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w-ht-w · 2 years ago

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Sam Altman

He was a formidable operator: quick to smile, but also quick to anger. ... Altman’s early aura of consequence,

his ability to see people as chess pieces and work out their lines of play. ... “Since Sam can see the future, we want him to tell us what’s coming.”

“Sam is not particularly religious, but he is culturally very Jewish—an optimist yet a survivalist, with a sense that things can always go deeply wrong, and that there’s no single place in the world where you’re deeply at home.”

Altman makes a list of goals each year, and he looks at it every few weeks. It always includes a taxing physical objective—a hundred-mile bike ride each week; fifty consecutive pull-ups—and an array of work targets.

He was always precocious and efficient. As a child, in St. Louis, he grasped the system behind area codes in nursery school, and learned to program and disassemble a Macintosh at eight. The Mac became his lifeline to the world. “Growing up gay in the Midwest in the two-thousands was not the most awesome thing,” he told me. “And finding AOL chat rooms was transformative. Secrets are bad when you’re eleven or twelve.” When he came out to his parents, at sixteen, his mother was astonished. She told me, “Sam had always struck me as just sort of unisexual and tech-y.” After a Christian group boycotted an assembly about sexuality at his prep school, John Burroughs, Altman addressed the whole community, announcing that he was gay and asking whether the school wanted to be a repressive place or one open to different ideas. Madelyn Gray, Altman’s college counsellor, said, “What Sam did changed the school. It felt like someone had opened up a great big box full of all kinds of kids and let them out into the world.”

Altman recoiled from venture capital. “You’re trying to find a company that will be successful with or without you, then convince them to take your money instead of somebody else’s, and at a lower price,” he said. “I didn’t like being oppositional to the entrepreneur.” Leery of tech’s culture of Golcondan wealth, in which a billion dollars is dismissed as “a buck,” he decided to rid himself of all but a comfortable cushion: his four-bedroom house in San Francisco’s Mission district, his cars, his Big Sur property, and a reserve of ten million dollars, whose annual interest would cover his living expenses. The rest would go to improving humanity.

Altman felt that OpenAI’s mission was to babysit its wunderkind until it was ready to be adopted by the world. He’d been reading James Madison’s notes on the Constitutional Convention for guidance in managing the transition. “We’re planning a way to allow wide swaths of the world to elect representatives to a new governance board,” he said. “Because if I weren’t in on this I’d be, like, Why do these fuckers get to decide what happens to me?”

Under Altman, Y Combinator was becoming a kind of shadow United Nations, and increasingly he was making Secretary-General-level decisions. Perhaps it made sense to entrust humanity to someone who doesn’t seem all that interested in humans. “Sam’s program for the world is anchored by ideas, not people,” Peter Thiel said. “And that’s what makes it powerful—because it doesn’t immediately get derailed by questions of popularity.” Of course, that very combination of powerful intent and powerful unconcern is what inspired OpenAI: how can an unfathomable intelligence protect us if it doesn’t care what we think?

Altman worries that [Y Combinator’s] very potency has become problematic. ... warning that some founders had grown cocky and entitled. ... “It’s bad for the companies and bad for Silicon Valley if companies can stay alive just because they’re YC. It’s better for everyone if bad companies die quickly.”

To keep your employees aligned, he wrote, it’s vital to have definite tasks and goals, to communicate them clearly, and to measure them frequently,

“If you believe that all human lives are equally valuable, and you also believe that 99.5 per cent of lives will take place in the future, we should spend all our time thinking about the future.” His voice dropped. “But I do care much more about my family and friends.” He asked me how many strangers I would allow to die—or would kill with my own hands, which seemed to him more intellectually honest—in order to spare my loved ones. As I considered this, he said that he’d sacrifice a hundred thousand. I told him that my own tally would be even larger. “It’s a bug,” he declared, unconsoled.

The immediate challenge is that computers could put most of us out of work. Altman’s fix is YC Research’s Basic Income project, a five-year study, scheduled to begin in 2017, of an old idea that’s suddenly in vogue: giving everyone enough money to live on. Expanding on earlier trials in places such as Manitoba and Uganda, YC will give as many as a thousand people in Oakland an annual sum, probably between twelve thousand and twenty-four thousand dollars.

The problems with the idea seem as basic as the promise: Why should people who don’t need a stipend get one, too? Won’t free money encourage indolence? And the math is staggering: if you gave each American twenty-four thousand dollars, the annual tab would run to nearly eight trillion dollars—more than double the federal tax revenue. However, Altman told me, “The thing most people get wrong is that if labor costs go to zero”—because smart robots have eaten all the jobs—“the cost of a great life comes way down. If we get fusion to work and electricity is free, then transportation is substantially cheaper, and the cost of electricity flows through to water and food. People pay a lot for a great education now, but you can become expert level on most things by looking at your phone. So, if an American family of four now requires seventy thousand dollars to be happy, which is the number you most often hear, then in ten to twenty years it could be an order of magnitude cheaper, with an error factor of 2x. Excluding the cost of housing, thirty-five hundred to fourteen thousand dollars could be all a family needs to enjoy a really good life.”In the best case, tech will be so transformative that Altman won’t have to choose between the few and the many. When A.I. reshapes the economy, he told me, “we’re going to have unlimited wealth and a huge amount of job displacement, so basic income really makes sense. Plus, the stipend will free up that one person in a million who can create the next Apple.”

“Someday, YC will be hundreds of times larger than when I took over.” Much could go wrong, he noted, but, really, “I don’t see how anyone can stop us.”Altman’s regime has left some people at YC nostalgic for the homey camaraderie of the early days. One YC stalwart told me, “Sam’s a little too focussed on glory—he puts his personal brand way out front. Under P.G., we had a family feel, and now it’s all institutional and aloof. Sam’s always managing up, but as the leader of the organization he needs to manage down.”

When I asked Altman about this critique, he said, “I absolutely could do a better job at managing the organization—it was my chief weakness at Loopt, and I still have some learned helplessness about it. I don’t want to do weekly one-on-ones and let’s-talk-about-your-career-paths. But I think it’s O.K. to have a little mess at the organizational level if we’re making the big decisions right, since those are the ones that bring us all our returns.”

More generally, he observed, “The missing circuit in my brain, the circuit that would make me care what people think about me, is a real gift. Most people want to be accepted, so they won’t take risks that could make them look crazy—which actually makes them wildly miscalculate risk.”

(1)

Altman’s talent lies in understanding what people want. “He really tries to find the thing that matters most to a person — and then figure out how to give it to them,” ... “That is the algorithm he uses over and over.”

a partner ... who worked with Mr. Altman as a board adviser to OpenAI, said it was like he was constantly arguing with himself. “In a single conversation, ... he is both sides of the debate club.” (2)

“Why is he working on something that won’t make him richer? One answer is that lots of people do that once they have enough money, which Sam probably does. The other is that he likes power.”

“He has a natural ability to talk people into things,” Mr. Graham said. “If it isn’t inborn, it was at least fully developed before he was 20. I first met Sam when he was 19, and I remember thinking at the time: ‘So this is what Bill Gates must have been like.’” (2)

Mr. Altman is not a coder or an engineer or an A.I. researcher. He is the person who sets the agenda, puts the teams together and strikes the deals. As the president of “YC,” he expanded the firm with near abandon, starting a new investment fund and a new research lab and stretching the number of companies advised by the firm into the hundreds each year. (2)

He resolved to refocus his attention on a project that would, as he put it, have a real impact on the world. He considered politics, but settled on artificial intelligence. He believed, according to his younger brother Max, that he was one of the few people who could meaningfully change the world through A.I. research, as opposed to the many people who could do so through politics.

“Under Sam, the level of YC’s ambition has gone up 10x.” ... by precipitating progress in “curing cancer, fusion, supersonic airliners, A.I.,” was trying to comprehensively revise the way we live: “I think his goal is to make the whole future.”

Altman, ... had his own warning for the timid: “Democracy only works in a growing economy. Without a return to economic growth, the democratic experiment will fail. And I have to think that YC is hugely important to that growth.” (2)

a fairly focused person with a high level of concentration. “He is mildly introverted because he spends hours and hours of continuous work on technology issues, which requires a certain type of isolation.” But at the same time he is extroverted enough to be able to create his own companies in which he has contact with investors. He is very astute in business models. He has a peculiar mix of attitudes about him.

Altman is “the typical very smart young man (he is one of those who thinks through each sentence before saying it) who calmly admits that what they are doing will have a brutal economic impact, but that ‘everything will be fine’”.

His philosophy does not focus so much on moving fast, but rather on producing products that are a bit imperfect but that over time will be adopted by society. This includes people, institutions and governments. Let them adapt: feeling technology as something practical.

“I understand why educators feel what they feel (…) And I think this is just the new we’re going to try to, you know, do some things in the short term and there may be ways to help teachers be a little better for detecting any text from a GPT-like system. But honestly, a determined person is going to pull through and I don’t think it’s something society can rely on. Now we are in a new world”, argued Sam regarding the impact of ChatGPT in education.

His great argument ... is that “humans will adapt” to these new advances, which is why he is constantly innovating. (3)

I’ve learned that I can’t be very productive working on things I don’t care about or don’t like. So I just try not to put myself in a position where I have to do them (by delegating, avoiding, or something else). Stuff that you don’t like is a painful drag on morale and momentum.

It’s important to learn that you can learn anything you want, and that you can get better quickly. This feels like an unlikely miracle the first few times it happens, but eventually you learn to trust that you can do it.

You have to both pick the right problem and do the work. There aren’t many shortcuts.

I try to prioritize in a way that generates momentum. The more I get done, the better I feel, and then the more I get done. I like to start and end each day with something I can really make progress on.

I generally try to avoid meetings and conferences as I find the time cost to be huge—I get the most value out of time in my office. However, it is critical that you keep enough space in your schedule to allow for chance encounters and exposure to new people and ideas. Having an open network is valuable; though probably 90% of the random meetings I take are a waste of time, the other 10% really make up for it. ... most meetings are best scheduled for 15-20 minutes, or 2 hours. The default of 1 hour is usually wrong, and leads to a lot of wasted time.

I have different times of day I try to use for different kinds of work. The first few hours of the morning are definitely my most productive time of the day, so I don’t let anyone schedule anything then. I try to do meetings in the afternoon. I take a break, or switch tasks, whenever I feel my attention starting to fade.

I don’t think most people value their time enough—I am surprised by the number of people I know who make $100 an hour and yet will spend a couple of hours doing something they don’t want to do to save $20.

Also, don’t fall into the trap of productivity porn—chasing productivity for its own sake isn’t helpful. Many people spend too much time thinking about how to perfectly optimize their system, and not nearly enough asking if they’re working on the right problems. It doesn’t matter what system you use or if you squeeze out every second if you’re working on the wrong thing.The right goal is to allocate your year optimally, not your day.

I think it’s good to overcommit a little bit. I find that I generally get done what I take on, and if I have a little bit too much to do it makes me more efficient at everything, which is a way to train to avoid distractions (a great habit to build!). However, overcommitting a lot is disastrous.

Don’t neglect your family and friends for the sake of productivity—that’s a very stupid tradeoff (and very likely a net productivity loss, because you’ll be less happy). Don’t neglect doing things you love or that clear your head either.

Finally, to repeat one more time: productivity in the wrong direction isn’t worth anything at all. Think more about what to work on.

(4)

1. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2016/10/10/sam-altmans-manifest-destiny (2016)

2. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/03/31/technology/sam-altman-open-ai-chatgpt.html (2023)

3. https://time.news/sam-altman-the-genius-behind-chatgpt/

4. https://blog.samaltman.com/productivity

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queenshelby · 3 years ago

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My Friend’s Father (Part Nine)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut, Domestic Violence, Angst

Words: 3,064

Please comment and interact...it's what keeps this blog going

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

Almost a week had passed since you stayed with Cillian at his unit in Galway and, despite the fact that he was away, things had further developed between you as emotions grew with every day.

He was different to any man you had ever been involved with and, whilst your involvement with each other stemmed from purely sexual lust and hunger, you had evolved from this to something different entirely within a matter of days.

Of course, you knew each other for years and, whilst you had a crush on Cillian for as long as you could remember, you never thought that it would be like this and, for Cillian, this feeling had never been mutual.

Whilst he always considered you to be attractive and very intelligent and kind, he never felt any emotional connection or sexual attraction towards you, at least not until that weekend when you visited Denise, which was also the first time he saw you again after six months had passed.

On that night during which you slept with each other, he let his sexual hunger take over his reasonable thinking mind after he saw you, in his kitchen, making pancakes and you had since, quite openly, talked about it. He saw sleeping with you as a mistake but, ever since that night, he couldn’t get you out of his head.

For you, things weren’t just sexual anymore and you began to feel strongly for Cillian which worried you especially since he was open about the fact that he didn’t know where things were heading with you. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend and much younger than him clearly bothered him and he sometimes admitted to you that he felt strange about building such a strong connection with you. A relationship was not what he wanted but he liked you, a lot.

As such, during the past week, Cillian called you every day after he finished filming and you were talking to him more frequently than you were talking to Denise.

During his breaks, he would also text you and check in on you as you were in the middle of exams. He always remembered when you had a test and asked you how it went and, when you told him that you didn’t feel confident with your results, he reassured you that you probably did well and, even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. According to him, a pass is a pass and you needed to lower your expectations of yourself just a little.

To your surprise, he also remembered appointments you had scheduled and things that bothered you which meant that, unlike other men you had been with, he was actually listening and was interested in what you had to say.

Some nights, you had spent hours on the phone or Skype, joking about things you had encountered that day or talking about books, literature and music, which is something you both enjoyed.

Politics and social issues were other matters you could discuss endlessly and, even when you were of different opinions, you would be able to argue in the most satisfying way. Cillian always treated you as an equal and even opened up to you about his divorce from Denise’s mother recently.

Another thing you learned from Cillian was that Denise was brining along her friend Amalie to Manchester to stay at his apartment and, when you gave him a warning about her and her intentions, he reminded you that he only had eyes for you. In fact, he always showered you with compliments and all of his compliments were genuine and came natural to him, helping you immensely with your self-consciousness.

Unfortunately, whilst you enjoyed how engaging Cillian was with you every day, like a teenager in love, with the constant text messages and calls, your father soon got suspicious and confronted you about.

****

“Dad, I am almost 22, you don’t need to be spying on me” you said somewhat frustrated as he asked you who you were talking to every day.

“You live under my roof and you answer me young lady” he said harshly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just as your mother stepped in, trying to calm him down. Your father was much older, approaching sixty and fairly old school in the way he expected you and your sister to behave.

“A friend…I am talking to a friend” you explained and your father asked again, telling you not to lie to him because he would know.

“And this friend of yours, you can’t meet him…you just text and talk? You can’t bring him to our house and introduce him?” your father asked along with a million other questions.

“No, I can’t. he lives in Dublin and I, most certainly, wouldn’t bring him into this…” you said somewhat irritated by the interrogation.

“Dublin, huh? So, you met him when you visited Denise?” he asked and you nodded.

“It’s not her brother, is it? Because I really don’t want you to get involved with him. I don’t like this family and their views” your father said harshly, causing you to chuckle.

“Their views?” you asked somewhat surprised and your father nodded.

“Yes, their views on what’s right and wrong. If I recall correctly, this girl you call your friend was going out with someone of the same gender for a while. God didn’t tell us to do this but her parents obviously didn’t have an issue with it which, apparently is called new age parenting. Everything is pro choice and lets their children decide what is best for them even if they lack experience” your father went on to say and you couldn’t help but shake your head at his absurd commentary but, he continued and you soon learned what had happened between your parents and Denise’s parents many years ago, before which your mother had called Denise’s mother her friend as well.

According to your father, Cillian had voiced his opinion to your father when it was found out that your sister was pregnant following a short affair with a man she had met through university.

Cillian’s ex wife had told your sister that she had options, causing your father to get rather angry with her, which is when Cillian stepped in, supporting what Denise’s mother had said.

She had offered your sister help but your father considered this to be a betrayal and, whilst your mother maintained contact with Denise’s mother for a while, your father refused to get involved with Denise’s family thereafter.

Cillian’s often all so public views angered him and he made this very clear. He didn’t want you to be involved with his children and you couldn’t help but laugh about the irony of it all when you found out about this incident.

“Jesus Dad, that was years ago and not everyone has to have the same views as you” you said before confirming that you weren’t seeing Denise’s brother.

“No, they don’t, but I am just looking out for you and, instead of acting the way you do, throwing yourself at guys with new age ideas, I would much prefer if you met a nice young catholic man” your father explained, causing your mother to fume in anger with him.

“Throwing myself at guys? Listen, I am not sure what slut you think I am but it’s nice to know that you think so little of me” you said before storming upstairs and into your room.

Having to deal with this crap bothered you and you knew that, when this semester came to an end, you could be moving out now that you saved enough money for a bond and rent.

*****

As the evening went on, you spent all of your time in your room, reading a book until, finally, at around 9 o’clock you saw a notification on Skype.

