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yaut-jaknowit · 3 months ago

Note

Hiya! Was wondering about a bad blood that takes a woman from earth but she's fine with it? He expected more fighting from her but is pleased. Not sure how you feel about soulmates but maybe he's been drawn to her for awhile and finally just took her?

Are We Meant To Be? Part 2

Pairings: Cew’voc (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2995

Summary: So much time has passed since you last saw that mysterious figure. He saved you then abandoned you. You had discovered he was your soulmate too late. When all hope was lost, he comes back to you. Is it too late?

Author Note: Okay, I know this isn't entirely what you were asking for. But, I hope it's still okay. If not, let me know and I do another for you. I wanted to use this as an excuse to write a part two for this story.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

All the years since that faithful day offered no relief. Since then, you’ve had your ups and downs. From ending up jobless and homeless, you were able to barely bounce back to a decent life. It wasn’t normal. It would never be normal again. Not without what you saw that night. Who or whatever that creature was… he was yours. As much as you were his. Two souls destined for one another.

The reminder made your heart ache. You gritted your teeth and rubbed the heel of your hand over your sternum. Some of your co-workers gave you a puzzled look before shaking their heads and going back to their business. You cleared your throat before squaring your shoulders to face the lobby and customers all over again.

A pain that’ll be with you till the end of time. You were used to it.

Twelve hours in the building was an average shift. It was the minimum you needed to work five days a week just to make do.

From living an average, normal life, meeting what had to be your soulmate had ruined everything. Despite the longing to see him, just a glimpse every so often, there was no chance. He abandoned you. It was unheard of. Usually soulmates for the first time they meet each other can’t leave each other. Some say its physical and others say its emotional. But to break apart within even the first day was beyond cruel. It’ll leave someone, yourself, broken and hollow.

That’s exactly what you are. A shell of the person you used to be. Now, here you were, a beggar for any change, even a penny. It could mean the difference between having a roof over your head or being homeless.

No one wanted you. Not even someone destined to be with you until you died.

The plates in your hand wobbled precariously. Your attention returned to your surroundings only to watch the four plates you had been carrying slip off of your arms. They came crashing down onto the ground. The porcelain shattering into tiny pieces at your aching feet. Food smears across the ground.

In the moments after that, you could only look down at the mess you’ve created. Your shoulders slumped. There was gasps that sounded through the lobby of the diner you worked out. But, you heard nothing. Stuck in your own world again while all you could do was look at the disaster at your feet.

This was it. Your last straw that broke the camel’s back. It seemed like you couldn’t hold down a job anymore. The pains in your chest only growing worse with the passing time. No one understood. This didn’t happen. Worst of all, it’s not like you had any insurance to work with. There was no help. All you did was suffer through the pain.

Over the white noise in your ears, you heard your name shouted at the top of someone’s lungs. Avery. Your boss. She came stopping around to stand in front of you with a heated glare in her eye. You simply lifted your head to look at her, dead and emotionless.

Her gaze flickered for a moment but returned to steel. One of her hands whipped out to point towards the door. “Get the fuck out of my establishment. You’re fucking useless,” she bit out with a ferocity you didn’t know she had. You blinked at her before finally picking up your feet and making your way to the door. Not even clocking out or taking off your apron.

There you had done it again. Lost another job. Useless. Just like she said. You couldn’t do anything right. Not even your own soulmate wanted to stay with you.

The concrete was harsh on your knees despite the jeans you were wearing. You had collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk. No one gave you a second glance; only giving you a look of disgust and going on their way. A broken sob left your chapped lips. The world around you closing in. You tilted your head backwards to gaze at the darkening sky.

It wasn’t long before day morphed into night. Sometime during the transition you had pulled yourself up and meandered along the path set in front of you. It was random and leading you further and further from the dingy apartment called home. The city you resided in offered nothing of relief. It allowed you to stay on a decently lit path through the side of town you resided in.

In your heart, something tugged you to stop. Your head finally picking up to find the street deserted. You had walked so far that not even those brave enough would venture out. A whine built in the back of your throat. This was pointless. Now, you were somehow lost. Your head tilted back to look at the dark sky. There was little to no stars that would dot the night sky. “What am I doing?” Your voice was hoarse. It lacked the warmth it had years ago.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. The muscles that lined your back tightened. Your breath caught, body prepared for the worst while your mind hoped for the best. But, your luck has shown you how well that’ll go.

You neck creaked while it turned towards the dark alleyway. Nothing could be seen down the endless path. Either it turned off or ended towards the end.

A loud thump echoed off the walls. Your entire boy turned towards the entrance. The soft clicks of something entered the air. Your brows furrowed while you tried to deter was creating that noise. In your careless state and defense, you weren’t of sound mind. There was one thing in the world that would solve all of your issues.

It wasn’t here.

At the crest of the entrance, you eventually spotted the silhouette of a humanoid figure. Oh, not again. You took a couple of stumbling steps away and nearly fell over your own two feet. It seemed your lucky wasn’t the greatest.

Light shined off metal. Faster than a blink of an eye, your throat was snatched. Your back was pressed to a firm, hot surface. Humid heat washed over the top of your head and ran down the back of your neck. A shutter ran its course. The muscles in your body only tensing more.

Yet, in this moment, after everything that’s happened after four years… you didn’t care. Not any more.

Sharp clicks and growls vibrated into your ear. The firm grip around your throat tightened only fraction. “Mi-ne.” A voice growled that it could be felt in your bones. The declaration strong and firm.

A voice you recoginized. Your hands instantly go to the one holding you in place. Try as you may, you couldn’t tilt your head far enough back to look at the figure. But, the lack of an ache in your chest only solidified your thoughts.

This had to be him.

As your mouth opened to speak words he deserved, his free hand pressed something into your mouth. Two fingers coaxed you to swallow dryly whatever he had placed on your tongue. His palm still covered the lower portion of your face. You tried to speak and began to fight him. Anger filled your veins at not only past action, but his current ones now.

When the hands left you, you believed there was a chance for escape. Your entire body whipped around to face the towering creature. Only, for you to sway from the sudden, unwise move. Strong, capable hands grasped your shoulders before you could slam into the ground. A haze took over your mind and left you unstable.

The ground left the bottom of your feet. Then, you were hoisted onto a thick, muscular shoulder that dug into your waist and belly. The move caused you to wheeze and grab onto the a fish net like material that covered at least his toned back. “Let me go!” you screamed at the top of your lungs then began to beat on his back with clenched fists.

He takes it. Without complaint. The humanoid figure spins on his heel and lets the darkness engulf him again. Your cried for help and desperate attempt for freedom begins to fade. Whatever he forced you to ingest was starting to take effect already. Your movements turned sluggish. Every beat was weaker than the last.

“I… hate you,” was what you could say before the darkness consumed you. Your body falling limp on his shoulder.

Warmth. Comfort. Those were the first two things to greet you when your consciousness finally decided to wake up. A soft blanket swaddled your entire form and kept you safe from the lurking monsters. A groan left your lips. You squirmed in the swaddled you’ve been placed in until it loosened.

It took a monstrous amount of strength to open your eyes and blink away the fatigue sitting in your bones. What greeted you made you believe the night still claimed you.

Metal from ceiling to floor made up the room you were in. The blankets on your shoulders slipped off when you sat up to fully take in the space. Your jaw dropped. Five skulls were line on the wall behind you. All were creatures you didn’t recognize. You gulped and kept taking in the room. Weapons decorated some parts of the wall. A bean bag like chair was shoved into one corner. A fur like blanket draped over it.

That’s when you realize the blankets you had been covered with are fur from an unknown creature. You shuttered to think of all the death that was proudly displayed in here. Why… why would he take you in here? Surely, it wasn’t to kill you? No. Your head shook in the negative. He wasn’t. He would’ve already done that if so. Plus, something in your heart told you he wouldn’t harm you.

You were in the process of shuffling to your knees when the door slid open. The entire room filled with tension. It was him. Face still covered a metal mask.

He doesn’t move. The two of you engage into a staring contest.

Thoughts were running wild in your mind. From the last time you had saw him, there had been slight changes. Mainly scars. He was already adorned in them and proudly presenting them. But, more had been added to his collection. A nasty looking one started from an inch above his right collarbone and descended with small jags mostly downwards.

All of them… made him look good, despite not seeing his face yet.

Your first move was to tug the blanket tighter around you, like some sort of shield. He wasn’t terrifying. Not an ounce of fear in your heart at the sight of his towering form.

But, you were nervous, unsure of the whole situation. The most of all. You were angry. Four years. It’s taken him four years to come back into your life and decide you were worth something after all. Tears pooled in your eyes at the thought.

A glare set over your features. You sat back down on your butt and looked away from him. The creature doesn’t deserve your attention, let alone a second of your time. For all you could care, you were going to completely ignore him until he gives up. Let him feel the pain of being abandoned by the one you thought was supposed to your other half.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched at the mustard yellow figure stalked forward. Your ears strained to listen to each step as he made his way towards you. You strengthened your walls. The beast stopped at the edge of the mattress and gazed down at your figure. Then, he gingerly sat down a couple of feet away from you.

