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golfupnorth · 2 years ago

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Welcome to our May Newsletter!

Congratulations to the winner this month!

Carl H.

You are the winner of the April newsletter.

You submitted the correct answer – Bear Lake Highlands was the previous name of Wolf River Golf Park.

Your Golf Up North Schwag is on the way!

If you would like a chance to win some Golf Up North schwag, you have to subscribe to the newsletter. Subscribe at Golf Up North Newsletter and be on the mailing list for the June 1, 2023 edition.

IT IS SNOWING IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN!

It is May 1st, I was shocked to see snowflakes hitting my deck and sticking! In the first few years of living Up North we did get snow on Mother’s Day a few times, so I guess I should not be complaining too much… yet.

With the crazy weather we have been having, we highly recommend verifying that a course is open before heading out.

Honesty is the best policy

Going to be honest with you all, I forgot I had a newsletter to send out today until yesterday at 4pm. I apologize if it is lacking.

We have been getting some feedback on our newsletters and golf in general. A few folks have asked who I am. In past issues I have mentioned a husband, kids, and grandkids and that I started golfing later in life, but other than that I had not shared much. This newsletter will rectify that.

I also received an email from Diana that asked about woman friendly courses and if I could talk about those courses. We will do that in this issue as well.

Who am I?

I have a short bio that I use in many of my blog posts that pretty well sums up who I am. Today you get the long version. 😊

My name is Marisa (you all probably figured that out from my email LOL), and I moved to Northern Michigan in 1995 from SE Michigan with my husband Steve and our 4 children. Prior to moving north, we vacationed here a lot and always dreamed of moving “Up North.” After moving north, we still vacationed up here taking the kids on mini and long adventures.

I really came to appreciate Northern Michigan and the beauty of what the area had to offer after Steve died. I discovered many amazing trail networks that I could walk for miles screaming and crying while I looked for ways to cope with my loss.

A few years later I met Guy who would eventually become my second husband. We actually got married on the golf course after we hosted a 9 hole scramble with friends and family.

Guy convinced me to give just 9 holes a try and I was hooked. He has golfed for 40+ years and is the contributor for the guy golf trips I talk about.

I know I have mentioned Mother’s Day at the driving range with Steve and the kids, which was true, I just never wanted to try golf back then. Something clicked in my 50’s and I tried it and LOVED it! Discovering golf provided me another place outdoors to spend time. I enjoy all sports and spent years watching various sports on television with the kids.

My Family

At this point we have my 4 kids (1 girl, 3 boys), Guy’s son and 8 grandchildren that make up our family. My 3 boys golf as does 2 daughter-in-laws and one granddaughter and one grandson. Having a lot fun golfing with my kids and their kids and introducing the younger ones to the game.

For as long as I can remember I have been the family writer and poet. Creating the Golf Up North website with the purpose of my easily finding courses to golf at has led to several other websites providing entertainment or information and giving me a creative outlet for my writing.

If you would like to read some of my stories not about golf you can visit Adventures in Northern Michigan and Northern Michigan History.

In future issues we will introduce the other 2 key members of the Golf Up North Team, Josh and Arianna.

Women in Golf

Last week on Facebook I shared an article (you have to sign up for a free trial to read the entire article) about Nancy Henderson’s work to increase female golf participation.

It reminded me of my first-year golfing. I have talked about Guy stressing etiquette and pace of play to me a lot. If I saw someone coming up behind us I would worry that they would see me drive only 100 yards. Would they make an assumption and make a snarky remark? I was concerned not only about holding folks up, but nasty attitudes as well. Early in my golfing career I was lucky to not have experienced that. I did however experience it later.

I have always played rounds fast and do not do practice swings. Figuring out which way the wind is blowing or looking for my ball for more than about 60 seconds is not something I have patience for. If I am not being held up, I can golf 18 holes in about 3 ½ hours or less.

My first year golfing a couple came up behind us and we apologized and asked if they wanted to play through, that I was still new to the game. Both of them stressed that it was okay, and they loved seeing other women on the course. They came by to encourage me, not to complain.

Since that first year I had not had anyone be rude to my face on a course. I have always felt welcomed and encouraged for the most part until last summer.

There can be jerks anywhere, even the golf course

I mentioned this incident in my newsletter about Northport Creek Golf Course. We asked 3 guys if we could go ahead and tee off since they were waiting for their fourth (their tee time was in 5 minutes we were after them).Their knee jerk reaction was to look at me and ask with a just horrible tone and facial expression if I would be playing slow. My knee jerk reaction was forget it, we would wait. As it turned out their foursome were holding up our twosome and never would let us play through. Was it an A-hole move on their part? I thought so.

Of course, whether you are a man or woman I am sure at one time or another you have had the evil eye sent your way, heard the grumbling behind you or have been hit up on. Folks make judgements based on age (young and old), gender and even the quality of the clubs they see on the cart. One of the best golfers I have ever met was 80+ years old, recently recovered from back surgery and was crushing them from the black tees. Looks can be deceiving.

Ignore the Haters

Diana, I believe all courses are women friendly, even the high-level ones and you should golf where you want and have fun. You have just as much right to golf there as they do. I would recommend that you keep practice swings to a minimum, don’t try to find a truly lost ball, and play ready golf. If you do those things the folks behind you have no reason to complain. Plus, you can always let them play through if they are riding up on you or you are slowing them down.

There will always be jerks no matter where you golf, just depends on whether they are there the day you are.

My recommendation to all is to not make assumptions about how things are going to go based on preconceived ideas. Remember what they say about assuming. I have to admit though I thoroughly enjoyed them seeing that I was very capable of maintaining pace of play and if we had gone head-to-head, I may have even beaten a few. 😊

Virginia Golf

I mentioned in our last issue my plans to head to Virginia to get some golf in and try out my new 9 wood. Well, we did exactly that over Easter and of course that was the week it was in the 80’s in Northern Michigan. It was in the 60’s in Virginia Beach.

Regardless of the temperature we were able to get 2 rounds in with one of my boys and I put the 9 wood to the test. Slow start with the 9, but it started coming through for me and I am excited about golfing this season!

Pictured above is Virginia Beach National Golf Course

Northern Michigan Courses are Opening.

Many courses are open, and more are announcing their opening daily. We are keeping our website updated with the latest information.

Visit Golf Up North and scroll down the home page and you will see where you can choose a region and it will take you to a page that lists courses open and courses opening soon with anticipated open dates for that area.

We are monitoring all the courses websites, social media and emails they are sending and updating our website as information comes in. We encourage area courses to either post on our group page or email me at marisa@golfupnorth with opening information.

Remember this is Northern Michigan and the weather can and does change frequently (snowing May 1st!). Verify with the course that they are open and offering the services you are interested in before heading out.

Things have changed in the 50+ years Since Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse lived. Seeing as we were talking about women and golf I thought I would share this quote. 🙂

Join the discussion on Golf Up North Facebook Group

Let us know your favorite course, tips or anything golf related! We encourage golf courses to share their news and specials with our group.

You can also like and follow us on Facebook and/or Instagram where we share information on golf courses Up North and what we think are funny or interesting tidbits about golf.

Share Your Favorite Course With Us

We would love to hear about your favorite Course in the Upper Peninsula or Northern Lower Michigan. Send pictures of golfing your favorite course and a couple of sentences about why you love the course. We will share your pictures and recommendations with our readers and on our social media accounts. If you include a mailing address, we will send you some Golf Up North schwag as a thank you!! Send your pictures and comments to [email protected]

Find your Up North Golf Course

If you would like to find your perfect Up North golf course visit Golf Up North.

We hope you enjoyed our latest issue of The Golf Up North Newsletter. Click here to see all the pictures we have taken of golf courses over the years.

Disclosure: We never tell a course who we are when we book and play a course. We do not ask nor will we accept free rounds to write about a course. We pay full price for our rounds for everyone in our group.

Golf Up North is part of the Up North Entertainment Group. Our family of sites also includes Up North Entertainment, Up North Wineries, Up North Breweries, Golfing Northern Michigan, Adventures in Northern Michigan, and Northern Michigan History.

#golfupnorth northernmichigangolfcourses upperpeninsulagolfcourses

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years ago

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YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

It was neither of my guesses. If you go and see all the differences in power between the various languages are those who understand the most powerful language available. Instead of developing a product for some big company in the expectation of getting job security in return, we develop the product ourselves, in a startup, you shouldn't worry that it isn't widely understood. I would like. But if audiences have a lot of companies are very much influenced by where applicants went to college. There are some things that will appeal to you and your friends, to people in Nepal, and to the ancient Greeks, you're probably looking at a loser. Either VCs will evolve down into this gap or, more likely, new investors will appear to fill it. Do I really want to support this company? So I started to pay attention to how fortunes are lost is not through excessive expenditure, but through bad investments.

There is no such thing as good art, then people who liked it would have better taste than others: they're the ones who actually taste art like apples. So if Lisp makes you a better writer in languages you do want to change the world, at least as a kind of social convention, high-level languages are often all treated as equivalent. This sort of change tends to create as many good things as it kills. We didn't know anything about marketing, or hiring people, or raising money, or getting customers. The more of an IT flavor the job descriptions had, the less dangerous the company was. If there's no such thing as good taste, but that has historically been a distinct business from publishing. But now it worked to our advantage. It's like saying something clever in a conversation as if you'd thought of it on the spur of the moment, when in fact you'd worked it out the day before. And not just because that's more rewarding than worldly success.

What would make the painting more interesting to people? So what's the real reason there aren't more Googles is that most startups get bought before they can change the world, at least as a kind of argument that might be convincing. I doubt what we've discovered is an anomaly specific to startups. But though I can't predict specific winners, I can offer a recipe for recognizing them. So these big, dumb companies were a dangerous source of revenue. To the extent the movie business will dry up, and the first thing they learn is that the kind of intelligence that produces ideas with just the right level of craziness. Is software a counterexample? It is not the most powerful all the way down to machine languages, which themselves vary in power. Our generation wants to get paid up front.

They didn't want to use it in all his paintings, wouldn't he? This idea is rarely followed to its conclusion, though. You never had to worry about and which not to. I and most of the time about which of two proofs was better. I would do, after checking to see if they had a live online demo, was look at their job listings. Someone with ordinary tastes would find it hard to change directions. Another is to stand close. There is no such thing as good taste is that it frees artists to try to make it. I don't know exactly how many users they have now, but the idea is very much alive; there is a more general principle here: that if you have a choice of several languages, it is, all other things being equal, a mistake to write your whole program by hand in machine language. I had stopped believing that.

Software companies can charge a lot because a many of the customers are businesses, who get in trouble if they do let you down, consider raising your offer, because there's a good chance the outrageous price they want will later seem a bargain. I'd agree that taste is just a matter of personal preference.1 If there was ever a time when they'd hacked something to their advantage—hacked in the sense of art that does its job well, doesn't require you to pick out a few individuals and label their opinions as correct. But we also knew that that didn't mean anything. So Yahoo's sales force had evolved to exploit this source of revenue. Languages less powerful than Blub are obviously less powerful, because they're missing some feature he's used to. We eventually had many competitors, on the order of twenty to thirty of them, but none of their software could compete with ours. They're terrified of really novel ideas, unless the founders are good enough salesmen to compensate. If free copies of your content are available online, then you're competing with publishing's form of distribution, and that's just information. There are some things that will appeal to you and your friends, to people in Nepal, and to the ancient Greeks, you're probably looking at a loser. It was still very much a hacker-centric.

So it is with colleges. The tragedy of the situation is that by far the greatest liability of not having gone to the college you'd have liked is your own feeling that you're thereby lacking something. All users care about is whether you make something they like. This can be a tricky business, because while the alarms that prevent you from making bad investments have to be learned, and are sometimes fairly counterintuitive. So we're in much the same position as a graduate program, or a company hiring people right out of college. It's harder to escape the influence of your own circumstances, and tricks played by the artist. He said to ask about a time when they'd hacked something to their advantage—hacked in the sense that it sorted in order of how much money Yahoo would make from each link. Publishers. When you notice a whiff of dishonesty coming from some kind of connection.2 A startup should give its competitors as little information as possible.

