ll pack, no ifs, no ands, no buts,” you laugh, pulling the garlic knots from the oven. They’re a perfect shade of brown and you know they’re done. Calum brings the mats closer so you can set the hot tray down.

“Oh, these look fucking amazing,” Calum gravels at the sight. “I’m so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.”

“Damn straight you are,” you laugh.

*********

Your suitcase rolls next to you, catching just a little at the bumpy texture of the sidewalk. The black truck is paused right outside the house and the driver jogs to catch up to you. You only have a carry-on suitcase and a backpack. Though you don’t travel often, you’ve helped Calum pack more than enough times to know the best ways to get tuck, roll, stuff and flatten all your needs into the smallest bag possible. It’s annoying to wait for checked baggage at times and for the few days you’ll be gone, you don’t feel the need to carry too much.

“I can take that for you,” the driver greets, reaching out for the handle of the carry on.

“Oh, uh, sure,” you laugh. It’s not heavy at all, but you don’t want to interrupt the kindness. With your case loaded in, you slip into the backseat and the drive passes in light conversation. The sun’s just barely peeking out from the horizon and you’re grateful that it seems to be an easy trip into the airport.

At your gate, with your shoes still untied, you snap a picture to send to Calum. You anticipate that it’ll go unanswered for a while. But to your surprise, a couple minutes later after you tie up your laces, your phone shakes. Please don’t…trip ;D. See you soon! You hate that you snicker so much at the text. Another text comes in a minute later, Love you too, baby. Can’t wait to explore with you.

Your reply is swift, Love you too. Already plotting something!

I expect nothing less.

The flight is uneventful, but a little long. You’re glad for boring though, allowing you to grab a few extra hours of sleep that had been interrupted by the early morning flight. Spotting the car for you is easy--there’s a sign and flowers. Only Calum would ever do such a thing. But you sheepishly close the gap and introduce yourself as the person on the sign.

The driver smiles, an accent painting their words, but they seem cheerful. “Welcome to Spain! I’ve heard it’s your first time.”

You nod. “If you have any suggestions on things to do, please do tell.”

“Oh, you’re very much in luck; born and raised here.” The drive to the hotel is filled with suggestions and places to check out. They’re suggesting both tourists' needs and spots that only locals are familiar with. Your notes app is littered with names, some misspelled, but you’re beyond grateful to have their perspectives.

At the front of the hotel, you thank the driver yet again, profusely for the list. “Oh, you’re beyond welcome. Enjoy your trip!”

With your backpack, luggage and the flowers, you juggle your way into the lobby. At the front desk, you’re greeted with a bright smile and you manage to get your keys with ease. The room is cool as you’re already anticipating. The day of travel is catching up and you’re getting hungry. You look to see what’s close around you and decide to set out on foot. It’ll be a nice way to waste a little bit of time. Maybe you can scope out what’s close by to do as well.

You find a little cafe close by--one actually being one that’s on your list from your driver. It looks cute and quaint with a patio for you to eat on. As you settle down, you snap a picture of your items. Safe and eating some food. Thanks for the flowers <3.

Throughout the day, as you stumble across various shops and things, you snap a picture and send it to Calum. Your list of things to do with Calum narrows down a little as you realize some things are just for you really. You’ll share what you can with Calum, but you know that he’s going to want to take a much chill approach to the day than you. You’ll do a bit more with the time you do have so that way the time you have with Calum can be about enjoying each other’s company.

As you wander, a park opens up in front of you. You’re thankful as you settle in a little deeper that you have a strong sense of direction. Perhaps, you’ll just take a minute to sit here, watch some people. It happens to be a beautiful day and you’re grateful for the good weather as you settle down near a fountain to take in the sight unfolding around you. Most people are just passing through it seems. But you spot some sitting, chatting animatedly.

God, I’m so jealous. Can we visit again together? Looks beautiful, Calum responds to one of the pictures from the park.

You’d expect him to be performing at the very least by now, but you’re not entirely sure of the time difference. You’ve snuggle into the sheets, with the TV on in front of you. Definitely we can, you reply.

As the night continues on, you can hear the streets coming alive. You’re not shocked as you’ve heard the night life goes long and hard in Spain. You’d want to join, but you have the second key to the room and you need to be here when Calum arrives. Also, the long flight today has gotten to you so you’re not sure if you’d have the energy to continue on anyway. But the TV and the laughter below start to blur together as your eyes drop and drop.

A knock rings out through the room and you snap awake. It takes a moment to unravel yourself from the sheets, but once you do, you scurry over to the door. Through the little peephole you catch Calum’s buzzed head and swing the door open. “Hi baby,” he smiles.

“Cal, hi,” you return, throwing yourself up into his arms. The hug is warm and tight--a feeling that follows you as you fall asleep that night wrapped in Calum’s embrace.

The morning is a little slow--a lot of gentle kisses and soft tufts of laughter, but you finally unravel yourselves from the bed to do some light exploring before the car collects the entire group to head to the venue. In the excursions, you try to point out where you went yesterday and where you want to go tomorrow after the show. Calum’s input is relatively minimal and though you make sure he’s not being left out, he just shrugs, “Whatever you want babe.”

“You say that now, but just you wait,” you laugh after a sip of your coffee. “I don’t want a peep come tomorrow then,” you laugh.

“Scouts honor,” Calum returns. “But, there’s something happening in the evening that the guys want to do.”

“What time?”

“Around 7 or so, I think. Think we’ll make it?”

You nod. “Absolutely, we can.”

Calum grins around his bite of fruit. “Sweet.”

The show goes off without a hitch--the whole day between soundcheck and getting ready for the show also passed with ease too. You’re excited that a few older songs make their way into the setlist, but don’t really take much of your sight off Calum. He bounces around the stage, a smile that hardly leaves his face. The sight makes your chest warm--knowing that he’s enjoying himself. It’s a feeling that you find yourself in often--a sense of calm knowing Calum’s happy with his life, knowing that you’re happy with it too. But you don’t take these moments of clarity for granted, when you get to see just how blessed your life is, you like to do your best to hold them to your chest, pressed into your ribs.

“I like seeing you happy,” you whisper to Calum that night, straddled over his waist. Your fingers trace the ink decorating his chest.