His scaly hand reached out timidly. A move you observed closely. When he got in range, you swatted at the approaching limp. The creature snatched his hand back and made an offended noise. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was looking at you as if you had grown a second head. To go against someone three times your mass was obviously stupid. Yet, here you were, protecting yourself from his touch in what could be taken in an aggressive matter.

Except, he held back and took the sign completely. The figure bowed his head. “I-I kn-ow… you are u-pset.” It sounded like he was struggling to speak English. Not as it’s a language he does not know, but like his mouth and throat can’t make the sounds well. “I have reasons. I-it shouldn’t b-e possi-ble. Can’t be.”

If his words were meant to be soothing he was doing the opposite. You hugged your knees tighter with a scoff and a roll of your eyes. You wanted to ask him the reasoning but felt like that would give him too much attention. Despite what your soul wanted since it finally get’s to see your other half again after so long.

“It’s wr-ong. You’re ooman. I’m…” he trails off and glances over at your curled up form. A position meant to protect you from incoming harm. “I’m not.”

For him to confirm your suspicions, you weren’t surprised. Not after finally getting to see him in a better light. The dark, mustard yellow of his skin was dotted with scales. The color and texture wasn’t normal. The size of him wasn’t normal. The blonde rubbery-like dreads that poured from his head weren’t normal.

“I-it’s aga-against ev-everything I know. I came back. I sh-shouldn’t have.” The masked creature made a noise of agony. One of his hands came to rub at his sterum. “But the pa-in. A-after s-so long. I grew weak. Co-uldn’t handle it. I-I ne-needed to lay e-eyes on you.” Words kept tumbling from him. Words you barely understood while he struggled with your language.

They almost, almost softened you. The same pain you endured the last four years was what he experienced as well. But, there was a difference. He purposefully abandoned you. He deserved the pain. You, on the other hand, did not.

You were only human, after all. “Where am I?” Your voice was barely about a hoarse croak.

He perked, only slight, at the sound. “My s-hip. I’ve h-idden us-us from your go-vern-ment senses behind a plan-et you ca-ll Jupiter.” Him clarifying he was an alien though, wasn’t on your list of possibilities. At least, not very high. The most you thought of him was a mutated, escaped human experiment. Not… that.

“Y-you’re an alien?” you gaped before reeling in your shock. There was no reason him to give the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Yes,” he confirmed and dipped his head. The strange, rubbery dreads slipped over his shoulders to sway. “I a-m a Yautja. No-t t-that you know w-hat that is.” You bristle at his offensive words and sent a heated glare at the alien. He brushed it off with a shrug. “My name is Cew’voc. A-and yours?” You turned your head away again as your answer. He has not earned that right to know you.

Newly named Cew’voc purred with mirth. It took every ounce of will not to spin around and punch him. How dare he laugh!

“That is-is okay. I-I can just look-k it up.” Whatever he had for a face, there had to be a smirk on it. You could hear it. You bristled against and huffed. This surely couldn’t be your soulmate.

A new silence fell over the two of you. For a moment, tense peace. Until you heard a mechanical hiss. Your head whipped over to find Cew’voc’s hands gripping the metal mask that adorned his face. Carefully, the alien tugged the cover free and let his features be revealed.

Alien. He was completely alien. Three mandibles tipped with sharp fangs protruded from where what looked to be a mouth. The mouth area had an animal like jowl but the front area was open. Similar to a person, he had a jaw. Teeth protruded from both the jaw and upper side of the mouth. Terrifying teeth that looked deadly.

Then, his eyes. Those felt like a predator was staring directly into your soul. You couldn’t help the shutter than ran its course. They were a bright, scary yellow that almost seemed to glow in the calm lighting of the room.

After you exploration of his face, you find the alien with its only upper mandible quirked up. As if he was smirking at you. You glowered.

In broken, struggling English, the Yautja spoke your name. You swiftly got on your knees to be the same height as him and pointed a finger at him. “You don’t deserve the right to say my name! You abandoned me,” you grounded out. Cew’voc simply raised a brow in your direction then amusedly shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to brush me off like that. Four years of misery because of your scared little ass running away.”

Now, that got a reaction out of him. The alien stood up to a lumbering height above you and glared down at you over his mandibles. “I am n-o co-coward. I’m Yautja. S-strong, mi-ghty.” He thumped a fist over his chest. “Do not a-cused me with fa-lsehood.”

You didn’t fear him. Not one bit. You stood up to be eye with him on the bed and got into his face. “Yes. The fuck. You are! You ran away with your tail between your legs like a little sissy crying to your mom!” Despite nearing twenty-three, you used some middle school insults that hopefully did the trick.

The anger that covered his features melted away when he slumped back with another smirk. “Oh, we may g-et alon-g yet.”

Oh, you doubted that.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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legy · 6 months ago

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hi! i'm caelum. you might know me from @goldentruths-pod or from posting online. im in a financial quicksand pit and i really, really, really need help.

i'm disabled and receive approx ~$950 a month from social security. this has gone from "rough but survivable" when i first started receiving SSI to "i am literally not making ends meet" in 2024. right now my current status is that i am covering my basic needs but any kind of extra purchases are impossible. and the extra purchases i need to make keep piling up because i just can't afford them. some things i need include, in vague level of priority:

dolphin, my cat, is years overdue for a vet visit. this is going to be $300 minimum, possibly more because she has an adversarial relationship with the vet. she needs dental work done which they had quoted me as being $1500 but ive been putting it off for so long that i would not be surprised if that's more expensive too

i have learned today that my gold crown needs to be replaced. really unhappy about this one. it was a miserable experience the first time (everything that went wrong did go wrong, i'll spare you the details) but what is relevant here is that my insurance does not cover this and it was $900 last time. insurance also does not cover extracting the tooth either so that's cool. i have some time before this one is due (my next consult is in july)

my phone is approaching "unusably broken". i've had it for close to 4 years now. the call speaker no longer works (i can only use the phone on speaker mode) and it struggles to run apps or a web browser which makes things like GPS pretty dire. this would be like ~$100-$150 probably, i havent done serious phone shopping yet

my driver's license is expired and i need to get a new one. this was $110 last time. note i havent driven a car in years due to the disability but it's really valuable to have a universally recognized form of photo ID and ive already been hassled over it being expired

god this one is so embarrassing to get into but i had to flee my previous apartment last year due to it escalating into a DV situation. the other tenants did not pay the heating bill, which was in my name (and my dumb ass didnt close the account because it was the middle of february and i didnt want to freeze them to death) so i have a $250 utility bill in collections. i might be able to dispute or debt forgiveness this one but tbh ive been so fucking drained given everything else going on and also my phone barely works so i havent pursued it. especially since i can't afford to pay it if i cant challenge it

i would really like to have a passport again. my previous one was destroyed by my landlord in 2018 but even if it wasnt it'd also be expired now. not sure how much this one costs. likely $200?

my food stamps were slashed in half (covid emergency ending lol) and do not cover my food costs for the month so im paying like $150 a month on food that i didnt have to previously. i can maybe fix this one but im slowly losing my mind from malnutrition from trying to not go into debt and also eat. so i havent had it in me to go 1v1 welfare bureaucracy and possibly make everything even worse

my shoes are probably two months out from fully decomposing. they were $100 three years ago and id like to get something comparable given they lasted me this long

the rest of my clothes are also very literally becoming threadbare, falling apart, or are too big and keep slipping off. i legitimately feel embarrassed to go in public these days because i dress so shitty all the time

insurance doesnt cover my HRT anymore so that's $30 a month i didnt used to have to pay

im sorry this turned into such a ramble. i'm in such a bad way right now, i have been for quite a while and the dental work news is really just the final straw. i can't really have a fundraising goal because due to the SSI asset limit i can never own more than $2000. & i'm aware both that this is the poor people sending each other the same 20 dollars website and that there are people urgently trying to raise money to escape an active genocide. but i held off from making this post as long as possible & idk what else i can do

anyway if theres anything you can contribute to help me i would appreciate it more than anything. at the very least i need to do something about my tooth.

http://paypal.me/hivehum

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steventhusiast · 8 months ago

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STWG prompt 17/4/24

prompt: "oops, that wasn't the plan"

pairing/character(s): steddie

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve's in the middle of squinting as he scans a library shelf for the textbook he needs when he gets rudely interrupted. A body crashes into him with nearly enough force to knock him over, and he only just manages to catch himself on the library shelves in front of him (with only a few casualties in the form of fallen books).

"Oops!" He hears from right behind him, way too loud for where they are. Sure, they're not in the silent study area, but it's still a library. Sudden noises are pretty noticeable.

Once he's recovered, he looks around the university library to see a few people's unimpressed eyes looking in his direction from their study desks. He feels heat rise from his chest to his cheeks at their attention, and suddenly flustered anger is coursing through him, because-

"What the hell?" He whisper yells, spinning around to face whoever had bumped into him.

He's about to start whisper yelling some more at whoever caused this, but then he sees who's stood in front of him, and- shit. He's hot.

Bright red, and with black curly hair up in a messy ponytail stands a guy around his height, with an expression Steve can only describe as mortification on his face. He's dressed in the student go-to late-night library session attire (university branded hoodie, sweatpants and shoes that are somewhere between slippers and clogs), and he's clutching something in one hand as he stares wide-eyed at Steve.