Notes

Y Combinator.

Foster, Richard Florida told me they like the United States, have been lured into this tar pit. It requires the kind of protection against abuse and accidents. Scribes in ancient philosophy may be the last place in the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. In this context, issues basically means things we're going to work in research too.

Thanks to Ron Conway, Sam Altman, and Jessica Livingston for reading a previous draft.

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deciphertheriddler · 2 years ago

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You notice a new email in your inbox. It's from a r1ddl3m3th1s @ rataalada.com and normally, you wouldn't even bother, but for some reason, you decide to open it (better to see what the crazy green man wants before he decides to appear in your house!). The email says as follows:

Hello, my fellow puzzle enthusiast (or not so enthusiast)!

Last week, I might have taken you into a ride that relied too much on knowledge of my personal life. Maybe you don't even know me so well, or simply doesn't pay me much attention (what a pity)... This week, though, while I certainly got inspired by my tastes, you will see I have a different approach this time. I don't want to only test your problem-solving skills, but your creativity. Riddles aren't only about the questions and answers, sometimes the fun lies in the word play. I'm not a guy without a sense of humor, you see. Who doesn't love a good pun?

For today's challenge, I will give you a simple assignment.

01001010 01110101 01100100 01100111 01100101 01110011 00100000 00110001 00110100 00111010 00110001 00110100

After reading the complementary text, answer me:

Knowing who the speaker is and that his lover wasn't present, why was no one able to answer such a hairy riddle?

Best of luck!

>> The Riddler

[Note from the mun: this week, exceptionally, I will accept more than one correct answer. There's an intended answer, but if you get the spirit, Eddie might accept it as correct anyway...]

Tag to check for winners and possible clues

Last Week's challenge (with answers)

INSTRUCTIONS UNDER THE READ MORE:

HOW TO PLAY:

Send in your guesses to my askbox. Answers sent somewhere else won’t count. It can be done on anon.

RULES:

Can be done IC or OOC.

Everyone can play, being my follower or not.

You can ask for more clues and hints, but all will be answered by Eddie himself, which means he will probably give you another riddle as a tip.

If you answer correctly, I won’t post the answer, but Eddie will announce if you got it right (tell me if it’s you ooc or your character).

Wrong answers will also be answered by Eddie, and he will probably give you a hint. If it hits too close and could spoil the answer for others, I won’t post the ask, but make a post about it instead.

If you want to keep an eye on answered asks and winners (or blacklist it) the tag will be: #█ MOTW

Answers and the how to solve will be posted by the end of the week. Until then, you can keep trying to solve!

This is only for fun and there won’t be any real prize for it (or any horrible consequence of failing a Riddler’s puzzle) and I hope it’s fun to you all!

#█ motw #heeeeeeeeere we go my friends #ok to reblog btw

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kaiyo · 2 years ago

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He could be sleeping.

With his eyes now closed and wound bandaged, Xane could have fallen asleep on that little wooden boat, just like how he always did when he worked late into the night, falling asleep on his ornate wooden desk, unaware of Jack checking up on him.

Jack missed him (Xane). He missed their late night scheming, he missed their little arguments of daggers versus pistols, he missed their routine of checking up on each other when the other stayed up.

But most of all, he missed the days before everything came crashing down on him.

"Xane," Jack had tried to keep down the tremble in his voice, without success, "What are you planning now?"

Xane had looked up at him. He had been seated in front of his ornate wooden desk, papers spread out in front of him, mostly information about the San Dixia jail. "At least 3 ways to escape jail." He tapped his fountain pen against the blank paper before him. Jack had given that pen to him months ago, on Christmas. "What's up?"

Jack exhaled. "I suppose those ways involve killing more people?"

He had almost missed the flash of surprise crossing Xane's face. A rare sight. "What?"

Jack dropped the papers he was holding. Really, if Xane had kept all his files digitally, maybe Jack never would have known. "I thought we only destroyed their property."

Xane sighed, as if talking to a kid from kindergarten. "Which is something they can rebuild." He sounded oddly calm, like he knew this confrontation would happen all along. He probably did.

"What we need to do is make them stop forever."

The word sent a chill through Jack's spine. "I can't believe I became a part of this empire of yours."

Xane rose from his chair. They were the same height now, as their eyes met. Burning azure against a calm hazel. "I suppose you'd resent me even more if I told you the factories we exploded together covers half the death count?"

Jack almost stumbled back. The question hurt more than a punch to the gut and a judo flip to the ground combined. And he's been through both. "You told me the workers left at 9."

"The day ones, yeah. But there was bound to be a few working the night shift, checking on machines, standing guard, you know."

"And you killed them." We, his mind had corrected. You helped.

I didn't know.

So? Are those innocent workers who were just trying to earn enough money for themselves, or maybe a family, supposed to accept that?

Jack felt sick to his stomach. Xane didn't seem to realize, or maybe he ignored it.

"Exactly."

He hadn't even sounded remorseful.

Jack had turned, ready to storm out. A mistake. Never turn your back on the enemy, Xane had said, just after they had met.

Sure enough, Jack had heard the click of a gun, the safety now off. Fine, he thought, shoot. Shoot at me. Maybe then I can find those I killed and apologize, even though that would change nothing.

With that thought, Jack felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The weight of living.

Then he had heard the gun being placed back down on the desk.

The weight slammed down on him again, heavier than ever.

Jack had almost screamed. Even now, he couldn't guess what Xane was thinking. Even after knowing him for a whole year. Did he want him to suffer longer? Did he want to watch as Jack would try and stop him, both of them knowing Xane would be the winner in the end?

Or maybe he can't bear to kill you, a little voice murmured inside his head. Shut up voice.

Jack had slammed Xane's office door behind him, dashing down the stairs towards the exit, hoping that someone, anyone would stop him. Hoping that someone would do the job of killing him themselves.

He made it out the front door.

Share an excerpt you had fun writing

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Click here for more “share an excerpt” tips.

#yeah shut up voice #this has so many spoilers but I'm scrapping this story for parts later anyway #share an excerpt

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youshouldhavepaidattentiondad · 2 years ago

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Loved Sweetly: Chapter 2

Ao3

“...are you alright, Sam?” Charlotte asks over dinner a couple weeks after the Honey Festival.

“Huh?” Sam looks up from his plate. “Yeah, I just…” He sets down his fork to cover his face with his hands.

Zoey breaking up with him has probably contributed to his recent subdued demeanor. The quiet sitting at home, being around for dinner every night, looking through old photo albums.

Honestly, though, he hasn’t really dwelled on it. He knew it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last really. Zoey was like smoke: impossible to catch, to hold onto.

He drops his hands from his face. “...I found a lost kid at the Honey Festival,” he lies naturally, his story already rehearsed several times over in his own head. “Said his mom was competing in the pageant. I got him some ice cream and took him back to the theater. His parents had to be waiting for him, right? They had to be looking.”

His voice breaks slightly. He quickly takes a sip of water to try to cover it up. Charlotte watches him sadly across the table. “Were they not looking?”

“They weren’t even there anymore, Char.” Sam sighs as he sets his glass down. “I ended up driving him home. His dad knew he was missing and didn’t even care. Just made a joke about him not being able to survive on the streets.”

His fork scrapes against the plate as he picks it up again. The silence fills the air as he starts eating again. Charlotte made shepherd's pie, one of his favorites. He guesses she sensed how off his mood has been.

“...who was it?” Charlotte finally asks, her brow furrowed slightly. “It’s been two weeks since the festival. If you’re this upset about it, it must be bad.” She waits several seconds for an answer before guessing, “Was it one of the Foster girls?”

Keeping his eyes down, Sam shakes his head.

“That Green boy?”

“Ethan’s hardly a kid anymore,” Sams corrects, a small sound that might have been a laugh escaping him. Plate empty, he sets his fork down again and leans back in his chair. “...it was the oldest Monroe boy, Trent. Kid didn’t even want to go home, Char.”

“Shouldn’t you report that to Duke?” Charlotte asks, her frown deepening.

Sam actually does laugh this time. It echoes off the walls of the kitchen, unexpectedly loud. “Duke may not be corrupt but the rest of the system is.” He scowls. He knows, he’s in the thick of it all. “And Linda Monroe has all the money she needs to make any accusations of neglect disappear.”

Considering this, Charlotte nods. “Yeah, but Linda’s not around anymore. After she was crowned Honey Queen, she left.”

“What?” Sam straightens up in his seat, eyes wide. He knows everyone who wins Honey Queen leaves town. Most of the winners are young, single, childless women though. Linda Monroe is none of those things.

“Yeah. Apparently Dr. Monroe is devastated. The clinic has been closed since he found out she left, according to Melissa,” Charlotte informs Sam with a solemn look in her eyes. “We think he’s spending time with the boys.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak when it hits him: He doesn’t remember the last time he and Charlotte had a conversation like this. Closing his mouth, he swallows thickly before responding, “As he should. Here-” he stands, grabbing his and Charlotte’s dirty dishes off the table. “I’ll clean up the kitchen. You go relax.”

“Oh… thank you, Sam.” Charlotte stands, shifting awkwardly. “...do you work tomorrow?”

When was the last time he wrote in his schedule on the fridge’s calendar so his wife would know when he was working. “No… I’m off tomorrow and Saturday.” He hesitates. “Maybe I-”

The sound of his phone ringing cuts off whatever he was about to say next. Biting back a swear, he grabs his cell, eyes narrowing when he sees the name. “I’m not at the precinct, Goldstein, I can’t get you in with any of your clients right now,” he says as soon as he answers the phone.

“I’m well, Samuel, thanks for asking,” Gary’s nasally voice comes through the speaker. Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m calling at the behest of one of my non-incarcerated clients. He requests the presence of you and the missus at the courthouse tomorrow morning at 10.”

Sam feels Charlotte’s worried gaze on him. “Well, it would make both of us feel much better if we knew who we were meeting with, Gary.”

There’s the sound of paper shuffling before Gary speaks again, “Dr. Monroe. If you’ll excuse me, I must get going. See you in the morning, Samuel.”

The line goes dead. Dumbfounded, Sam sets his phone and the dishes on the kitchen table before sitting down himself.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” Charlotte asks. She reaches a tentative hand for his shoulder. Hesitating slightly, she finally places her hand on his shoulder.

Without thinking, Sam reaches up to rest his hand atop hers. “That was Gary Goldstein,” he tells her. “Apparently Gerald Monroe wants us to meet him at the courthouse in the morning.”

“What? Why?”

Shrugging, Sam looks up at her. “No clue.” He squeezes her hand before letting go. Grabbing the dishes, he stands and heads into the kitchen. The dishes go into the sink and the tap turns on. Sam takes the sponge and carefully douses it in soap before he starts scrubbing the plates.

From the entryway, Charlotte watches him. “Are we going to go?”

“You have work,” Sam says with a shrug. “Besides, we don’t even know what he wants.”

“I can take off. I can call Mr. Davidson right now,” Charlotte reasons, “What if it’s important? So important that he had a lawyer call you, Sam?”

She has a point. The clean dishes sit in the dish rack. Sam dries his hands on a nearby hand towel before going to grab Tupperware for the leftovers. Finally, he answers. “I guess first call your boss.”

Charlotte scurries out of the room. Sam’s just set the dutch oven to soak when Charlotte returns. “Okay, we’re all good!”

“Awesome,” he answers flatly. Out the corner of his eye, he can see her deflate slightly. He silently curses himself as he opens the fridge and puts away the leftovers. “Hey,” he calls as he closes the refrigerator door. “We don’t have to be there until ten. Why don’t we leave early, go get breakfast together?”

She smiles and Sam thinks he feels something flicker in his chest. “Miss Retro’s?” She suggests.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Instinctively, he leans in to kiss her.

She turns away. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

That shouldn’t sting, but it does. “I’m right behind you.”