“I like seeing you happy too,” he whispers in return. His hands squeeze just a little at your thighs, as if to reassure you of the sentiment.

That’s all the moment needs, content now to just trace shapes onto his body. Calum seems content too, eyes slotting close at your touch. You imagine all the adrenaline is leaving now. The effort of the shows catching back up with him. Before you can even think about it, the words are falling over your lips in a prayer, “i carry your heart with me(i carry it in/ my heart) i’m never without it(anywhere/ i go you go, my dear).”

In your mind’s eyes, you can see Calum’s handwriting in the margins of the page, an arrow detailed to the lines that are bracketed, us--you’ve seen the world even if you didn’t know it. i’ve never left home, even if i don’t know it.

You can feel the gaze behind you, as you peer up at the sculpture in front of you. You know it’s Calum behind the cap. The glasses he’s dawned make his face look softer but somehow the lenses seem to magnify his eyes. You can see the blinks, watch his eyes widen when you catch him staring.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention to the art,” you whisper.

“I am,” he shrugs. “It’s an added benefit that I can touch the art I’m looking at.” Calum wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“It’s still going to cost you and I’m not cheap,” you retort.

“I think I’ll be able to afford the cost.”

“Just don’t misbehave in the cathedral. I do not need the saints to come alive and smite you.”

Calum laughs, taking your hand. “What a way to go am I right?”

“No, sir, you’re very much wrong,” you huff, following him into the next room. Your lunch is spent settled into a park--not the one you showed to Calum in the pictures, but thankfully there’s another good one close to where you two are.

Under the clear skies, you and Calum work over your servings of patatas bravas. Though it did take a little translation via your phones to make sure none of the items were one you were allergic too. Your pen’s in Calum’s coat pocket, but it’s not a risk the two of you want to take. As you chase some of the sauce so it doesn’t land on your pants, you are tentative in trying to decide if you like it or not. Though with a couple more bites, you decide that it’s a dish you very much enjoy. Though with the basics, you think it would be hard to not love fried potatoes.

Just as the sky gets a little more pinkish in hue, you and Calum find yourselves in a ride. You rest your head on Calum’s shoulder. “The guys are meeting us there right?” you ask knowing that Calum’s the one coordinating with them.

“Yep, I think they might be there already. They were just a little closer than us.”

Your hum’s the last sound of the room before you pass thanks to the driver. As you step out you notice something floating up into the sky--yellow and red. “Is-is that a hot air balloon?” you question.

“M-maybe,” Calum returns. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

“Are you taking me in a fucking hot air balloon?” you gape. It’s not fear though your heart rate does spike at the thought of being so high up in just a basket.

“Maybe,” Calum answers again. “It’s a yes if you’re not mad.”

You laugh, taking Calum’s hand. “No, not mad. A little nervous, but do you know how cool I’ll be when I go back to work and say I’ve been in a fucking hot air balloon?”

“So cool,” Calum laughs.

It’s scary at first, as the guide walks through the safety procedures. It’s the entire band plus you in one basket, but you’re all spread out so the weight is a bit more even. Michael let’s out a little shriek it lifts off the ground. “Holy shit,” he laughs.

Ashton pats his back, but it’s much easier to not look directly down. If you keep your gaze and eyeline straight ahead it’s a little less scary. You don’t feel like you might plummet. Your hand is tight around Calum’s but he doesn’t complain once about the grip. His thumb soothes over the skin on the back of your hand. “Just breathe for me, baby,” he encourages.

“If our tour manager finds out about this,” Luke laughs from the otherside of the balloon. You know there’s concerns about their safety at the forefront and also worry about the tour. But you can’t help but laugh that Luke’s first concern is about getting caught.

“Don’t spill the beans then,” you return.

“Touché,” Luke laughs.

When your nerves settle, thanks to the steady climb with no issues, you can actually pick out parts of the landscape--the mountains, the city below you. It’s a gorgeous sight and your own awe bubbles up your chest in a round of laughter. “This is so insane,” you whisper to Calum.

The corner of his eyes crinkle with his smile. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

“Thanks for bringing me along.”

“Wouldn’t want to share this with anyone else,” Calum returns, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

As you watch the expanse beneath you, the horizon that is endless, the trees that look like you could pluck them if you reached out, you’re amazed at how big the world is and how small you are in it. Yet, you don’t feel meaningless in all of the vastness. You’re still a piece of the puzzle--small, but not insignificant. You’ve got a place even if it’s just being a good human in all the madness of the world. Even if it’s just to love and have been loved in the grand scheme of everything.

“Look,” Calum offers softly, noticing what appears to be deer clustered together. It’s a little hard to tell from the height, but Calum would hazard that to be the animal.

You laugh when you spot the cluster. “They look so tiny.”

“Yeah, a little bit they do.” Calum watches your pre-occupation, gaze floating around at the earth beneath you. With the tiny distraction, he reaches into his pocket and digs out the little box. His hands tremble just a little. But when you bring hand to your lips, he knows it’s you attempting to bring comfort.

“Can-can you hold this for me?” Calum ask, holding out the box.

“Yeah,” you start to answer without really thinking. But when you feel the shape and the soft texture, you look down at what it’s in your hands. This is not what you think it is. It’s not. It can’t be.

“Holy fuck,” you hear from your side and look to spot Michael with his eyes wide.

Calum clears his throat. “I know there’s probably a much smoother way to go about it. But I wanted to say that the time I’ve spent with you has been the most amazing. I could never conjure up someone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

Your can’t quite make Calum out with the blur of your tears until you blink and they clear. “Fuck,” you sigh out.

Calum laughs. “Will you do the honor of letting me carry your heart with mine for the rest of our lives?”

Time freezes, Calum swears. He waits, and waits, and the seconds feel like hours. He doesn’t think you’re going to say no. You’ve talked about getting married, knowing it’s a thing you both want. You’d even told Calum you wanted something small and intimate, but know that if Calum’s asking it would be okay to find a way to have the guys there as moral support. The conversations about marriage weren’t immediate, but they weren’t about a far off future. It was a tangible goal--though the two of you had mentioned that waiting for a quiet moment with the band would probably be for the best. So, no, Calum’s not scared you’re going to say no. He never anticipated that he’d ever shock you.