They stare at each other for a moment, and just as Steve's starting to get a little uncomfortable with it and opens his mouth to, once again, ask what the hell, the guy opens his own mouth and rushes out some hushed words.

"That wasn't the plan, I swear." He says nonsensically, and Steve just frowns at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm doing this all wrong." The guy mutters to himself, and suddenly crouches down to pick up the books that had fallen off the shelf.

He seems to use the time facing the ground to collect himself, because once he's stood upright again with the pile of books held in front of him he offers Steve a shy smile.

"My name's Eddie, and you are, just... so attractive and I've been wanting to come and talk to you for, like, an hour, and maybe give you my number? But then, I'm a total clutz, so- so I tripped and almost knocked you over instead. I am so sorry about that, by the way." His nerves seem to come back as he talks, because Steve notices his fingers tap anxiously at the bottom of the book-pile.

Steve's a little stunned by the onslaught of words, and must take too long to respond because Eddie winces after a moment and shakes his head as he averts his eyes.

"This was stupid. I'm so sorry for interrupting your night, you're probably cramming for a test or something." Eddie offers him a wounded smile this time, glancing at his face again, and then makes to turn and walk away.

"Wait- no. You can- um. I would love your number. Sorry, you caught me off guard." Steve says quietly, and Eddie stops moving, eyes going wide again. God, his eyes remind Steve of Bambi.

Steve takes a deep breath and tries to find the charisma he swears he usually has when he's not ambushed with an unexpected hot man.

"I mean, how else will I know how to contact you when I sue you for damages?"

He says it with a smile and a teasing eyebrow raise, but Eddie looks panicked at the words, like that's somehow something he's genuinely worried about, so Steve raises the hand he'd caught himself on the shelves with to show off the slightly reddened base of his palm.

"I'm mortally injured over here, I hope you have good insurance."

Finally, Eddie huffs out a surprised laugh, and the smile stays on his face once he quietens. It's a very pretty smile, much better than the nervous one he was wearing before.

"Right. Well, luckily for you I have my contact details ready to go for situations like this." He says, and (with a little fumbling to reposition the books he's holding) offers Steve an incredibly crumpled up piece of paper.

Steve unfolds it to find a phone number scrawled out, with a ridiculous drawing of a stick figure holding a landline and a speech bubble saying 'call me!'. He carefully folds up the piece of paper, pointedly pockets it, and offers Eddie another smile.

"Thanks, I will for sure be calling later. I just- I am cramming for a test, you were right. So..." He trails off, a little unsure and awkward again.

Eddie just nods, still grinning, and makes to turn around again.

"I'm looking forward to it." He says, and then walks off, ridiculous tower of books still in his hands. Steve watches him go, and then takes a deep breath and looks back at the shelf.

How the fuck is he going to focus on studying now?

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #they're both cringefail losers in this #affectionately #stwgdailyprompt #dailydrabble #mywriting

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alexaloraetheris · 1 year ago

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I juat remembered the day, about two months ago, when I went to renew my perscription and ended up derailed by some kind of divine influence that really, really wanted my help. 😂

So I have an appointment at 9. First thing I do is sleep in because my alarm simply did not ring. First time that happened. I cursed out the damn phone and ordered a taxi, which I had specifically hoping to avoid because of the traffic congestion.

My driver is a woman a bit older than me, and she's in a good mood so we chat. She told me she was thinking of moving to [city on the coast] because taxi drivers are paid better there, and I tell her I have family there, we comment on what it's like to drive in a city essentially built into three hills and a cliff. She mentiones she has scoliosis, and it sometimes impacts her ability to sit in a car for long periods of time. I had scoliosis as well, but I had managed to fix it with exercises almost completely so I recommended my physical therapist, and assured her it's not too late, because some of the people in my therapy group were even older than her. When she let me off she thanked me for the help.

Feeling good that, even if I had to pay out the nose for the ride, I got there in time and even managed to do a good deed. I rush in, tell the reception guy I'm here to see my doctor and settle in to wait.

Two hours later, I see people being called in but not my name. I ask why, and doctor looks at me blankly and says I'm not in the system. I have to tell the reception I've arrived so I show up on his schedule.

I'm mentally cursing out the entire hospital, but I wasn't raised by wolves. I thank the doctor, politely tell the different receptionist that the last guy probably didn't hear me when I told him my appointment, got added in and went back to wait.

Ten minutes later, a visibly nervous girl with freshly printed papers sits in the waiting room. I'm in a bit of a mood, but I'm also a firm believer in helping if I can. I paste on a smile and ask 'First time?' and she admits she just got sent here for a potential ADHD diagnosis and she had no idea what to do. Having been there and knowing exactly how hard it was to do it on your own, I gave her the number of the psychologist who made my diagnosis, assured her that the psychiatrist she was here to see is the same one I have and that he's a good guy, explained what ADHD actually was and how the meds work. She was neraly crying with relief by the time I was done, and I promised she could send me questions if she needs to.

I finally, finally go in for my appointment in a slightly better mood, only for my psychiatrist to tell me Concerta is no longer imported, I have to go on some other meds and for that I need my family doctor to sign off on a regular perscription instead of getting an Rx perscription from him.

This is the worst case scenario, because I do NOT want my mother, who thinks ADHD was invented by quack American psychologists to sell expensive meds to parents with unruly children, to know I have ADHD. So I mentally curse out the entire healthcare system, go to the family doctor and explain the situation, that my mother absolutely CANNOT know about my diagnosis. Even though the doctor was not aware of my diagnosis so far, she listens attentively, and we make sure that my mom can't check the insurance we're both under to see what meds I'm on or that if she checks my name in the pharmacy directory she can't see me either.

I thought I handled that situation rather well but I must have looked more worried than I thought, because the doctor admitted her high-school age granddaughter had been asking questions about psychologists and antidepressants and she had so far been dismissive. But if she really needs help, she might do the same thing I did and seek help on her own, and my doctor realized she ought to either change her attitude fast or be left in the dark while her granddaughter is struggling. So I told her which psychologist I went to when I was also a depressed high schooler and how it helped and what I would have wanted my family to keep in mind. She thanks me and hands me a new perscription and sends me on my way.

So by now I am starting to notice a pattern.

Now, I'm actually an atheist, and I have 'Culturally Catholic' as a flaw and a laundry list of Stuff(TM) I have had to unlearn, but sometimes I really wonder if Someone Up There looked at me that day and thought:

"Hmm, looks like I have three problems I can solve with one well-positioned dumbass. Time to ruin her day for the good of the world!"

I mean. Happy to help but I really hope ruining my day won't be necessary next time.

#adhd #sometimes a god coopts you for the greater good #and you do what you gotta do

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venus-haze · 1 year ago

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Working for the Knife (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: It’s been over 15 years since the Windsor College murders, not that they had ever been on your radar. That changes when you get hired at a New York marketing firm where you work closely with Mickey Altieri, alleged Ghostface killer whose charges were dropped after a controversial mistrial. Working so closely together piques your interest in each other, soon spiraling out of control. [This is an AU.]

Note: Female reader implied to be mid-20s or older, but no other descriptors are used. This is based on an anonymous request and also Timothy Olyphant being such a DILF, I had to write something like this (I had Justified era Olyphant in mind while writing this, specifically these gifsets, but you can picture whatever hehe). Creative liberties have obviously been taken. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: True crime elements (the reader engages with a lot of true crime content), but obviously this is a fictional serial killer. Mutual stalking/obsession. Sexually explicit content that includes dubious consent fantasy that involves knifeplay; spanking, daddy kink, oral sex (f. receiving). Do not interact if you’re under 18.

For once, you felt like things were going your way. After a little over three years of scraping by at your old job where you were woefully overworked and underpaid, your months-long job search finally came to an end when a mid-sized marketing firm gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse. Sure, you’d taken a huge pay raise and shifted to a hybrid schedule with your new job, but the highlight was undoubtedly Mickey, the only other person on your small team and the type of sexy older man you sure as hell didn’t mind spending your days in the office with.

With the whole company working hybrid or completely remote, people only came in sporadically, as did you and Mickey, only going in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the occasional Friday if needed. As a result, you didn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone else who worked there.

Your first week was fully in person, since some of the programs you’d be using for the job were easier to learn if he were there to show you. You certainly weren’t complaining, having plenty of time to get a feel for your new coworker, silently observing and testing the waters with light flirting, which he seemed to return. Maybe you were just a little too hopeful.

“Big plans for the weekend?” you asked when five o’clock rolled around on Friday.

“Got a hot date with Netflix,” he said. “How about you?”

“My friend and I are getting drinks later, but that’s about it.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Anything under $10, if I can help it.”

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t have too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” you said, smiling as you began packing your laptop into your bag. “Have a good weekend, Mickey.”

“You too.”

With your first week at your new gig down, you headed to a small bar in Flatbush to celebrate with your best friend and dish the highly anticipated dirt on your hot coworker. Lee was already at the bar when you’d arrived, sitting at a small table and sipping a beer she went ahead and bought herself.

“Drinks are on me,” you said. “I fucking owe you.”

Lee grinned. “Always glad to help.”