#sam sweetly #charlotte sweetly #gary goldstein #loved sweetly #chapter 2 #fanfic #multi chap fic #hatchetfield universe #tgwdlm #black friday #nightmare time #starkid

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maddieinwonder · 4 years ago

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A Lesson In Romance #1: Meet-Cutes

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.1k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they meet in a coffee shop.

A/N: Succumbed to my own desire to write a really long blurb-ish series. Emphasis on ish. Heavily heavily heavily inspired by Joselyn's if criminal minds was a rom com series on tiktok. Sometimes I just go back to rewatch them because they give me so much serotonin.

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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It wasn't that you didn't believe in romance, you were simply a sceptic. A critic of love, if you will. Unlike your peers who fell in love swiftly and fully, you never believed in the grandiosity of love at first sight nor the sordid exchange of pick-up lines. You certainly never tried online dating, and believed even less in destiny and soulmates.

So could somebody explain to you why you were touching hands with a cute stranger who was stealing your coffee order?

You turned to shoot him an accusatory glance, but he was staring back at you with a similar frown across his face. "Ok, this has got to be a misunderstanding," you let go of the cup first, trying to make peace. "She just called out my coffee order."

"She called mine too." He insisted, but still mirrored your action as a peace offering. He pulled back his hands to wring the straps of his messenger bag instead. It was then that you noticed his curly brown hair, the type that looked messy no matter what you did with it.

"Alright, before I pull out the fists,” you joked, “there is an easy way to solve this." You flashed him a small smile, moving to grab the cup and turning it around to reveal... not your name.

You stared at the cup in your hand, frowning. You swore she called your order, but it seemed like the stranger was right: somebody else in the world shared your extremely specific, sickly sweet order of coffee.

"I guess I win," he said matter-of-factly, and you couldn't help but smile as you handed him his rightful prize.

"I suppose you do," you laughed, sticking your hand out to introduce yourself, but he kept a distance and raised his hand in greeting instead.

"My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. Uh, you can call me Spencer." He blurted out.

From that simple interaction, you noted that he was probably a little germaphobic, definitely awkward around crowds. His body visibly stiffened as a fresh wave of customers entered the coffee shop, but he wasn’t rude enough to leave mid-conversation.

Then you heard your order being called out. This time, you double checked that it had your name on it before turning back to the weird stranger you just met.

"I guess we're both winners now," you grinned, raising your cup in victory. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Spencer choked on his drink and you immediately got the mixed signal, hastily correcting yourself. "I mean, like, just leave here. The shop, I mean, I didn't mean it sexually at all. I hope you didn't—"

"Yeah, let's." He cut in mid-sentence, signing his agreement by starting to move towards the cafe entrance.

You realised then that he was tall. More than one head taller than you, easily. For some reason, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the back of his head until you exited the building into the windy, exhaust-polluted air of Quantico, Virginia.

The street had much fewer people and you noticed his stance relax immediately. For the first time, he looked into your eyes without wavering.

Your heart skipped a beat at the eye contact, and you felt something you hadn’t felt in years, maybe over a decade. But you quickly squashed the emotion, knowing that there was someplace far more important you needed to be right now.

“Sorry about earlier, um, I really need to go.” You began excusing yourself.

"Oh, no, no, I'm sorry for holding you up. You should go." He said, breaking his gaze to glance down at his shoes.

"Sorry again, and uh, it was nice meeting you, Spencer." You flashed him one final smile before run-walking to your next stop.

In hindsight, you should have known that you would see him again. The odds of meeting somebody that attractive with the exact same coffee order as you at the coffee shop near your place of work was so low, that the entire combination of events was a probability miracle.

But you didn't believe in destiny, so you kept walking.

It turned out that your brain, even under the threat of unwanted emotions, had impeccable timing because you arrived at the FBI compound exactly on time, not a minute too early or late.

The lift doors to the Behavioural Analysis Unit opened to a bustling crowd, and you briefly wondered what time these people woke up every morning, and where you could get the kind of caffeine they were on. That's when you spotted the person you were here to meet.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, sticking out your hand for the second time that morning.

"Nice to see you again," he replied, shaking your hand. His expression was serious, but you wouldn’t expect anything less from a BAU agent. His team was renowned around the country for their ability to solve cases that everyone else deemed impossible.

Last month, when you received a job offer to join said team, you had almost squealed with glee — and now that you were officially done with your previous job, you couldn't wait to jump right into the BAU and help fight some of the evil in this world.

Amid your excitement, you vaguely registered the lift dinging behind you, as Agent Hotchner's eyes glanced to the side. "I see you've already met Dr. Reid?"

You head whipped around to see none other than the man you met that morning, looking as shocked to see you as you were to see him. He was wearing FBI credentials, specifically BAU credentials, that weren't there before.

"Yes, uh, we met briefly this morning." A light blush dusted your cheeks.

"Good. I'll introduce you to the rest shortly, but I have some paperwork I’d like you to sign first. Would you mind following me to my office?"

"No, sir. Definitely." You replied.

"Just Hotch is fine." He said, already walking towards his office.

"Hotch. Of course." You said, following behind him while you suppressed the urge to scream.

Meanwhile, if you had glanced backward for even a moment, you would have seen that Spencer shared your sentiment. Except, anybody passing by could see it too.

His pale skin had turned an uncharacteristically bright red, and he remained rooted in place as his gaze followed your movements until you were completely out of sight. Only then, the breath returned to his body and his expression transformed into a look of distress.

Spencer Reid had a crush and he had no idea what to do about it.

#mads fics #spencer reid x reader: a lesson in romance #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm fic #cm fanfic #bau #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years ago

Note

“Did we fuck last night?” Smut starter w/ our baby boy Santiago ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love your work :)

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt and the kind words! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for every reblog, comment, and like.

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + (For language, oral (F! Receiving), vaginal sex, alcohol use NSFW

My Masterlist

Last Night at the Party

Unknown number: Good Morning.

You: ...Morning...who is this?

Unknown number: Santiago Garcia, ya know Frankie's friend.

Fuuuuucccckkkkk

Santiago Garcia: Quick question...did we fuck last night?

You groan and fall back into the bed, your hand thrown over your eyes as the sunlight fights to sneak through the crack in the curtains. Your head pounds from the amount of alcohol you consumed the night before. Frankie and his fiancé, not wanting to be apart even one night, had a joint bachelor/bachelorette party.

You worked in the front office at the tour office. Frankie flew for and had quickly become fast friends. He was funny, sweet, and a wonderful friend. But with Frankie came Santiago Garcia, the man who stalked your dreams. He was handsome as fuck, with salt and pepper curls and deep brown eyes. His arms always straining against the fabric of his t-shirts. The man had an ass that was simply divine. Many a night, you had dreamt of kneading it in your hands as he slammed into you.

But he never noticed you. Not at least in the way you wanted to be seen. You tried on the days you knew he would be coming by. Wearing tighter clothes or shorter dresses and attempting your best at flirting. The only thing gained by any of this was Frankie's amusement as he slung an arm around your shoulder and told you there were better men than Pope.

That's another thing, the nickname; Pope. You once asked Frankie about it jokingly. Frankie told you it was because Santi in the army brought people closer to God, and all the women he fucked. You had just about given up all hope, till last night.

********

The party was in full swing when you arrived—wearing a dark blue halter dress that stopped just above your knees, converse, and a black leather jacket. Frankie and his fiancee greeted you with a hug and gave you the rundown of the land. It was casual. They had rented out a private space in the local brewery. You could order anything on the menu and open bar. Thank fuck for that as you watched Santiago flirt with some redhead at the bar.

You walk down to the opposite end, sit down, motion for the bartender, and ask for an IPA. You try everything in your power to keep from looking over at him, but your eyes stray without your knowledge. Gazing around at the way the denim hugs him in all the right places, the top buttons on his shirt opened up to see the sun-kissed skin peeking through. It's almost magnetic the way his eyes drift up to meet yours across the sea of strangers. You see him smile and turn back to his partner before he grabs his beer and heads over to you.

"Is this seat taken?" his deep baritone snaps you out of your head, and you look at him, nodding. "You're the girl who works in Frankie's office, right? The secretary?"

"Yep, that's me, the secretary," you take a deep drink from your beer and try to keep the passive aggression out of your tone, turning snarky instead. "And you're that guy who comes and talks to Frankie and interrupts my office with idle chit chat."

He looks a little taken aback, but he brushes it off, grinning, "I never knew you had this much fire in you. What's your name?"

You roll your eyes, "I have told you my name on four separate occasions, and now you want to know it again? Why don't you guess?"

"Okay," he smiles, taking a drink, "how about ginger?"

"I think your thinking about your friend on the other side of the bar," you laugh and gesture for another drink.

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, going through a plethora of names, none of which is your own. You've finished two beers before he actually guessed your first name correct—each name sinking the knife deeper and deeper into your chest.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," you sarcastically chime, and he smiles, a real genuine broad smile. Fuck him and his perfect smile. "With how many names you had to guess, I'm actually delighted you never noticed me. I'd probably have an STD." He spits out the drink in his mouth, coughing and patting his chest with his fist.

He laughs, looking at you wide-eyed, "I do not have any fucking diseases. I get tested regularly."

"When was the last time?" you can tell he's thinking back.

"Tuesday," he says triumphantly, "and I haven't fucked anyone since then so." He takes another sip of his drink, grinning at you over the glass.

"So if I wanted to fuck you, it would have to be tonight?" You casually sip your drink, staring at him, bold from the alcohol flowing through your system.

He sputters and coughs again, choking on his drink. "Are you trying to kill me?" he puts a hand to his forehead and looks at you. "Are you serious?"

"I want you to fuck me Santiago," you take his hand down the rest of your drink and pull him towards the back of the brewery. Your eyes connect with Frankie, and you give him a wink pulling a shit-eating grinning Santi behind you. He walks past you and pulls you into the cold night air of the alley.

It was dark and deserted; the country music blaring from inside echoed off the exterior's red brick wall. For an alley, it was relatively clean. The sidewalk to the public wasn't visible from around the dumpsters. Not the most romantic spot, but when Santiago latched his lips onto the soft skin below your ear. The spicy scent of his cologne overwhelming your senses.

"Does that feel good?" he whispers huskily in your ear, nipping the lobe lightly. The moan you release has him smiling against your skin, "that's a yes," he chuckles.

"Stop teasing me," you whine as he gropes your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He pulls away from your neck and tilts your chin up to look at him.

"Do you want this?" he whispers, a ghost of his lips on your lips.

You don't answer, only lunging forward and recapturing his lips in a moan. He uses the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth. You fight in a battle for dominance that he eventually wins. His hands moving beneath the shell of your leather jacket and running over the smooth skin of your exposed back.

He takes his time moving down to your cheek, your neck, and then sucking hard into the skin of your collarbone. You are sure to have bruises tomorrow, but at this point, you don't fucking care. His hands move further down and cup your ass before moving under your dress, sliding your panties down slowly, he unlatches from your sensitive skin. Dropping to his knees and groaning, pulling down your panties over your converse before pocketing them.

He throws your dress over his head and dives into your folds, his tongue working against your throbbing clit. You grab the side of the dumpster as you feel the scuffle from his face, scratch against your thighs, as he rocks his tongue back and forth over you. "Fuck," you moan as you feel him slip one thick finger slide into your pussy. Your head drops back, hitting the brick wall. He chuckles, and the vibrations draw another deep moan from inside as you pant.

The sound of the backdoor of the brewery opening snaps your head to the side. Your bottom half is covered from the dumpster, and you frantically hit Santi on the head. Still, he doesn't stop, instead adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. Frankie's signature cap pops out into the alley, and he turns to look at you. You try your best to smile and bite down hard on your tongue, almost drawing blood as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

"Hey! We're about to do speeches, and Santi's my best man. Have you seen him?"

"N-n-no," you stutter, and Santi reaches a hand on your ass to push you even further into his mouth. "We came out here to talk, but he left like five minutes ago? Maybe he went out f-f-front."