“Scouts’ honor you’re not bullshitting me?” you ask, a small lump raising in your throat.

“Scouts’ honor I’m not bullshitting you.”

“I’m nonrefundable,” you laugh and capture his lips in a kiss. Calum laughs into the kiss, but knows it’s a yes. When you break away, Calum slips the ring--a gold band with what looks like a rope pattern etched into the metal--onto your ring finger.

You watch the sun catch the jewelry too--a glint passing over your eye and feel a squeeze in your chest, pressing at your ribs. You reach up and kiss Calum again as the guys erupt into cheers. Even the person conducting the hot air balloon cheers as well.

When the balloon touches down again, the guys rush you and Calum in a group hug, laughing. “I swear he wasn’t going to do it. I thought he was going to wait for dinner later,” Ashton giggles. “Swear I was going to have to kick him in the ass to do it.”

You laugh, but when you look over to Calum you can see the sort of toll that asking too. You wind your arm around his waist. “Worried?”

“I was so scared I’d drop the ring from the balloon,” Calum admits with a laugh.

“Oh, that would’ve been awful, but I would’ve still said yes.”

“Oh, you didn’t even say yes,” Calum howls. “You said, ‘I’m nonrefundable.’”

“Basically the same thing,” you laugh. “I mean at least from me, it is. But you didn’t drop the ring. It’s a win-win.”

“Imagine when you go back to work and you tell them about the hot air balloon and a proposal. You’ll be the coolest one in the office for at least three months.”

“Six months,” Michael tosses in.

You nod at the correction. “That part. Thank you, Calum. Couldn’t have asked for a better trip to Spain with my now future husband.”

Calum giggles. “Husband has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely it does.”

#calum hood #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fluff #calum hood x reader #calum hood x gender neutral reader #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer #h writes

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gwydionmisha · 8 months

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Personal: For Profit Healthcare and Me

So remember how Peacehealth drove all the independent offices in four specialties out of business, thus forcing everyone to use their clinic, then closed those clinics to force everyone to go to their central clinic two counties to the south? And remember how both the Doctors who were running that clinic made a deal to operate out of a clinic a regional medical conglomerate was opening near the hospital? so instead of me spending all day on a sixty mile each way trek for my treatment I was using the last three months of skeleton crew treatment at old clinic which ended the last Thursday in September? Remember how they said we could all follow our doctors there?

Yeah, about that.

I've been dutifully calling ever two weeks to see if they were letting people schedule appointments yet. They sent out a letter saying they were open. I stayed up Tuesday to get in sorted. it was a whole drama because the automated maze to get to the scheduler was as much of a hassle as Peacehealth's and prone to dropping calls, forcing one to start from scratch each time. so that was frustrating and tine consuming.

Apparently they have no access to our health records, so it was a start from scratch situation. Me, mentally: Shit! This is going to be HOURS. Only it wasn't for all the wrong reasons. They take Medicare, but not Medicare Advantage. So if I want it covered I have to lose most of my benefits including having Medicaid pay my big Medicare copay. O.o. Or I can pay for expensive treatments myself as uninsured.

I was upset, but I remembered superstar medical social worker lady personally calling around town to talk dentists into taking medicare dental coverage for me thus opening up my small city so that medicare patients can now get root canals and crowns instead of learning to live without chewing.

So I still thought it was salvageable. Problem is she's gone and the woman replacing her is a busy supervisor who likes to call me two hours into my sleep cycle without warning and then gets angry at me for not being charming. Previous lady asked when was best to call and would schedule calls in advance for a time when I was able to be awake and functional. it is a lot easier for me to be charming when I wasn't just ripped out of REM sleep and am now being interrogated about something.

New lady is a supervisor and super busy with supervisor things and is made of no and is snippy. I can not make her understand that not only is a 120 mile round trip over mountain passes dealing with the traffic mess along the highway in the major metropolitan area where I once got caught in a four hour traffic jam and couldn't get off to pee, is an entire exhausting day for me and that plus a treatment would not only mean i could do anything useful that day, but the next day to. She can't grasp how much pain is involved in long car trips or how much treatments take out of me. She keeps hard selling me on this and then calling me resistant and recalcitrant like I'm the one being unreasonable for considering this basically insurmountable at my level of disability.

She did not fight the in town clinic for me. She did not try to argue them around.

Her, repeating a suggestion she has made over and over since the closing announcement: You should just get your GP to do it.

Me, explaining for at least the third time because we have this conversation every time we talk: I asked my GP last spring like you asked. They can't do it. It can't be administered by a GP. They'd need to hire a specialist and build new facilities for compounding and for special storage of medication.

Her: Well just ask you GP to give you a different treatment.

Me: There are no other treatments. I have medications to manage symptoms. These treatments are the cure. There is only one cure.

Her: You are being recalcitrant!

Me: There is literally only one cure. No new ones have been invented since last February. The cure is working. I'm getting better. i will get worse again with only symptom management.

But she kept arguing with me because I was being stubborn about facts being facts. My GP can't pull an entire brand new treatment regimen out of her ass. She would not let it go or let me go and I was exhausted because it was hours past when I would normally be asleep at this point and also what was the point of her hard selling me on demanding the imaginary alternative treatment or the 120 mile trip. I ended up giving and and saying something like, "I have to go now," which I know is rude, but we spent this entire conversation with her neither listing not understanding and basically acting like I was the asshole here.

So I'm fucked and I'm frustrated and angry. I was literally at the point where I was going to get better really quickly if I kept doing treatments, but if we stop now I'll be back to square one with it all to do again if another clinic opens.

And it's all like this because Obama and Biden didn't have the balls to stick to their universal free healthy care guns and decided to adopt the capitalist give away Republican health plan in pursuit of bipartisan buy in they did not get, which anyone paying attention told them they could not get, which Mitch McConnell vowed they'd never get as part of the project to make Obama a one term president at all costs. They burned all their political capital on a bullshit give away to insurance companies when they could have taken the same or less of a hit just giving up a developed country level health care system. No fucked up website needed for sign ups. No red tape or copays or catch 22 shit like I'm dealing with now.

#Personal

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billthedrake · 1 year

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GOALS (PART FOUR)

Story idea by and collaboration with top son Turner ([email protected]).