‘Hey Beautiful’ Cillian said as you picked up and popped in your headphones.

Cillian apologised for calling through so late and informed you that he was finally able to speak to Laura, the woman he was seeing before you.

He knew that you wanted to know about it and he had no problem telling you what you needed to hear while telling you that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.

It was Laura’s first day back on set after a week-long break and Cillian told you that she wasn’t exactly impressed when he stood her down.

‘She probably likes you…I can understand that’ you said calmly but Cillian told you that he was pretty clear with her about what this was between them.

‘Well, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her’ he went on and you were quite happy to change the topic by this point and told him that you were aching for him.

‘Well, I am not sure that I can help you with that’ Cillian chuckled.

‘We could have Skype sex I suppose’ you giggled.

‘Skype Sex?’ Cillian laughed before telling you that he didn’t think that this would be a good idea since you were at home with your parents and you had previously complained about the thin walls of the house.

‘Oh Jesus Cillian, my father already thinks I am a slut, so I personally don’t care if anyone hears me getting myself off. I’ve got my earphones in and am the only one who can hear you and my door is locked’ you chuckled.

‘Your father thinks that you are a slut? Do you want to talk about that?’ Cillian asked concerned but you shook your head.

‘I rather not. You met him and know what he is like’ you explained.

‘I do. He takes God very seriously’ Cillian said before continuing on. ‘But, if you have problems at home you need to tell me please. You can stay at my apartment. I can get my house keeper to meet you there with the key’ he offered.

‘You said you were going to stay out of stuff between me and my parents just as I would stay out of matters between you and Denise’ you then said, reminding him on the conversation about your respective roles which you had three days ago.

‘Yes I did, but I can’t if I have to worry about you’ Cillian said firmly.

‘There is no need to worry Cillian. I promise’ you reassured him. ‘Well, actually, I need you to worry about my sexual needs right now’ you then went on to say with sly grin.

‘Through Skype?’ Cillian asked again somewhat concerned.

‘Yes’ you said with a cheeky smile as you settled more into your bed with your laptop.

‘Alright then, show me what you are wearing” Cillian said as he cut straight to the point.

‘Can you see?’ you asked as you adjusted the cam and showed Cillian your dark blue lingerie.

‘Very nice…but…I think you would look even better if you were naked, don’t you think?’ Cillian said somewhat nervously and you nodded in agreement.

‘Well, I suppose I should strip for you and you should strip for me’ you giggled as you seductively took off your bra slowly, showing Cillian your perky breasts through the camera.

You heard him inhale sharply as he watched you and took his t-shirt off at the same time, leaving him in nothing but his CK briefs.

Without words you then scooted back on the bed and removed your undies, allowing him to watch before you sat down on the bed, spread eagle and naked, giving him a good view of your mound.

‘Jesus Y/N, you are so fucking beautiful and sexy…touch yourself for me, nice and slow’ Cillian breathed out and you let his soothing voice wash over you, knowing what he was trying to do and happily helping him succeed.

‘Like this?’ you moaned as you began to run circles over your clit with your fingers.

‘Yes, just like that babe’ Cillian groaned as he shuffled down his briefs and you were finally getting a good look of his hard cock.

‘Oh god, I want to stroke your cock so badly’ you moaned as you seductively opened your pussy lips with your fingers, opening yourself up before reaching for the black vibrator you kept in your bedside table.

‘Well, someone's particularly horny tonight’ Cillian chuckled as he watched you play with your pussy, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You mumbled a small "mhm," and he laughed.

‘Good, that's exactly how I like you, so naughty and needy’ Cillian said as he slowly began to stroke his hard member.

You barely registered his words enough to answer with another "mhm," but your subconscious managed it. Your weak answer elicited another delicious chuckle from the other end of the line.

"Why don't you show me how this little toy of yours works?” Cillian then asked as he watched you eagerly.

“I was just waiting for you to ask” you giggled as you began to run your fingers along your stomach and back up to your chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps their wake before reaching for the vibrator and turning it on.

“Put into your sweet pussy babe, let me see it” Cillian groaned and you moan in response, barely processing his words but still understanding enough to answer and do what he asked.

"I bet your pussy is already dripping” he said as you slid the vibrator into you slowly. He was right, you could feel your wetness pooling.

“I am so fucking wet and I wish it would be your cock inside me” you moaned as you began to stroke the toy in and out of you.

Cillian was groaning on the other side, his eyes full of lust and desire for you and you let out a quiet moan as you watched him with the same desire and hunger while you were pleasuring yourself.

“Good girl, keep going…” Cillian tells you and you moan again hearing it.

“Tell me how much you are aching for my cock” he then said you moaned again.

“I want your cock so badly, fuck…I want your cum inside me, dripping out of my wet little pussy” you moaned, eliciting a groan from Cillian as he began to stroke his cock harder and faster.

“Such a naughty needy girl, aren’t you? I can’t wait to be inside you again and make you cum over and over again” Cillian said with a laboured breath and you are barely listening at this point.

“I want you to cum for me and show me this dripping pussy when you do…I fucking love hearing your moans, so fucking sexy…common babe….let go” Cillian said, knowing that you were close and your orgasm rolled over you as soon as the word 'cum' left his lips, and although your sensitive clit was screaming at your hand to stop, you couldn't.

‘Oh god fuck, yes…’ you moaned as you came hard and fast.

“That’s it babe, don’t stop” he instructed as your moans continuously spilled from your mouth, and you were not even sure what you were saying or if you were forming words at all. The only thing in your head is a deliciously heavy fog and Cillian’s voice guiding you to do what he wanted.

“Don’t stop, keep fucking your sweet little pussy babe” Cillian ordered as he knew you weren’t done and, just as he did, you let out a high-pitched moan, bordering on a scream, as an even stronger orgasm washed over your body.

‘Cum for me babe…I want to see all this cum’ you moaned in return, focusing on the delicious image in front of you as Cillian was stroking his cock and, just when you finally come back down you heard Cillian groan loudly.

“Fuck” he groaned as he stroked his cock hard and fast you watched rope after rope of cum spurt onto his stomach.

‘Oh god, what a waste, I want to lick your cum off your skin so badly” you breathed out as Cillian came down from his high slowly and used a tissue to clean himself up.

‘Stop saying those things or you have to stay on the line for another twenty minutes at least’ Cillian chuckled as he could feel his manhood stir again.

‘Well, I think you shouldn’t cum again until you come to visit me in Galway the weekend after next…I want you to save it all for me’ you said, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow as he pulled his briefs back up.

‘Fat chance babe’ he chuckled, knowing that going without an orgasm for nine days would be rather difficult for him.

Eventually, after a lot of begging, he agreed to try but he wouldn’t be able to make you any promises to this effect.

***

The following day, you went to work and then university thereafter but, when you eventually returned home, your father was in a worse mood than ever before.

‘Can you explain this to me?’ he asked angrily as soon as you walked through the door and you couldn’t help but gulp when he pointed to a white box which he had placed on the living room table.

‘You went through my personal belongings’ you huffed out as the box contained some lingerie and intimate items, including toys, that you were hiding in the bottom of your dresser.

‘Again Y/N, this is my house, my rules and I don’t want my daughter to own filth like this’ he said, after having heard small pieces of your conversation with Cillian on Skype the evening before.

It was obvious to you that your father was appalled and you were outraged that he had been snooping through your room and, as you would later learn, had even tried to access your computer.

‘I can’t fucking believe you dad. These are my personal belongings and you have no right to go through them’ you huffed out and, just as you did, you could feel a sharp strike across your face.

‘Get this shit out of my house and talk to me with some respect’ he said harshly, leaving you speechless and in tears as he walked away, leaving your cheek burning red.

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natromanxoff · 3 years ago

Text

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room. Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #dominique beyrand #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #record mirror #record mirror july 1979 #queen scans

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schweiggiemydear · 4 years ago

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Regarding the Super League - A Rant

Ok, since the League was more or less officially announced today, I want to talk about it. If you haven't heard about it, you can read the Sky Sports article explaining it here.

I want to add a disclaimer that since I am an Arsenal and Real Madrid fan, my views are biased since both teams have been selected for the league.

However, there are a few things I want to address as a general football fan that are not affected by my club loyalty. I'll include a section at the bottom of this post on my opinion on the new league just because. Editing to add another disclaimer that I do NOT support the Super League. I am just discussing the issues I have seen brought up about it.

Fan Response

A lot of football fans have taken to social media to voice their opposition to the league. Maybe I haven't looked hard enough, but I haven't actually seen any reason for this hatred towards the new league other than "It will ruin football" and "It's just another way for the clubs to make more money." Again, maybe I just haven't seen it, but these two "reasons" aren't really explained at all:

"It will ruin football": It's another competition that only the "elite" and "best" clubs of Europe will be a part of. This is basically the Champions and Europa leagues already. These two competitions will not be eliminated and you can still see underdogs play European football.

Is the concern here that this elevates top clubs at the expense of smaller clubs? (like Champions League already does?) Is the concern here that mechanisms for fair competition will be dropped for the sake of greed? (like Champions league already does?) (Like FIFA does every time they make a decision?) Is the concern here that it undermines the concept of competition and the idea that any team can win a trophy in Europe? This is the only valid criticism I can understand and support, but when was the last time a big club didn't win the Champions league? When was the last time a small club Leicester or Roma held the trophy? If you can count Olympique de Marseille as a "small club", then the answer is 1993.

"It's just another way for the clubs to make more money.": I hate to break it to you folks, but football is a business. (I have a lot of opinions on this - mainly regarding women's v. men's football and equal pay - but that is not the point of this post.) Clubs are always looking for ways to make more money and this pandemic has killed revenue for every club, even top league clubs, and they are looking for new and more steady sources of revenue.

Is the concern that without a ruling body like FIFA, the money for the competition will not be handled fairly? Is the concern that fans will have limited access to matches? If you take even a cursory glance at what FIFA/UEFA done regarding finance, transparency, match fixing, and fan access, you would know this isn't a valid criticism. Well, it is valid. But only if you also regularly call out FIFA, UEFA, Premier League/FA, Bundesliga, La Liga, League 1, Serie A, etc., for these same infractions. Which people don't.

Now if the criticisms were closer to "I think this brings unnecessary competition to top clubs already vying for European trophies", "This competition will make these clubs think they're better than everyone else", or "This puts a strain on players in these clubs who already play for club and country", I'd understand the concerns and would absolutely agree. But right now, the actual fan backlash seems more guided by a general misunderstanding on how football really works. Which leads to the next issue I want need to address.

FIFA/UEFA Response

Now here's where things get interesting because the backlash from FIFA and UEFA has been swift and aggressive to say the least. They are refusing to allow players who play in the Super League to be eligible for the 2022 World Cup and will likely impose fines or even ban clubs from the leagues that do participate. The Premier League/FA and the other major European leagues have issued a joint statement condemning the league. The statement mentions solidarity, a united front, fair competition, and sporting merit and claims that this new league is greedy and self-serving.

Ironic words come from institutions that are all well-known for their own corruption. Absolutely banger response from institutions that milk fans, players, and leagues every year. In fact, people on twitter made really great points and I'm going to provide the tweets here because they said it better than I could:

(including the last one because of Slavia Prague specifically)

We all know the main reason FIFA and UEFA are against the Super League is because they wouldn't get a cut of the revenue. I don't have any money to bet, but know that if I did, I would bet it all that if the Super League offered FIFA and UEFA each a significant cut of the continued revenue, they would get the green light immediately and that trophy would be physically bigger than the Champions League cup.

I just cannot get over the irony, hypocrisy, lack of awareness, and just BALLS of these organisations to make claims of greed and lack of fair play when they are guilty of these exact things. I think Toni Kroos said it best:

"European Super League? We are just puppets of FIFA and UEFA. If there was a players' union, we would not be playing the Nations League or Supercopa de Espana in Saudi Arabia." (Kroos in a podcast on 11/11/2020)

My Humble Opinion

Now here's what I think. And again, my teams would be involved in this Super League so I do have a stake in the game here.

Firstly, I absolutely agree the Super League is elitist in nature and affects the fair play nature of European football competitions and domestic leagues. No doubt that smaller clubs would be financially hurt by this new league and it puts these "top teams" on a pedestal, especially when the last thing they need is an even more inflated ego (Arsenal included). Every club has been hurt by this pandemic and needs funds. Every club has been hurt by FIFA's practices and there's a good chance this will really mess with smaller teams' chances of earning revenue themselves.

Second, FIFA and UEFA can go fuck themselves.

Third, FIFA plans to ban players and clubs who participate in this Super League and to that I say good fucking luck with that because those clubs are your biggest earners. Absolutely no hate or shade to the Bundesliga or League 1, but they just don't bring in the same revenue as Barca, Real Madrid, or Premier League teams. Bayern Munich did recently overtake Man United as the 3rd richest club in Europe, but they are still vastly out-earned by RM and Barca. PSG is #7 (after 3 english teams) and Juventus is #10 (after 5 english teams) (source). The revenue FIFA and UEFA would lose from banning Super League teams would be astronomical. Not just in the domestic leagues themselves, but the Champions League, Europa League, and the World Cup. I mean, what's a World Cup without Messi? (personally, I'm okay with that but you get my point)

Fourth, and hear me out, I genuinely believe that the Super League is a good TEMPORARY idea. The Super League should be used as an experiment to see how competitions would function outside the influence of FIFA and other regulatory agencies. This would be a League run by clubs and players and is a better representation on how football SHOULD be organised. If these clubs take a stand against FIFA, maybe, just maybe, we can get rid of some of the corruption inherent in football. Don't get me wrong, the Super League is definitely meant to be revenue generating for sure. But it's also a middle finger to FIFA and, if its done well, the rest of Europe might take a harder look at how much they don't actually need FIFA. Do I think this is the right way of doing it? No. But has it clearly stirred things up and now people are talking about the issues? Yes.

Lastly, I want to talk about Kroos' comment above. A players union is a brilliant idea and I think the European Super League is actually a great way for players to argue for it. They can use the leverage of the new league to bargain for better rights and a union that actually tells FIFA to go fuck itself when it decides things like revenue gouging Brazil in 2014 or a Qatar World Cup. Or the many hundred other shitty things FIFA has done. For a full list, please see John Oliver's amazing coverage of FIFA in his series "Last Week Tonight" (found on YouTube or HBOMax).

If you made it to the bottom of this post/rant, thank you! Let me know what you think about this Super League and what would you do if you were one of the teams involved?

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slowly-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Looks

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Canon typical violence

A/n: I wrote this through a sleep deprived, midterm frenzied daze, and I’m not 100% happy with it. But I hope it turned out okay.

“We have three victims in six weeks. They were all abducted from public places and were held for three days before being discovered in a different, but equally public place first thing in the morning,” Garcia begins the briefing, clicking through the slides of the abduction and dump sites, “all three victims were high risk-”

“Holy shit,” Emily cuts her off as the mugshots of the victims appear on the screen.

“You okay?” You ask cautiously. Emily isn’t one to interrupt a meeting, and the outburst makes you a bit nervous.

“You’re seriously telling me you don’t see it?” Emily looks between you and the screen, making you even more confused.

“I do,” Morgan says, JJ and Spencer nodding along.

“Alright, you all are going to need to let me in on your secret. What are we seeing?” The team is now all staring at you confused.

“You really don’t see it, do you y/l/n?” Rossi says and you groan in frustration.

“What is there to see?” You practically yell.

“They all look exactly like you,” Emily says and you freeze. You lock your eyes onto the screen and furrow your brow. Sure they have the same hair color and eye color, but surely you’re not identical in any way.

“No they don’t. Can we just get on with the briefing?” You huff out. Annoyed at all the attention on you. You’re here to help these women. Not agonize over their looks.

“Right, of course. The three victims were high risk, making them easy targets, but he could become bolder as time goes on,” Garcia finishes and you all nod.

“Then we better stop him before he does. Wheels up in twenty,” Emily dismisses you and you all move to leave the room. But she grabs your arm, forcing you to stay behind with her and the rest of the team pauses as well.. Rossi looks between the two of you, debating if he should usher the team out and give you some privacy. But before he can decide Emily looks at the rest of the team.

“She can’t go.” Your jaw drops at her words and you pull your arm from her grasp.

“What the hell Emily? You don’t think this is a conversation we should have in private?” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low.

“No because you’re not going to listen to me,” she crosses her arms and you roll your eyes at the stern look she sends you.

“Because you’re being ridiculous!” you yell this time and Morgan speaks up.

“She’s just trying to keep you safe. I know you say you don’t see it but you do look exactly like them.” You look around the room to see everyone nodding along and you sigh.

“I get that you guys are concerned for my safety, and I appreciate the thought, but it’s unnecessary. When you look beyond appearances I am nothing like those girls. More than that, I have you all to protect me. Now we can waste time with you forcing me to stay here and I’ll hop on a commercial flight tomorrow and meet you there, or we can get on the jet and help these women. So let’s save me the time and money and get going. These people deserve our help Emily, that’s our job right now,” the team stays silent but you can see their resolve cracking, Emily finally giving a nod that disperses the team. A look of anger crosses her face but you can see the fear that’s barely concealed. You step towards her, gently taking her hand.