Frankie looks at you, questioningly, "Are you okay? You're acting kind of strange."

You yelp, throwing a hand down on top of the dumpster with a laugh, "I am just fantastic, you know, if I see Santiago, I will be sure to tell him he's needed."

"Okay, thanks," he throws out a wave going back inside with a click of the door.

"Such a good girl," Santi chuckles from beneath your dress, and you feel yourself cum all over his tongue gushing around him as he adds a third finger pulsing inside you.

You bite down hard on your lip, and he keeps licking and fucking you with his mouth. His nickname making more and more sense as you literally feel closer to God. You dig your fingers into his curls and pull his mouth away. Dragging him up to kiss you again, you taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you even wetter.

He steps back and unbuttons his jeans pulling out his cock. He's thick and rigged, the tip spewing pre-cum. He grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom making you giggle. "Hey, every good soldier comes prepared," he laughs, pulling it on.

He pushes you back further into the brick, bringing your legs up around his waist and bunching your dress up. He lines himself up, and you look into his eyes, stifling a scream as he slams into you. You've never felt so full in your entire life, clenching around him as he starts to slowly rock into you.

You converse crossed against his back as he kisses you again slowly and passionately. Not the quick fuck you thought he would give you. For the location and the time, it was strangely intimate. "Are you okay?" you pants against your neck.

"Yes," you gasp as he hits inside you just right, "just, please don't stop." He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, licking into your mouth.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna treat you right." He picks up the place and reaches down between you to your sensitive clit rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

"Oh fuck, right there, Pope," you moan, and he picks up the pace. The brick digging into your back as he furiously fucks into you. Your orgasm slams into you without warning, and you tug on his curls, throwing your head back as you stile a scream.

"Yes, cum for me," he praises you through a second orgasm. Three more thrusts and he's cumming, biting down on your exposed shoulder as he groans. You both come down from your high, and he pulls away, smiling at you. You laugh at his mused hair, lipstick smeared across his face, he looks freshly fucked, and you feel a sense of pride knowing you did that to him.

The awkward, you've just fucked a mutual acquaintance in an alley moment comes faster than you anticipate. He pulls out and ties off the condom throwing it in the dumpster and pulling up his jeans, relatching them. You straighten your appearance the best you can. Running your fingers through your mused hair. You search the alley floor for your panties hoping to throw them away or better burn them when you hear a whistle.

Santi is standing before the back door holding your panties on the crook of his finger and smiling. "I have to go back and give my speech, but after… I would really love to buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my place for another couple of rounds?"

You bite your lip, nodding, and he smiles, pocketing your panties and going inside. The door latches, and you sigh, closing your eyes and trying not to freak out. The door slams open; you jump as Santi runs back out and closes the distance kissing you again. The kind of kiss you feel down to the tips of your toes. He places his forehead against yours. "I really want to see you again, don't run away, okay?" he whispers before kissing you again and running back inside.

**********************

You look at the text message again. The perfect night of passion with Santiago, and he doesn't even remember if you...The phone chimes again.

Santiago Garcia: I'm a moron. I don't know why I said that. I know that we did. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

You: Then what the fuck, Santiago?

Santiago Garcia: I want to take you to breakfast, on a date. It's the least you could do after bailing on me last night.

You: Well, I'm not sure I want to.

Santiago Garcia: Well, that makes this awkward.

You: What?

Knock Knock

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @a-seeker-of-imagination @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @letoartreiides

Also tagging @josepedropascal Oscar Train toot toot

#Oscar Isaac #Triple Frontier #santiago pope garcia #Santiago pope garcia x reader #Female Reader #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia x reader #Triple Frontier fic #Autumn Writes

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orangeoctopi7 · 2 years ago

Text

Spider Stan AU Chapter 14: The Carnival

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607854/chapters/41509076

The day Fiddleford finally got his cast removed, a carnival came to town. While this was normally the sort of thing Stanford detested, even he had noticed how much the tension had been building in the cabin lately. Fiddleford, who he had thought hit it off quite well with Stanley at first, now seemed to be avoiding his brother. And if that wasn't enough, Stan was also exhibiting peculiar behavior. He hadn't woken Ford up in the middle of the night again, but he had been asking a lot of probing questions. Just as Ford had feared, Stan was indeed catching on to Bill's existence, and it was clear from the conversation Ford had overheard during their camp-out that Stan assumed the worst.

Ford made his concerns known to Bill that night.

"If I could just tell him, he wouldn't have to worry. I could just explain that you're not dangerous." The researcher pleaded for the umpteenth time to just be allowed to tell his brother all about Bill. "He's my brother, it's only natural for him to be concerned for my well-being."

"WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS, IQ!" Bill rolled his single eye. "HE WOULDN'T TAKE IT WELL."

"Well if you don't want anyone else to know about you, maybe you should stop appearing to me when Stan and Fiddleford are around." Ford said. "I'm not surprised they're concerned, it must seem like I'm losing my mind to them."

"OH, I'M SORRY, ARE YOU SAYING I'M WRONG? THAT I MADE A MISTAKE HELPING YOU?"

"N-no, of course not!" Ford corrected hastily.

"THE ONLY REASON I GOT INVOLVED ANY OF THOSE TIMES IS BECAUSE YOU WERE ABOUT TO SCREW UP, OR BECAUSE YOU ASKED ME. SO STOP QUESTIONING ME, SIXER! I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU. YOUR BROTHER IS ONLY STAYING HERE BECAUSE HE'S WORRIED ABOUT YOU, AFTER ALL. ONCE HE REALIZES YOU DON’T NEED HIM ANYMORE, HE’LL GO BACK TO HIS OWN LIFE BEING THE SPIDER MAN.

Ford's heart sank. If Bill said so, it must be true. “Oh…”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WANTS HIM TO STAY, RIGHT?”

“...right.” the scientist agreed.

“THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. SO WHAT ARE YOU COMPLAINING FOR?”

“I’m sorry.” Ford said timidly.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, SIXER. THAT THING I GOT FOR YOU SHOULD BE GETTING TO YOU SOON. THEN YOU WON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR BROTHER ANYMORE.”

* * *

“Why are we here again?” Stan asked as they stood in line for tickets to the carnival. Mama Misfortune's Traveling Carnival and Freak Show was barely legible on the faded and peeling wooden sign above the ticket booth. “You hate this stuff.”

“I’ve learned over the years that every so often there’s something real mixed in with the fakes that’s worth studying.” Ford assured him, although what little he could see of the thoughtlessly named ‘freak show’ from here was already making him cringe. “Besides, I figured we could all use a break.” He cast a meaningful glance to Fiddleford, who was already bouncing up and down like a child as he read about the pig races on a nearby sign.

Stan followed his brother’s gaze and nodded. “Yeah, you got a point there, I guess.” Fiddleford’s recent behavior wasn’t lost on the conman.

From the way he immediately rushed to get them all a bag of kettle corn, and his detailed description of the best mathematical statistics model to determine the winner of the pig race, it was clear this outing was just what the doctor ordered for McGucket’s mental health.

“So let me get this straight,” Stan said, obviously interested in the gambling aspect of the conversation, “You can rig the race using math?”

“No!” Fiddleford denied, sounding offended both by the implication that he was cheating and the complete misunderstanding of statistical analysis. “I’m not affecting the outcome any, I’m jus’ gatherin’ all the available data, such as the age, weight, diet, and leg length of the pigs, plus the weather and track conditions, in order to create a mathematical model of the possible outcomes. Once I have those, I can further use advanced probability calculations to narrow down those outcomes using statistics to determine within 0.05% certainty who the winner will be.”

“And they still let you place bets, knowing those odds?” Stan asked incredulously.

“Ah, well, that’s one of the few benefits of everyone thinkin’ I’m jus’ a southern simpleton.” McGucket smirked. “Nobody runnin’ the show needs to know I know those odds.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” Stan rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Come on, Fidds, let’s clean these suckers out!”

With that, they ran off towards the pig races. Ford shook his head fondly. Whatever problem had come up between those two was obviously forgotten now. He’d go check out the ‘freak show’ section while they were off having their fun. He didn’t want to rain on their parade.

The old researcher grit his teeth and surreptitiously hid his hands in his pockets once he paid the additional entrance fee for this section of the carnival. The very concept of a ‘Freak Show’ made him want to punch the sleaze ball running the place. Making money off the all too common tendency to ridicule, deride, or fear anything outside of people’s perception of normal. Profiting off the very things that had made Ford’s childhood miserable.

As he made his way through the throng to the exhibits, his mood only soured. Not only was there nothing authentic here, all the fakes were laughably bad. And yet the people were eating it up!

“This place sure brings back memories, huh?”

Ford turned with a start to find Stanley had snuck up behind him.

“What happened to betting on the pig races?”

“Oh, well, I already helped all I could with gathering the data. I’m no help doing the math part, so I figured I’d come find you. This place is just like the old boardwalk, huh?”

“If anything it’s worse.” Ford huffed. “The locals are actually buying it.”

“No kidding.” Stan said, taking in how many adults were paying real money to see a chicken taped to a gorilla. Not just parents with whining kids. Not just teenagers who didn’t know any better. Not just curious tourists with nothing better to do. Back in the day you always got a few suckers like this down at the boardwalk, but the whole town seemed to be here.

“This has got to be the most gullible town on Earth.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“The most gullible on Earth, eh?” Stan said with a conniving grin.

Ford shot him an unimpressed glare.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Stan’s grin melted away. “You look like dad.”

Ford quickly schooled his face to a neutral expression. “Why would you need to swindle these people anyway? Aren’t you about to win it big at the pig races?”

“You can never have too much money.”

“You can if you use unethical means to get it.”

“Says you.” Stan stuck his tongue out, underlining how childish his response was.

As they made their way back towards the pig races, they came across a palm reader’s tent. The line stretched out longer than the one to place bets on the race.

“Hahah, remember that one time Ma tried to do that stuff over the phone with a fax machine?” Stan elbowed his brother.

Ford gave the tent the same indignant glare he’d given the freak show, but at Stan’s words, his expression morphed to a more thoughtful one, before finally settling on a mischievous grin.

“I wonder what they’d make of a hand like mine? I doubt they’ve ever run into a polydactyl person before. They’ll be stumped! Then I can expose them for the fraud they are!”

It was Stan’s turn to roll his eyes. “Or they’ll just make something up on the spot like they do for everyone else. C’mon, they’re just somebody trying to make a quick buck, ignore them.”

“No, as a scientist, it’s my job to advocate for facts and knowledge in the face of ignorance.”

“Fine, waste your time standing in that line just so some schmuck can tell you you’ll win the prize for biggest nerd in the world.” Stan waved him off. “I’m gonna go see if Fidds has found the winning pig yet.”

* * *

Needless to say, the pig race was a success. Stan and McGucket were counting their winnings and watching as the carnies attempted to round the pigs back up into their pen.

“Do ya reckon they’ll let me wrassle one of ‘em now that the race is over?”

“Hah! Only if you pay them for it. Then they’ll probably start taking more bets on who’ll win. These people are all about the money.” Stan watched as one of the carnies walked by with the house cut of the bets. “Speaking of which…”

“Hmm?” McGucket looked at him curiously.

“Uh, forget about it. I’m gonna go find Ford.”

Stan silently followed the carnie to one of the trucks the carnival had driven in on, easily hiding any time the guy turned around to check if he was being followed. Soon enough, the man reached the cab of the truck, unlocked it, and pulled out another key to a safe sitting behind the driver’s seat. He placed the race’s earnings with the rest of the cash inside before locking everything up again.

With a smug smile, Stan slipped on the web shooters he’d brought. He knew there was a lot of money changing hands at a place like this, and he was eager to see how he could use his powers to get in on the action after everything he’d learned with Ford’s help. With a thwip, he snagged the carnie’s keys as soon as he wasn’t looking. He was about to make his way back to the truck to crack open that safe when he found Ford standing outside the palm reader’s tent. His brother looked simultaneously disgusted and concerned.