[AUSTIN]

The holidays were tough. Thanksgiving meant family time for Scott. Shannon was back home and Scott took time off to spend with his wife and daugher. He even canceled our Tuesday session that week.

I had a full couple of days of training sessions to preemptively make up for the holiday. Wednesday afternoon, I made the drive an hour to my Mom's aunt's place where we always spent the holiday, at least since my parents' divorce. It was my first time visiting since I'd come out to them, and I was a little nervous. They acted like nothing was different though. Maybe nothing was different. I was still little Austin in their eyes, and nothing too much had changed.

I texted Scott throughout the day, like I did pretty much every day now. We used a different app to be discreet. By midday though his texts stopped, so I decided to give him a break and let him enjoy family time.

December also meant not as much Scott Delahunt time as I wanted. The man had some work obligations - corporate holiday parties, fundraisers, attending social events from his and his wife's circle of friends. By mid-December, too, Shannon was back home.

Scott seemed apologetic. One evening after our sessions, we were back at my place for a quickie. I used to love quickie sex, and I still did, but that's all we had time for lately. Still, Scott made a show of stripping down for me and getting on his knees in my living room. "Let me take care of you buddy," he hissed.

I still occasionally blew Scott, but it was rare now. And when time was short we went for the basics. His mouth on my cock.

I'd been worked up, and I lasted no more than a minute and a half. Scott greedily gulped my seed. He didn't even pull back to taste the cum, he just let his throat milk me. He'd gotten real good at relaxing his throat.

My prick plopped out of his lips with a smack. Scott had a proud satisfied look on his face as he slowly stroked the lower part of my rod. "Sorry I've not had much time for you, man," he said.

"You don't have to apologize, Scott," I said. "Your family comes first. I mean that."

He looked at me, a little emotional. "Wish I didn't have to choose," he admitted.

"You don't," I said. "But can I get a kiss before you head out?"

"Definitely," he grinned as he stood up. Even with a quick suck, he'd managed to cum in his fist, and I saw his spike still pulsing.

"MMMhhh," he moaned as our bodies connected, then our lips.

"Something to tide me over," he said dreamily as we pulled back.

I had been sincere about wanting Scott to enjoy his family time. But I also knew Christmas would be another tough stretch. Scott and I had no definite plans, but I'd bought him a nice golf-attire zip-up and some expensive golf balls. I wasn't sure when I'd have a chance to give them to him.

Turns out the Saturday before Christmas I got a private message from Scott. Around 7 AM, but I didn't get it until closer to 8, when I woke up.

"Short notice, buddy, but you have any free time today?"

My morning wood jerked even harder. "Yeah, absolutely," I wrote. "When is good?" Saturday usually meant a morning workout and afternoons cleaning up the apartment. But I knew I'd rearrange my schedule to his.

"Kelly and Shannon are going shopping late morning. Wanna meet at my office? Should be quiet there."

We set up a tentative plan. Which two hours later became less tentative. I was able to fit my workout in and shower, then drove straight to his work building right from the gym. Traffic was heavy with the run-up to Christmas, but I still made it on time. It was the first time I'd ever been to Scott's work. He did a great job of keeping me separate from his regular life. I think he thought I'd be offended by that, but I had experience dating married men. Maybe too much.

He was waiting at the entrance. It was cold out, and he had a knee-length camel-colored winter coat on and a plaid scarf that set off his handsome features and silvery temples. "Hey," he smiled as he took his hands out of his pocket and offered his hand for a shake.

It felt weird to shake his hand, but we were in public and this was Scott in his business mode. He was even wearing a suit.

"What's going on?" I asked, chuckling some.

Scott had an impish grin. "I thought we'd have a private Christmas celebration. Just you and me."

"Here?" I asked.

"Here, buddy," he said with a wink. "Come on."

I followed him and I felt nervous. Mostly because it felt like we were risking something by walking into his office building together, even on a Saturday.

It was deserted of course, except for the security guard. "Good day, Mr. Delahunt..." the older African-American man greeted. "Another working weekend?"

"Fraid so," Scott said. "Have some project materials to give Matt here..." he lied.

The man waved us on and soon we were taking the elevator up, way up. I think I had a fantasy idea of what a C-suite office would look like. Scott Delahunt's corner office lived up to that fantasy. Spacious, amazing view, modern furnishings, big desk.

He shut the door behind us and took off his overcoat. He wore one of his pinstripe suits, along with a banker-striped shirt and patterned tie.

I set down the shopping bag I carried, one with his presents. "I brought you your Christmas gifts," I said, excited for him to open it.

He seemed pleased and said, "I have one for you, too, buddy.... but first things first... why don't you have a seat.... over in my chair."

"You mean?"

He nodded. "It's your fantasy, right?"

I'd told him about this one all right. Turns out Scott was determined to make it a reality. I'd barely sat down in his plush leather swivel chair when the middle-aged exec undid his coat button and knelt down on the floor in front of me, almost half under his own desk. He reached out and ran his hands up my jeans and then undid my fly.

I was rock hard within seconds. Particularly as his fingers pulled down my boxer briefs and freed me for his inspection.

"How does your fantasy go?" he asked as he gave my hard tool soft gentle strokes.

"Pretty much like this," I gulped. "The big boss servicing me at his desk."

He took his eyes off my cock and looked up at me. So frickin handsome in his suit and tie. "You like being the big boss for a change, huh?"

"Oh god," I grunted and nodded. Amazed he was indulging my turns on so effortlessly.

"Well, sit back and enjoy," he hissed. Then he took me into his mouth. He was slower than normal. Almost torturously sly. I could tell he wanted me to relish this scene. I'd dreamed of it, and here Scott was, delivering it on a silver platter. His hot executive mouth working me up and down. His suit bunching up some as he hunched his shoulders to brace his upper body on my thighs.

Soon those slow strokes were going deep. All the way to my pubes. "Ah FUCK!" I hissed. Looking around the walls and out the window. Amazed I could enjoy this professional space of his as our private sexual space. "Suck my cock, boss!" I hissed.

My hand rested on his head and now pushed him down on me with each deep swallow. Just enough roughness to turn me on, but not so much as to freak Scott out. He seemed to sense my need and one hand left my thigh to take my wrist to guide it to his head.