“I’m going to be okay,” you promise and she sighs, placing a lingering kiss to the side of your head.

“You better be.”

xxxxx

“We need to hold a press conference,” Rossi says and you all nod, having been thinking the same thing. “Y/n needs to do it.”

That is where the agreement stops. You wouldn’t mind doing it, but everyone else begins voicing their concerns, nobody louder than Emily as she jumps out of her chair.

“Do you seriously think we’re letting him see her?” Emily snaps and you take her hand, pulling her back into her seat before she tries to lunge at Rossi’s throat.

“We all know this is the best idea. The profile doesn’t indicate that he’d be willing to try and grab me in public, but just in case I’ll wear a vest and I’ll have all of you to protect me. He’s not getting anywhere near me, but this is what needs to be done,” you try to sway her and you can see the conflict in her eyes. She wants nothing more than to catch this guy, but she won’t do it at the expense of losing you.

“I’m gonna be up there with you,” she says and everyone nods.

“We can do that. Morgan and Reid I want you taking pictures of the crowd to send back to Garcia. We know he’ll be there so be discrete, but get a shot of everyone there. Any questions?” Rossi has taken over the briefing and at the shake of your heads he dismisses the team. Morgan and Reid going to find their equipment, you and Emily sitting down to write the release, and everyone else scattering to set up the conference. In what feels like no time at all you’re on the stage getting ready to address the public.

“Thank you all for coming. As you all know, there is a predator in your community. Over the last several weeks, three women have been murdered…” you start your briefing. Emily stands silently beside you, sunglasses on and scanning the crowd. She looks more like your bodyguard than your girlfriend, but you let it slide. She’s nervous, and if standing next to you helps you’ll let her, that’s where she’s been the whole case. Your speech is long, definitely longer than it needs to be to get the point across but you plan on giving the team as much time as possible to scout the crowd. You continue sharing the profile, adding details and talking slowly until you hear a call through the coms that they’re ready. With that you wrap up your speech and exit the stage with Emily following behind you, both of you silently praying that this was enough to get the bastard.

xxxxx

“Samuel Finnigan. 1492 Beach road,” Garcia rattled off the address of your unsub as you all grab your vests and make your way to the SUVs.

“Thanks Garcia!” You end the call as you reach the parking lot.

“Woah woah woah. You are not coming with us!” Emily steps between you and the vehicles so fast you almost run into her.

“You mean you’re finally letting me out of your sight?” You can’t help the snarky reply. You’re getting really tired of this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snaps and you roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, trying to stop this from escalating.

“You’ve been attached to me all week. You’re always right next to me, and normally I wouldn’t mind that, I love spending time with you. But I can’t stand you watching me like I’m gonna snap in two. I’m fine. I’m a big girl, I can protect myself!” you yell, any sense of calm going out the window, and it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

“That doesn’t matter to this guy! Until he’s in custody you’re not going anywhere near him.” you groan and run your hands through your hair. This is absolutely ridiculous.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m in charge here, and what I say goes,” her words make anger boil deep within you, she sounds like a child fighting for power, and you half expect to see her stomping her foot like a toddler.

“You can’t just switch from being my girlfriend to being my boss to win an argument.”

“I’m your unit chief first,” she says firmly and something within you snaps.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be my girlfriend at all!” There's a moment of heavy silence. Even the wind seems to die down, leaving the two of you staring at each other in the parking lot, both waiting for the other to be the first to break.

“You aren’t coming,” Emily’s tone changes. This is the voice she uses when lecturing recruits, not the one she uses with you, so you put on an emotionless mask. If she’s gonna pull the unit chief card, you’re not letting her see how much it hurts.

“Is that an order?” you ask and she sighs.

“Y/n. Please don’t make me-”

“Is that an order?” you ask again, cutting her off mid sentence.

“Yes. That’s an order,” she knows she’s won the argument, but a look of defeat crosses her face anyway.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here when you get back,” you say with a sharp nod.

“Y/n-” she takes a step towards you but you take one backwards, placing your hands behind your back and standing up straighter.

“You better get going, Unit Chief Prentiss.” She sighs again at your words but makes her way to the SUV. You can see the team staring at you through the windows and you lock your jaw at the looks of pity on their faces. They will not see you break. You won’t let them.

You don't go inside when they pull out of the parking lot. You need a few moments to compose yourself first. Looking up to the sky you try to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. You stay still for a few moments before hearing footsteps behind you.

“Sorry you just missed-” you cut yourself off. The man looking back at you is not a local officer, but instead the face from the DMV picture Garcia showed you. You drop your vest to move your hand to the gun strapped to your hip but he’s pointing one at you before you can grab it.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to follow me quietly and you won’t get hurt. At least not yet,” the sick smile on his face makes your stomach turn, but you nod. His smile widens and he gestures with the gun to his run down pick up truck parked behind the station. As the barrel of the gun is pressed into your back you take a few shakey steps towards the truck, weighing your options carefully. You wish you would’ve just put on the vest inside. You make a note to ask Emily about making that protocol if you get out of this.

The closer you get to the vehicle the more you realize you’re running out of time. In a split second decision you throw your elbow back, catching his nose as you try to duck out of the way of his gun. You manage to move enough that the bullet misses any vital organs, instead it goes straight through your shoulder. You scream in pain as he shoves you into the back seat of his truck. Blood pours out of your shoulder and your thoughts start spiraling as you slip into unconsciousness.

I’m gonna die.

Emily thinks I hate her.

I’m gonna die and Emily will never know how much I love her.

God I love her.

xxxxx

“He wasn’t there,” Emily tells the police chief as she enters the precinct and he nods. The rest of the team isn't too far behind, talking amongst themselves and debating their next steps.

“You still think it’s him?” a he asks the team, but another person speaks before any of them can.

“Where’s that other girl? Y/l/n, right? The one who looks like all the victims,” a rookie speaks and the BAU freezes, their attention snapping to him.

“What do you mean where is she? Is she not here?” Emily snaps and the poor man takes a step back, his fear clear as day.

“N-no. She went outside with you all. She never came back in. DId something happen?” He never gets an answer as Emily pulls out her phone and steps towards the conference room.

“Garcia I need you to pull the security footage from outside the precinct,” she says as soon as the line connects.

“I can do that. Why though? Do you think he was-oh god” Garcia cuts herself off and Emily’s jaw tightens.

“What’s happening Penelope?” Her voice has the same mix of anger and fear it’s held for days as she paces the room.

“I’m sending it to your tablets now,” Garcia’s shaky voice does nothing to calm their nerves as they all lunge for their tablets, watching in horror as you get shot, cursing themselves for leaving you alone.

“How the hell did these dumbasses not hear a gunshot right outside their door!” Emily yells, moving to storm out the door. JJ steps into her path, grabbing her shoulders to stop her.

“Emily, take a breath. You can go yell at the cops or we can sit down and figure out how to find y/n,” JJ’s voice is steady, much calmer than she feels, and Emily nods.

“Garcia, start looking for any properties in Finnigan’s name,” Emily orders and the team snaps into action. They’re going to find you, no matter how long it takes.

xxxxx

“No, that one was demolished, look,” Rossi slides a tablet in Reid’s direction. There’s a news article on the screen depicting a foreclosed property, half collapsed and surrounded with construction equipment.

“How has one man owned so many different properties in such a short amount of time? It’s like he was doing it intentionally, trying to make it harder for us to find him,” JJ’s voice is thick and scratchy, she hasn’t slept since you disappeared two and a half days ago, none of them have.

“He was definitely hiding from something, whatever it was. This is a man who doesn’t wanna be found,” Morgan says, tossing another empty coffee cup into the trash can that has long since overflowed. The team has lost count of how many pots of truly disgusting break room coffee they’ve made it through in the last few hours, Reid doesn’t think he’ll stop shaking for a month.

“I think I have something,” Penelope’s voice comes through one of the screens and they all snap awake. “His sister died 5 months ago, right before he started spontaneously buying and selling properties at an alarming rate, he clearly went on the run.”

“She must’ve been his first victim, and once he started he couldn’t stop. Who knows how many more victims there are that we haven’t even found yet,” Rossi says and Emily swallows hard.

“She looks like y/n, doesn’t she?” Even knowing the details of the case, it scares her to think he may see his sister in you.

“More than any of the others,” Garcia says, sending a picture along. The girl they’re all staring at could be your sister. You’re identical, right down to the way you style your hair. Under better circumstances Emily may joke about doing a DNA test to make sure you’re not actually related, but right now it makes her sick to her stomach.

“So we know why he’s doing this. Now we just need to figure out where,” Reid says and Penelope nods, smiling slightly.

“I may have that answer as well, this one fits all the parameters. It’s isolated, and he’s only had it for a few weeks, it’s definitely still standing,” she says, a bit of hope creeping into her voice. Even though she’s not there, she’s as scared as the rest of the team, if not more. They’re all a wreck, you’re family and they all have a feeling of terror that you may not be coming home with them. But none of them more than Emily. None of them feel the pain she does, but they’re all determined to make sure that pain is a temporary one.

“Send us the address,” Emily’s voice is firm and her fists clenched as they make their way to the SUVs once again, praying it’s not another dead end.

xxxxx

You know it’s them when there’s a banging on the front door of the cabin you’re being held in, it has to be them. The words “FBI open up!” are being yelled and you know you’re saved. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything as satisfying as the look of terror Samuel’s face as he takes off running. You hear what must be Derek kicking the door down before several sets of footsteps sound off through the house, Spencer being the first to appear in your line of sight.

“He went out the back,” your voice is weak, but he hears you loud and clear.

“Finnigan went out the back. I have eyes on y/n, you guys go get that son of a bitch.” You let out a weak laugh at that, you can count the number of times you’ve heard Reid curse on one hand with two fingers to spare. Unfortunately that laugh turns into a cough, and you’re quickly reminded of the extent of your injuries. The bleeding in your shoulder has never quite stopped and you have more bruises and cuts than you can count.

“Spencer. Tell Emily-” you pause, coughing weakly once again, “tell her I love her. Tell her I’m sorry and I didn’t mean it.”

“You tell her yourself,” his tone is harsh but you know it’s because he’s scared. As he takes a few steps closer to you he begins to frantically look around, for the rest of the team, for the medic he’s calling through his radio, for anyone. His head snaps back to you as your coughing continues. “Hold on, just a few more minutes.”

You nod at his words, your eyes starting to slip closed as he puts pressure on your shoulder. Your face scrunches up and you can feel tears starting to pool in your eyes, “Spence, stop. It hurts…please stop.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” his voice cracks but his hands don’t move. You can hear the someone jogging over, and you hope that means they have him in custody. It takes all the energy you have left to pull your eyes open again, seeing Emily’s face above you as she takes your hand.

“Emily I-” she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“I know, and I love you too. Just take deep breaths, it’s going to be okay.”

xxxxx

“Emily, I'm really sorry,” you whisper, hours later in a hospital bed with tears filling your eyes once again.

“I know. I am too. We both said things we didn’t mean, we didn’t want to hurt each other. It’s okay, love,” she says but you shake your head.

“It’s not okay. I almost died today and the last thing I would’ve said to you is that I didn’t want to be with you. I do. I promise you I do,” the tears start falling, but Emily is quick to brush them away.

“I know that. Even then, when you said that, I knew you wanted to be with me and I with you. I was so scared for your safety that I over reacted, and that reaction left you alone. If there’s one thing I learned from the last few days it's that we’re better together. We’re safer, happier, and stronger together. I wanted to do this later, maybe over a fancy dinner or a walk in the park, but now seems more appropriate,” Emily says and you furrow your brow as she reaches into her jacket pocket. Her smile is wide as she pulls out a ring, and the tears in your eyes are no longer from sadness. “Y/n, you are the love of my life and I almost lost you today. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however long that is. So, will you marry me?”

You nod as she slips the ring on your finger, laughing in disbelief. As soon as it’s done you crash your lips into hers. The kiss is salty from tears and is broken by your smiles, but it’s perfect.

“Yes, I would be honored to spend the rest of my life with you. Even if it means dealing with your ridiculous overprotectiveness,” you tease and she rolls her eyes.

“You know you love it,” she tries to argue but you just laugh again.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you breathe out, and Emily is happy to be the one taking orders this time.

tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

CM tag list: @reidingandwriting

#emily prentiss #Emily Prentiss x reader #Emily prentiss x female!reader #Emily prentiss reader insert #Emily prentiss fic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds fic #looks

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sodone-withlife · 3 years ago

Text

enough

yay this is my first fic in over a month, and as per usual, there's not much proofreading. all mistakes are my own. also, this isn't as whump-y as my past works and includes a number of my headcanons

@yourlocalheartbreaker here's over 2k words of a rather OOC Criminal Minds fanfic based on your post :) I've intentionally made the ending a bit ambiguous, so let your imagination run wild. the case is also based on what happened in Boston.

here’s a post that clarifies some ambiguities

warnings: alcohol, mentioned character death, mentioned canon typical violence. also, I love all of the characters, but for the purposes of this story, this will come across as everyone (except Hotch, Morgan, and Strauss) slander. don't like it, don't read it.

word count: 2.2k words

“I really am sorry I couldn’t do more,” Strauss said quietly.

Hotch shook his head, staring into his whiskey. “You’ve already done so much,” he said equally quietly. He hesitated, wondering if he should give voice to the thought that had been nagging at him since the last in a week-long series of grueling questioning and testimony.

Fuck it, he thought, dowing the last of his whiskey.

“I think we both knew it was coming,” he said, looking at his now-former boss unflinchingly. To her credit, Strauss didn’t try to hide that she shared his thoughts as they shared a knowing look. “Too many minor bureaucratic infractions, a few major fiascos,” he continued, shaking his head ruefully, “it was only a matter of when.”

Strauss remained silent, swirling the last of her own drink in her glass. It was a longstanding tradition between the two of them to go out for drinks after especially taxing cases and bureaucratic nightmares, one that started weeks after Gideon stepped down and went on leave.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Why did you lie? You and I know very well you had nothing to do with it.” She turned to face Hotch fully, a hint of confusion appearing in her expression. “Why take the fall?”

The answer easily came to Hotch, but it didn’t erase the bitterness with which the words came out. “The leader is replaceable, but the team isn’t.” He looked pained, avoiding her incredulous stare. “Same reason as always.”

He could understand her exasperation; it wasn’t the first time he had discussed the issues within the team with her. Over the years, she tried again and again to get him out, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. She eventually accepted his refusal to leave, but it didn’t stop her from dropping hints of disapproval here and there—and they both knew some secret part of him agreed with her disparaging comments, much as he tried to ignore it.

The team dynamics had never truly recovered from Boston and Adrian Bale, and that had carried over to the newer members of the team who joined after the fiasco. His standoffish, laconic nature certainly didn’t help. Eventually, even Gideon was ignoring the cracks in the foundation of the team,

Out of all of his coworkers, only Strauss and Morgan remembered (and still sometimes saw) the less-guarded agent with surprising idealism that he had been before everything went to shit.

Now, after years of leadership under his belt, he didn’t know how to be anyone else but the sharp, authoritative unit chief.

Especially after Haley.

(As he had stood in front of the freshly dug grave, he swore that his family would never meet SSA Hotchner, Unit Chief, Agent No-Smile Hardass, if he could help it.)

(The moment he stepped through the front door, he would only be Dad.)

(And in front of a select group of people, he would be Aaron, the man who was just barely toeing the line between profiler and unsub in his jaggedly broken, near-unhinged protectiveness.)

And so he received each act of insubordination from the team, no matter the magnitude, with unflappable calmness, even as he stayed late and went to work hours early to deal with the towering stacks of paperwork that joined the already existing piles of budget expansion requests and case consults.

He trusted their judgment, even if that trust didn’t go both ways.

“You’re very respected, you know that?” Strauss suddenly commented. “It’s the only reason you’ve been able to cover for your team for so long.”

That was something Hotch knew very well. Much as he hated it, he often found himself in the midst of political maneuverings that embroiled his higher-ups, aided especially by his upbringing and law school education. In these circles, where everyone knew everyone wore masks to hide unsavory secrets, there was some degree of grudging respect for everyone, no matter their placement on either side of the aisle. Even those who came from money had to have special acumen in order to make it this far in the cutthroat world of DC politics.

Hotch had gained quite the reputation as a prosecutor in DC, and not just because his father had been a well-known attorney with high-profile clients. Coupled with his meteoric rise through the ranks of the bureau, helping out the right people and collecting numerous contacts and favors along the way, it was no wonder that he had managed to keep the team out of the line of fire for so long.

More and more often, however, he was questioning his decisions to reject each opportunity to move up the chain of command, to instead stay with the team as a field agent. Even though he could almost always understand the reasoning behind each act of insubordination—hell, he even encouraged it sometimes—he couldn’t help but want for things to be different, especially with every night he went home too late and every time he pulled out the concealer he had always had near him since childhood to cover up the bruise-like eyebags that found a permanent home on his face.