You wouldn’t have gotten the job without Lee. She helped you fudge your resume to match the experience on the job listing, gently scamming your way into the position you now held. All week you’d been texting her about how great things were going, and fawning over Mickey, of course.

After joking about ordering top-shelf liquor on your dime, Lee settled on a margarita, undoubtedly the first of many for the night. You returned from the bar with your drinks, more than ready to gush about how much better your new job was compared to the hell of your old one. Nothing could bring down your mood.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they pay you out the ass and you don’t have to worry about health insurance anymore. Great,” Lee said over her margarita. “I wanna hear about your hot DILF coworker. No detail is too small.”

“Lee, oh my god, it’s not even fair how hot he is. Our desks are right next to each other in an L shape, and I feel like such a weirdo for staring at him all the time. He’s been so nice helping me all week, too. Maybe I’m looking too much into it, but sometimes I feel like he’s being a little flirty?”

“Is he married?”

“No ring, and no mention of any family or long-term relationship. I don’t get it, how could Mickey be single?”

“You don’t hear many people going by Mickey anymore,” she said. “Either he’s a mouse or incredibly Irish.”

“I think he’s Italian,” you mused. “Altieri sounds Italian to me.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, was that offensive?”

“No, just that you’re working with an alleged serial killer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, but she was already busy typing away at her phone.

Suddenly, Lee’s phone was shoved in your face, a your hot coworker’s mugshot front and center in an archived New York Times article from October 1998.

SUSPECT ARRESTED IN WINDSOR COLLEGE KILLINGS

Michael ‘Mickey’ Altieri, 21, was arrested early Thursday morning in Windsor, Ohio, as the primary suspect in the Windsor College killings. Among the charges are first degree murder, attempted first degree murder and aggravated assault. Altieri has maintained his innocence and is being held on $1,000,000 bail in Windsor County Jail as he awaits trial.

The brutal killings that made national headlines were directly inspired by the ‘Ghostface’ murders in Woodsboro, California, two years prior and coincided with the release of STAB, a film based on Woodsboro survivor and reporter Gale Weathers’ book on the murders. Survivor Sidney Prescott was a student at Windsor College and targeted yet again in the latest string of murders. Allegedly, Altieri’s accomplice was Debbie Loomis, mother of one of the two original Ghostface killers, Billy Loomis. Mrs. Loomis was killed in an altercation prior to Altieri’s apprehension by police.

You looked away from her phone screen, feeling like your head was spinning though you weren’t even finished with your first drink. “Well, if he did all that stuff, why isn’t he on death row or something?”

“There was a mistrial. It was a huge thing,” Lee said. “You’ve seriously never heard of it?”

“No. Can you send that to me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’ll send some podcast episodes and Youtube videos on it, too. You know I’m on that true crime shit.”

It took a few more drinks for you to be able to shake off the thought of your hot older coworker potentially being a serial killer, but the rest of your night with Lee was a lot of fun. She’d been one of your closest friends in college, and the two of you lived together when you first moved to New York. You knew she meant well, but damn, did that news put a damper on things.

You returned to your apartment a little after midnight, kicking off your heels at the door and collapsing on your couch, not bothering to make the short walk to your bedroom. 17 missed texts from Lee, all links to videos and podcasts about Mickey that she recommended.

Among the links Lee had sent you was a nearly hour long Youtube video titled: ‘What Happened at the Windsor College Ghostface Trial? A Deep Dive’. The woman in the thumbnail had a scared expression on her face, her eyes focused on that same mugshot of Mickey you saw in the old New York Times article.

Pressing on the link in your messages, you had the video come up on your TV instead, slouching back in your seat as it began to play.

‘I know most stuff about the Windsor College murders focus on just that, the murders, but I thought it’d be interesting to go into the trial that followed because it was almost like something out of a movie, but it doesn’t get as much attention as the killings, especially since there have been like two more Ghostface murder sprees since this happened. I’m just presenting facts and my own observations here for educational purposes, and it’s not my intention to imply guilt on anyone who hasn’t been convicted in a court of law. Before we get into it though, I wanna give a huge thank you to BetterHelp for sponsoring today’s video—‘

You rolled your eyes, skipping through the three-minute long sponsorship spiel.

‘So my sources for this video are Gale Weathers’ books Wrongly Accused: The Maureen Prescott Murder, The Woodsboro Murders, and College Terror. I also used James Chase’s book Ghostface on Trial, articles from newspapers and a few like lawyer journals that I was able to find online, and whatever stuff from the trial itself that’s public information. I have it all linked in the description—“

Pausing the video, you pulled up the New York Public Library website and searched for College Terror and Ghostface on Trial. Copies of both were available at the branch near your office, and you wasted no time in putting a hold on the books.

The next few minutes of the video gave an overview of the murders at Windsor College, which you half-paid attention to. You’d watched Stab 2 in high school, so you felt you were familiar enough with the killings. Thinking back on the movie, though, all of the characters had the same names as their real-life counterparts except for Mickey. Legal reasons, you assumed.

You turned up the volume on your TV as the video finally got into the details of the trial.

‘As soon as Mickey was arrested, theories were all over the news about what had happened and there was a ton of speculation about his guilt. James Chase, a controversial defense attorney from Chicago, took on the case pro-bono, stating in his book Ghostface on Trial that he knew he stood to make more money on a book deal, interviews, and speaking engagements by winning the case than whatever fees he’d get for representing Mickey. The defense focused on discrediting both of the prosecution’s star witnesses early on in the trial, planting seeds of doubt in the jury.

Chase and his team leaned heavily on the fact that three years prior, Sidney Prescott had incorrectly identified Cotton Weary as her mother’s killer when in fact it was Sidney’s former boyfriend Billy Loomis and their mutual friend Stu Macher who had committed that initial murder that led up to the original Woodsboro Ghostface murders.

Gale Weathers’ testimony was also discounted by the defense on the fact that she was a sensationalistic tabloid journalist who’d admittedly fabricated elements of her best-selling book on the Woodsboro killings. She claimed this was a result of editing and to achieve a better narrative flow.

The defense also said the deceased Debbie Loomis had more of a reason to go after Sidney and recreate her son’s Ghostface murders as revenge for his death. They pushed the idea that she acted with Sidney’s boyfriend, Derek, and that Mickey ended up getting caught in the crosshairs of what was a gruesome and unfortunate situation. Sidney maintained Derek’s innocence, but the fact that both he and Debbie were killed by gunshot wounds made it likely they were the Ghostface duo this time around.

Former Woodsboro Deputy Dewey Riley, another survivor of both Ghostface killings, was unable to testify because he was in a coma. He later said that because he was incapacitated before Sidney and Gale allegedly confronted Debbie and Mickey, he couldn’t say for sure who the killer or killers were, but he trusted their judgment and stood behind their testimonies.

It didn’t help either that Sidney was visibly distraught while on the stand and mixed up details of the original Woodsboro murders and the Windsor College ones. Gale was initially confident while being questioned by the defense, but later became combative when the inaccuracies in her books came up. In contrast, Mickey appeared calm and earnest, and seemed to have his story straight every time he took the stand.

There’s actually some footage of the trial that I was able to find, so I’m gonna play that now.’

The video was grainy, camera focused on an agitated-looking Sidney Prescott sitting in the witness stand. On the other side of the stand, a blond man in a gray suit read off from a stack of papers in his hand.

“Ms. Prescott, in your statement to police, you claimed that Mr. Altieri admitted to both you and Ms. Weathers that he had committed the murders with Debbie Loomis and wanted to get caught. Could you perhaps explain to myself and the jury, why exactly an alleged killer would want to get caught?”

“Because he’s fucking sick in the head!” Sidney exclaimed.

“Language, Ms. Prescott,” Judge Matthews said.

“He said he did it on purpose,” Sidney continued, her voice breaking. “He told us he wanted to get caught so he could blame it on the movies! He had everything planned out, the lawyers he wanted, the angle the media would take, he even quoted that line from Psycho, ‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’”

Chase furrowed his brow as he looked over the papers in his hands. “When did he say this? I’m not seeing that in your statement.”

“He said it right after he shot Randy,“ Sidney said.

“Randy wasn’t shot, he was stabbed.”

Sidney’s eyes widened. “I know. I meant—“

“Ms. Prescott, is there something you didn’t include in your police statement that you’re telling us now?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Billy quoted Psycho, after he shot Randy at Stu Macher’s house, not Mickey. I got mixed up.”

You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. The courtroom on your screen devolved into nothing short of pandemonium. The video then faded into Gale Weathers in the middle of being questioned by the defense. She, in contrast to Sidney, looked confident and well-put together under Chase’s grilling.

“Ms. Weathers, you wrote in your book that your camera man Kenny was gutted, when in actuality his throat was slashed, is that correct?”

Gale nodded. “It is.”

“Why the inconsistency?”

“All books, fiction or nonfiction go through an editing process. That was a decision made by my editor to establish a better narrative flow. It isn’t uncommon in the true crime genre by any means.”

“Better narrative flow isn’t the truth, though, is it?” Chase asked.

“Look, a book is a book. I’ll say right now under oath that Kenny was killed when one of those guys in the Ghostface costume slit his throat. I’ll also say under oath that Mickey Altieri did commit those murders with Debbie Loomis, and he confessed it to me and Sidney Prescott.”