I pumped his throat now, lifting my hips off that chair to fuck into his hot mouth. I tested his gag reflex, once but only once. Amazingly he took it for the twenty or thirty seconds it took me to work toward my cum. I looked out the window once more, then back down on his reddened face, a tear forming from the corner of his eye. My hot cocksucking dad.

I blasted. Thankfully I let up my grip when I did, and Scott pulled off for a quick gasp of air as I painted my belly with come. Until his mouth took me in to suck the rest. When I was done Scott pulled off and started licking the sperm from my abdomen. Sucking it all up.

I could tell he was hard in his suit when he pulled back. "Merry Christmas, stud."

"Maybe I can return the favor." Like I said, I rarely offered to blow Scott these days. But I didn't like how his wife sometimes cut him off, and this was the holidays...

I knew I'd said the right thing. "Yeah?" He stood up and reached down to unzip. "I know you're into being the top... but it's been so long since I've had a good blow job buddy. And you were the one to give it to me."

His spike popped out, leaking and ready. I wheeled the chair in and started licking him. I knew it wouldn't take long to suck him off. I decided to enjoy this, feeling that spike fill my mouth and the soft gentle in and out motions as I bobbed on him.

"Getting there, man," he warned, spreading his legs. Then I felt that dick jerk in my mouth and flood my craw with his daddy seed. I suckled a little as I swallowed then pulled off.

"I don't do that for you enough," I muttered. Torn between my fantasy of dad-fucking sex and the reality of being grateful for Scott Delahunt and what he meant to me.

Scott nodded as he tucked back in. "You do prefer to be serviced," he observed.

"Pretty much," I blushed.

He looked at me thoughtfully then leaned down for a soft kiss. He patted my shoulder as he leaned back up. "I love making you happy, Austin. You know that. But maybe, you think, on occasion, we can find a way for that?"

"Yeah," I conceded. "You must think I'm an asshole."

He reached in his coat pocket. "Here's how much of an asshole I consider you," he smirked. "A little early Christmas present."

"I think I know what it is," I said as I opened the card. There were two Titans tickets and a gift card for TopGolf.

"I know you're not a regular golfer, but I figured it would be fun if you wanted to go some time. You know, when the weather's warm."

"That'd be awesome," I said. I then looked at the inscription of the card.

"Merry Christmas, Austin.... Thank you for making me a new man. Love, Scott."

I bit my lip then looked up at the man, who was looking at me with such openness. "You like making me emotional, don't ya?" I laughed.

"It's a good look on you," he smiled.

"Well, I have some gifts for you, too," I said. "You can read the card later, if you like."

Scott rooted in the bag and pulled out the card. "I can't read it now?"

"You can," I said. "But it's corny."

"I like corny," he winked and undid the envelope flap. It was another one of my heartfelt letters inside. Talking about how I never got along with my dad, but I considered Scott to be the kind of dad I wished I'd had.

He looked up at me. "Oh, buddy."

"Too much?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said. "I'm honored. Truly."

I blushed. I wasn't used to being this vulnerable with another guy. "Just a warning: the gifts are kinda 'dad' gifts."

Scott laughed and pulled out the small box, the golf balls. "Nice," he said. Then looking up at me. "You ever think about playing? For real?"

"I'd need a hell of a lot of practice," I said. "Or maybe lessons."

"That could be arranged," he smiled. He looked me up and down. "You got the strength and athletic ability to do real well."

I thanked him then nodded to the bigger box. "Open the other one."

He seemed genuinely wowed by the golf top. "It's perfect, man," he said. Then leaned forward for a kiss. "Listen, I got about an hour and a half before I gotta be back. What do you think of grabbing some lunch somewhere?"

It wasn't fancy or anything. Just a regular burger lunch spot. But in my eyes Scott and I had our Christmas meal together there. It would become our tradition, actually.

[SCOTT]

"Come on, it'll be fun," I said to my daughter. "We've done Europe three summers in a row."

"Your father has gotten on one of his mid-life kicks," Kelly explained.

"We both have," I reminded her. I wasn't the one who'd signed up for baking classes.

Shannon giggled. As much as I sometimes griped to Austin about my spoiled daughter, it was still always great to see her. She was young and happy and her happiness was infectious. "I just can't believe you've been using Austin as your trainer."

Kelly sidled up to the kitchen island with a wine glass in hand. She liked to let loose over the holidays. "I think Austin has some extra business because of him," he put her arms around my shoulder. "My girlfriends all have pestered their husbands to go to him."

I blushed. Maybe I was a grade-A heel for acting like everything was normal. Like I wasn't having sex with Austin a couple of times a week. But I'd been open about developing a close friendship with my trainer. It was kind of in an "I always did like that kid" kind of tone.

But this was more. I had told Kelly and Shannon my dream of hiking Glacier National Park and was upfront this was something Austin was helping me train for. We'd be doing spring hikes in Tennessee and aim for a July trip out west. Austin and I would do the hike and then we'd meet in some resort.

"Linda Price says Jackson Hole is overrated," Kelly chimed in. "She says the smaller resorts are the real deal and much nicer."

"Can I bring Bryan?" Shannon asked. Her boyfriend of the moment.

"Of course," I said. "And some friends if you like." Maybe I figured that this would help sell the trip. But also, I knew it would be awkward to seem like I saw making Shannon's ex the only other person there.

"How come you didn't ask me to do the hike, Dad?" Shannon teased. She could get in her "girl boss" mode sometimes.

I shrugged. "You strike me as more the glamping type."

She laughed. "Maybe. Yeah."

[AUSTIN]

I really worked Scott hard that Tuesday.

"You should have pity on an old man," he teased as we walked out to our cars. It was February and plenty dark out at 8.

"I know what I'm doing," I asserted. "I specialize in training older guys, remember."

"I remember," he said. Then, quietly, Scott asked. "Have there been others? Besides me?"

He didn't spell it out but I knew what he meant. "You serious?" I asked.

"That’s not a no," he said.

"No one else," I assured him. "Yeah, sure, sometimes it's fun to look but you're the one exception to my business-only rule."

He liked that answer. I liked that he liked it. "Hell of an exception, buddy.'

I laughed. "Got time to come back to my place?" Sometimes he didn't but this was as close to routine as we'd get.