But in the end, Hotch didn’t even have a choice.

(But a small part of him knew that this was always how he was going to go.)

Really, he understood why they did what they did. Ten years ago, he would have done the same thing himself.

Now, however, he couldn’t afford to put Jack’s safety and wellbeing on the line.

Some might say that Jack was his weak spot, and they wouldn’t be wrong—he would wholeheartedly agree with them.

He couldn't find it in him to feel guilty about putting his family ahead of all else, but what JJ said when he called them into his office after the fiasco had cut deeply.

You of all people should understand, JJ had spat in his face, and every harsh word he was about to say himself, reprimanding them for callous insubordination to the highest degree, died on his lips. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he just stood there in silent, pained shock, but it didn’t take long for JJ, Prentiss, and Reid to leave his office with an air of vindication, not sparing him another glance.

Hotch had spent the rest of the day fielding call after call, trying to piece together the exact course of events and fending off the sharks smelling blood in the water.

The bloody chunks of flesh of the three agents who died immediately in the blast, the two who didn’t even make it into the operating room, and the one adult hostage who couldn’t far enough away in time.

Now, sitting across from Strauss and staring into his empty glass, he wondered if things would have been different if he had gotten there faster, adding his own input in formulating a negotiation strategy that factored in the variables he only knew to take into account because of his combined years in prosecution and SWAT and because of Boston.

Especially Boston.

(He already considered all of the what-ifs. He knew that short of suddenly gaining time travel or teleportation abilities, he couldn’t have done anything.)

But maybe he foresaw his current situation the moment he saw Strauss’s emailed request for an urgent meeting the morning after he worked late into the night trying to control the fallout.

Just budget meetings with the higher up of higher-ups, he reassured Morgan when they bumped into each other as Hotch and Strauss made their way out of the Academy offices towards the parking garage. He knew Morgan didn’t believe him—he was wearing the suit that he reserved for black tie events and meetings on the Hill, for one—but there was a reluctant acceptance and a hint of knowing in his eyes.

(Of course, Morgan had an idea of what was going on. No one in the country was ignorant of what had happened yesterday afternoon. As he was looking through the news coverage, confused and horrified as to how something like this could have happened, memories of Boston rose to the forefront of his mind, and he knew that this would end in blood.)

(Then Hotch called him in a frenzy, apologizing profusely for bothering him on his weekend off while all but begging for him to look after Jack for the rest of the day. It was an easy decision. Morgan took Jack to the movie theater, helped him with biking, took him out for ice cream, whatever it took to keep Jack happy and occupied while he himself worried over the state of things at the office.)

(It was well past midnight when Hotch finally fell into a restless sleep in bed next to Morgan, who had a standing invitation to stay overnight and was trying to help him loosen up his tensed muscles.)

“I’m coming into the office tomorrow to tie up loose ends,” Hotch suddenly told Strauss. “I’m not going to pull a Gideon. They don’t deserve that.”

He said as much next day as he stood in the bullpen, looking out at the agents he had worked with for years as he made his announcement.

“After careful consideration, I have decided to retire from the BAU,” he ignored the sounds of shock that rippled through the crowd, “and with my retirement, I am cutting all official ties with the Bureau.”

He carefully avoided looking at the team as he continued. “Please respect that I would prefer to not discuss the details of my retirement at this time, but I will say that this recent case had a lot to do with my decision,” he swept a stern gaze around the room, ignoring the pang in his heart and sudden burning in his eyes when he accidentally made eye contact with a devastated-looking Garcia.

Hotch quickly looked away and continued with his goodbyes before he managed to find an out to retreat to his office, where he picked up the last box of his belongings. It’s surprisingly light, he thought distantly as he took in the stripped office for the last time.

Oh, right, Strauss had helped me pack everything else and bring home the law books and framed certificates after we went out for drinks last night.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Strauss stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and closing the blinds to give them some modicum of privacy from the profilers waiting in the bullpen with their barrage of questions.

“This is it, then,” she commented, eyes on the badge and gun that was left on the expansive desk.

Hotch nodded. “I’m sure the suits will be sweeping through my reports and cases soon enough. The team will find out then.” He turned to meet her gaze, an unreadable glint in his eyes, “But I daresay we will be seeing each other quite soon, however.”

They grasped each other’s hand firmly, something unspoken passing between them. There was a beat of stillness, then Hotch let go. He opened the office door and swept past her, past the team, and into the elevator with his phone already next to his ear, his professional mask back as he left this part of his life behind.

Strauss walked out onto the catwalk, looking out into the bullpen at the profilers sitting at their desks, shell-shocked at the man’s sudden (and all-too-final) departure.

Truthfully, Strauss didn’t know what he meant when he hinted that he would be seeing her (and presumably the team) again soon, but she assumed it had to do with the closed meeting he was pulled into the moment he arrived at the office this morning. She may not be trained to notice the details in human behavior, but she could tell there was a peaceful ease to Hotch’s goodbye that shouldn’t have been there, in addition to the strange lack of the bitterness she knew had been there last night when they went out for drinks.

“Erin, what the hell was that about?” Rossi’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. She turned to the approaching agent, game face back on and preparing to finally unleash the full scope of what had happened over a week ago onto the remaining profilers, who had been shielded from the consequences by Hotch’s presence and tireless negotiations alone.

Whatever Rossi was about to say next was suddenly cut off by an outraged “What?” coming from Morgan, who had been all but interrogating Prentiss, JJ, and Reid about the guilt was practically painted all over their expressions. Now, he ran out of the bullpen, chasing after Hotch and ignoring the calls of his name behind him.

Strauss watched all of this calmly; Hotch had asked that one of the team be made unit chief after his departure, but there was no way she was letting that happen on her watch. Especially based on Morgan’s determined chase after the now-former unit chief, she imagined she would be having two open positions to fill.

It was about time those two got their heads out of their asses, she thought, smiling internally.

May you find your peace, Aaron Hotchner.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #erin strauss #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #david rossi #jj slander #emily slander #reid slander #probably #bau #tw alcohol #tw violence #tw death

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dessarious · 4 years ago

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Guilt and Consequences Pt12

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Lila walked out of her building with a duffle of clothes to last a few days and her computer. She still had no idea why she was agreeing to stay. Well other than the fact that Marinette’s mother terrified her. She would admit it was nice being around adults who didn’t only take notice of her flaws though.

“So what’s your game now? Get close to Dupain-Cheng so you can get better dirt on her?” Lila looked around in confusion for a moment before she spotted Chloe leaning against the building. How did Chloe even know where she lived?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I meant what I said today.” The girl just scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Forget for a moment that you want me to believe a serial liar suddenly decided to tell the truth. If you really wanted to get expelled why didn’t you just go the direct route and come after me? It wouldn’t even take much to make that happen.” Lila let out a sigh. She’d considered it.

“Because your dad can cause problems for my mother and once she finds out it’s because of me I’m screwed. I want to go back to homeschooling, not end up locked in my room for weeks at a time or sent off to a reeducation camp for an attitude adjustment.” She shuddered at the thought. That had happened two years ago and she still had nightmares about that place.

“You’re serious aren’t you?” When she looked at Chloe the other girl was looking at her like a puzzle that needed to be figured out. A lot of the class seemed to be under the impression that the girl was your stereotypical dumb blonde but that look said otherwise even if Lila hadn’t already known better.

“Yes I’m serious. None of this was supposed to happen. Everyone was supposed to recognize bullshit when they heard it and ostracize me for it. After that it’s a quick road to me going back home.” She could hear the frustration in her own voice and tried to take some deep breaths to calm down. She was so tired of going over this with people.

“What are you going to do about it now? That scene this morning was only the beginning. You’ve seen how stubborn those peasants are.” Lila shot her a flat look.

“That’s none of your business or concern. I don’t see why you care anyway given that you hate me and Marinette.” That just got another eyeroll.

“Hatred is for equals which neither of you are. You’ve been a nuisance so far and I want to know what you have planned so I know if it will inconvenience me or not. Or I can have Daddy have a talk with your mother.” Damnit. She should have realized telling her that was a bad idea. God she hated people.

“I’m transferring, I hope.” Given her mother’s record of refusing to listen to her Lila was going to have to come up with an amazing argument.

“And Dupain-Cheng?” Chloe’s tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Marinette still hadn’t made up her mind. “She still seems to think they’ll all get over it in a few days.” Chloe actually laughed at that.

“That definitely sounds like her. She has no understanding of the way most people hold grudges. It’s sad really.” She gave Lila a searching look. “Let me know if you have any issues with that transfer. The sooner you’re gone the sooner I can get things back to normal.” After that she just turned and walked away. What the hell?

Lila spent the entire walk back to the bakery trying to figure out what the girls game was. Maybe she just didn’t like change, but if that was the case why hadn’t she done something about Lila sooner? It seemed like she wanted Marinette to stay at the school but Lila had no idea why. She didn’t really have an answer by the time she got back and she wondered if she should say something to Marinette’s parents.

“Lunch is upstairs. After that you two should start filling out the forms for the scholarships and transferring.” Lila blinked at Sabine in surprise for a moment. She had only been gone for half an hour and they’d already convinced Marinette to transfer?

“I’m still not sure my mother will allow it.” Especially if she didn’t qualify for scholarships. It seemed like any extra expense was an automatic no. It was one of the reasons Lila was surprised she got sent to a therapist in the first place.

“Let me worry about your mother. You just get everything filled out so we can send it in. What?” Lila wasn’t certain what the look on her face was but it was apparently enough for Sabine to comment.

“I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to talk to her.”

“Why is that?” She was using that overly cheerful tone again. This was going to be bad. Lila stared at the floor when she answered.

“It usually just makes things worse. She really doesn’t like people disagreeing with her and it almost always ends up with me losing something.” Lila got more nervous as Sabine stayed silent. Finally she cleared her throat.

“Can you give me an example?” Her tone was off again and Lila peeked up at her but all she saw was confusion and concern.

“We were at some function outdoors and I brought my camera with me.” A camera she had paid for with her own money, but that never mattered either. “She told me to put it away and one of the other attendees said she should let me take photos instead of just getting bored. It was someone she didn’t want to argue with so she dropped it but when we got home the camera went in the garbage.”

“Did you argue with her about putting it away?”

“No. I don’t ever argue with her in public especially about something so small.” Honestly the only thing she tried to argue about anymore was school and even that was more out of habit and desperation.

“Go eat and get those forms filled out. We’ll deal with the rest when we see if the two of you get in.” Sabine gave her a little push to get her moving towards the stairs and Lila figured this wasn’t something worth arguing about either.

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@readeracctagmepls @aestheticnpoetic @akana-sama @schrodingers25 @runestarchild @paradoxal-occurance @heaven428 @animegirlweeb @deepestobservationwombat @iggy-of-fans @yin-390 @thehufflepuffranger-blog @trippingovermyfeet @misslenamooney @ladybug-182 @zalladane @pale-lady-dreamer @smolplantmum @peachedpocky @bezzy-d @naoryllis @sassakitty @18-fandoms-unite-08

#miraculous ladybug #sabine cheng #lila rossi #lila redemption #bad parenting #chloe bourgeois

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Riding High

Ch16: Roast Beef, Cake and Ponies

Chapter Summary: It’s Mary’s birthday…and Evelyn is back in town.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+).

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: A nice, fluffy chapter for Friss after the heartache of the last one!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 15

"How does the Waldorf Astoria grab you?" Frank asked, looking up from the screen he had open on his phone.

Fliss, who was busy at the dining table with her nose buried in diagrams and goodness knows what else she had spread over the surface for lesson planning, glanced over to where he was sat on the new sofa, watching her over the back of it.

"What?"

"For New York"

"Frank, I'm not following you, babe…"

"I said we were gonna go this December. Take Mary for the snow." He looked at her, "did you forget?"

"Actually I did..." she said with a chuckle as she dropped the pen she was holding "but that aside, it's only just gone May!"

"Yeah but I was talking to Simon and he says it gets booked up pretty quickly so thought I'd start looking.” He shrugged "There’s a pretty good offer on at the Waldorf. Start of December, Thursday to a Sunday…taking her outta school shouldn’t be a problem…”

He stood up and made his way over and handed her the phone, leaning over her from behind with his palms flat on the table as she scanned the info. He glanced down and saw her face split into a smile.

"It’s a dream isn’t it?" She turned her head to look at him. "To go to New York and stay in the Plaza or here..."

"Shall I book it? He asked and she bit her lip and gave a little nod. With a smile he took the phone from her and dropped a kiss to her lips.

"How much is it?" she asked

"Doesn’t matter..."

"Frank..."

"Fliss..." he mimicked her and she rolled her eyes and Frank met her look with one of his own, raising an eyebrow watching her carefully. Since their bare all conversation a few weeks ago, things had been a little different between the pair of them. Not bad different, quite the opposite. Fliss seemed less tentative towards certain things now, she didn’t try to hide the way she was feeling when certain things made her uncomfortable and Frank didn’t get or feel as frustrated when she thanked him or praised him for doing things that to him didn’t warrant it.

Greg had been amazing, not that Frank had expected anything else, and been nothing but patient and sympathetic with Fliss. He’d written the Victim Impact statement for her, taken her through it, listened and made the amendments she wanted before he’d filed it on her behalf, assuring her that her part in the process was now over and there was nothing more she could do. That in itself had been a huge weight off Fliss’ shoulders, and she admitted to Frank that the thought of John getting out made her more angry than scared, which Frank was secretly pleased about. He didn’t want her to be scared, at all.

It had been the first big hurdle their relationship had reached, and Frank was both relieved and pleased to see they’d made it through, and although he didn’t think it had been possible, he felt even closer to her now. And he wanted to spoil her. Just because he could. And because she fucking deserve it.

“Come on, let me treat you…" he coaxed, and when she gave him a small smile he mimicked her, knowing he’d won her round.

"Ok." She said smiling "but I'm paying for our take out tonight."

"Deal."

Frank straightened up, phone clutched in his hand as he headed over the drawer in the kitchen that held his wallet. Grabbing his card he leaned on the unit, keying in the information the website booking form required and a few minutes later it was done.

"All booked" he smiled and she looked at him. "We fly out at 10:25 the Thursday morning, home at 15:45 on the Sunday..."

"Why do they always have stupid times like that?" Fliss asked "like 10:25...why not 10:30?"

Frank shrugged "No idea."

Fliss paused and then gave a little squeak and pushed her chair back before she skipped over to him and threw herself into his arms. With a chuckle he caught her, hands wrapping around her back.

"New York, in the run up to Christmas!" She beamed as he kissed her softly. "I can’t believe it"

"Well you better as I'm gonna need to get some warm clothes...for the first time in years." He mused and Fliss laughed as her feet hit the floor again.

“We can get matching shit Christmas sweaters with huge reindeers or something else equally as gaudy on the front.” she grinned.

“No.” Frank shook his head

“Oh come on…” Fliss teased. “You wear hideous shirts all the time, what’s the difference? Or would you prefer a jumper with a giant palm tree or a yacht on it instead?” “Fuck you.” He shot back and she gave a loud laugh, her head falling back slightly before she recovered and grinned at him.

"Gonna tell Mary?" She asked and he nodded.

"On her birthday. Can be part of her present."

"What can?" The girl asked.

"Well if I told you that it wouldn't be a surprise would it?" Frank looked at her.

"Guess not." Mary shrugged. "What time are we seeing Evelyn tomorrow?"

"Lunch time" Frank said.

“And then after you gonna come help me with Monty?” Fliss looked at Mary.

Mary nodded “Is his leg better?” “Almost.” Fliss assured her. “He needs another week or so rest I think. But I think his days as a riding school pony are over.” “Are you still going to have to rehome him?” Mary’s voice dropped at little and Fliss took a deep breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to, but he can’t cope with doing lessons every day. It would be nice for him to get a home with a family who can love him has a pet and just ride him a few times a week…but I’ll see.” “You ready to go to Roberta’s?” Frank looked at Mary and she perked up a little and nodded. “Ok, I’ll walk you down.”

“Night Lissy!” Mary grinned, heading over to give her a hug before they both headed out of the door.

Fliss looked down at her plans and then deciding she was done, gathered them all up and stuck them back in her folder, clearing the table. She really did need to give some more thought to what she was going to do with Monty. She had a soft spot for the animal but knew that he wasn’t going to be able to cope with the pressures of being a riding school pony anymore. The thing was, at almost nineteen he was still sprightly and far too active to be put out to pasture. The kindest thing to do would be to find a home for him, a little boy or a little girl to love him as a pet…and then it came to her. A simple solution, that was a win-win for everyone involved.

Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

“Hell no!” was Frank’s response when she ambushed him with her idea the minute he walked in the door, flopping onto the sofa next to him. “Absolutely fucking not!”

“Oh come on!” Fliss looked at him. “It won’t cost anything.” “You said yourself you can’t afford stables to be clogged up.” “We can build him a smaller one, round the back on the end of my private block.” Fliss shrugged

“By we, you mean me…” “And Dad.”