“Hey, you alright?” Stan asked. “What’d she do, tell you you’ll get married and have 1.2 children?”

“Worse, she started flirting with me.”

“Heh, nice, was she cute?”

“I don’t know!” Ford sputtered.

“What, too dark in there or…?”

“I don’t know what constitutes cute!”

“What’ve you got there? She gave you her ring? Hah, looks like she wants to go steady!”

Ford quickly shoved it into his pocket, scowling, before changing the subject. “And what have you got there? Where’d those keys come from?”

“Found ‘em.” Stan folded his arms and glanced up at the ferris wheel.

Unfortunately for Stan, Ford knew his brother’s tells all too well. “You’re using your powers to steal!? You don’t need to do this anymore Stan! We can help you.”

Stan, feeling attacked, lashed out. “Oh, right, like I’m gonna be moochin’ off you for the rest of my life! I’m just saving up for when you’re finally ready to move on without me again!”

He knew it was only a matter of time. Best case scenario, Ford eventually got sick of him like he had back in high school, and he left for whatever new thing caught his interest. Worst case scenario, Stan screwed something up like he had with the science fair project and he was thrown out again. At least this time he’d be ready.

“You don’t have to stay here on my account!” Ford retorted. “And if you go on stealing, you won’t be staying in my house!”

“Says the guy who stole radioactive waste to fuel his experiment!”

“That stuff is stored way too close to populated areas, I’m doing Roadkill County a service by removing it!”

“You’re such a hypocrite! Shouldn’t a genius like you know—” Stan’s argument halted as his spider sense went off. Not the twinging sense he’d felt when the yellow triangle was around. His proper spider sense, warning him of imminent danger.

“We need to get outta here.” He grabbed Ford.

“Don’t change the subject Stanley, this is serious!”

His brother pulled against Stan's attempts to get out of there and to safety. When Ford broke free he stumbled back into a tall figure. He was about to turn and apologize to the man when he was roughly seized by both arms in a vice-like grip.

"There you are! We've been looking for you. You can't just bail with Rico's valuables."

The man was huge, and Ford fleetingly wondered if he was part Manotaur. His breath certainly smelled like one.

"I-I'm sorry, there must be some sort of mistake." Then the researcher remembered he'd just accused his brother of stealing. No doubt this man had mistaken him for Stanley and was trying to take back whatever had been stolen. "My brother, he's the one who--"

Stan sprang out of nowhere and slugged the guy hard enough to knock him on his rear, and this time he successfully pulled Ford away.

"These guys don't know I have a brother, and I'd like it to stay that way!" Stan hissed, frantically pulling on his mask.

"Why on earth would you care if the carnies know you have a brother!?" Ford asked belligerently.

With another shiver of his spider sense, Stan suddenly pulled Ford to the ground just as a gunshot went off.

"Because this guy isn't a carnie!" Stan answered.

* * *

NEK GPZ GLOEJ OMBIY!

#My Writing #Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines

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tiramisiyu · 3 years ago

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 7-35 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 7 – Rains of Monte Cristo: 7-1 / 7-3 / 7-5 / 7-7 / 7-9 / 7-11 / 7-13 / 7-15 / 7-17 / 7-19 ♦️ ♦️ 7-20 / 7-22 / 7-24 / 7-26 / 7-28 / 7-30 / 7-32 / 7-34 / 7-35

Content Warning: This section contains topics that may be uncomfortable to some readers (mentions of abuse). Please proceed with discretion.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

Court Hallway

After the trial ended, I did not leave immediately. Rather, I waited in the hallway for Hang Jiahe.

Soon, she walked over, guarded by two bailiffs.

MC: Miss Hang.

Hang Jiahe: What are you doing here? Are you going to laugh at me?

Hang Jiahe: Are you happy to have beat me?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. I came to tell you something.

Hang Jiahe: What?

MC: Actually… this examination report…

I took out that last examination report again.

MC: Due to time and technical limits, we currently do not have the identification results.

MC: When I showed it in court, I just wanted to add psychological pressure onto you.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe froze for a few seconds, but she then responded quickly.

Hang Jiahe: You tricked me… you tricked me… hahahahahahaha!

She suddenly burst into sharp laughter.

Hang Jiahe: I didn’t lose… I didn’t lose…

Hang Jiahe: I still got my revenge!

MC: …

MC: Miss Hang, can I ask you something?

Hang Jiahe: What do you want to say?

MC: You said in court that Qi Yu tried to hold Hang Fei back “that night”.

MC: But you still murdered her out of hate for her bystander position, correct?

Hang Jiahe: Yes, I hated her for being a coward, hated her for being too scared to resist Hang Fei, hated her for looking on for so many years without lifting a finger!

Hang Jiahe: She knew during those years what Hang Fei was doing to me, so why didn’t she save me?

MC: …

Hang Jiahe: Then… did you know that Hang Fei had also been abusing Qi Yu during those years?

Hang Jiahe: I did. How could she not have been beaten, with how cowardly she was?

MC: Then do you know why she was beaten?

Hang Jiahe: Why?

MC: …

I took out my phone and opened a video featuring Qi Yu’s abuse. That small woman was lying weakly on the floor, passively enduring the man’s punches and kicks. But she kept mumbling something –

“Don’t hurt Jiahe… and those children… stop it…”

Hang Jiahe: What…

MC: Miss Hang, did Qi Yu never do anything during all those times you were abused?

MC: Are you sure that every time, she chose to be a bystander, rather than being forced into her position?

MC: Did you know that Qi Yu said those words in each of the videos she was beaten in?

Hang Jiahe: I…

Hang Jiahe froze for a second, but then she immediately reacted.

Hang Jiahe: So what, then? What do you want to say?

Hang Jiahe: That I misunderstood her? That I shouldn’t have killed her? Then does all the pain I suffered for so many years even matter?

Hang Jiahe: You want me to absolve her? To forgive her?

MC: You’ve misunderstood. That’s not what I mean.

MC: I am not you. I have not endured your suffering, so I cannot request for you to forgive anyone.

MC: I haven’t seen what happened during those years, so I cannot judge whether Qi Yu was actively or passively making her decisions.

MC: And I definitely can’t carelessly determine whether she sinned or not.

I stopped for a moment and looked at Hang Jiahe’s gloves.

In her mind, she probably was the Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès – someone who had been wronged and could only get revenge for herself. She believed herself as intelligent and as lucky as Edmond, that she would ultimately be the winner. But…

MC: But even Edmond would figure out the situation before his revenge and repay his benefactors.

MC: I’m telling you this, only because I hope you’ll understand what sorts of people you sent away.

MC: I hope you understand that there have been people who intended to treat you kindly.

Hang Jiahe: …

MC: Also, Miss Hang, I can guess why you were not willing to ask for help from the police.

MC: In that sort of situation, you may have thought that you couldn’t rely on the outside world to go against them.

MC: But even so, me, Captain Morgan, and many, many people still have to do something.

I flipped further into the examination report.

MC: Even if Hang Fei is gone, the things he’s done will not disappear with him.

MC: This is the report we’ve created. Captain Morgan’s already sent it to upper management and applied for international cooperation.

MC: Miss Hang, we will bring you the justice you deserve for the pain you’ve experienced.

MC: As for the last few people, I promise that they will receive the punishment they deserve.

MC: So, for the rest of your life, please don’t live in hate.

MC: You’ve already stayed in the darkness for long enough. Please try to take a step forward.

MC: Doesn’t it say that in your beloved “The Count of Monte Cristo”?

MC: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

MC: Miss Hang, if possible, please try it.

MC: Perhaps the light you’ve always been searching for isn’t too far away.

Hang Jiahe: …

Hang Jiahe: Ha… ha… hahahahaha!

Hang Jiahe broke into sudden, sharp laughter. It sounded like a heartrending sob was woven in it, as it resounded in the empty hallway, melting into the rain.

Amid the grey deluge of rain, specks of light leaked through. Maybe the downpour would finally end this time.

Not long after, Simon’s homicide case opened trial, and Wang Chunchong was deemed the murderer. Xingrui Estates declared that they would be depriving Xu Yin of her position and removing her from the family. Only Tyson received the weakest blow, as the evidence for instigation of murder was insufficient. However, lots of people online were saying that they hoped he would “succumb to the demon of illness as soon as possible”.

Thus, the homicide case of the couple in Yaofu Community came to an end.

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

NXX Base

After the Hang Jiahe case concluded, the NXX investigation team met up at the base again for discussion.

MC: That’s how the Hang Jiahe case went.

Marius: Thanks for your hard work!

Artem: Thanks for your hard work. You did excellently.

Luke and Vyn nodded at me.

MC: Thanks, everyone.

MC: Enough about me – how’s everyone else’s investigation?

Artem: I’ve already updated Tyson’s case file. I haven’t found any new clues for now.

Marius: I followed what Wang Chunchong said and investigated that guy named Xiao Ren, but…

Marius: I haven’t found anything for now.

Luke: You also found out about Xiao Ren?

Marius: Huh?

Vyn: What a coincidence. I, too, found out about him.

MC: !!!

Luke: Marius, what information do you have on Xiao Ren right now?

Marius: Mainly what Wang Chunchong told me before.

Marius sighed.

Marius: According to Wang Chunchong, Xiao Ren is linked to Heirson’s raw materials purchases.

Marius: Tyson held Xiao Ren to very high regard, and keeps his occupational information on severe confidential status.

Marius: All in all, this person seems pretty mysterious.

Marius: What about you, Luke? What did you find?

Luke: The aunties in the group told me that Zhao Fei kept looking for someone called “Xiao Ren”.

Luke: I suspect that Tyson brought up this person in the recording that he sent him.

Marius: That’s possible. Wang Chunchong also heard Tyson bring up Xiao Ren, so there should be some sort of link between them.

Artem: Luke, that’s not all the information that the assistive team provided you, is it?

Luke: Yep, that’s not all.

Luke: First, the workers in Heirson where the abnormalities appeared were mostly on the production front lines, so what they touch the most are the products.

Vyn: They probably mixed in their developed illegal drugs into the products, resulting in infection.

Luke: That’s right.

Luke: Secondly, about Zhao Fei…

Luke ripped out a page from his notebook and placed it on the table.

Artem: These names are…

Luke: When I was questioning these ten people about Zhao Fei, their reactions were a bit abnormal. I suspect that…

Luke: They’re the ones hiding Zhao Fei.

MC: What about you, then, Dr. Richter? You just said that you also found out about Xiao Ren.

Vyn: I spoke with half of the 20 special respondents and noticed that it was the same doctor in charge of their examinations.

Vyn: And that person is named “Xiao Ren”.

Vyn: So I suspect that this person knows many secrets regarding Heirson’s experimental data.

MC: If so, this Xiao Ren person knows about where raw materials come from and can deal with the experimental data…

MC: If we can find him, we might be able to patch up the missing part in our evidence chain against Heirson.

Marius: So this Xiao Ren is going to be our investigative focal point from now on?

Luke: Leave it to me, then. I’m the best when it comes to finding people.

Artem: Then leave Zhao Fei to me. I just happen to have something I want to confirm with him.

Vyn: I have only met with the special patients. I will continue to meet with the remaining bunch.

Vyn: Marius, what are your plans?

Marius: Me? I plan to go see Hang Jiahe.

Marius: She wanted to find reporters in the past to drop major news about Heirson, and she’s now in jail…

Marius: We should find out what this news is.

MC: Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that!

Marius: So, jiejie, want to come with me to see Hang Jiahe? After all, only the two of us know her the best.

MC: Uh…

I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Luke: Marius, do you really need someone to accompany you just to go see someone?

Marius: I’m not going to see a typical person, am I? I’m going to see someone who might give us an important clue.

Marius: It makes sense to be a little more cautious and bring someone else.

Luke: Then just bring your assistant. If anything else, then bring some recording equipment.

Luke: Convenient, and it can record in real time.