"You bet."

He was surprised when he walked in. I had a massage table set up in my living room.

"What's this?" he laughed. "Starting a side business?"

I'm not licensed," I explained. "But we did sports massage some in Kinesiology at UT."

He looked at me. "For me?"

I grinned. "I can't afford a fancy gift, but you have a birthday this week." I pointed to the table. "Come on, strip down and I'll help you relax."

He grinned and started taking off his workout sweats. I enjoyed seeing him hard. But I urged him to lie face down first.

I took my time. I applied massage oil to his daddy muscle and slowly worked it in. Like a lot of exec types, Scott was tense as hell, and our workout hadn't helped. But he moaned and shut his eyes softly as I worked him.

I did what I knew how, but there was a lot of improvising. And some more sensual, sexual stimulation, up the insides of his thighs, and along his ass.

“Turn over,” I instructed. There was his rigid spike again, leaking on his belly. But I didn't touch it. I started with his temples, then down his neck and shoulders. I could sense the tension leave him, even if I wasn't an expert.

Or else the tension was going straight to his prick. I went to the other end. I started with the calves and worked up the legs, one then the other. Finally I grabbed hold of his hardon with my oiled hand and pumped.

I didn't have any special technique here, either, but I was mimicking a tug motion, like milking a cow's udder. Scott was so worked up. He opened his eyes. Hungrily feasting on my shirtless body.

"Austin!" he hissed. And like that sperm flew out, over my first and up onto his chest.

His body tensed in aftershocks, then he reached out to touch my own tented crotch. "Let me do you," he urged. I'd been ready to make this a special Scott day. But I wasn't gonna turn down a blow job. I pulled my sweats down and let my hard cock just toward his face.

Scott twisted his position and took me into his mouth. He'd gotten so good at this. Rapidly he worked his head and up and down while I took in the vision of his naked body. Older, beautiful, just having had its own release.

I pulled out. My prick spurted on Scott's tongue which got him to open wide for the rest of my load. Some of it hit his chin and dribbled down but the man caught most of it before circling his lips back on me to suck it all down.

"You've never done that," he remarked when he finally sat up.

"Yeah, I wanted to see the cum," I explained.

"Was hot," he said as he leaned in for a kiss.

I let him shower the oil off. "I'm gonna sleep well," he said as he came in fully dressed again. Ready to head back home.

"I'm glad. Happy early birthday, Scott."

"I won't be able to spend any time with you this weekend," he explained.

"I get it," I assured him. "For real."

He gave me a nod. I could see some conflicted emotions but stoically he walked out of my pace and into the February cold.

[SCOTT]

Two years ago I would have hated a place like this. But it was a warm March day and I was hanging out with Austin at TopGolf. It was a blast. He had a competitive streak and though I was a better hitter, he had some power in his drives. He got into keeping tally of our scores.

"Good thing it's not a putt putt challenge," he said. "My Dad would always take us when we were in Gatlinburg. I got pretty good."

"How long ago was that?" I asked as I sipped my beer.

"A while," he admitted. "But a few of my buddies and I would actually go play when we were in college. We'd get hammered then make bets on who'd get the best score."

I laughed. "Sounds like a country club," I deadpanned. "Only the drinks would cost more."

"How's the trip planning going?" Austin asked after his turn. He was responsible for the hike planning for Montana, but I was arranging flights, hotels, transportation, park reservations, the rest of it.

"All booked," I said. "You're gonna have to put up with Shannon and her friends."

"It'll be fine," Austin grinned. "I'm a charming guy." He was a little tipsy, I could tell. "Just tell me we're gonna have some alone time, Mr. D."

I smiled. "A week backpacking's not enough alone time?"

"I mean after," he said. "I'm greedy that way."

"We gotta be careful," I cautioned him. "But you have a way of getting me to do things for you, Mr. White."

[AUSTIN]

"How you doing?" I asked as we entered a steeper stretch. I had tried to give myself more of the weight, but Scott insisted on carrying an equal load in our packs.

"Doing good," he said, a little out of breath and very much breaking a sweat, but not making a show of it. "I have a personal trainer who's whipped me into shape."

I laughed. "The gym's different from the trail," I reminded him.

Scott was never short with me, but he was getting short now. "I told you I wanted a challenge, buddy, and I meant it. I'm good."

I was used to type-A corporate types in my job, and it was times like this that I remembered Scott Delahunt was one of them.

The first day was the longest and hardest, and when we got to our first spot to set up, Scott was quiet, almost moody. "Can we rest for a sec?" he asked as we plopped down on a rock. He looked out over the landscape. Parts of the Smokies weren't dramatic. This was dramatic. But contemplation of the scenery was the last thing on Scott's mind. "Glad we beat the thunderstorm," he said as he pulled out his water bottle and took a good swig.

I let him be frustrated. I'd gotten real good at reading Scott's moods. I took a good swig of water myself and enjoyed just being up in the mountains again. Then I got up and gently squeezed Scott's shoulder and walked over to unpack the tent.

He was actually really efficient at helping put it up. "You learn those knots in Scouts?" I asked.

"Probably," he smiled. I was glad to see his humor return. "But I forgot them. I studied up before coming."

I fixed the last of the tiers to the poles. "Looks like that thunderstorm is coming," I said as I looked up to the sky, feeling the breeze pick up just as the clouds were really darkening.

We got the bags inside the tent. I had the foresight to take a tarp and stretch it over some exposed rock dirt and secure it with rocks. We'd want somewhere dry to cook and eat.

The drops came, a few of them, then a lot. I got in the tent first, and Scott ducked in a second after.

"Welcome to the Smokies," I said.

"Love it," came his reply. We plopped down on the tent floor. Scott unfurled his sleeping bag as I did mine.

"I hope we're only using one of these bags," I teased.

Scott looked over, a playful look in his eyes. "Tight fit," he said. Already he was untucking his shirt. "But maybe we can test it out."

I was matching his moves. "I'm a little sweaty," I said.

"So am I," Scott replied. "The hike leader is a real slavedriver."

He managed to get naked first and I saw that beautiful dad spike sticking out of his crotch. I loved every hardon Scott threw for me, with me and around me.

We scooted toward one another. The tent wasn't that big anyway. "We can take our time, right?" I asked.