Frank sighed “You’d still be out of pocket…you already refuse to take money for her lessons as it is.” “Yeah, because your my boyfriend and I’m not taking money off you for Mary’s lessons.” “Exactly, so how much would you be missing out on if you were renting the stable to someone else? And don’t lie as I’ll look it up on your website.” Frank shot her a look.

“For a pony his size, about Forty-bucks a week, but it doesn’t cost me that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter as I’m not I’m not gonna be taking money off you for her pony!” “It’s not her pony.” Frank rolled his eyes.

“No, but he could be…” Fliss grinned.

“Fucks sake…” Frank groaned.

“That a yes?”

“No, it’s a for fucks sake. You’re exasperating at times.”

She paused for a moment before she bit her lip and crawled across him, straddling his lap, grinning as he looked up at her, eyebrows raised.

“Is it a yes yet?” she asked, rolling her pelvis down, making his breath hitch as he felt the familiar arousal blooming in his crotch.

“Are you seriously trying to seduce me into letting you give Mary a pony?” he snorted.

“Is it working?”

“No…”

“Really?” she asked. “Because the bulge in your pants is telling me otherwise.” “Stop it.” he warned her.

“Stop what?” She asked, rolling her hips again.

“I mean it Lissy…” his voice was low.

She did it again, and he took a deep breath before he quickly pivoted them so she was led underneath him, causing her to shriek in surprise. She grinned up at him before his lips crashed onto hers. Fliss wrapped her arms round his neck as his hands crept to her hips, settling just under the hem of her top as she placed both hands on his face, the pads of her finger tips cupping his jaw through his short beard. She broke away this time to breathe, head resting on the arm of the couch and he dropped his head, pausing his lips inches from her neck.

“You gonna shut up about the damned pony?” he asked.

“No.” she said stubbornly.

“Alright…” Frank sighed, and she gave a little giggle as he pressed his mouth to her neck. He gripped her hips again and they gave a little jerk of their own accord, pushing up against him and they both groaned slightly at the contact. At the noise Frank pulled back to stare at her again.

“Gonna shut up yet?” “Make me.” she teased, pushing her head upwards, lips crashing onto his and her hands slid under his t- shirt. His muscles twitched under her touch as the sensation of her gently dragging her nails caused him to groan as desire lanced through his entire body like red hot pokers.

“Oh, sweetheart…challenge accepted…” he muttered he grasped the bottom of her top. She moved her arms and sat up slightly as he pulled it up over her head, her hair falling around her shoulders, his lips catching hers as he gently slipped one strap of her bra down at a time placing a soft kiss on each of her shoulders. Her breasts spilled over the tops of the cups and his groin twitched, the crotch of his jeans now painfully tight. Her hands moved to the hem of his T-shirt and he held his arms for her to yank it off. Once he was free he kissed her again his rough hands gently sliding up her rib cage to her chest, delicately squeezing and kneading the soft flesh and white lace, before his hand slid into the cups, teasing her taught nipples with his thumbs. She groaned gently, arching her back as his groin bumped against hers. He was gently at first, before his rocking became harder, and Fliss buried her fingers in his hair, pulling, hard, forcing his head back sharply. As she tugged he let out a low growl and when she let go he stared down at her to see her smirking as she watched him, his pupils blown so wide there was hardly any blue left.

The rhythm of his hips was growing more frantic and their kisses were growing more desperate. "More," she moaned into his mouth, and he obliged in the best of way moving his hips even faster, rubbing against her through the barrier of their clothes in ways that had her clutching at his back like her life depended on it. As he continued to rub against her, pushing her into the soft cushions of the sofa, it wasn’t long before the tell-tale tightening across his lower stomach warned him he was fast approaching his release

"Lissy, tell me your close baby, please?" Frank begged because of course he wanted to get her there first. He had to smirk at the fact he’d finally shut her up, as it was all she could do to moan brokenly, her words no longer forming coherently, and she gave a nod as his mouth fell to that spot on her neck which drove her wild. She tipped her head back as he gently nipped beneath her ear with his teeth and a few more thrusts of his hips against hers and she was done, fingers wrapped around his hair as the lights exploded in front her eyes and she felt the coil in her stomach unravelling as she came hard underneath him, hips bucking upwards, almost violently. Her voice was broken as she gasped out “Frankie…”

He loved it when she called him that, her name for him, the name that no-one called him other than her. It tumbled from her lips so easily, and seeing and feeling her fall apart in his arms sent him over the edge right behind her in a pure surge of ecstasy. His head dropped to the crook of her shoulder and she gently ran her fingers through his hair as they both breathed deeply as they waited to regain control of their bodies. Eventually both of them evened out and he raised his head to look at her, to find her smirking a little, her eyes twinkling with what looked like humour.

“What?” he managed to ask, his nose sliding against hers.

“So, about Monty…”

“For fucks…fine, she can have the damned pony.” he groaned, dropping his head to her chest and she grinned, as one of her hands ran up and down his spine causing the muscles in his back and shoulders to gently twitch at her touch.

“I’m starving.” she said, as he raised his head to look at her.

“I’ll order food.” he said, “Then I think I should probably shower before it arrives…seeing as I just shot my load in my pants like a fourteen year old kid.”

“I’ll go start it running.” she bit her lip and he grinned at her as he pushed himself up off the couch before offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up, dropping a kiss to her forehead as his gaze once more dropped to her chest. With a certain glint in her eye she turned around and sauntered to the doorway before she stopped, and turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Best hurry before I use all the hot water.”

As she walked off down the hall, her hips swaying slightly, Frank was hard again like it had never left. Grabbing his phone he ordered the food before he shot off to join her.

***** “Evelyn.” he greeted his mother as she stood up from the table she was sat at which was outside the back of the small café bar, overlooking the beach.

“Hello Frank, hello Mary.” she greeted them both.

“Hi.” Mary smiled, settling into a seat and Frank took the one next to her. After an awkward moment of small talk, the waitress arrived and Frank ordered himself a beer and a soda for Mary, Evelyn taking an ice tea.

“So, how have you been?” Evelyn asked, her question directed to Mary, which was fine by Frank.

“Good.” Mary said and she launched into an explanation of everything that had happened in her life since she had last seen Evelyn as Frank had taken her home from Tampa. Frank was listening, vaguely, simply observing how easy Mary found it to simply forgive and forget everything that had happened. But then again, she was merely eight years old (well, as of tomorrow anyway) and that was the beauty and innocence that came with childhood he supposed.

“And then we moved into the new house.” Mary said as their drinks arrived. ”Fliss stays with us a lot, she practically lives with us now…Frank says she will do properly at some point but not yet.”

“You moved?” Evelyn looked at Frank who nodded.

“Part of the conditions of me getting Guardianship.” he said simply.

“Have you moved far or…” “It’s on the same park as our old one but it’s bigger” Mary answered for him. “My room is awesome, it’s blue and I have a cabin bed with a desk underneath it and a big TV.” “Still fixing boats?” Evelyn asked and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Mother.” “I’m just asking.” she held her hands up.

“Yes, I am. But I’m working for someone now. A friend of Fliss’ dad, he has a repair-shop attached to a sales place. Good wage, health insurance.” he added, unable to stop himself and he saw his mother’s mouth twitch.

“I’m impressed. I never thought I’d see the day”

At that point, Mary announced she was hungry and the three of them studied the menus, before Mary decided on a cheeseburger and fries. Frank opted for a steak hoagie whilst Evelyn went for a salad

“How long are you in town for?” Frank asked her as soon as their order was taken

“Until Monday…” Evelyn said “I thought, if it’s ok that is, that maybe I could take you all to dinner tomorrow for Mary’s birthday”

Ok, so that was unexpected.

“We can’t.” Mary said “We’re going to Verity’s like we do every Sunday. That’s Fliss’ mom.” she explained “We play in the pool and then she does a big Sunday dinner and makes ice cream sundaes or pies…but tomorrow she’s doing me a special birthday cake.”

“That sounds very nice.” Evelyn replied

“You should come. Roberta is….” Mary added.

Oh, for fucks sake…

“Mary…” Frank began but she turned and shrugged at him, recognising his warning tone.

“What? Verity says it’s my special birthday dinner so I could pick what I wanted to eat and I could bring someone…”

“Yeah and you chose to take Roberta…” Frank looked at her “Verity already does enough for you…”

“It’s okay.” Evelyn said, hastily cutting him off. “Thank you for the invite Mary but, well let’s see shall we?”

The rest of the afternoon was reasonably pleasant, well as pleasant as it could be. Mary told Evelyn all about what she was doing at School and then Evelyn filled Frank in a little bit on what she’d been doing with Diane’s work. Frank could tell she was surprised when he told her he’d been following the process on the internet, and when the time came to say goodbye, he promised he’d call her and arrange for her to be able to see Mary at least for some time tomorrow so she could give her the gifts she had bought.

Frank drove them to the yard and Mary shot out as soon as the truck had stopped, barrelling round the corner to go and see Monty. Fliss was busy teaching in the paddock and Frank spotted that Bill was in the Office, already screwing up one of the shelves that Frank had made ready to put up.

“Hey Bill.” he said, “You know I was gonna do that…” “Oh it’s no bother.” Bill smiled, “I’ve been fixing the door on the back barn anyway so…” “I was gonna do that too.” Frank chuckled.

“Yeah, well I told Fliss to stop asking you.” Bill shrugged, marking a spot on the wall to fix the bracket to “You work enough, weekends should be free.” Frank smiled, and then stepped forward to help Bill hold up the wooden plank whilst he made sure it was straight.

“How did it go with your mother?” Bill asked.

“Surprisingly okay.” Frank said “She was reasonable and seemed genuinely interested in how Mary was doing.” “She in town long?” “Until Monday. “Frank said.

“She coming to dinner tomorrow?” Bill asked, and Frank frowned, his head cocking to one side.

“You been talking to Mary by any chance?” “No, how can I?” Bill asked, looking at him “You just got here.” “Fair point.” Frank conceded.

“Why do you ask?” “Because that’s exactly what Mary did. Invited her. Thankfully Evelyn was tactful enough to put her off but…” “You should let her come.” Bill said.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” Frank shook his head.

“Why?” Bill pressed.

“I just…” Frank took a deep breath “Her seeing Mary is one thing, integrating herself in to our lives is another.”

“Can I give you a bit of advice son?” Bill looked at him, and when Frank didn’t protest he continued “Don’t cut your nose off to spite your face. I know you owe her nothing, but if she’s reaching out here. Maybe think about giving it a whirl, test how serious she actually is and take the olive branch. That or look at it as giving her enough rope to hang herself. Either way, you win.” Frank didn’t really have an answer. And he didn’t until much later that evening when they were all sat outside the back of Bill and Verity’s with a few drinks.

And, of course, when he asked Verity if she minded accommodating one more person, she assured him she didn’t.

**** Naturally Mary was up at the crack of dawn the following morning, unwrapping a pile of gifts that Frank and Fliss had bought her. Some books, DVDs, new clothes, a pair of new sneakers and then after breakfast Frank took her out into the yard where she squealed when she spotted the new blue and pink BMX she’d asked him for. After she donned her helmet and did a few rides up and down the drive, demanding to know how long she’d need stabilisers for, Fliss emerged from the annex, Thor at her feet and gave Frank a wink.

“Mary, Joanna just called…” she said “I need to pop up to the stables for an hour. Wanna come?” “Yeah!” She grinned, and immediately set off biking back towards the house.

Frank announced that he’d come too and Mary didn’t’ give it a second thought. They drove to the yard and climbed out, Mary shooting off straight to see Monty.

Frank took Fliss’ hand in his as they followed, and finally caught up with her as she was stood, her mouth hanging open at the fact that Monty’s door had a huge Happy Birthday banner on it, and the white pony wore a bow around his neck. He turned his head to face them, completely nonplussed by all the fuss.

“I don’t…why is he…” Mary turned to Fliss then looked at Frank and then back to the pony “Is he wishing me happy birthday?” “Kind of.” Fliss said, smiling. “Open the card.” She grabbed the card that was tacked to the door and her eyes roved the writing inside. Immediately they widened and filled with tears as she looked up at the two adults in front of her.

“He’s mine?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded, a lump forming in his own throat at the sight of how happy she was.

“For real?”

“For real.” he assured her.

“Like, really? Mine? No one else is sharing him anymore?” “No one else.” Frank shook his head.

She gave a loud squeal and threw herself at Frank, wrapping her arms around his legs. “Thank you!” “Happy birthday Stack.” he smiled, bending down to hug her back.

“You’re the best uncle ever…” “Makes a change.” he muttered, “And this was Fliss’ idea…you have her to thank.”

“Took me ages to persuade him…” Fliss grinned and Frank snorted, as Mary moved over and gave Fliss a huge hug

“You’re the best too.” she smiled, before the attention turned back to her new pet.

They spent an hour or so at the yard, Mary doing her first jobs as Monty’s owner, mucking his stable out, grooming him, filling his hay net up. Eventually they dragged her away after Fliss and Frank both assured her now that she had her pony she could come after school three nights a week and then both days at weekends to take care of him and ride when she wanted to. They picked Roberta up on the way home, and then once Mary had unwrapped her gift from Roberta which was another large lego set much to her delight, the three adults sat outside with a beer, Mary scribbling away in the new journal they’d bought her, no doubt writing about Monty, and then Frank received a call from his mother to tell him she was at the gate.

Fliss, Roberta and Mary headed over to the main house whilst Frank walked down to collect Evelyn. He didn’t miss the appraising look she was taking at the property as they walked back down the drive, Frank taking the bag of gifts off Evelyn politely. He introduced her to Bill, who was stood outside with Mary admiring her bike, and then Frank led her into the large entrance area of the old farmhouse.

Once the ‘pleasantries’, if you could call them that were over and Evelyn had met Verity and been handed a glass of wine, they all headed out onto the raised decking that overlooked the pool.

“This is…nice.” Evelyn said, as she took in the surroundings “I expected something different.” “In what way?” Verity asked, and Frank didn’t miss the way the woman bristled as his mother’s tone.

“Oh, just, well, seeing where Frank lives…”

“Excuse me?” Verity looked at the woman, frowning.

“What my mother means…” Frank butt in, glaring at Evelyn “is thank you for inviting her over.”

“Yes, I didn’t mean anything by it, I haven’t actually seen Frank’s new place yet.” Evelyn smiled, the expression not meeting her eyes “And, thank you of course.” “I didn’t invite you.” Verity shrugged “Mary did. And as it’s my little pud’s birthday who am I to argue…speaking of which, where is she?”

“Here!” Mary said, running out of the house, Bill following “I was just showing Bill my new bike!” she ran to Verity and gave her a hug and Verity smiled, wrapping her arms around her.

It didn’t escape Frank’s notice the way his mother was watching the pair of them, as Mary pulled back and asked if she could go in the pool.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Bill cut in. “Well, that’s what my nose is telling me anyway. Maybe later.”

“On a full stomach?” Evelyn looked at Frank “is that really a good idea?”

“Hasn’t killed her yet.” Verity shot back. And Evelyn turned her eyes to the woman again.

There was a moment’s frosty silence, and Fliss turned her eyes to her dad, begging him to help. And he did. “Shall we go in?” Bill asked, “Someone has presents to open!” “Oh, yes!” Verity smiled, frostiness completely gone “Come on!”

Mary gave a squeal and Bill laughed, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders as the 3 of them headed up the steps. Frank followed behind, falling into step with his mother as Fliss hung back slightly, turning to Roberta when the woman spoke to her.

“Remind me who thought this was gonna be a good idea?”

Five minutes or so later, the Gallagher living room was on its way to being a mass of shredded wrapping paper, Mary sat in the middle of another pile of gifts which were from Bill and Verity, and also Evelyn. Evelyn had brought Mary some new Maths books, which Frank refrained from rolling his eyes at, and then Mary opened her mouth.

“I don’t read a lot of maths books now in my spare time, we’re reading Harry Potter.” she mused. “We’re on the fourth one now.”

“But they’ll be good for school.” Frank looked at her sternly.

“Yes, thank you Evelyn.” Mary corrected herself. Evelyn smiled and told her she was welcome, as Mary moved on to the next set, which Frank was surprised to see was a pile of seven Leather bound Children’s classics.

“I bought your mother something similar when she was your age.” Evelyn explained “I thought you might like them.” Mary’s eyes widened as she ran her hands over the cover of “Black Beauty” and looked up at Evelyn. “I do, thank you.” Evelyn had also placed a few hundred dollars in her card for her to spend on whatever she wanted, which she grinned at and informed everyone she was going to be spending it on new things for Monty.

“Who’s Monty?” Evelyn asked.

“My pony!” Mary grinned “Fliss and Frank gave him to me this morning.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raised slightly and she smiled “How nice…”

“Did you ever have a pony?” Mary asked.

“No.” Evelyn said, “But Frank and your mother’s Step-Father now has several.” Frank smiled, shaking his head slightly, the thought of that still amused him.

“Does he show jump?” Mary pressed.

“I believe he does western riding.” Evelyn shrugged “Although I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Mary nodded, taking the information in before she looked at Fliss “We should do Western Riding.”