“Your honor, this isn’t the only major inconsistency we’ve found in Ms. Weathers’ book on the Woodsboro murders. Yesterday we distributed to the prosecution and now present to the jury at least seventeen of these major inconsistencies.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m the cheesy tabloid journalist everyone thinks I am?”

The corners of Chase’s lips twitched. “Not quite my words.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Gale scoffed.

The jury murmured among themselves at her shift in attitude. You found yourself chewing on your nail, enraptured by the trial. For the last time, the video faded out and then back in to show Mickey, your coworker, sitting on the witness stand. This time, the prosecutor was in front of him, his annoyed expression a contrast to Mickey’s calm demeanor.

“Mr. Altieri, we have signed affidavits from several of your former classmates that in your film theory class, you claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and CiCi Cooper, both of whom were killed by this ‘Ghostface’ persona of yours—“

“Objection!” Chase shouted. “Claiming the Ghostface persona belongs to Mr. Altieri is an undue presumption of guilt.”

“Sustained,” Judge Matthews said. “I advise you to reconsider your wording going forward, counselor.”

The prosecutor huffed. “You claimed in a heated argument with Randy Meeks and Casey Cooper, both of whom were killed by the ‘Ghostface’ persona, that violent movies were responsible for influencing people to commit acts of violence, is that correct?”

“It was a classroom discussion. Our professor had brought it up because two fellow students were brutally killed at the premier of a slasher movie the night before, by someone dressed as the killer from that same slasher movie. I just thought it wasn’t a coincidence, and neither did half the other students in that class. Are you going to make them testify too?”

“Don’t deflect, Mr. Altieri.”

“I don’t understand how I’m deflecting. You asked me about a conversation I had with my classmates, and I answered.”

The video went back to the commentator, but you had goosebumps raised across your skin. You rewound back to the clip of Mickey’s testimony, staring at his face. Could he be a killer? Only a few days ago, you wouldn’t have even considered it. Now, you were down a rabbit hole that sent your mind reeling.

‘A lot of the prosecution’s evidence was dismissed as circumstantial by the defense. Mickey had alibis for all of the murders, even for the one Sidney claimed to witness him commit, allegedly shooting her boyfriend Derek. The chat room records and emails allegedly linked to Debbie and Mickey didn’t do much to convince the jury of Mickey’s alleged involvement in the murders. The records did positively identify Debbie based on the account’s password hints and her IP address. The other user was more tech savvy, changing IP addresses to make it more difficult to confirm an identity.

In move that was described as ‘sloppy’ and ‘desperate’ by the media following the trial’s conclusion, the prosecution also tried to claim that Mickey being the only other survivor among Sidney’s friends was suspicious and indicated his involvement, but the defense pointed out that Randy Meeks had also been the only other survivor of Sidney’s friend group in the original Woodsboro killings despite a gunshot wound like Mickey had, and later on at Windsor he was a victim.

Randy Meeks’ murder actually played a huge role in the defense’s strategy. Several Windsor College students saw Mickey elsewhere on campus during Randy’s murder. The final nail in the coffin was when Windsor County police confirmed that DNA in the news van where Randy was murdered was a match for Debbie Loomis. The police retested other evidence, but couldn’t find anything conclusive.

After weeks of questioning and evidence, the jury deliberated for a little over five days before returning to the judge in a deadlock. Judge Matthews declared a mistrial, and less than a year later, a district court dismissed the case on lack of substantial evidence and all charges against Mickey Altieri were dropped. Despite media speculation that he would, Mickey chose not to sue Sidney and Gale for defamation and hasn’t been in the public eye since the controversial trial.’

You stared blankly at your TV screen when the video ended, another one auto-playing a few seconds later. Even after your drinks with Lee, you felt way too sober to even process any of it. For the next few hours, you devoured videos, bookmarked dozens of articles, and sifted through podcast episodes to listen to during work.

The odd case had made its home in the recesses of your mind. You dreamed about him when you finally fell asleep, just before sunrise. Sitting in the downtown Manhattan office, the open floor layout was unusually bright, fluorescent lighting washing the place in an eerie white glow. Mickey walked over to his desk, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering on the carpet in a trail leading right to him. He looked at you, a smile on his face as he brought his upright, bloody index finger to his lips.

As the weekend flew by, you tried to keep yourself otherwise occupied. It wasn’t good for you to stay fixated on it, and certainly not fair to Mickey.

Working from home on Monday helped, as you focused on finishing the last of the onboarding process.

Tuesday was where things became tricky again. You sat on the forty-minute long subway ride to the office equipped with a podcast episode about your new coworker. The hosts didn’t seem to have much new information from what you took in the night before, except for the last few minutes of the episode where they’d gone off-script.

‘Last I saw online, he was living in Manhattan.’

‘Oh my god, that’s so Patrick Bateman-core.’

‘So you think he did it?’

‘It’s tough to say, like I totally get why the jury couldn’t come to a consensus.’

‘Yeah same, messy as hell. I tend to think that he didn’t do it. Innocent until proven guilty, ya know?’

‘I get that. We did try to get in touch with him for some kind of statement or even an interview—‘

‘Wishful thinking.’

‘Yeah, we looked for his email address, but I guess it wasn’t the right one because our message got bounced back, so that was a big fat bust.’

‘He’s like notorious for denying interview requests, anyway. I think he turned down book deals and stuff.’

Enraptured by the conversation, you nearly missed your stop. On the three block walk to your office, you hurriedly opened one of your playlists and put it on shuffle. The last thing you needed was for Mickey to somehow see on your home screen you’d just been listening to a podcast episode about him.

Your head was spinning by the time you got to your desk. He hadn’t arrived yet, and you felt a bit relieved that you had a little more time to psych yourself up. You shouldn’t have even had to do that in the first place, just be normal about your coworker, but if you learned anything over the weekend, even if he wasn’t guilty, he sure as hell wasn’t normal.

The elevator doors opened, and you looked up to see him walk out, waving at you.

“Morning, Y/N, have a good weekend?”

“Pretty good. I’m more broke than when it started, though. How about you?”

“Like I told you, hot date with Netflix,” he said, sitting down. “Thought you were sticking with shitty liquor?”

“I was, but my friend wasn’t. I got the tab, and she got plenty of margaritas.”

“Shit, I oughta get drinks with you sometime if you get all your friends’ tabs.”

You grinned. “Don’t count your luck.”

He chuckled to himself. The two of you worked in near silence for the next three hours, though you found yourself glancing over at him every so often, out of curiosity and also admiration. His graying hair suited him, and you could see the muscles in his arms from his casually rolled up shirt sleeves.

Soon, though, you found it hard to stay awake, the light from your computer screen adding onto your fatigue. To your horror, you yawned loudly, catching Mickey’s attention.

“You alright? I’m not too boring, am I?”

“No, I just kept waking up last night. I feel like I barely slept.”

“Why don’t we take an early lunch and go get coffee?”

“That sounds great,” you said, grabbing your purse.

There was a deli right up the block, and when you looked at the small pastry case, you decided to order something with your coffee. Mickey placed his order, a hot coffee and a bear claw. With plenty of tables to choose from, you and Mickey sat near the window.

Your coffee definitely hit the spot, and the sugar from your pastry helped wake you up too.

“How long’s your commute?” Mickey asked.

“About 40 minutes. I live in Brooklyn, kinda between Bushwick and Bed-Stuy.”

“Damn, that’s long. I live on the Upper West Side.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. Before this job, I was barely able to afford to rent on my own.”

“It’s a rent-controlled building. I’m not making a ton after alimony and child support.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, though he looked out the window as he continued speaking. “It was a long time ago. Deanna and me just didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff when our son was born. I knew before he even got to kindergarten it was over.”

Unsure of how to respond, you slowly reached across the table, putting your hand over his. “I’m sorry, Mickey, really.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said, giving your hand a slight squeeze before releasing it. “They live upstate, so I don’t see them much. I have more time for going to the movies and Mets games.”

“I only go when they’re bad because tickets are cheaper.”

He snickered. “I should take a page outta your book. How about you? Any sports? Or reading? Isn’t true crime pretty popular with young women now?”

Your heart pounded at his question. Innocuous enough. True crime was extremely popular. The paranoid part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was an accusation. Then again, he couldn’t possibly know you’d spent the weekend immersing yourself in it, particularly stuff about him.

“I’m not really interested in that,” you said. “Sometimes my friends and I go to trivia nights at bars. I’m not that good, but it’s fun to just hang out. I have a membership at the MOMA, so I go there a lot. They show movies sometimes, too.”

To your relief, the conversation shifted to just that, and Mickey seemed surprised by some of your opinions on different movies. He told you he’d originally gone to college for film studies, which you already knew, of course. The odd thing was, while you certainly didn’t want him aware of just how much you knew about him, you didn’t feel guilty for it, just that he would be weirded out by it, obviously.

You and Mickey ended up talking about movies for nearly an hour and a half, well over your allotted hour lunch break, but he assured you no one would care that much. Still, the two of you half-ran back to the office, and something bubbled in your chest when he sat down and smiled at you, the wrinkles by his eyes becoming more prominent.