The rain was coming down. It felt magical. The right time with the right man. The two of us alone in nature.

We kissed and humped against one another. His body was warm and clammy. He gripped my own sweaty muscle. It felt like how men should have sex.

Apparently that's what Scott thought. He pulled back and ran his hands along my arm muscle, from my forearm to my biceps and triceps and then back. "It's nice being with a man," he said, thoughtfully. "Sometimes, I still can't believe it."

I looked into his face. Just that older, dad-like handsomeness was enough to make me and keep me rock hard. The lines around his eyes, and the salt and pepper hair, now grayer than when I first met him. "I've always been too scared to ask you, but you ever get weirded out by it?"

That caught him by surprise. "Why are you afraid to ask?" he hissed then kissed along my chin. I liked this private version of Scott a lot. Sensual as much as sexual.

"I dunno," I said. "Maybe a part of me is always afraid you'll go back to being straight."

He looked at me, taking in my words. "It's not about words for me, Austin. I can't explain."

"You don't have to," I said. "Some things can be put into words anyway."

He nodded. "Maybe. Still, I don't want you afraid to ask me anything. Ever."

"OK," I said. I rolled over on top of him. Just this position got me going. I held my body up above him and felt his hands explore my lats and sides as we looked into each other's eyes. "Do you love me, Scott?"

He didn't hesitate. "I do." I could feel his heart pump through the connection of our dicks. "I don't want to lead you on, Austin. Maybe I can't give you what you need. But I love you."

I smiled. "You give me plenty, sir."

"Sir?" he laughed.

I blushed. But gently thrust my cock against his. "My parents taught me to respect my elders." Kind of teasing, but also suggesting to Scott what was on my mind.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. "I've been afraid to ask you things, too."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Are you looking for a daddy?"

I raised my eyebrow. "You've been studying up on the gays," I teased.

"I gotta keep up with you somehow, Austin," he said sincerely. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I have a daddy already," I said directly, getting the courage to look him in the eye as I described my fantasy, my kink. "I guess I'm looking for a dad."

His fingers now lazily traced circles along my flank. "Sorry. You're gonna have to explain."

I scooted off him, taking the chance to run my hand along his chest and furry abs. He'd slimmed down a lot over the last month, and I could see knotted ridges of his abs now. "A daddy is any older guy I'm with. But a dad.... well, I get turned on by the incest fantasy."

I examined his face for a hostile reaction. Or a positive one. Instead I saw pure curiosity as Scott reached over and wrapped his hand around my cock. "You're rock hard just talking about it."

I nodded. "We don't have to explore this," I assured him. "But I think about it when we have sex. A lot."

"You think of your father instead of me?" I could tell he was a little hurt by that idea.

"Fuck no," I interjected. "I dream of you being my dad. And being with you that way... Sorry if that freaks you out."

He shook his head and removed his hand from my dick. "Doesn't freak me out. It's a new idea to me. A little weird. But I like seeing you turned on." He turned over and I got an amazing view of his backside as Scott rifled through his backpack. I'll just say his back and leg workouts were paying real dividends.

When he turned back he had some lubricant in his hand. "It's been too long," he said. "You wanna?"

I nodded. There would be no rim job this time nor any extended foreplay, but it turns out we were both worked up. The thunderstorm had passed, but the rain still pattered on our tent. Scott scooted in place beneath me and let me place his legs on my shoulders. I decided I like this position, a lot. The ability to see Scott's handsome face as I penetrated him.

"I'm not ready for the 'dad' talk," he said. "But if you wanna think it..." he urged.

Just that permission felt wild. I pumped Scott slow and deep. And he became Dad as I fucked. My hunky, wonderful Dad who let his son have his way far too often. Like now. Scott's eyes looked up at me, knew what I was thinking, his hands urging me to enjoy this fuck.

He was enjoying it, too, his own fist working his spike slowly with each steady pump of my cock inside him. His body enjoying that connection between his p-spot and his dick.

I had an idea though. I nudged his hand aside with my own. Grabbing his cock like a handle, I took over stroking him. Focusing a little less on my own immediate need, though after so long Scott's ass felt amazing on my bare cock.

"You like this?" I asked. Eyes on his as I fucked.

He nodded excitedly, amazed at feeling a different hand than his as we mated. "God yes."

"Keep your hands to the side, OK?" I asked and more than a little commanded. "I wanna get you off."

His eyes were pure excitement as he let his body take over. I was getting real close to nutting myself but I wanted to see if this would work first. I knew Scott loved seeing me get my pleasure and the telltale look on my face was tripping his triggers.

"Keep your hands off!" I urged, louder now.

Scott nodded eagerly, already on the climb toward orgasm.

Just at that moment I let go and put all the power into my thrusts. By instinct Scott's hand went up but I intercepted. And like that, I was watching Scott Delahunt have his first hands-free orgasm. That spike spurting high globs of semen onto his furry front as his body jerked and his deep voice cried out.

"Yes," I hissed and like that I was shooting my wad deep into the man.

The man fell back onto the sleeping bag, head limp as he caught his breath. I slowly pulled out and let his legs come down from my shoulders.

"That was SO hot, Scott," I said as I leaned down to kiss him, his spermy body connecting with my sweaty muscle.

"I'm glad," Scott muttered as he pulled my hard body to his. "I still can't think," he laughed. "You fucked it all out of me."

#drakestories

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starpirateee · 4 months

Text

To the dear guest who requested this, thanks so much! I was personally expecting a sickfic at some point, so it's my honour!

Paul was never late. Ever. He'd basically made it part of his personality to show up to work and little events within a reasonable margin to be considered "on time".

But, somehow the luck just had to run out eventually. Like the day his car broke down and he had to catch the bus to work. that day, he was a good forty minutes late (most of which was spent on the phone to Tony Green, trying to find a time to drop his car off, and subsequently missing the bus that may have gotten him to work on time), and that was so late that he managed to walk into Ted in the hallway.

Ted was normally one to amble into work late, but this time felt a little different. The two of them shared the lift up to the right floor, and Paul couldn't help but notice the way Ted seemed to be having a little trouble staying entirely upright. He spent the few seconds that the journey took leaning against the wall, and avoiding looking at Paul and the lights above their heads.