“One day, maybe.” Fliss mused “I mean I do have the boots and the hat…”

Mary nodded “Yup, you do…” before she reached over to Bill and Verity’s pile, picking out the longest one. Her eyes widened as she unwrapped the box, and glanced up at Fliss before she pulled the lid off and removed one of the long De-Niro riding boots. They were patent snake-skin effect leather, with a band of pink glitter around the tops.

“They’re…” Mary’s mouth flopped open “They’re like yours but pink!” she looked at Fliss, then turned to Bill and Verity.

“Fliss told us you liked hers.” Verity beamed at her. “So now you have your own pair.” After a scramble, during which Frank told her to calm down about fifty times, she soon had them on and Frank helped her with the zips as they were still a little stiff.

“You’ll need to wear them in like you did with your short ones.” Fliss said, “But these are ONLY for riding in. Use your other ones for yard work and stuff.”

“Damned girl!” Robert grinned as Mary did a cat walk of sorts, strutting down the centre of the room “Think I should get myself a pair…” “You don’t’ ride!” Mary gave Roberta a withering look.

“No but they’d look good with some jeans.”

As Mary began to point out to Roberta that she was being ridiculous, Frank looked at Bill raising an eyebrow. He knew exactly how much those boots had cost, as he had been looking into getting her a pair himself but then she’d told him she wanted a bike.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you off for how much you’ve spent on those is there?” he asked.

“Nope.” Bill smirked “Don’t suppose there is.”

“She’s worth it.” Verity smiled.

Mary flopped down and opened the rest of her gifts which consisted of her own copies of the Harry Potter films on DVD and some vouchers for the Tack Shop and a book about horse breeds.

“Thank you!” she said, smiling as she stood up and launched at Bill who gave her a hug before she moved to Verity.

“You’re very welcome Pudding!” Verity smiled, brushing her hair back. “Now, someone said something about wanting a roast beef dinner!”

“Can I help?” Mary asked.

“Of course you can.” Verity said, and she stood up.

“Boots.” Frank said, and Mary stopped

“But I need to wear them in.” “Not in here…” “Frank, she’s fine.” Verity soothed him “They’re clean…not that I care, it all vacuums up.” Frank shook his head “You let her get away with murder.” Verity grinned “My prerogative as her Pseudo Nana.”

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Evelyn suddenly spoke up. Frank glanced at her, noticing that her face was overly passive, a look she had often worn with him when he’d done something she disapproved of but was refraining from passing comment. Seems like Verity’s comment had had an effect on her, not that she had any right to be upset, mind.

“Course, out in the hall, second on the left.” Bill nodded and she made her way out of the room.

“She ok?” Fliss asked, looking at Frank.

“Who knows, she’s Evelyn.” he shrugged by means of an answer.

Half an hour later they were all seated round the large table, tucking into their roast Dinner. Mary’s plate was piled with her favourite things, beef, mash, 3 Yorkshire puddings, and broccoli all accompanied by what looked like enough gravy to fill a bath tub with. For once Verity had foregone insisting Mary eat more veg, because who wants veg on their birthday anyway?

The conversation was polite, Evelyn thanking Verity for her food and complementing her cooking. Fliss was pleased to see her mother softening slightly. Evelyn was a very sore subject to the woman, given what she’d put Frank through, but both Bill and Fliss had warned her previously that if Frank’s mother was going to be a fixture in Mary’s life going forward, then Verity needed to accept that.

“Did you manage to get that wardrobe up, son?” Bill asked looking at Frank who gave a chuckle as Fliss hit his arm.

“Eventually…once we realised someone was reading the instructions out wrong.” “I warned you.” Fliss shrugged. “You should have paid someone to come fit it.” “I managed fine once my narrator had sorted herself out.” he rolled his eyes.

“What is it about men and their insistence on being able to do everything themselves?” Roberta asked.

“I’ll remember that next time you ask me to come fix something in your apartment.” Frank pointed his fork at her.

“So, you said you haven’t seen Frank’s new place yet?” Verity asked Evelyn who shook her head in response. “Any particular reason or…”

“I’m actually allergic to cats so…” Verity made to say something else but one look from Bill stopped her dead and she nodded. “Well, if you can you should pop a Benadryl and go over. Bill and Frank did the work themselves, and they did a very good job.” “Yeah and now Frank says Fliss is filling it full of crap.” Mary supplied and Fliss turned to Frank, who groaned.

“Oh did he?” “No, that’s…all I said was that you were buying too many throw cushions and stuff…”

“It looked boring.” Fliss shrugged “Needed colour.”

“I agree.” Mary nodded

“Course you do.” Frank rolled his eyes.

“It was too grey, Frank.” Mary said, mimicking exactly what Fliss had said “The cushions and the rug look good.”

“Well when you move out and get your own apartment you can fill it with all the cushions you want.” Frank looked at her.

“I’m never moving out.” Mary shrugged.

“Oh, trust me. You are.” Frank teased “Soon as you’re 16 I’m packing your bags and you’re gone.” “Whatever.” Mary rolled her eyes at his empty threat “We all know that’s rubbish. You told me I’d have a home with you for life.” “Yeah well I changed my mind.” “You can move in with me baby!” Roberta looked at Mary who grinned.

“You want her you can have her.” Frank said “Be my guest.”

“Oh behave Frank.” Verity scoffed “We all know you’d fight tooth and nail to keep her with you…”

Fliss let out an inward groan and glared at her mother who scrunched her eyes closed in an ‘oh shit’ expression.

“I didn’t…” Verity began, before she shook her head “That’s not what I meant.” “It’s ok.” Evelyn looked at her. “You clearly have very strong opinions on the matter.” “Which she will be keeping to herself as it’s not the time or the place.” Fliss said, effectively ending the conversation “What’s done is done.” She felt Frank’s hand squeeze her knee under the table before he reached over for his glass of water.

“Did Mary tell you she’s going to Camp this summer?” Bill said, swiftly changing the subject.

“Camp?” Evelyn tuned to Mary who nodded “How…nice.”

Frank fought his desire to snort at his Mother’s expression, because he knew camping was her idea of hell.

“Yeah I’m going with scouts.” she said “We’re going to…err…what’s it called again?” “Sandkey Park.” Frank said “In Clearwater.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Mary said, swallowing another huge bite of food “We’re doing outdoor activities and water sports and stuff.” “How long for?” Evelyn asked.

“Five days.” Mary said “And then I’m staying with Verity and Bill for a weekend so Frank can take Fliss away on holiday whilst I’m gone.” “Anywhere nice?” Evelyn looked at Frank.

“Not decided yet have we?” Frank looked at Fliss who shook her head.

“And then we’re all going to New York in December.” Mary said, “ I can’t wait to see the Christmas Trees and lights and snow…” “You’ll love it.” Evelyn smiled “New York at Christmas is magical.” Ok, now that surprised Frank. “You’ve been?” he asked, frowning.

“Your father took me the first Christmas we moved to Boston.” she said, looking at Frank “Did I never tell you?” “No, you didn’t” Frank said “I always thought you hated Christmas.” “I hated it without your Father.” Evelyn corrected him, causing him to frown even more, before she hastily recovered herself. “Where are you staying?”

“The Waldorf.” Fliss said, and Evelyn nodded her head, clearly impressed.

“Your new job must be paying well.” “It keeps me afloat.” Frank said simply.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation, and once everyone was finished Verity stood up, announcing that it was time for some coffee and cake. “How do you take yours Evelyn?” Verity asked. “Black, no sugar thank you.” Evelyn replied. “I don’t know how people can drink it like that, I find it too bitter.” Roberta pulled a face.

“Me too.” Bill mused “Milk and two sugar kind of man.” “Well I find that taking it bitter helps me keep the mosquitos away.” Evelyn said, with a glance at Fliss, directly referencing their first ever conversation. Fliss choked slightly on her water and side-eyed Frank who was smirking into his glass. When Fliss looked back at Evelyn, she was surprised to see the woman was wearing an amused smile.

“Bit like Garlic keeps the Vampires away huh?” Roberta quipped.

“So that’s how to get rid of you!” Bill smirked, looking up at Verity who shot him a glare as she headed into the kitchen. Fliss got to her feet to help clear down the table along waving both Roberta and Evelyn back into their seats when they too rose to help and insisted that as guests they remained put.

An hour or so later after the candles had been blown out and the cake had been eaten, they all retired outside onto the decking, Mary finally getting her way and after a quick change taking a running jump into the pool. After a round of drinks, Evelyn announced that her car was here and that she should be leaving. After politely thanking them for their hospitality, she smiled and then Frank stood to walk her to the gate one Mary had bid her goodbye.

“They seem a nice family.” Evelyn smiled at him as they walked down the gravel Frank nodded “Yeah, they’re great. Brilliant with Mary too so…” “You seem happy Frank.”

“I am.” He nodded as he pressed the button on the gate to open it, revealing the silver Mercedes that was waiting.

“I’m glad.” she said, gently touching his arm. Frank glanced down at her hand before he looked at her, his eyebrow raised.

“You’re not going to try and hug me now are you?” he asked, a little playfully, but it was enough to make his point. That was the first motherly touch he’d felt from Evelyn in about 20 years.

“I don’t think we’re quite at that point, do you?” “Were we ever?”

“You’d be surprised.” she smiled at him “You were quite an affectionate little boy. Very like your father that way.”

Frank raised his eyebrows a little, as she stepped towards the car and he opened the door for her.

“You remind me a lot of him now.” she looked at Frank “Both in looks, personality, your mannerisms.”

“That why we don’t get along?” Frank asked as she climbed into the car.

“Who knows?” Evelyn said, with a slight smile “Thank you for this weekend. I’ll contact you about seeing her again soon if that’s ok.” Frank nodded “Like I said, as long as Mary’s happy then…”

With that he stepped back, closing the car door. He watched it drive off up the road before he turned and made his way back into the house, deciding that overall it hadn’t been that bad an afternoon.

**** “Stop bouncing on the bed.” Frank said sternly “It’s not a trampoline”

“It’s like one.” Mary replied.

“Yeah well a mine field is technically a field but I wouldn’t let you walk through one…”

Mary flopped down onto the bed “Sorry, I’m just so excited.” “I can tell, but it’s bed time. It’s already late…come on.”

She scrambled under the covers and Frank perched on the edge of the bed as Fliss popped her head in the door.

“Just going for a shower.” she smiled, walking into the room to pop a kiss onto Mary’s head “Night honey.” “Night Fliss, thank you for the best day ever.” “You’re welcome.” Fliss said, straightening up before she headed out of the room. “I wish Fliss was my mom.” Mary sighed, and Frank looked at her, frowning slightly. “I mean, I know my mom loved me but…I never knew her.” Frank sighed, and ran his hand over Mary’s head “I know, Stack, but…well, she would be very proud of you, you know that.” “It’s Mothers’ Day in a week.” Mary said “I heard Fliss talking to Verity about it before, asking her if there was anything she wanted.” she reached out, her hand grabbing Frank’s, her fingers playing with his “Do you think Fliss would mind if I made her a card and maybe got her some flowers?” “I’m sure she would be fine about it.” Frank felt his chest tightening. He hated how wise and old she acted at times. “Now come on, lights out and…try and worry about something else, like how much Monty shit you’re gonna be shovelling from now on.” “The best type of shit!” Mary grinned.

“I’ll let that one go because it’s your birthday.” he pointed at her “But repeat that again, I’ll hang you out of the window by your ears.” She giggled as he stood up and dropped a kiss to her head, before he made his way into the bedroom.

As soon as Fliss was out of the shower, Frank was on her. His hands and mouth roving every bit of her body as he laid her on the bed. He was needy, wanting to feel grounded after the, frankly, surreal weekend he’d had and she was his home, the one person he knew he could rely on to keep him sane, and feeling safe. It was intense, and when it was finally over, they both collapsed, at the complete wrong end of the bed, tangled under a blanket, neither having mustered the energy or the desire to move.

As good as their sex was, no scratch that, as mind blowing as their sex was, he knew that Fliss craved the after moments just as much, where Frank would simply tenderly hold her, snuggle her, kiss her...treat her like a human instead of some kind of object there merely for his gratification and he was happy to oblige. They lay together, Franks left arm resting under Fliss' neck as her long hair spilled in a mass of waves off the edge of the bed as her face rested mere inches from Frank's, a dazed smile on her features. He smiled softly back at her, his right hand reaching up from where it had been resting on her hip to gently cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"What you thinking about Sailor?" She asked softly, looking onto his ocean blue eyes as he took a deep breath.

"How lucky I am." He replied.

She gave a soft chuckle as she scooted a bit closer to him, nuzzling her head under his chin. His arms both moved to wrap around her and cradle her close as he dropped a kiss to her head.

"Do you think Mary had a good day?" Fliss asked softly and Frank made a noise of affirmation in his throat.

"Are you kidding?" He looked down at her. “She got a new bike, her own pony, a library's worth of books, a tonne of money, a trip to New York, a ridiculously expensive pair of riding boots, which by the way your parents are still in big trouble for, and to top it all off she ate enough cake and roast beef to feed a small army. I'd say she’s had a fucking amazing day."

"I think it went ok with Evelyn too. Well in that no one drowned one another"

Frank gave a huff of a laugh as his hand ran up and down Fliss's spine "it's a sad state of affairs when that's the sign of a successful dinner...no one being drowned."

"You clearly don't know my mother that well." she snorted and at that Frank gave another small laugh, the vibrations from his chest passing to Fliss'.

“Speaking of Mothers.” he said, suddenly remembering his conversation with Mary as he had tucked her into bed before. “Mary asked me something before…” “Yeah?” Fliss looked at him.

“So, it’s Mother’s Day on Sunday.” His hand brushed Fliss’ hair back “And she asked me if I thought you’d mind her giving you a card.”

Fliss blinked for a moment, her mouth falling ever so slightly open.

“If you do, then it’s not an issue…” Frank hastily began but Fliss cut him off.

“No, I…” she took a deep breath “Of course I don’t mind…not at all. But do you?” “What?”

“Well, how do you feel about it?”

Frank shrugged “She gives one to Roberta every year, not a card about her being a mother as such, it’s more a thank you for everything she does…I suspect yours will be the same.”

“Feel like a bit of a fraud though.” Fliss shrugged. “Fraud?” Frank looked at her.

“Well, yeah.” Fliss shrugged. “You’re the one that does the hard work with her, I just get to do the fun stuff.” “I don’t think you realise just how much of an impact you’ve had on her since coming into our lives.” Frank said honestly “I notice things she does now, that she never did before, things which she’s blatantly picked up from you.” “Like what?” Fliss looked at him.

“She helps you with dinner…” “You never cook.” Fliss cut him off

“The way she’s far less serious…” Frank pressed on “The way she is with Monty, how she gets on with your parents…wants to buy damned throw cushions.”

Fliss chuckled, her hand resting on Frank’s bare hip “You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit for how she has turned out. I know you don’t look upon yourself as her dad but…well, you are. In everything but name and have been since she was six months old. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“So in conclusion you’re ok about the card?” Frank said, and Fliss laughed, recognising that for what it was. Him moving the conversation along, the way he always did when he was feeling bashful about praise.

“Yes, I’m fine about the card.” she smiled at him, her hand reaching up to run through his soft, fluffy hair.

“We should probably get in bed…” he mused, his eyes closed.

“We are.” “I mean the right way round.” “Oh…” Fliss sat up, and Frank heard the rustling of bedcovers before something soft hit him in the face.

“Problem solved” Fliss grinned as he reached up and grabbed the pillow she’d smacked him with, chuckling. Shoving it under his head he settled down slightly, arms round his girl, closing his eyes.

**** Chapter 17

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic

73 notes · View notes

brittledame · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Cursing, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Hate Sex, Spanking, Slight degradation, Panty stealing, Table sex

Word Count: 7.6K

Summary: A school project brings together two academic rivals, where their dislike for one another reaches a whole new level. You and Shirabu constantly duke it out for the top grade, where it becomes an everyday occurrence to see the two scowling at and insulting one another. The tension between you two finally reaches a boiling point one afternoon when an argument breaks out.

Series: Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 & Part 3)

Shiratorizawa was a private school full to the brim of prestige and practically screams ‘money’. Inside of the sleek modern exterior, each extracurricular club ranging from calligraphy to kyūdō possessed state-of-the-art facilities. Basically, you name it and there was most likely already a club for it, with each one allocated a ridiculous amount of funding. It did help that a lot of old and new money sent their kids to the school, which unfortunately leads to uppity pricks with uptight attitudes flaunting their wealth at the drop of a hat festering the hallways.

One such uppity prick went by the name of Shirabu Kenjirou and he was the bane of your existence. He came from an affluent background, old money resulting from smart trades in property stock way back before the global telecommunications were even conceptualised. You could smell the money oozing from his pores in the form of some ridiculously over-priced Giorgio Armani cologne, topped off with his neatly pressed uniform and copper-toned hair perfectly sleek.