The rest of the workday went by quickly, and you headed to the library where you’d reserved the two books about the Windsor College murders and trial. By the time you got home, you’d already devoured the first two chapters of Gale Weathers’ book. Glad to be working remotely the following day, you let yourself stay up later than usual to read, getting to the halfway point before you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Weeks turned into months, and you absolutely loved your job, and the pay, but most of all, how the content you consumed and your proximity to Mickey seemed to feed into each other in a vicious cycle that increasingly drowned out the rational part of you that knew what you were doing was weird.

Still, it wasn’t like you were invading his personal privacy or treating him any different than you did before. All of the information you’d read, listened to, or watched was all public as your running list of books, podcasts, and documentaries on the matter grew. You’d even rewatched the Stab movies and started scrolling through threads and tags related to Mickey and what happened at Windsor College. After all of the personal research you did and how much you’d gotten to know Mickey at work, you couldn’t conclusively say whether or not he did it.

You tried keeping your obsession lowkey, but your friends seemed to notice how you’d shoehorn it into conversations. Lee had even told you she was afraid she’d created a monster by bringing up Mickey’s past in the first place. If she’d never made her comment or showed you that first article, you probably never would’ve known about it, remaining blissfully unaware and going about your business at your typical office job with your hot older coworker.

For how much time you spent at home between work and researching, it seemed like whenever you’d go out, you’d come home to something missing or moved. Articles of clothing gone, coffee mugs out of place, books not quite in the order you’d left them. At first, you chalked it up to your consuming too much true crime content, feeding into your paranoia, but when you asked your landlord to install another lock on your door, it all seemed to stop. That didn’t bode well with you.

Your fantasies blended with reality in your dreams, as you were having increasing occurrences of Ghostface or Mickey, or both, in them. Whenever you woke up, you didn’t remember much except for a warm feeling in your core. One dream remained vivid even after you awoke, though.

You were in your apartment alone, late at night, when you got a call from an unknown number. Normally, you didn’t pick up calls unless you were expecting them, but for some reason you picked up. The details of the phone call itself were jumbled, but you were frightened, running into your bedroom and locking the door behind you.

To your horror, you’d locked yourself in with Ghostface, the looming predator who looked at you emotionlessly, stalking toward you with his knife. When you turned around, the door knob was gone, and a black gloved hand grabbed your shoulder, moving you to face him as he pushed you against the door. He sliced through your slinky pajama top, exposing your breasts to him. Roughly groping each of them, he let out a low moan in appreciation before bringing the knife to your collarbone, dragging the blade to the valley between your breasts. Your breath hitched as he pressed it a bit deeper, but instead, you felt it in your pussy, like he was penetrating you.

“Give me a kiss, sweetheart,” your masked assailant ordered in a distorted voice.

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips against the cold, hard plastic mask. You gasped as he dug the knife into your skin with one hand, his other slipping under your panties, pushing his fingers between your folds.

“I own you,” he said, clearly in Mickey’s voice this time.

You threw your head back in ecstasy as he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, and then your alarm blared, jolting you awake. Turning over, you groaned into your pillow in frustration. At least it ended up being great masturbation material later on.

Another Thursday at work, seemingly uneventful as usual. You and Mickey had gotten into the habit of getting lunch together whenever you both were in the office. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but as time went on, they felt more like dates than just a casual lunch with a coworker. Not that you were complaining.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” he asked in the nearby deli the two of you had begun to frequent.

“No, not really.”

“Do you wanna come over after work tomorrow? Watch a movie or something?” he asked.

“That’d be great!” you said, almost a bit too enthusiastically. “Should I bring anything?”

He shook his head, smiling a bit. “I can order a pizza.”

For some reason, you trusted yourself to be normal at his place, telling yourself throughout Friday that everything would work out fine. Being a weirdo about his alleged murders certainly wouldn’t help you get a real date with him, but your infatuation with him was only growing. You liked the slightest hint of danger about him, going to his apartment alone, wondering in the back of your mind what his true intentions were and feeling a bit of a thrill at the prospect that they could be anything less than innocent.

You showed up at his apartment that evening with a bottle of wine in hand, even though he’d told you not to bring anything. As expected, he thanked you for the wine, though he gave you an exasperated look as he let you into his apartment. Nicer than yours, but it still looked lived-in.

“Pizza will be here in a couple of minutes,” he said. “I’m thinking Mean Streets for the movie.”

“It’s a classic,” you agreed. “I love Harvey Keitel in it.”

“You know, that was De Niro and Scorsese’s first time working together.”

“Wait, why did I think Taxi Driver was first?”

“Came out in ‘76, just after he was in Godfather Part II in ‘74. Busy decade for him.”

“You’re telling me.”

The doorbell rang, the pizza arriving sooner than expected. You waited in the kitchen while Mickey dealt with the delivery.

“We can eat in the living room while we watch,” he said, carrying the pizza box inside. “I don’t have many people over, so it’s still a little messy.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him.

He put on the movie, and you balanced the paper plate on your lap, nodding along to “Be My Baby” as it played during the opening scene. Testing the waters, you scooted closer to him a few minutes into the movie. He glanced over at you, and you could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

You were especially pleased when he put his arm around you, not bothering with the pretense of a “move,” but rather taking what he wanted. Settling comfortably next to him, you tried to focus on the movie.

Despite his arm around your shoulders, closer physically to him than you ever had been, you felt restless. You knew when the halfway point of the movie was, and so you excused yourself to use the bathroom, telling him he didn’t need to pause it until you returned.

The tips of your fingers itched as you passed closed doors to the bathroom, which he told you was at the end of the hall. Biting your lip, you considered your options, and in a moment of impulse and weakness, you reached for one of the door handles. A mostly empty extra bedroom, maybe his son’s old room.

You weren’t deterred, opening another door. Jackpot. Slightly messy, with clothes strewn about the floor and on the dark sheets of his bed. Glancing behind you, you stepped into his room and looked around for anything that stood out.

Most people hid things under their beds, and so you got down on your hands and knees, wondering where exactly he might hide his—

“Don’t think this is the bathroom,” he said, startling you.

You yelped, frantically turning around as your brain short circuited for an explanation. “I—I was just—“

“Looking for trophies? All serial killers keep them, right?” he asked, towering over you from your spot on the floor. “Mementos of their victims or the kills.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you’re looking in the wrong place anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from behind his back.

“Serial killers also don’t—don’t kill people th-they know,” you stammered.

“Typically,” he agreed, “but I’m not typical, am I? I’m sure you’ve listened to plenty of those cute little podcasts where some dumbasses read the Wikipedia page about the Windsor College murders in between hawking security systems to their listeners that they’ve just scared shitless. I admitted I did it, went to fucking trial, and the jury couldn’t even find me guilty.”

“Point taken.”

“So, what trophy would I keep from you?”

You were silent for a moment before answering, looking him in the eye. “My panties.”

“Which pair? Figure I have at least five of them now. Unless you wanna make that six, sweetheart.”

“You’ve been breaking into my place all this time.”

“You made it way too easy. It’s like you were asking for it.”

Maybe you were. Regardless, you didn’t show any resistance when he lightly kicked at your leg, a silent command to stand up. You got to your feet, though your gaze was fixed on the knife in his hand. His eyes followed yours, and he smirked a bit before putting the knife aside.

He turned you around, pushing you back onto his bed. Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed your skirt up, his hand caressing your ass, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your panties.

“Were you asking for it, sweetheart? Have you wanted this all along? Been a bad girl to get my attention?”

“Yes,” you whimpered weakly, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Y’know, I’ve heard of serial killers having groupies, but you,” he said, slapping your ass for emphasis, eliciting a moan from you, “are something else.”

“Fuck, daddy,” you whispered, fidgeting against his mattress.

“I’m disappointed in you.” Another smack on your ass. “I could’ve been having fun with you months ago.” Smack! You hissed this time, though your pussy was pulsing between your legs. “Bent you over my desk in the office, have my way with you while no one else is around—or maybe a little slut like you would wanna get caught with daddy’s dick buried inside her.”

He spanked you harder this time, holding you down when your body instinctively recoiled at the impact. A pained moan escaped your lips as he pressed his body weight against you, his clothed cock rubbing against your tender skin. Tears welled up in your eyes as the sensation, and you resisted the urge to slip your hand between your legs.

“Or maybe,” he said, reaching around you to wrap his hand around your neck, “you just want me to fuck you before I kill you. Probably cum the minute I put that old Ghostface mask on, huh, baby?”

You let out a strangled moan at his words. “Yes, daddy.”

He released his grip on your throat, standing up to give you one more slap across your ass. “Turn over. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

The friction from his sheets stung against your sore ass as you rolled over to look at him, though he grabbed you, pushing you onto your back himself. His grip on you was tight, fingers digging into your arms as he held you down beneath him, completely at his mercy.

He pulled off your skirt and panties, leaving your pussy exposed for him. He dragged his index finger between your folds, and you whimpered when he brushed your clit.

“God, you’re soaked,” he murmured against your lips. “Was it the spanking, or is it the serial killer thing?”

“Both.”

“Good answer,” he said, lazily circling your clit with his finger.

He ducked his head down, wasting no time in devouring your wet cunt. His tongue relentlessly flicked at your clit while he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole. You took them easily, but wondered if it’d be the same for his cock when he’d undoubtedly fuck you.