As Paul had pretty quickly discovered, there was nothing particularly interesting about Ted's shoes.

"Uh, Ted... Are you okay?" he asked eventually, just as they reached their floor.

the lift stopped and the doors opened. Ted made quick work of exiting, mainly so he could avoid being confronted by anyone, but Paul's words drew him back. He turned around slowly, ignoring the way his head screamed it's protests, and nodded. "Yeah, 'm fine. Just hungover." He could get away with that, it was a Monday, right? People drank on a weekend...

"Ted, it's Wednesday..." Paul pointed out, in a manner that he thought was rather helpful.

Shit.

Of course it was.

Granted, Ted didn't know what day it was at the best of times, but he had been working the rest of the week, so he should've known that it wasn't a Monday. "Yeah, and? I'm... Allowed to drink on a Tuesday."

"... Okay. I mean, yeah, sure you are, but-"

the two of them walked onto the office floor, and Paul insisted on seeing Ted all the way to his door, just to really make sure.

"- y'know, not a lot of people do."

"Get off my case, Paul... I'm fine." He opened the door to his office, fumbling first to get his keys, and then again when he tried to get them in the keyhole. Paul watched the whole time, his head tilted like he was about to make some claim that Ted was lying. Ted raised an eyebrow at him. "don't you have somewhere better to be?"

That seemed to snap him out of it. He nodded and backed away to join the rest of the technical department. On the way, he shot a couple glances back at the now closed office door, knowing full well that Ted wasn't as fine as he made himself out to be.

those suspicions were only confirmed when he heard Bill sigh heavily in the next cubicle, shift in his seat, and mutter, "Jesus Christ, can't he keep that to himself?"

Paul leaned around the divider, brow furrowed. "What's the problem, Bill?"

"Can't you hear it? I mean, we all know what Spankoffski gets up to in that office of his, but he's not exactly making it subtle today..."

Initially, Paul winced in agreement. They did all know what Ted got up to when he was alone. The last time they confronted him about it, Ted only grinned and explained that the office network didn't have a blacklist put in place, so technically speaking, they had free reign to do whatever they wanted. But, he was never normally a problem about it, so reluctant as they were, they had left the matter alone and just tried not to think about it.

Paul realised there was probably a good reason why Bill could hear Ted today, and thankfully, it had nothing to do with... That. For once.

"I don't think that's what you're hearing," he hummed, shooting a quick, sympathetic glance towards the door.

"What're you saying? Bill asked. "He's clearly-"

"I know what it sounds like, but he said he was hungover when we got here, but I dunno whether I believe him..."

"It's Wednesday."

"I know. That's what I said. I don't think he's doing so hot. Uh, that is, I think he's sick."

And Paul wasn't talking about him as a person. Bill's brow creased, and he actively tried to focus. This time, both men heard what they thought was a shaky sigh, and a groan that sounded much more like a protest than a pleasure. They glanced at each other and Paul shrugged, his point having been proven.

"Yeah, no, I'm not buying it. He's not fine, and I don't care what he tries to tell me." With that, he stood up and started towards the door. Bill didn't try to stop him, but kept his eyes trained on the office as Paul approached.

He knocked first, half expecting Ted to have locked himself in.

"... 's open." Came the voice from inside, slightly more strained than it had been a few hours ago.

Oh.

Taking a quick, prepatory breath, Paul opened the door, dropping his other hand to his side. Ted was once again hunched over himself, discarding a tissue in the bin by his desk. He looked up, caught the concern so clearly written across Paul's face, and sighed. "Didn't I already tell you to get off my case, Matthews?" He asked, somewhat drily.

The only response Ted got was a nod.

"Then... What's the big idea, huh?"

"Bill thought- uh..." He glanced back, stopping himself mid sentence and deciding it wasn't worth it to follow that up. Ted probably already knew what Bill had assumed, anyway. He certainly didn't seem disappointed by being the name behind such a reputation. "You're... Not hungover, are you?"

"Good job, detective." Ted's chest heaved, and his next breath sent him into a bout of coughing. Paul noticed how raspy it was, and how rough Ted sounded when he came out of it. "It's nothing. Some... Flu or something I picked up from my brother, or one of his dorky classmates... I dunno. But I'm fine."

"Sure."

Quite surprised, Ted's eyebrows raised. "Was that sarcasm there? From you?"

Paul just shrugged. He could add sarcasm when he needed to. He totally knew the context for something like that... Thankfully, the subject was dropped before he could think about whether he'd done that intentionally or not.

"Why are you so bothered anyway?"

The fast attempt at giving an answer was broken off by another coughing fit, and in that time, Paul tried to refine his answer before realising he didn't really have a good one in the first place. He sighed. "I'm worried about you, man. You've gotten paler every time I look at you."

Ted faltered, his head lifting just enough to fully catch Paul's gaze and decipher that he did indeed look worried. He seemed sincere enough, and the thought of it- the thought of someone he didn't actually know that well, all things considered, seeming genuinely worried at his expense- made his eyes widen.

Paul picked up on the extended silence and shifted, now humouring the thought that he may have done something wrong. "What?"

"You're serious?"

"Huh? Of course I am. You need to get yourself home, you look like you're going to pass out. In fact... No, I can drive. If you want."

"You took the bus this morning," Ted reminded.

"I know. I meant your car. That way, you don't have to leave it here to forget about by tomorrow..." Paul hadn't thought this through. In his eyes, that just meant Ted wouldn't have to wake up the next morning and completely forget where his car was. Besides, it's not like he lived close...

"You're asking me for my keys? When I can just as easily drive myself home?"

"Will you make it?"

There was a silence. Ted realised pretty quickly that this was an argument he was going to lose, so he sighed as he stood up. It was fine, at least he wouldn't have to keep face here when all he wanted to do was sleep until his problems went away. "... Fine." He muttered, shoving his hand in his pocket for his keys and handing them out to Paul. "Wreck it and I kill you, 'kay?"

"Okay..."

#ted spankoffski #paul matthews #starkid #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #void offering #nova's tags →#sickfic! hell yeah!!!#do these two have a ship name? is this even ship territory???#someone with more knowledge than me tell me what this ship is called idc if this fic is shippy or not i wanna know #... are they dirty chai/chaicoffee? is that them?

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