The part that pissed you off the most about the male, and has led to your open dislike for the asshole, was the fact that he got into Shiratorizawa solely by his phenomenal grades, never once relying on daddy’s money to get in, like most of your cohort. Meanwhile, you made every single second count when studying, not a moment wasted between school and sleep, just to hope to qualify for the academic scholarship. For a while your parents fretted that you were studying too much just to pass some school’s entrance exams, where their platitudes of ‘you’re already plenty intelligent enough, honey’ and ‘you could ace it this very moment’ weren’t enough to soothe your stressed mind.

Not even three months later, you sat the exam and low and behold, you did ace it, much to your amazement. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing your name on their admittance board not even a month later, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. The only thing that ruined your moment was the name that ranked just above yours, taking in first place: Shirabu Kenjirou. So, your well-known rivalry with the copper-tinged blonde asshole started one-sided and quickly evolved into something much greater than you could’ve ever imagined.

For both your first and second year, you shared the same class as Shirabu. It was to be expected since you were both in the same grade average bracket, but still a girl could dream, right? Much to your ever-growing annoyance you were placed in the same third year class as well. Evidently you were unable to escape his prickly attitude.

Every task, assignment and exam became a silent challenge between the two of you. Each and every time, you’d throw yourself into your studies just to wipe the smug look he gives you every time he pulls through with the top mark.

The worst part of all this was the fact that he consistently pulled high marks while balancing a sport on top of his studies. You’d have to give it to him, you honestly don’t know when he manages to fit in eating and sleeping in that hectic schedule of his.

Now to place two head-strong individuals together was just begging for trouble, especially when your little competition has reached infamy around the sprawling campus. Turn out trouble is exactly what your science teacher was looking for when she placed the two of you together for the physic unit’s partner research report about their topic of choice. You looked at her like she’d lost her goddamn mind, not sparing the equally shocked Shirabu a glance. You didn’t even bother to argue with her, knowing it would’ve ended up worse somehow if you did.

“Fuck.” You muttered, hoping four the next six weeks to pass quickly

As soon as the Ms. Nakamura dismissed the class, you marched over to his desk. Stopping directly in front of him, you perched your hands on your hips and gave him a disdainful look.

“Look, for the course of this project I am willing to be civil with you.” You place a genial hand over your chest to complete your saintly sacrifice. Looking up, Shirabu gives you a blank look, before returning to annotating his textbook with bright sticky notes.

‘What a fucking dick,’ You silently seethe.

“Whatever. Just pick a topic and I’ll start on it.” His monotone voice serves to piss you off more. You curl your hands into tight fists, resisting the glorious thought of punching his pretty face.

“Um, I think not. We’ll pick the topic out together and we’ll equally distribute the work. I don’t want to hear you bitching to your hot teammates that I’m slacking.”

Grabbing a vacant chair near his desk, you spin it around and sit on it backwards, ignoring his disgruntled look. Tapping on your phone, you open a new contact and start filling it out.

“What’s your number, dickhead?” Shirabu’s head shot up at the insult and you grin at him, shaking your phone in front of his face.

“None of your fucking business, bitch.” He bites out, forehead creasing as he glares at you, completing his signature expression.

“Well, asshole, if you somehow managed to forget already, let me remind you. We need to collaborate on this and to do that, we need a line of communication. Texting is the easiest option.” You reason. You weren’t fond of the idea of Shirabu having your number either, the ass will probably write it in the boy’s changeroom as retribution for some misdeed you’ve done.

Deliberating, Shirabu’s pen stops its furious scribbling. Heaving a great sigh, he concludes that unfortunately you were correct, but that didn’t mean he had to explicitly admit that.

Snatching your phone, he ignores your indignant shout as he taps out his phone number and tosses the phone back at you.

“Great, thanks for being a team player, sport.” You say, as you clean the screen off on the bottom of your uniform top.

As you get up and return the chair to its correct place, you trudge over to your desk whilst starting to conjuring up some topic ideas to suggest.

Peeking from under his uneven fringe, Shirabu watches your skirt sway as you walk. He loves it whenever you walk away from him, leaving him to both think in peace and admire the way your hypnotising hips move as you walk. The short purple plaid Shiratorizawa skirt left little to his imagination whenever you bent over, or a strong breeze came through. Shirabu briefly wondered how the hell you evaded the school’s disciplinary committee’s strict uniform coding monitors in the hallway because he’s sure that you’re breaking at least two of them on any given day.

The next day, you texted Shirabu the list of thesis concepts you wrote up. You were surprised when your phone vibrated in your hand, delivering his speedy reply.

Shithead: Sure.

What the fuck were you meant to do with that dry ass reply?

Now angry that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you texted him back to pick a god damn topic before you went over to his practice and caused a scene. And just like that he stopped being obstinate and picked the one you were secretly hoping he would choose; it was the one focusing on Einstein’s thought experiments how his process was adapted into modern-day quantum research.

After a few back and forth texts by that afternoon you had both scheduled a few meetups over the next few weeks for the more challenging components, such as devising a solid thesis and finding some credible academic papers to back-up your statements.

A week later found you waiting in the library, going through your homework as you wait for Shirabu’s team practice to end, hoping to make good use of some of your free time.

By the time Shirabu swept into the room, you had already gotten a good head start in the assignment. Dressed in his neatly pressed uniform and not a hair out of place, you almost suspected that he made up the excuse of volleyball practice to get out of spending anymore time than necessary with you. The asshole breezes past you, not even offering an apology or reason as to why he was late, but you could at least deduct that practice was at fault – that is if he even went.

“Well since you decided to keep me waiting for –“ You glance down at your phone, “forty-five minutes, I already started it. I’ve written both the study’s aim and objective and began devising the outline for what needs to be addressed in the introduction.” You say shortly, not waiting for him to seat himself and set up before you push your laptop across the desk and into his personal space.

Shirabu rolls his eyes at your accusing tone and started to read what you’ve written up in the shared word document. Kenjirou was mildly impressed at how much you accomplished in such a short amount of time, but he tried not to show that outwardly though, afraid your already inflated ego would grow. Grunting in agreement, Shirabu slid the laptop back over to you.

“That’s fine. I’ll start pulling some sources for the statements you outlined and start writing them up. Why don’t you start researching any recent projects detailing new discoveries and start collecting data to include?”

That last part was less of a question and more of a demand, but his usual flat tone made it hard to distinguish between the two. The lack of inflection in his voice could just about put anyone to sleep, and after sitting here for almost an hour in the calming atmosphere of the library, you were ready to start dozing off.

A sharp kick to your shin ripped you out of your thoughts, causing to to yelp and rub at the sore spot. A quick look at Shirabu’s smug face illuminated by his screen was enough to rid the last of your daze, begrudgingly returning to your work.

Two hours had passed, filled by the tap-tapping abuse of your keyboards and the occasional groan released by you at another paywall obstructing an article containing some nice data. Other than that, Shirabu was a quiet as a graveyard. You’d assume he had spontaneously passed away if not for the typing and blinking, the fucker didn’t even look like he was breathing.

What a completely boring guy with a nasty attitude. The most interesting thing about him was his unfortunate fringe, looking like he got mugged in an alleyway by a guy with no fine motor skills wielding a pair of scissors.

Plainly coloured hair, irises almost an identical shade of almost blonde but not quite there. He was of average stature, maybe a little below for the volleyball team. He was completely normal, nothing you would normally give a second glance while passing by, and yet…

You mentally shake away the unwanted thoughts conjured by the sight of his hands, or the slight flexing of his arm under the thin fabric of the uniform shirt.

Dirty little fantasies of Shirabu just snapping one day after one too many insults, throwing you over his lap and just going to town on your ass with the same hand that scored so many serving points for the elite team filled your head incessantly. The force would jostle you forward, tears in your eyes as you beg him – for what you don’t know, but you would beg and he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat, the threat of cutting off your blood flow to your brain was enough to stop your breathless begs.

Wrapped up in your raunchy thoughts, your typing ceases and your eyebrows furrow as you’re faced with the horrible realisation that you actually have feelings other than hate for the up-tight prick. The feelings were far from romantic, more likely resting somewhere between hate and dislike, but it was still the principle of the matter. Acknowledging those feelings alone felt like you ceded your part in a game that you two had unofficially started.

Fuck.

The next few weeks were going to be hell. You internally groaned at the thought.

You had no idea just how right you were, as the next few Friday sessions were almost unbearable for you since that day. After that dreadful meet up, one could slice the tension that brewed between the two of you with their bare hand, even though it was solely emanating from you.

As most horrific diseases start, it was all innocuous at the beginning. The session all started the same: witty quips and digging barbs swapped at the beginning of your sessions before silently coming to the unanimous agreement to not speak another word to one another unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, you could feel the migraine pulsating threateningly behind your eyes at how effortlessly hot he was. The headache was quite literally the physical manifestation of the vexation you felt towards the irritating copper-haired male.

It turned out that your exasperation was mutual, Kenjirou thought if he had to sit through another session with your loud breathing or deafening clacking of your keyboard, he was going to start ripping out hair. He was at his wit’s end and he had no reason as to why you set him off so easily. Not even the over-exuberant Goshiki could elicit such a nasty comment so quickly from him, even on his worst days.

The tension mounting between you two from previous sessions hung heavy in the air, but neither of you were willing to acknowledge the elephant stampeding through the small and rarely used study room.

The irritating sound of your long, trimmed nails typing, no more like smashing, on your keyboard cut through the tension. It was enough to put Kenjirou on edge faster than any other assignment meet up. He’s had a hell of a week and while he didn’t have grueling practice today, spending it alone with you was the cherry on top.

Usually the silent and calming ambiance of the library never failed to soothe him when he’s tense and anxious, but his irritation was hitting a whole new level he’s never experienced before.

“I swear if you keep smashing at your keyboard like that, I’ll rip them off and shove them up your ass.” He seethes, hands curling into fists where they rested on the table.

Looking up, you give him an incredulous look before opening your mouth. God what Shirabu wouldn’t give to get that stupid mouth of yours to not ever open again. He’d be saving the world from one less idiot spreading their stupidity.

“That’s kinky Shirabu. This is a library, keep it in your pants and save it for the bedroom.” You tease, fluttering your long eyelashes at him paired with a plastic grin.

At the murderous look his gives you, you throw back your head and laugh quietly. You weren’t willing to face the librarian’s wrath if you broke the rules, even if you were situated on the deserted top floor in a room furthest from her station at the entrance.

Conversation stalls from there on out, with only the clacking of your keyboard’s once again filling the air, although you do take greater care when typing now, not that the asshole thanked you for your consideration.

Kenjirou watches you from his periphery as you brush your glossy hair over you your shoulder, ponytail bouncing with added weight. That stupid ass hair style that made Kenjirou want to reach over and yank –

“I know you lost a couple of brain cells playing volleyball but come on, are you really that slow?” You raised your eyebrow at him, glancing at the unfinished excel charts Kenjirou had elected to do.

Giving you an unimpressed look, he chooses not to bite, thinking he’s already wasted enough time acknowledging your existence. Kenjirou hadn’t even noticed you talking to him, he was just that used to tuning you out and hearing your annoying voice as background noise.

“Can you add a trendline to the data, so that the upward trend we mention in the discussion is clearly evident in the chart?” You carefully enunciate each word to him.

Your demeaning tone and slow talking really pissed Shirabu off this time, he clenches his jaw and expels an exasperated breath through his nose.

“I’d appreciate it if you don't address me like that ever again. A trendline on the data we collected is pointless, just a pretty line. If we generated the data ourselves, then maybe, but the studies these numbers are sourced off of don’t even have trendlines.” His reasoning is rock-solid, but he was a prick about it, so you rolled your eyes and moved on to the next section of the paper that needed sorting.

“Fine, I acquiesce. A trendline here would be rather inappropriate.” He scoffs at your formal language. This was coming from the same girl that he heard on many occasions say obscenities so vulgar it’d make a seasoned soldier blush.

Tense silence fills the void between you both. You brushed of the strange sensation of being on edge. It is true that Shirabu seems even more pissy than usual, but you’ve been dealing with his shit for weeks now, you could put up with two more sessions with the unbearable prick. Hopefully.

Focusing back on the shared document open before you, you stare blankly as you try to decipher his nonsense tables. Concerned, you quickly scroll through the rest of the discussion he had begrudgingly volunteered to complete. To your absolute horror, you noticed that your format of your portion of the discussion was utterly incongruous with his formatting.

Well shit.

While grammar mistakes and sentence structure could be tweaked and fixed within a day’s work, it would take you both at least a good day's to make the report’s content flow freely and have a singular format. Thankfully, you guys have the time to fix up his – and maybe some of your – mistakes.

“Could you not?” You say shortly, tacking on a sharp glare aimed at the bane of your existence.

“Could I not what? Use your big girl words.” He bites back, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore.

“Could you please stop fucking up our assignment. I don’t know about you, daddy’s money, but I’d really like to get full marks for this.” You shoot back, angry that he had the gall to be annoyed at you when he was the one fucking up the format of the assignment.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m doing everything that we outlined in our past sessions.” Kenjirou fumed. He swears to fucking god, if he has to argue with you over the (lack of) importance of a trend line for this data set again he’s going to scream.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you miss the way his eyes quickly flit down. Kenjirou hates himself for the way his dick twitched at the sight of you inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Licking his lips, he allows you to stew over his words and watches as you reluctantly accept his logic.

It was true, you guys didn’t really decide on a true format in the initial planning phases, it seemed like a far-off issue to worry about at that moment. Well the future is now and that issue was just going to compound by the day if it didn’t get sorted out soon. It didn’t help that you hated editing papers with a passion.

At your silence, he rolled his eyes so hard you were scared they may get stuck – although he deserves at least that much for all the shit he’s given you over the past three years. He turned back to his work and went back to ignoring you.

Oh well, two can play at that game. You didn’t want, nor need, to talk to the prick anyway.

Shifting your restless legs under the table, you accidentally kick Shirabu in the shin, earning you a dirty look. Enjoying the ugly look of his face, you give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“Oops, my bad, Shirabu. I’ll sure to be more cautious next time!” Topping off your act with some obnoxious batting of your eyelashes.

“Do it again and I’ll wipe that look off your face real fast.” He sneered back at you.

Ignoring all common sense, you played with the idea of what exactly he meant by his threat. Most likely nothing sexual and most definitely involving a punch. But that doesn’t stop you from briefly entertaining a short sexual fantasy involving the two of you fucking in his chair.

Damn, these thoughts have been getting more frequent and out-of-hand recently. If they became anymore of an issue, you may just have to see the on-campus therapist about your obvious undiagnosed nymphomania.

True to your nature, you decide to grab the metaphorical bull by the horn to see how hard he bucks. Adjusting your posture again, you lean your elbows on the table as you uncross your legs and again hit his leg stretched out under the table.

You could practically hear Shirabu’s restraint snap, a dark expression taking over his face. He jerks up and out of his chair and proceeds stalks towards you, a dangerous glint in his ochre eyes.

‘Oh shit, I might have actually overdone it this time. He’s going to fucking kill me.’ You were frozen in place, not even breathing as he towers over your seated form. You mentally said your goodbye’s to family and friends. They wouldn’t be shocked to find out that you met your end due to pure pettiness.

You were expecting at least a slap, maybe even a gut punch, so when he grabbed your arms and hoisted you onto your feet, you assumed the absolute worst. Unexpectedly, he backed your body against the table, his hips pinning yours against the hard edge, making it dig harshly into your back.

You gasp as a calloused hand grabs the back of your exposed neck, the other moving to your waist. He pulls himself incredibly close to you. You're sure there isn’t an atom of space left between the two of you now, feeling every inch of his body pressed up against yours.

He bends down and breathes softly into your ear words that set off a blaze within you.

“I warned you not to try me today and yet you kept on pushing me.” His low tone sent shivers down your spine.

Hands flat on the table, you shove yourself up against his hard chest even more, meeting his dark expression head-on.

“I figured you were all bark and no bite, so what’s the harm?” Ignoring the sharp edge of his previous words, you kept making digs at him. You already made peace with the fact that you may die at the hands of the unfairly attractive man before you.

Snapping, Shirabu grabs you by your tie, pulling you upwards and meeting your lips in a fierce kiss. It honestly was more teeth than lips, but you’d take whatever he would give you. Lust quickly replaced shock as you reciprocated the kiss, giving back as much as he gave you.

Never one to be one-upped, you both furiously made out against the table. Eventually you reluctantly conceded to him, pulling away gasping for breath to fill your aching lungs. While he didn't look as effected as you, he still panted as he caught his breath.

Lips kiss-swollen from the hard kiss he gave you, he gulped at the mussed up look of your uniform from the short make-out session. The sight alone was enough to spur him back into action. You met his lips half-way, hands flying up to bury themselves into surprisingly soft hair.

The kiss was more than just that, it was a battle of wills. It was another challenge set before you both, another one added to the extensive list of trials. It tested who had the guts to resolve the unresolved sexual tension building between you both.