Your hands gripped his sheets as he worked his tongue, your feet curling at the tension you felt building up inside of you. He moaned against you, loud enough that it felt like his voice rocked through your body.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly.

A pained and outraged whine pulled from your throat when he did just that. You looked down at him between your legs, betrayed.

“Why should I let you cum?” he teased, rubbing light circles in your clit with his soaked fingers. “You’ve been a bad girl.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Please, daddy.”

“You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“Please let me cum, daddy. I’ll be so good. I—I’ll do anything, just—please,” you cried out in frustration of being so close yet not quite there.

“Only since you asked so nicely,” he relented, dipping his head back down between your legs, his hands holding your hips in place as your lower half began to quiver at his touch.

You could feel his lips move slightly against your sensitive pussy, nothing short of a smug expression on his face at making you fall apart so easily. It didn’t matter, your head was swimming, muscles strained as he brought you closer to climax. Grabbing his hair, you pressed his face closer against your pussy, grinding against it in desperation.

“Mickey—Fuck—“ you choked out as your orgasm wracked through you, fireworks in between your legs as your body shook.

He ate you out through your orgasm, and another tidal wave of pleasure hit you all at once, almost painful and overwhelming, your brain on fire at the sensation. You could hardly catch your breath when you released your grip from his hair and he lifted his head, your wetness glistening on his lips.

When he kissed you, you hardly had the strength to kiss him back, though tasting yourself on his mouth sent a rush through you. He pressed sloppy kisses to your face, trailing down to your neck. His hard length rubbed against your slick-coated thigh, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.

“W-Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Did you really wanna get caught?”

He stopped, lifting his head from your neck to look at you a few moments before answering, “Yeah, blame the movies, make a real circus of the trial, but my attorney said he didn’t think I could pull off an insanity plea because I was too put together. Obviously pleading guilty and confessing everything wouldn’t get nearly as much attention as actually going on trial. I was pissed at first, but it worked out, I mean I had every reporter eating out of the palm of my hand by day three.”

“Why don’t you do interviews now? Or write a book?”

“What’s there to say? Not the truth.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you muttered. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“Probably should,” he said, the slightest smirk ghosting his lips as his eyes raked over you, “I might need more convincing not to.”

#mickey altieri x reader #ghostface x reader #ghostface #slasher x reader #mickey altieri #scream #scream 2 #slasher fandom #slasher community #scream franchise

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curio-queries · 4 months ago

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I’m loving your production breakdown posts, they are so interesting and insightful.

I think you mentioned it maybe in the first ep breakdown but it was about expenses. I just thought it was interesting in ep4 when JK mentioned at the chicken place, paying in cash, and he solely has this conversation with Tae, not Jimin. Would there be an arrangement do you think? Or was that scene cut and he’d have asked Jimin too? I’ve noticed in comparison to Bv where they were usually only allowed a certain amount of money between them, with one usually being in control, or a sum for a task, in AYS, Jimin and JK have been whipping out their cards, be it their own or a company card, in Big Dicks store, in Walmart etc.

I just found it interesting

Hi anon,

The finance bits are interesting in the most boring corporate sense if that makes any sense. 😅 Trust me on this. Let's dive in:

In my opinion, it really boils down to two concerns: taxes and sponsorships. Taxes to insure the company receives every possible benefit for every dollar they spend. Sponsorships because some brands can have fussy rules about how individuals interact with their product and especially any competitor's products while they have an active agreement.

Obviously I have no actual insight onto how the finances and budget were managed for any of these specific shows and I know absolutely nothing of the intricacies of taxes in South Korea but in the US, there are many regulations when it comes to how companies can claim expenditures for tax breaks.

Every company that has had me travel for work has gone to a lot of trouble to insure that I was aware of exactly all of the requirements on my part regarding expenditures. I'm 100% sure all of the BTS members are aware of their requirements as well so I don't particularly think there's any motive other than as a cute convo for the moment between JK and V. Imo, the only reason it made it to the final cut was JKs endearing tone in his response.

Let's go through some examples though:

Receipts: in both AYS and Bon Voyage, we see the members be very specific in getting Receipts. JM and JK talk about it as they're leaving Walmart. In BV, it's all of the shenanigans with the money pouch they acquired in Malta and continued using in New Zealand. This is usually documentation required for any operation that's going to be claimed as a business expense for tax purposes.

Personal Spending: off the top of my head I can think of several clear instances where we know that the members are using their own money for purchases we see them make on the shows. In Run BTS ep.70 in Toronto, JK pays for the member's clothing purchases himself. In BV4, JM pays for the member's clothing himself a couple of times (remember the drama of his lost wallet? 😅)

Budget as Content: BV 1 & 2 mostly only include finances as part of the game-ification of the show. The members had to earn money as an allowance for the activities and determine the best ways to spend it. (I do vaguely remember some members wanting to negotiate for more when buying souvenirs? Was that just in the extra scenes? It's been so long, I've been holding off on rewatching until I'm done with my Run series).

Thankfully, the success of BTS has basically nixed the budget games. I think the last time we saw something like this were the Run episodes of a hotel staycation? But the prices were ficticious and not necessarily about real-world spending but rather determining the secret number to not exceed. (If I'm misremembering and there are more recent examples, please share!) Imo, it would just be too tone-deaf to continue portraying the members in that context. I know we all joke about them being broke millionaires, but there's a reason why celebrity game shows always make it clear that the money involved is for charity.

Anyway, back to AYS, the interesting bit to me is wondering about the inclusion of Taehyung from a budget standpoint. How was that reconciled? None of us can possibly know the answer, but it's interesting to think about. Some costs wouldn't have changed at all with one extra participant, like the house rental, or booking the climbing gym or yacht tour. But there were a few extra concessions, getting the extra mattress likely was more a logistics headache on short notice rather than an impact to the budget. And most Korean meals are served family-style so there honestly isn't a huge difference cost-wise. Except maybe the omakase. That I can imagine was noticeably more expensive with an added individual.

But really, the most expensive item per person would likely have been travel. Did someone say Tae was already in Jeju prior to filming? If he wasn't, did the show cover his flights like they would have JK, JM, and the crew? Or is the budget on these shows big enough that it was just another drop in a bucket? Also, the intent likely was for JK to zip around on the motorbike and JM to be on the scooter. I'm curious if they weren't logistically able to get another such vehicle with the short notice or if the budget/sponsorship constraint didn't allow for a third one the day. Or it could be that the scooter exists because of the 3 member count and production thought one of them could be JKs backpack. That bike has the space for it. But perhaps the difficulty to get coverage and/or converse wasn't appealing. Or maybe there just wasn't a third radio-enabled helmet prepared?

I know the various shippers are using this in their arguments. I'd like to firmly state that I am not building a case for either side here. Go do that on your own and leave me out of it. Lol.

There are so many questions and it's interesting to theorize how the finances could have impacted the development of the show. Maybe we'll get some more insight with the remaining episodes and bonus footage but I doubt it. Finances don't usually make for engaging content.

Thanks again for the ask! It's one of the points I want to discuss when I start doing my BV and ITS posts but who knows when that will be!

#AYS #Are you sure?!#park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #vminkook

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fereldanwench · 4 months ago

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A Personal, and Final, Reflection on A Certain Fandom

Having spent the past week and a half away from the Tumblr side of the C*b*rp*nk community after a resurgence of old wank (not hashing out the details–IYKYK), I heavily weighed the pros and cons of saying anything else. Ultimately, I decided for my own peace of mind and ability to fully move forward, I do want to say a few things (or a lot of things, given how long this is). This blog is my personal archive first and foremost, and I think writing a “final chapter” will help me find closure. I’m also choosing to publish this because, at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I think my mistakes and subsequent revelations might be good learning experiences for others, too.

Like many of us, just by the nature of when this game was released, I entered this fandom during a very fragile, tumultuous time in my life–Well, sort of, let me back it up a little: I actually initially entered it during a great time in my life. It was July 2021, I had just enjoyed about 6 weeks off from work after quitting a demanding job that had sucked the life out of me for almost 10 years, and I had started a promising new job. I even bought the game with the first paycheck from said new job!

Unfortunately, while I had been told that this position was temp-to-hire, not only was it not a path to a permanent role, but because I completed all the work in my contract over a month sooner than they anticipated (early September vs late October), I was being let go early because they had nothing else for me to work on. I was literally told over the phone, “You did amazing work, you got us caught up through November, but we don’t have anything else for you.”

Cue about 6 months of recruiters ghosting me, exhausting interview processes, demoralizing rejections, and scam upon scam upon scam, all culminating in me returning to the job I had been so happy to leave a year earlier. And while my old coworkers were ecstatic to have me back, I couldn’t help but feel like a complete failure. I took what I thought was a calculated risk, I thought I could do something better for myself, and I couldn’t. It’s something I’m still struggling with today, honestly.

On top of this, I also experienced a debilitating physical health episode in January 2022 which led to me being effectively bedridden for about 3 weeks. [CW: Menstruation, sexual health] I’m not sure of the exact cause–maybe a bad reaction to emergency contraception, maybe unsafe menstrual underwear, but it resulted in menorrhagia so severe I fainted from blood loss. My insurance had literally just ended, another wave of COVID was hitting, and I didn’t want to risk getting infected sitting in an ER for hours only to rack up a few thousand in debt to get a blood transfusion. So rest, iron supplements, and lots of meat and spinach and orange juice was the best I could do.