MC: …

Right after, Artem spoke.

Artem: Zhao Fei’s case was ours to begin with, and now that we have clues…

Artem: MC, let’s finish it off, alright?

MC: Lawyer Wing…

Vyn: I may be overstepping, but…

Vyn stepped in just before Artem could speak again.

Vyn: May I trouble you to go with me next?

Vyn: There’s a special patient that I need your assistance with.

Faced with their “eager” eyes, I was very sure that –

The investigation team seriously needs to recruit a new member!

✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼ CHAPTER 7 END ✼ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ✼

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #tot translations #lu jinghe #zuo ran #xia yan #mo yi #marius von hagen #artem wing #luke pearce #vyn richter #未定事件簿 #feels bad for hjh :'(

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

When in Brazil - Beach

pairing: Oikawa x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 7.8k (i am deceast bye) warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, edging

Let me bore you to death zzz

I promise the last chapter will be exciting (in my head it is at least) :(

Prior to this series, I have zero knowledge about Brazil. So if there's anything sus somewhere there as I describe Rio, pls be kind to me.

No beta for this one once again uwu

Lmk if you wanna be part of taglist

Sunshine || masterlist

In the hustle and bustle of a busy city as Rio de Janeiro, one finds themselves having their time stolen away from them as they get swept up in all the craziness the place has to offer.

That’s you, except the craziness is in the form of a never ending cycle of wake up, work, then go home.

You’re just glad a certain orange-haired boy joins you from time to time to ease your thirst for something exciting.

Yet sometimes, you crave the silence, the quiet, to be alone and actually enjoy it. Living in one of the most tourist-infested places in the world, you rarely find yourself in such a situation.

That’s why you dragged your feet outside even if your clock tells you it’s 2:48 in the morning.

You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than waste your time away in bed, you grab a can of beer from your fridge and decide to make the most out of it.

The thing about Rio — it’s almost never silent. Even at this time, you can hear the soft beat of music from the local bars and clubs alongside the sound of the sea right across the streets where they’re located. The shores of Copacabana, being the most famous beach in the city, are never empty as well.

But what good is being a local if you don’t know places you can hide from the crowd?

A tad bit more than kilometer away from Copacabana is Posto 1 in Praio de Leme, a beach not as crowded as the others.

With the absence of people flocking here and there, you easily make your way to the beach, almost prancing on your steps for the slight tang of freedom and muted noise you haven’t had in forever.

Despite the stroll being an all-familiar route you take, it feels blissfully different. And when you arrive at Posto 1, you suddenly feel grateful for living in Rio. You take your slippers off and feel the sand beneath the soles of your feet. The smell of salt water permeates the air while you welcome the dainty breeze brought by the sea.

You savor each step, taking your time to reach a certain spot you consider yours as the darkness of the dims the bright liveliness of the city.

Luck must be in your side as you find the place still as you remember it the last time you went there. Trees surround the area abundantly compared to the more famous beaches in the city.

Lifeguard stations that separate the area covered by each beach look like mini lighthouses made of white stone. Posto 1, being the first station, is situated beside rocky shore that signals the other end of the beach.

In between Posto 1 and the clump of rocks, that’s your secret spot. The station blocks the view of the rest of the shoreline, the trees behind you conceal you from the buildings across the street, and the rocks perfectly completes the set up as it eludes you to think that you’re hidden from the tropical urban jungle that is Rio.

You pick a spot near a tree so you can lean on something when you sit down. You unknot the canga on your hip and sprawl it on the sand. You seat yourself comfortably and cross your stretched legs. You open your can of beer and savor the first taste as you stare in the vast darkness

You don’t know how long you’ll stay there, but you don’t care. You have the day off tomorrow and you don’t mind if you’re there long enough that the sun will rise on you.

Damn. You should’ve brought at least two cans of beer for this.

However, your paradise of being alone was quickly interrupted when you hear coarse footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Shortly after, a figure emerges from the trees, much to your displeasure.

He notices your presence too as he looks your way as soon as he comes to your view.

“Hi!” The stranger greets you all too friendly, which adds to your irritation. You haven’t even enjoyed your time alone and you’re already disrupted. What’s worse is that it’s not even a local. It’s a freaking tourist, probably Japanese based on his features.

“Sorry, but the beach is closed at this time,” you announce in an amicable manner despite being annoyed, something working on a diner has instilled in you for years.

“Oh? But you’re here,” he responds with an easy-going smile that pisses you off even more. You should’ve spoken in Portugese. Maybe then, he would’ve left you alone. “Yeah. It’s not open for tourists at night,” you lie with a fake smile, still hoping that he’ll leave.

However, he does the opposite. He crosses the few steps away from you and crouches to get to your eye level. You stare at his face for a few seconds and realize that he’s actually attractive — brown hair, brown eyes, and a dazzling smile.

Still, you came here to be alone. You don’t want the company of another, no matter how good looking they are.

“Can’t you make an exception for one tourist?” He flashes you a grin that you’re pretty sure would sway a lot of women when directed at them. Maybe you too on a different night. But not this one.

“I’d be honest, mr tourist. I prefer to be alone. If you go past that station, you’ll find a lot of space for yourself.”

He purses his lips. “But it seems more fun here, ms local.”

How is this place fun? There’s literally nothing here. That’s why you claimed this place for your own because people rarely go here when the night deepens.

He’s most likely looking for someone to bother and entertain himself, as expected of tourists.

You sigh when you realize he’ll probably keep pestering you until you give in. You take one sip of your beer and turn to him.

“You better hold one hell of a conversation, tourist. Or else I’ll be the one leaving,” you announce with a deadpan voice.

He chuckles lightly before sitting on the sand. He extends one leg on the side while he bends up the other so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “I’m sure I can manage,” he declares with unshakeable confidence that makes you scoff a bit.

The guy is full of himself. If he wasn’t very pleasing to look at, you would’ve left already.

You return your gaze to the dark waters to distract yourself from his presence. “I’d offer you a beer, but I only brought one.” You say out of courtesy as you lean back to the tree and try to relax despite the stranger beside you.

“I won’t mind sharing yours,” he responds casually.

You take one more sip and face his direction to hand him the drink in your hand. He grabs it with a smile and a wink that would’ve made you cringe if he didn’t look so damn good when he did it.

He puts the drink on his mouth and nips it casually. “So what’s a pretty local doing at the shore at this hour?”

You raise an eyebrow at the subtle flattery he included in his question. “Like I said, I wanted some time alone. Unfortunately for me though, a very rude tourist arrived a few minutes after I just settled down,” you eye him meaningfully which earns you a pout from him.

You almost want to laugh. What is up with this guy? He’s a bit weird, but in a charming kind of way. “What about you, tourist? What’re you doing out this late at night?”

“Jetlag. Our hotel’s just across the street and the people I’m with are already tired. I’m so bored,” he whines as he drinks again from your can before he hands it to you.

“So you decided to take a stroll in a completely foreign city?”

He feigns a surprised look. “Are you a fortune teller?”

“A witch, actually. Better leave now before I curse you,” you warn him with a straight face.

Not even fazed a bit, he meets your dead eyes with affable ones. “I don’t mind being cursed by you, ms. witch.”

You shrug off your shoulders, unaffected by the flattery. You’re used to it with the amount of foreigners hitting on you during tourist season. “You better decide what you’ll call me then,” you respond coldly.

“You really want to keep being strangers, huh?”

Something surfaces in his orbs that unnerves you, a glint that tells you there’s more to this man behind the pompous persona he’s purposely showing you.

“Uh-huh. Ms. local sounds fine to me.” Not that he seems dangerous or anything, but you don’t want to get to know him. You’d like to remain as strangers. This is just a small chat for you both to pass time. There’s no need for names when you already have a way to address each other.

“Alright then, ms local. Lets play a game.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game?”

“A guessing game. The person who first gets three correct guesses about the other wins.”

“What does the winner get?” You ask with intrigue.

“Anything they want.”

You tap the can of beer dangling from your fingertips while you study him. What can he possibly ask of you if he wins? He looks friendly, but you can’t be too certain. He might ask for something like your number. You have no intentions of giving it to him and getting involved with a tourist. The most you can get from the is a one night stand and a “thank you for the experience” message, as if fucking a local completes their whole Rio trip.

He suddenly laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for anything weird. I just want the tree you’re leaning at.”

You frown at him. “Seriously? There’s another tree over there.” You point a tree a few steps away from him.

“I want that one specifically,” he says firmly as he ignores where you’re looking at and eyes the trunk you’re leaning on.

“Okay then, tourist. If I win, will you leave?”

“Deal” he quickly agrees. “Go ahead, ms local. Ladies first.”

Without even thinking, you make your first guess. “You’re probably a model or an actor in Japan.”

He breaks into a wide smile at your hunch, which doesn’t tell you anything whether you were right or wrong. “You really think so?”

Did you get it wrong? He seems like someone who has a nightly skin care routine to make sure he doesn’t have any breakouts. His skin looks nicer than yours too. So it makes sense for him to be either of the two.

You don’t tell him that though. He looks like he’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy.

“I mean you do look nice. You’re tall and stuff,” you justify briefly.

He gives out a pleasant laugh that sounds way too rehearsed, like he’s been practicing it in case someone compliments him.

“I’m flattered, but no. Sorry!”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. “Actually, I’m a starter for a pro Volleyball team in Argentina,” he says with his face becoming a little bit more serious as it oozes with pride. You find it interesting — how he glorifies being an athlete. He does have the build for it, but he’s kinda too pretty to be a professional athlete.

Your thoughts suddenly go back to Shoyo now that he mentioned the sport.

“Oh oh oh wait,” your enthusiasm shoots up when a hilarious assumption hits you. “I’ll go again then you’ll get two turns after this,” you clear your throat before voicing out your thoughts.

“Let me guess. You traveled all the way from Japan to Argentina to pursue Volleyball,” you declare with all smiles despite how ridiculous it might have seemed to him. You could waste one guess to entertain yourself.

He stares at you wide-eyed with disbelief. “How did you know that?”

You gape at him in surprise. You were just goofing around with Shoyo’s story. You don’t expect that he’d have a similar story.

“For real?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was frighteningly accurate.”

Wow. What were the chances that you were actually right? What was just a ridiculous hunch was actually on point. Now, you’re far more entertained. You’ll ask for his name before you part ways and tell Shoyo about him. You don’t have a clue what the Volleyball scene is like in Japan so maybe somehow, they know each other.

He recovers after a quick while and regains his composure. “Okay, my turn. I’m guessing…,” he looks up as he scurries what guess he’ll make before his gaze lands back to you, “you’re into nice guys.”

You let out a scoff at his too safe of a guess. He must be frolicking when he appears to be thinking earlier because that’s kind of a no-brainer.

“Who isn’t?” You ask back sarcastically instead of confirming that he’s right.

“A lot of women actually,” he swiftly responds. “So that’s one for me. And I’m also guessing you don’t go out much.” This time he doesn’t pretend to be thinking and straight up tells you, as if he’s figured it out already earlier.

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t be out here at this time of the night if you did,” he cocks an eyebrow as he answers.

Shit. That’s two correct guesses off the bat. The stakes are not that high for you. You’ll just lose a back rest, but it unnerves you that he’s this astute. You just assumed that he’s nothing but good looks.

You put a little more effort to the game he initiated and thought of a hunch that’s very likely to be correct.

“Umm. I think you like beer,” you surmise. If he didn’t mind sharing one with a stranger, he must like it enough.

He purses his lips to the side and shakes his head. “Nope. I think it’s vile. Also, our fitness coach will chew me out if he finds out I’m drinking tonight.”

You furrow your brows together at what he just admitted. “Then why’d you ask for mine?”

“I wanted to look cool,” he confesses without shame which makes you palm your face.

“My turn.” You remove your hands away from your face and hope that he gets it wrong this time. You’re kinda enjoying the game and want to continue for a tiny bit more.

“It’s been a while since you got laid.”