Fingers digging into your soft flesh, he easily hoisted you up onto the table, slotting himself between the space made between your open legs. The kiss picks up intensity as he throws in a few nips at your bottom lip, while you lightly bite at his tongue invading your mouth.

You gasp at a particularly harsh bite at your bottom lip, drawing back to give the self-satisified male a scowl.

“Oh? Is this the reason why you’ve always been so short with me. It’s cute that you don’t know how to act around your crush.” Your teasing words make the male between your legs tense up.

“I’d rather bite off my own tongue than date you, bitch.” He goes to kiss you again. It was the only thing that got you to shut up, which he very enjoyed.

“Who said anything about dating, dearest? My, my, so you have been thinking of me.” You laughed and gave him a belittling look.

“The only thoughts I’ve had about you involve either shutting you up or fucking you senseless, so make of that what you will.” He grits out between clenched teeth, not willing to give you that inch he threw out to you like a lifeline.

If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted you to know exactly what he wanted to get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

You consider him under hooded eyelids, gaze sweeping up and down his clothed torso. Well at least he wanted the same thing that’s been haunting your waking thoughts for the past month. You weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth that's for sure.

“Sure, I mean you could try, but I doubt that you could even a moan out of me.” You said languidly, setting up another challenge. Now all he had to do was pick up the gauntlet.

Words igniting a fire within him, his lips tipped into a lopsided smirk. You had no idea what you just started and he was more than happy to show you the consequences of your bold actions.

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.”

The room you occupied was situated on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor of empty study rooms exactly like this one. It was highly unlikely that the elderly librarian at the entrance would hear what was about to go down. It was also unlikely any snooping students would come across your study room on the neglected floor.

You fully expected him to pull you into another bruising kiss before fucking you but it seemed that the stupidly hot bastard was just full of surprises today. Instead, he pulled you off the table and turned you to face the chair he had previously occupied. With the hand placed at the nape of your neck, the other moving to your opposite side of your waist, he pushed you down to lie against the cold tabletop. Though definitely not for your benefit, he pushed aside any stray bits of paper out of your way to prevent them from creasing.

You gasp as the pressure he applies onto you forces the breath out of your lungs, pressing you hard against the unforgiving surface. Hands scrabbling for a purchase to help you establish a counter force to push up against him, he bends down and breathes softly into your ear.

“Look at you so pliant for me, I could get used to this.” His smug tone made your blood boil. That bastard was going to milk this situation for all it has and you have no ground to stand on to refute him when you were planning on doing the exact same.

“You know, your nasty attitude destroys that pretty boy stereotype you have going on.” You retort. You weren’t going to take his bullshit laying down – metaphorically speaking.

Fed up with you running your mouth, always talking but never saying anything of substance, he hastily loosens his tie. Without warning, he shoves a bundle of fabric into your mouth, quickly moving his fingers away from teeth that would gladly bite down onto his precious setting tools.

Trying to voice your anger, you squirm in his grasp with muffled nonsensical words leaving your mouth.

Kenjirou marvels at the sight of your stuffed mouth, words finally muted and wide eyes that were angry at his action. If he knew this is all he had to do to get you to shut up for more than two seconds then he’d gladly do it again.

Kenjirou couldn’t help but wonder if your cheeks would also look like that if he’s shoved his dick between your plush pink lips but he saves that thought for another day. After all, he had at least half a year left to put up with your bullshit.

Pressing his hips against your ass, he revels at the feeling of finally having you under him, squirming and all. Deciding not to draw this out anymore than he already has, he smoothly grinds his slowly growing erection into the cleft of your ass obscured by ugly purple plaid.

Unsatisfied with the lack of friction, he flips up your skirt to reveal lacy panties. He thought it was a bit risqué to wear them at school but who was he to complain about the lovely gift.

You gave a muffled shout when he snapped against the waist band against your hip. Tempted, you considered trying to kick him in the shin again somehow in your position. The thought dissolved into nothing as he lightly smacks your ass, causing you to jolt forward more in surprise than in pain.

With the absence of any complaints or irritating whinging, Kenjirou weighed the plump flesh in his hand, grinning to himself when he hears you moan at his curious squeezing. He wondered what other delicious noises you’ll make under him.

Well there was only way to find out.

Winding his hand back, his hand came down with a loud ringing smack, hard enough to leave his hand pleasantly tingling. The pink imprint of his hand on your ass was going to be burned into his mind for a long time, a wave a heat rolling through him and coalescing in his groin.

Again, you jolt forward at the impact, nails scratching at the acrylic lacquer of the tabletop, unable to find purchase. While you could feel the poor skin pulse dully with pain, pure arousal flashed hot and bright within you. If you had ever thought spanking would be something you were into, you’re pretty sure Shirabu was one of the worst people to discover along with, always the one to abuse any situation.

The next time his hand came down on your ass, you mistakenly tensed, causing the pain to shoot through you ten-fold. You wince at the sensation of him hitting the exact same spot over and over again. You were sure the spot would be rouge red by this point, but the pain didn’t take away from the pleasure you derived from his rough treatment.

Mixing things up, Kenjirou bites his lip as he aims a smack right at the apex of your thighs, close enough to your core that the vibrations of the hit ripped a lewd moan from your lips, much louder than the rest. Blood rushing down to his already engorged cock at your noises, he knows that he could easily get addicted to your bent form. You enjoying the spanking was just a fun bonus for him.

“I should’ve guessed you were into spanking. It fits the ‘good school girl’ façade you’ve got going on,” Shirabu hums, throwing the words back into your face. Leaning down, he breathes into your ear, “I could really get used to you like this beneath me. I have such big plans for you.”

Shivering at his low tone, your mind whirled chaotically with half-baked ideas of what exactly he had in plan for you. Honestly, as long as it ended up with his dick inside of you, you don’t care about the rest. You were always opposed to the saying ‘It’s not the destination, it’s all about the journey.’ And this situation was no different to you.

Kenjirou slides your panties over your ass and down your legs, half tempted to chuck them across the room just to see you panicking over locating them after this. On second thought… He shoves the offending piece of lace into his back pocket, as a present for himself putting up with you.

His hands bracket you bottoms of your ass and smooths his thumbs over the soft pink flesh. Kenjirou watching them slightly jiggle in the palms of his hand, admiring the rosy tinge he painted them. Kenjirou firmly decided that the flesh looked much prettier painted pink by the very hand that slammed balls over the side of the net with shocking force.

Fingers gliding over the cheeks and trailing downward, he makes contact with your wet lips. Mildly surprised, he runs a slender finer between them, gathering your juices.

“Look at how wet you are for me. I bet I won't even have to prep you, your greedy hole will probably just suck me in.” He states, rubbing his finger slowly -torturously - over the entrance of your hole.

You whine through your makeshift gag and buck your hips against his fingertips, hoping for them to dip in deeper. The pad of his crooked index finger dipped shallowly into you a few times from your efforts. Kenjirou was greatly amused at your efforts, deciding to hold his fingers in place for you to try and fail to fuck into yourself.

“Look at how desperate you are, it’s honestly pathetic. I expected so much more from you.” He tutted.

The flash of anger fizzled and died before it took root, much too distracted by him inserting his entire index finger in without warning. While you had explored yourself on more than a few occasions, mapping out sensitive flesh with your fingers, the feeling of his much longer and slightly thicker finger inside of you was incredible.

You whimper at the slick feeling of him moving his finger in and out of you, occasionally curling against the spongy tissue, seeking for the bundle of nerves that will make you scream. Slotting in another finger and him twisting them simultaneously had you panting and clenching your eyes at the full feeling from just the two.

Feeling your walls tighten and quiver around his finger as he crooked them a few times, he doubled down to find your erogenous zone before he fucks you. It only took another finger and few moments of scissoring them deep inside of you, indicated by your abrupt gasping jerk.

Licking his lips, he rubs his fingers harshly against the soft area, committing to memory the muffled breathy moans and whimpers that dropped from your panting mouth. Dick twitching, hard and painful within his tight slacks draws him out of his mind. He withdraws his saturated fingers from your sopping hole, briefly abandoning the sensitive spot for now.

Slumping, you simultaneously miss and despise his fingers fucking into you, hating that he found your G-spot quicker than you’d anticipated. The prick was too smart for his own good, the asshole probably knew more about female anatomy and orgasms than you did with biology being his best class.

The rustle of his pants being undone pulls you back to reality. Oh god this is really happening. Your breath picks up, anticipating the next move the bitter setter will make next.

The sensation of something long, hot and rigid, his dick you assumed, rests between your still stinging cheeks. His fingers dip back between your lips and gather more liquid arousal. Kenjirou ignores your groan at the odd feeling, preoccupied with smearing your slick over his dick, taking his sweet time.

One hand on his cock, guiding the tip to sit at your entrance, with the other placed for support on your hip. Tense, you waited for him to just slam on in, not anticipating him to draw out the moment. You hated the way that you squirmed at the thought of his dick being so close but so far away from where you wanted it most.

“You better hold onto the desk. Once I start, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.” He said, smug tone and all ringing loud and clear.

You huff indignantly at his statement, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever you say, asshole.’

Rolling his eyes, he tightens his grip as he starts to insert himself inside of you. Obviously taking pity on you, he graciously chooses to glide in at a decent pace. The breath was punched out of your lungs as he completely sheathed himself inside you, hot and throbbing. You try not to violently shiver around him because you couldn’t bare the thought of inflating his already unhealthily enlarged ego.

Dropping the niceties, as if there were any with Shirabu involved, he slid out not a moment later and slammed back on in, loving the sound of his skin smacking against yours. Sloppy sounds of your fucking fill the air and frankly you’d be pretty grossed right now if your brain didn’t reside in your pussy that very moment.

Fucking you from behind, Kenjirou grabs a fistful of shiny hair and harshly rips back your head, hot breath cascading over perspiring skin.

“You take me so well, like you were made for me. Maybe I should fuck this hole of yours again sometime.”

In retribution, you clench down as hard as feasibly possible, hoping to knock him off of that high horse of his. The grunt that rings in your ears pacifies your ire, but the unexpected resistance doesn't stop him from trying to fuck up into you even harder.

Pardoning his attitude, you loosen up for him, more so for your own pleasure than his. He doesn’t hesitate to pick up his unforgiving pace, pumping in and out of you like a sex-crazed mad-man. Eyes rolling into your head, you felt the tip of his thick dick kiss the entrance of your cervix, which paired fantastically with the friction his thick cock made against your quivering walls.

Moaning around the tie as he furiously fucks you from behind, you can feel the piece of fabric become saturated with your drool. He seemed to appreciate the sounds you made, hands tightening around your hips and starts to seek out the highly sensitive spot hidden somewhere inside of you.

Every time he slid out, he’d readjust his angle with only the tip still in before slamming back on into, waiting for the moment he found his target. The pain of the table cutting into your stomach is buried underneath the pleasure Kenjirou relentlessly delivered to you.

An idea flashed in Kenjirou’s mind, a cruel one, but not too cruel as revenge for all the shit you’ve put him through. Unknowing of the feral grin on his face, you continued to moan as his dick fills you so perfectly, suddenly jolting when you feel his warm lips against your throat. You let out a squeal and clenched down hard around his length when you feel his teeth bury into the soft skin. Manicured nails scratching small divots into the desk as he sucks the bruise deep into your skin.

You grit your teeth when you feel him release your skin, the spot already feeling sore at the rough treatment. You could tell from the position that it was too high for the uniform’s collar to hide and wearing a scarf in this summer weather was way too suspicious. That motherfucker probably planned that; you silently fume as he smirks against your perspiring flesh.

The worst part though was when all conspiring thoughts of retribution were wiped clean from you mind as your entire nervous system is struck by lightning. You cry out loudly at the sensation, to which Kenjirou huffed under his breath, muttering out a quiet ‘Thank fuck’ that went unacknowledged by you as you tried to recuperate from him hitting your G-spot with the force of a tank.

Kenjirou greedily ate up each cry leaving your lips as he continued to hit the sensitive nerves with deadly precision. The sight of you writhing underneath him was enough payment for the annoyance he’d suffered through at your hands the past month. But it was the feel of your walls clutching at him tightly and your delicious moans that was the true reward for all his patience.

The wet squelching noises of your furious fucking was enough to make you blush, which was hilarious thinking about it. Not even four weeks ago you were ready to jump the table and non-sexually choke him out with your tie – and now he was railing you with his tie as a makeshift gag.

Ah, fate truly was a bitch.

Thrusts becoming frantic, you knew that Kenjirou was nearing his end and you would swear bloody vengeance if he finished and left you high and dry. It turns that promise would be for naught. Shirabu reaches around you with his still slick covered fingers and rubs furiously at your clit, giving it a few good squeezes, rightfully assuming you loved the rough treatment. And that you did, you bucked wildly in his grasp, moans hitting a whole new pitch as you unravel quickly under his dual ministrations.

The arousal that had been sitting hot inside of you, seemed to snap and unleashed upon you an orgasm that had stars sear into your eyelids, eyes clenched tightly as the sensation threatened to drown you in it. What felt like pure electricity coursed through your veins, feeling as if Shirabu’s dick had just sent you to a new dimension, brain liquefying inside of your skull.

Behind you, Kenjirou seizes up as he feels you tighten up considerably around him, delivering him to his peak as well. His pace slows as his hips stutter, unleashing his load within you. Even completely incoherent, you shivered at the feeling of him feeling at you, not able to muster up and ounce of disgust at the feeling. That should’ve been the moment that you knew that you were truly fucked; you were completely wrapped around Shirabu’s long pretty fingers.

Limbs trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you laid there limply as he pulled out. You felt a bead of sweat drop down your brow as you weakly collect yourself together, drawing yourself up on shaky arms. The sensation of thick globules of Shirabu’s cum slipping out of you was enough of a distraction to brush of the intense stare Shirabu aimed at your leaking hole.

Leaning back, Kenjirou fights down the flush on his cheeks from watching his cum slowly dripping out of you, feeling hot under the collar from both the sight and from the mind-blowing orgasm. Shuffling back, he cleans himself off with a clean tissue in his shirt pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and pulling up his pants.

Slumped against the table, you felt like a wreck, both inside and out. Dick rearranging your insides aside, you were happy that Shirabu deigned for you to orgasm instead of leaving you a begging mess, which was a very likely move for the bastard.

Your jaw felt sore from how full your mouth was with his tie crammed in. Pulling out the wet article, you tossed it onto the table in his general direction. Kenjirou looks at the crumpled fabric with disgust. Weirdly, he doesn't complain as he gathers some tissues from his bag to wrap the article in until he can get it cleaned.

Choosing not to question his sudden pacified attitude towards you, you pushed yourself up on weak arms. Kenjirou laughs at your struggle, not at all intimidated by your nasty glare.

“Asshole.” You mumble under your breath.

You make quick work of cleaning yourself up too, feeling weirdly exposed bent over and naked from the waist down whilst a fully clothed Shirabu almost looked bored, acting as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

Your skirt slides back into place as you stand upright, shortly followed by more of his load trickling out of you. Pinned underneath his burning stare, you refused to give him an inch and fought back the tremble that threatened to overtake your body at the odd sensation.

“Alright, now sit down. Let’s finish this project before I leave and you have to finish fixing up the format by yourself.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

It seems the bastard wouldn’t even let you properly clean up first before diving back into the assignment.

“Really. Now get your lazy ass up, you’re creasing our data sets.”

Not willing to reveal how flustered you were, you downplay your disgust at the feeling his cum drying on your thighs and stiffly walk over to your chair, trying to spy your panties somewhere on the ground, but ultimately found nothing. You could have sworn that Shirabu smirked at your searching looks, but a second glance showed you his normal bored expression.

Sticking your nose up in the air, you start discussing your plan on how to fix the minor issue of formatting. Shirabu gave lackluster nods at your prodding, clearly wanting nothing more than to leave. You did your best to push through the sensation of the sticky mess drying between your legs, internally fretting as to where your panties may lie. You're pretty sure that you'd perish on the spot if a staff member found them.

Thankfully, it took only half an hour before Shirabu beat a hasty retreat, quickly placing all his stuff neatly into his bag and intent on walking out of the room without another word. The fucker wasn’t even going to say goodbye to you.

Shifting in your seat, you start packing up. Eyes wildly darting around, you didn’t notice him pausing in the open doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, shooting you a dastardly smirk, Kenjirou savours your infuriated expression before turning away and walking off. Slightly confused, you squint as you try to make out an odd-looking lump in his back pocket. At the sight of familiar lace peeking out of his slacks, your eyes widen in shock and indignant rage.

“That bastard.”

Edit: I fixed an incongruity with a bit in the end scene, sorry to anyone that picked it up!!

Notes: We need more Shirabu content so here I am delivering some extremely self-indulgent content. I made Shirabu a dick but I made reader a bitch towards him and he strikes me as the type to hate stuck up people. Hope you all enjoyed!

#shirabu kenjiro x reader #shirabu kenjirou #haikyuu!! x reader #x reader #Shirabu x you #haikyuu reader insert #shiratorizawa #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! fic #haikyu!! x reader #haikyu!!#shirabu kenjirou x reader

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