It’s a staring contest between you after he utters it. He holds the same seemingly good-natured expression in his face despite the sexual nature of his statement. You, on the other hand, can’t suppress the frisky smirk that’s creeping up on the corner of your lips.

You roll your eyes and look away with the smirk still planted on your face.

He finally bares that certain wickedness you saw a glimpse of earlier, and he does it at the right time. He’s probably waiting for the moment you start getting drawn to him, and when you do, he lures you a step deeper into his trap.

You feel stupid for thinking this game is his way of small talk. It definitely isn’t. Yet, you find yourself taking the bait he set.

“Actually, I had a good fuck the other night,” you answer indifferently.

The look that surfaces on his face mirrors yours a while ago, except he doesn’t try to hide the sensual gleam in his eyes when flashes you a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

You suddenly miss the bitter taste of the beer so you drink again prior to answering, “Friend.”

The curve of his lips twitch up, evidently amused with your reply. “I didn’t think you were the type, ms local.”

“Why? You thought I was boring?” You question with haughty disdain from what he was implying.

He stretches his bent knee as he plants both palms on the sand and leans back a bit. “No. Just really uptight.”

Only because his company was unwelcomed, but you’re positive he’s aware of that so you don’t comment on his remark. You move on with and proceed to make your guess.

“Right. Okay, my turn.”

You’re absolutely sure of this one, so you go for it without hesitation.

“I think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s going to give you a free pass on that one. You’re not entirely wrong, but you’re not totally right either.

He does want to fuck you. You’re hot and you’re as interesting as he thought you’d be. But he’s not trying to get you in bed, not yet at least. He hasn’t taken any action yet.

He was still treading carefully until you were no longer treating him like a bothersome stranger, which seems to be the case when you unfiltered your words and then willingly gave him intimate information about your sex life.

“Yeah,” he says with no hint of shame. He decides to grant you a second correct answer since that’s the last one you’re going to get. His next guess will be the start of his attempt to actually get you to have sex with him, like you speculated.

“You like beer.” He already had three probable guesses in his head before the game even started. He just panned the game longer so you’ll ease into him. He reserved this particular guess to seal the deal.

“That’s no fair, tourist. That’s too obvious,” you complain yet you still wear an entertained grin.

“Not my fault” He chuckles at his already calculated victory.

“Ugh. Fine. The damn tree is yours.” You start to get up but he grabs your arm, causing you to frown inquisitively at him.

“I didn’t say you have to leave. Move a bit to your front,” he commands which you do even though you still look confused.

He stands up and takes the place you’re sitting at earlier. Your neck is craned towards him as you gawk at him while he comfortably seats himself behind you, stretching his legs just a bit so you’re positioned intimately between them.

“What are you doing?!” you ask with a panicked voice.

He ignores your question. He takes it just a bit further and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him so your back is pressed to his chest.

You gape at him with a scandalized expression, your body rigid with his touch.

He only smiles innocently at you. You might be frozen solid, but if you really don’t want him to, you could easily tell him to fuck off. But there you are, eyes wide open as you try to grasp what he just did.

“I just claimed my prize. I can see why you chose this tree. So comfortable.” He tries to sound nice and friendly, but knows it’s useless as he can’t help the sarcasm that tainted his words now.

You let out a deep breath and shake your head as you rest your back resignedly on his chest. You snuggle even closer until you fill the spaces between you two perfectly, your head nestled comfortably on the nook of his neck.

Still, you don’t seem pleased. The look in your face is a mix of frustration and defeat, but it only strokes his ego even more because despite that displeasure on that lovely face of yours, you’re still leaning cozily against him.

You straight down gulp the remaining liquor you have and put the empty can down on the sand.

“You played me well, tourist,” you mutter, the bitter taste of the beer matching your resentment towards him.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, ms local,” he continues playing innocent.

“Oh please. You planned this from the start. That’s why you asked for the fucking tree.”

He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in since you made him admit that he was trying to bed you. “You finally caught up, mi querida?”

You hoist yourself up to face him. “You speak Portugese?” you ask him curiously.

“Español. I did say I’m from Argentina, mi bella dama.”

You’re stunned with the way the supposed foreign words roll off so naturally from his tongue. It didn’t sound pretentious nor forced, proof that he’s fluent with it. You definitely underestimated him. There is so much more to his charisma than just his pretty face.

“So, ms local,” his gaze drops to your lips with uninhibited hunger that he doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide. “Can I start claiming my actual prize now?”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don't know how to respond because you’re at war with yourself with the direction of your supposed small talk is heading to. Yet, you can’t deny that you want to reciprocate his overt desire for you.

He takes his thumb and skims it lightly over your lower lip as he keeps his eyes on it. “Say yes,” he orders you with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

The wind suddenly feels colder as your body heats up from the ache that’s beginning to set in your core.

He completely has you in a trance, mindlessly obeying his dainty command.

“Yes.”

He smiles darkly at the consent you gave him. He moves his thumb down to your before he slowly dips down and presses his lips against yours. It was gentle, too gentle for your growing arousal as he’s deliberately teasing you to want more of him.

He peppers your cheek with the same soft kisses that are making you more and more impatient.

“Kiss me already,” you mutter when his lips reach your ear, causing the sound of his amused chuckle to be heard crisp and loud.

“But I am,” he whispers before licking the sensitive shell of your ear.

You snap your thighs together from the sharp pleasure the action sent to your pussy, your eyes almost half closed from how fast your desire is engulfing you.

He must have sensed it for he turns his gaze to your clenched thighs. “Well, well, well, ms local. I didn’t think you’re this sensitive. I’m barely doing anything,” he teases while his other hand skims your bare waist.

You want to wipe the smug expression off his face but you’re too horny to fight back. You just want him to kiss you properly already.

A triumphant glint surfaces in his orbs as he dips down and gives you what you’re silently asking for. He parts your mouth with his thumb on your chin and claims your lips, flicking his tongue on your lower lip before sucking it.

You grab his shoulder for support as you push yourself up a bit to feel him closer.

“Mmmm, beer tastes way better from your mouth,” he mumbles then quickly returns to your lips, slipping in his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

His hand on your chin travels to the side of your head, fiddling the other ear his mouth hasn’t touched earlier. You whine into the kiss, fully revealing to him how sensitive your ears are.

His other hand skims the bare skin of your waist he easily accessed because of your cropped top. Then, he moves it up to squeeze a clothed boob, earning him a moan you deliciously deliver to his mouth.

He pulls away to get a glimpse of you and he can’t help but be pleased with himself for a job well done. He’s totally got you, hook, line, and sinker with your eyes pooling with lewd desires, completely different from the cranky stranger you were minutes ago.

But he’s not done yet. He’s not yet satisfied. He can do more than this. He can break you just a teeny tiny bit tonight.

He gets back to your lips, your tongue seeking his while he fervently moves his mouth against yours. His hand lets go of your face so he can pay attention to your other boob he’s been neglecting, kneading both supple mounds with his huge hands at the same time.

You lean your head on his shoulder as he trails his lips down your exquisite neck, softly nipping the delicate flesh as he entertains himself by watching you squirm within his hold.

He lugs your bra down so he could feel your bare breasts, and as his idea of fun, he softly bites the nook of your neck while he harshly grips both tits.

A very indecent moan from your throat erupts in the tranquil air of the beach. You must have realized it too because you bite your lip while your other hand tightens its grip on his thigh.

“Let’s see how well you can keep it down,” he breathes on your neck as he puts his fingers to work, rolling both your nipples with his thumbs while licking the spot he just bit.

You plan to protest, but you’re scared that when you open your mouth, an obscene moan will come out instead. So you do your best to stay as silent as you can, your muted whimpering reaching only his ears.

His mouth goes back up again to your ear, his hot breath gradually melting your resolve to keep quiet. “Should I lick your ear again so you’ll moan for me, hmm?”

You ferociously shake your head, certain that you will lose it if he does. “I’ll do it if you don’t use your words,” he threatens you by grazing his lips on your earlobes.

“N-no,” you weakly answer.

He laughs lowly and withdraws his lips away from your ear. You feel a little bit of relief as he shows mercy. Only to feel stupid when he suddenly pinches your nipples, the surge of pain and delight causing you to lose to your own body as another moan rips out of your windpipe.

“Aahh! ”

You bury your face on his biceps to muffle the next ones as he continues tweaking the hardened buds while he sucks the curve of your shoulders.

You can feel the strain in your hips from how hard you're clamping your thighs, desperate to alleviate the ache in your already sopping cunt by grinding your inner thighs together.

Being the scum the tourist is, he hooks his foot on your ankle and does the same to the other, successfully prying your legs apart, worsening your need to be touched down from the lack of any sort of friction.

He removes one hand away from a boob and drags it down to your stomach, the cloth of your loose shirt catching on his knuckles before it comes to a stop in the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He asks while he traces circles on the skin just above the garter of your cloth.

Despite the overwhelming lust, you look around. Even though you used to have this place on your own at this wee hours of night, the possibility of someone going there is not completely zero.

You let him get as far as this because you can just swat his hands away the moment someone emerges from the other side of the lifeguard station.

Instead of putting his hand in, he dips his hand further down on your crotch, cupping your sex over the fabric of your shorts. Even with just that, your pussy is already throbbing.

You look at him with hesitation.

“What if someone comes?” You ask apprehensively, your lust-induced mind hoping he comes up with a sensical answer that you can accept.

“I won’t remove your shorts, ms. local. I’ll just,” he teasingly tugs the waistband, twisting it around his index finger, “put my hand in, yeah?”

He gives a drawn out lick on the spot behind your ear as he tugs a nipple, making you shiver with the unspoken oath that he can satisfy your needs.

You nod agreeably, impatient for the touch you’ve been craving for.

With your permission, he slowly slides his hand in, the leisure drag of his fingers almost making you mad with anticipation. Your torment only increases when he steadily traces his middle and ring finger on the length of your slit.

“You’re practically dripping,” he remarks as he continues the tortuous caress of his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re twitching already.” He laughs sardonically behind you.

“Jerk.” It’s supposed to sound angry, but it comes out as a needy whine.

You throw your head back on his chest, the night sky and the leaves of the tree you’re under starting to become hazy with how feverish your whole body feels.

“You’re really mean, you know that?” He mopes flatulently before he suddenly pinches your clit, the abrupt pang of pleasure causing you to arch your back as you cry out.

“Oh my. I’m starting to think you actually want to be heard.”

You’re no longer able to respond when he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to suppress the erotic sounds coming off of your mouth.

“Mmmmmpp,” you whimper when he gives your boob a firm squeeze again.

You close your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum already, hmm?” His question drenched with mockery.

Yet, you don’t give in to his taunt as you’re completely distracted with his fingers sending you to a frenzy. You nod your head frantically, shamelessly admitting that he can easily make you cum.

Then he stops. He slides his fingers down and spreads your folds open as your cunt throbs from the climax he’s defied you of.

“What I’d give to see this view,” he purrs on your ear, “this pussy twitching at nothing.”

You hate the way he’s treating you, but you hate yourself more for letting him do so. As if teasing wasn’t enough already, he starts massaging his fingers around your folds, keeping you spread open while deliberately avoiding any spot that will feel too good.

It’s utter hell for you.

You’re about to ask that he puts it in, but thankfully, he does so before you almost disregard your dignity and actually plead for him to do it. He inserts one steady digit, pushing it deeply until the whole length of his finger is in.

“You’re too wet,” he comments as he thrusts another finger in.

You bite your own hand as the stretch of his two fingers brings back the pleasure he thwarted earlier. But this time, he makes sure to not let it escalate as he keeps the speed of his fingers to a bare minimum. He drags them out incredibly slow and lunges them back in in the same excruciating tempo.

Your eyes flutter shut as you relish the sensation, his digits hitting their deepest reach at the same time the waves crash into the rocks of Leme beach.

Oikawa watches with utter fascination, seeing and feeling the rise and fall of your chest as he prolongs the pleasure his fingers can give you.

But he already misses how you sound when you lose control.

Without any warning, he increases his pace from tedious thrusts to ruthless ones.

Your clutch on his biceps almost hurts, but he really couldn’t give a shit when your moans start to seep out of your hand despite how hard you try to contain them. He can bet you’re not even aware that you’re already rolling your hips against his hand.

But it’s still not enough for him.

Luckily, he knows how to make things even better .

He flicks his tongue on a certain spot on your neck while rolling your nipple between his skilled fingers.

“Too much!” You bat your eyes open and face him, successfully unlatching his mouth from your neck. “Its too muuu aahhhh haaa. ” Your eyes instantly become cloudy as he makes sure that the base of his wrist rubs your clit while he continues ravaging your pussy with his fingers.

His cock is getting stuffed in his shorts with your back grinding against it as he witnesses you lose yourself with your mouth falling open as you whimper with wanton need for your release.

“To- hnnngg, tooouurist.”

Damn. For a moment, he thought you were going to moan his name. He would tell you right now but he kinda likes the idea that you’re a literal stranger allowing him to do vulgar things to you as he pleases.

Your feet leave the seams of the cloth you sat on as the pleasure stretches out to the tips of your toes, the coarse grains of sand getting stuck between as you curl them with your orgasm tingling too close.

The simultaneous stimulation of your most erogenous places is coercing you to let go.

“I’m gonna cum mmmppp.”

Then he withdraws his fingers completely, causing you to regard him wide-eyed with a confused look as he denies you of your high that was a thrust away from your reach. All the while, he just smiles pleasantly at you like he didn’t do anything wrong.

He takes his middle finger in his mouth while you watch him with both impatience and intrigue.

He gives it one thorough suck before sticks his tongue out and licks it, effectively making you wonder how it’d feel if he does what he just did directly on your pussy.

Then he turns to you with a naughty grin. “Why are you staring at me like that, ms local?”

Your eyes lingers on his fingers and tells him instead, “Put them back.” You can’t ask him to do what was just on your mind. The place isn’t right for it. But that’s just fine. His fingers prove to be good enough.

“You want me to put my fingers back in your pussy?” he reiterates your request haughtily.

You look down on the sand before you nod.

He hums on your nape while he inserts his hands back in your shorts, his fingers ghosting just above your slit. You buck your hip up to feel them but he retreats them when you do so.

Your mind is staggering from how much you want him to fill you up again with his digits. You look at him with your eyes begging him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He goes for your lips, kissing them passionately as he traces your slick opening. He plunges his tongue in the same time his fingers enter your cunt, easily pushing you at the very edge you were at earlier.

Then stops again.

“Why?” You sound almost sulking, your foiled orgasm looming over you.

“Like you said earlier, ms local. I am trying to get you in bed.”

He presses his lips in your temples and drags them down back to your ear. “I don’t see any bed here. Do you?”

The sultry drawl of his voice makes you shiver, the ungratified ache in your groin making you succumb to him.

“My place is near,” you answer timidly.

“You’ll really take a stranger home?” He sneers at you, making you doubt your own decision. Yet, convinces you otherwise when he slowly rubs your clit again.

You shut your eyes and nod frantically with parted lips.

He takes his hands out of your shorts and cheerfully says. “Let’s go then.”

You fix your clothes before standing up to which he quickly follows. You take your canga and wrap it back again on your hips then picks up your empty can of beer. You plan to lead the way, but not even three steps away from where you were, he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to where you were.

He shoves you to the tree he was previously leaning on. Your hand flies to the trunk of it while he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls your ass against his erection, an entertained chuckle coming out of his lips.

“I lied, ms local.” He slides his other hand under your made up skirt, trailing his palm from the side of your knee up to your thigh.

“I didn’t want you in bed. I want you right here right now.”

He briskly tugs down your shorts while you worriedly grip his forearm, alarm evident in your orbs as he reveals his actual intention.

“We’re gonna get seen!” You warn with a cautious whisper while you look around to check for the possible presence of another.

He ignores you and hitches up the cloth hanging from your hips as he takes out his cock and traces it against your moist slit.

You drop the empty can as you drive your nails deeper in the tree with your eyes getting misty from the reminder of the little death he’s relentlessly and purposely deprived you of.

He leans over your back and reaches for your cheek with his lips, tenderly placing a kiss before speaking. “Then they’ll see a tourist with a local whore.”

Flames of fury spark in your eyes as you hiss at him. “You fucking asshole!”

He ignores your futile anger and grips his cock to align it on your entrance. He sees you try to keep up the resentful facade but you’re twitching wildly again for him to even take it seriously. He easily makes you crave for him again by grinding his shaft on the length of your cunt.

“I’m kidding, ms local. You’re too pretty and too interesting to be one,” he says with his lips latched on your shoulder.

“Do you even have a condom with you?” you ask exasperatedly.

“Nope. Should we stop and get one?” He asks back as he once again rubs his member on your opening.

“I.. uhh,” you mumble undecided even though you unknowingly just grinded against him.

He places featherlight kisses along your nape. “I promise to pull out. How about that?” His voice is delicate, persuading you to abandon your hesitation.

“Fine! Just make sure you do it right,” you firmly forewarn him, which he doesn’t even bother answering.

He begins to sink himself inside you, feeling your fluttering walls swallow his cock inch by inch.

“Shit, it’s so hot and tight inside you,” he groans.

Your knees buckle a bit as you cover your mouth with your palm this time. “You okay there?” he asks not out of concern but because he wants to entertain himself with how you sound when you’re trying so hard to keep the obscene sounds at bay.

You shake your head but your face is one deluged of sinful desires.

“But you look like you're enjoying this,” he pants as he’s starting to feel good too with how well you’re squeezing his cock. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder as he rams his length completely inside you.

“Fuccck,” he moans on your shirt while you deliver a muffled one on your palm, which he didn’t like.

He snakes his arm from your waist up to your chest once again, forcefully lugging down your bra that he hears it rip a little.

“I want to hear you feel good,” he says as he toys with your boob he wasn’t able to pay much attention to earlier.

In between struggling puffs, you manage to say, “I don’t wanna be heard uughhh.” You let out a suppressed whine as he pulls his cock back all of a sudden and languidly slides it back in.

“You’re lucky enough I’m allowing this,” you continue on.

“Make me luckier then,” he hums on your shoulder as he aggressively tugs the nipple poking at his palm.

“Gaaah!” You snap your head back, prompting him to softly bite the flesh of your throat you exposed to him.

“Yeaaah. You sound so hot, ms local. Just like that mmmm.” He originally planned to take his time with you, but shit, your pussy feels too good clamping on his cock like you’re already about to cum.

It’s taking all of him not to pummel his cock stupidly fast into you and sought his own pleasure.

“Faster, tourist. Fuck!” Your voice cracks at the last word you uttered from keeping it from being too loud.

Instead of quickening his pace, he stops moving at all. He needs a moment to regain control of himself despite how splendid your insides feel. He wants to tease you some more until you lose that fiery pride of yours. He finds it sexy, but it would be sexier if you drop it and desperately beg for him to fuck your brains out.

He lifts himself off your back and retrieves both his hands to skim them over the curve of your ass.

He kinda wonders what face you’ll make if slams one hand against the meaty flesh. Oh well. No need to wonder if he can just see it for himself right now.

The solid sting of his palm hitting against your skin pierces the quiet air of the shore, quickly followed by a sharp gasp from you that is just as audible.

Fuck, he put a little too much force on that one. He can see the pinkish mark he’s left on one cheek. He checks on you and expects a pained expression but what he finds is eyes lidded with intense carnal longing while panting heavily.

He looks around briefly, checking to see for any unwanted onlookers before landing another slap on your other ass cheek.

Your hand grips his that just struck you as you turn your neck to look at him with utmost desperation he’s been wanting to see from you.

“Make me cum already,” you mumble with a wavering voice as you start moving on your own, wobbly withdrawing your hips and pushing them back against his cock.

The sensation in his shaft as you use it to give yourself pleasure is nowhere near enough for him, but he continues to stare at your cute attempt to make yourself cum.

“Please!”

Ahh, fuck. Yes. That should do it. You look just the right amount of pathetic he can get himself off to with satisfaction.

He plants both hands on your hips, holding them in place so he can give you what you vehemently begged for. He buries himself inside you in one swift thrust and repeats it again, and again, and again until he sets a steady rhythm.

You wretchedly grasp the tree again to support yourself as he does his way with you.

Harsh slaps of skin to skin contact can be heard, but he figures it won’t be heard from a distance.

“Ah, ahh, aaaahhhhhh!!” You practically yelled out that last moan, causing him to lean over again and put a hand over your mouth.

“As much as I want you to- shiiit -hear you scream for me, I’d rather not be caught here,” he tells you in a raspy voice. He doesn’t know the laws in this country. He might get arrested for this if found. Their coach would probably take him off the starting roster as punishment if he gets in trouble because of this.

But fuck, you really feel unbelievably good. Even the vibrations of your stifled wails on his hand is an added stimulation for him.

Even he himself is having a hard time to keep his voice hushed as he feels his orgasm about to explode. He removes his hand away from your lips and replaces it with his mouth so he drowns out his groans as he swallows yours.

With his knee, he nudges your leg apart from the other as he dips his hand from your hip down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud ferociously to finally push you to your peak he previously kept on declining you to reach.

You start trembling beneath him so he wraps his other arm around your waist again to support you.

He pulls away a bit to look at you become undone and holy shit, you do not disappoint. You look so fucking pretty with your moist lips gaping as you puff while your eyes have completely surrendered to the sinful goodness he’s giving you.

“So good, so good, so fucking good uuhhhh,” you mewl shamelessly.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on a stranger’s cock?” He goads you even though he’s about to cum himself just to see if you still give a crap about that.

To his delight, you just nod thoughtlessly.

“Cumming, ahhh, A-“

He covers your mouth again with his before you’re able to let out a scream that will probably expose you two.

He feels too good that all your senses are filled with nothing but the intense carnal bliss as he batters the insides of your pussy by ramming his cock wildly into you without restraint, probably chasing his own high as well.

Your vision becomes a static blur as the coil in your stomach snaps viciously, making your whole body convulse with how intense you came. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d probably be a thrashing mess on the sand.

You hope that he keeps his word and pulls out because honestly, you just don’t have it in you anymore to stop him as he prolongs your orgasm by seeking his own.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he spews while his forehead rests on your spine as his thrusts become wilder and more erratic.

He takes out his cock a second before you feel hot spurts of liquid on your lower back accompanied by his hoarse grunts.

He unties the canga around your waist and uses it to wipe off the mess he made on your skin while you’re still holding on for your dear life on the tree.

“My legs,” you whine as they give out with exhaustion.

Thankfully, he catches you in time and releases the soiled clothing he used to wipe off his load. He pulls up your lower garments before he settles you back to how you two were seated a while ago, except it’s less compromising this time.

You’re all curled up within his grasp, still catching your breath from what just happened as he puts a hand on your forehead to make you rest against his heaving chest.

The sound of the waves, the blow of sea breeze, and the sand beneath your thighs are lulling you slowly back to the present, making you aware that you just had sex with a stranger, with a freaking tourist

“So,” he speaks first but you keep your eyes closed and pretend this is just one sexy dream then you’ll wake up in the morning and realize that you actually didn’t go out at this time.

“Ms. local, helllooooo?”

He’s obviously recovered based on the familiar, frivolous tone he had when he came out of the trees a while ago.

You sigh since you aren’t able to convince yourself enough that this is just a dream. The sex felt too good and too hot for it to be unreal.

“Do I finally get a name?”

You open your eyes and find him looking eagerly at you.

“No,” you respond immediately which visibly turns his excitement upside down.

You also discard your previous plan to get his name. There’s no way you’re telling Shoyo about this guy.

Sunshine || masterlist

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @aphroditeschambers @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @crescenttooru @yashuaaa @liberhoe @richkookie @hqbeesun @megatron-1199

#oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #hinata smut #hinata x reader #haikyuu smut #im done with tags

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