All of this led to my world becoming very small. I wasn’t working, I could barely do my hobbies or see my local friends, and simple everyday tasks like showering drained me of all my energy. When I was stuck in bed and could barely keep my eyes open for more than a few hours at a time, gossip was a welcome, low-effort distraction from the physical pain and fear that I might either have to put myself in thousands of dollars of medical debt or risk lifelong damage (or worse) from the blood loss.

I also found myself having groups of friends in a way I’ve never experienced before. I’m extremely introverted (even online, though less so than IRL), I have social anxiety, and the handful of times I have been “in” a group I was never really in it. I was always on the outskirts and usually just close to one or two people, max.

Regretfully, this set the stage for me to get caught up in the culture of rumors and speculation that permeates this fandom more than I think it has any other fandom I’ve been a part of.

Academically, I know about things like groupthink and tribalism, and I could see how those influenced the groups developing in the fandom, but I had no direct, personal experience with those phenomena. I think in conjunction with the other struggles I was dealing with, I ended up being incredibly susceptible to an us-versus-them mentality, which led me to feel justified in being unkind to people I knew had been unkind to my friends, even if deep down I knew what I was doing was antithetical to who I strive to be.

I don’t share any of this for sympathy points or to smear anyone else or to avoid accountability–I still chose to act like an ass on a couple of occasions, and regardless of what I was going through, that was still inappropriate. I’m still responsible for my own behavior no matter what’s going on.

But I do want to contextualize my fuck-ups for two reasons:

The first reason is ego-driven, full-stop. Not even gonna gloss it over. I can’t defend being an asshole nor do I want to, but I think it’s normal and healthy to look back on your mistakes and go, damn, why the hell was I acting like this?

Even on my best days, I can be very stubborn and self-important and pedantic and judgemental, and I certainly can’t say that I’ve never inadvertently offended someone–Sometimes a joke might not land as I hoped. Sometimes I get tangled up in my own thoughts, burdened by an excess of nuance and details, and I express things poorly while I try to account for all sides of things. Sometimes I can get a little too opinionated about blorbo stuff. Sometimes there might just be a full communication breakdown or an insurmountable personality clash–But I can also confidently say that I have acted with good intentions in this fandom far, far more than I have with spite or because of petty rivalries.

And when I did get caught up in the drama and gossip and the wank? I was literally at the lowest point I’d been in a very, very long time.

Again, because I feel like I can’t say this enough, that doesn’t make acting like a dick in a Discord server any more excusable, that doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt anyone, and that doesn’t mean that someone I hurt during that time has to forgive me or stick around for me to grow. Hurting someone because you’re hurting is still not okay. But I’m pretty sure every single one of us has had a bad day (or two or three or 365 or–) and made an isolated bad decision (or two or three or–) because of it–None of us deserve to be wholly defined by those moments or denied a chance to learn from those mistakes and be better.

And I think the most important takeaway for me personally is that I have learned from these mistakes and I have not repeated them. Some of these mistakes even helped me realize that I needed professional support for my mental health, and they played a role in my seeking medication and therapy last year. I still have a lot of work to do, but the silver lining to all of this is that I am in a much better place today than I was 2 years ago (even if this year also fucking sucks for non-fandom reasons and I would still very much like a goddamn break.)

The other reason I wanted to share my journey of navel-gazing and healing a wounded ego ~*self-discovery*~ is I think there’s a very good chance my story might sound familiar to others in the fandom. Maybe someone else can learn from my hardships and mistakes, too. Maybe you too were dealing with chronic fatigue or mental health issues or financial stress or isolation or all of the above and then some, and it led you to fixate on things that were harmful to you, to form unhealthy relationships with equally hurt people, and to act in a way that you know doesn't reflect who you are. The past several years have been so hard on so many of us, and I think we’ve all brought a lot of pain and misery into the community even if we weren’t trying to.

A somewhat shameful realization I had last year was I could recognize that kind of behavior in other people, but I completely missed it in myself. I could see how people were making this fandom their whole world and how it was so damaging to them, but I was doing the exact same thing and I just let it go completely unchecked because I thought I knew better. It was a brutal lesson in the pitfalls of pride.

--------

So I was initially thinking at this point, I would take the time to address a few specific lies, rumors, and insinuations that have been said about me over the past couple of years. Because while I was a jerk in a couple of situations, most of the things said about me are exaggerations, if not outright fabrications.

And I did start writing a lot of that out, but as I was doing it, I was just overcome with a huge feeling of OH MY GOD I just don’t fucking care anymore. As one of my dear, long-time fandom friends has pointed out, there’s a great line about just this kind of thing from one of my favorite characters in one of my favorite games: “Why should it [bother me]? They don’t know me. I know me.”

I also really don’t want to run the risk of pulling anyone back into the fray (especially if they’re not even in the fandom anymore or if we’ve talked privately about certain issues) by even alluding to shit that happened years ago.

Instead, I would like to offer three of my big takeaways from the experience of being falsely accused of awful things:

You do not know nearly as much as you think you know about people’s fandom relationships. The one semi-specific thing I will mention is that I had been explicitly named a few times as being in cahoots with people I don’t think I ever even spoke to or that I had already drifted away from–Just because you saw two people existing in the same public space doesn’t mean they’re besties, bestie. Also, friends don’t always have to agree with each other, nor should we be expected to participate in a public spectacle of shaming if we do have a disagreement. People are allowed to resolve their differences privately.

Not all conflicts/disagreements are inherently abusive or toxic. When you are hurting or dealing with unresolved trauma or starting to confront uncomfortable truths about yourself, the slightest disagreement can feel like a personal attack, but that doesn’t mean it is. Sometimes differences might be irreconcilable, but sometimes they might not be if you don’t automatically assume the worst of someone with a different perspective than you. Sometimes we just need to give the other person a little grace and the benefit of the doubt that they’re doing their best. And sometimes we might need to consider that it’s actually our own behavior driving the conflict and not the other person.

Even in situations when someone has clearly been unfairly targeted/victimized, that doesn’t mean they can’t also be a perpetrator of harassment/abuse to someone else. Victim and abuser are not mutually exclusive roles. I would wager a lot of us are familiar with the cyclical nature of abuse, and to quote a line from one of my favorite movies (admittedly a bit of a flippant line in the context of the film, but it still rings true): hurt people hurt people. Accountability for shitty behavior is never conditional, regardless of the pain we’re experiencing.

--------

I titled this my final reflection, and I want to clarify what that means:

First of all, I’m not leaving this fandom (don’t everyone clap at once ha ha ha). I’ve been in various online fandoms since the early 00s, and while this has been one of the more challenging communities for me to navigate, it’s not enough to make me give up something I love this much. My blorbos are my perpetual muses, and I feel like virtual photography is the creative outlet I’ve been searching for my entire life. I love this game and hobby too much to stop creating and sharing.

I’m also not leaving Tumblr. While I’ve had this specific account since 2016, I’ve been here since 2010–Tumblr is not just this fandom for me. I have many friends (some I’ve known since my original account in 2010!) from other fandoms, and I’m not losing the best place to hang out with other people who are special to me just because one fandom got a little unpleasant. (I mean, look, I weathered the DA fandom here circa 2012-2015–This ain’t my first rodeo.) I also have a lot of hope for the Tumblr Communities feature, and I’m really hoping the VP community we’ve set up can continue to grow and flourish.

But I am no longer addressing any of this wank. If you have a problem with something I’ve done or said to you and you want to address it with me directly (preferably in a private space just so we don’t keep putting this shit on people’s dashboards), I am open to conversation and apologizing where needed.

Otherwise, this is the last time I’m talking about it anywhere. Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, publicly, privately–I’m done. I’m washing my hands of it. I don’t want to hear anything else about what other people have done or who they’re friends with or who they’re following or what they’re saying about me or my friends or any of it. This bullshit has taken up too much of my time and energy, and I have very important smutty shots to take.

And I am probably going to continue to be less active in the fandom on Tumblr, at least for a while. You probably won’t see me here much until September at the earliest. This time away has been really good for me, and I think I need to continue with limited Tumblring and making the time I am here more structured. Plus, with some of my other fave video game series returning this fall, my blog will probably shift back to a more well-balanced multi-fandom space.

I’m also going to need to diversify my dash a little bit more, which means I will likely end up unfollowing some mutuals, particularly if we don’t interact often, if you don’t tag, or if I see any mention of fandom drama–It’s nothing personal, but I know breaking mutualship can hurt a little, so if following me after that makes you uncomfortable in any way, please don’t feel like you have to stick around. I totally get it. Similarly, if it would make you uncomfortable for me to continue to interact with your posts after unfollowing (because I probably will if you post in certain tags), please feel free to block me.

Okay. Christ, that was long. Shut the fuck up already, right? This is why I can't do social media with character limits. ghdfjgjhkfdgkfdg

Seriously, though, that's it. People are welcome to comment on this post if they want, but I really have nothing else to say about any of this so please don’t be offended if I don’t reply. I’m not ignoring you, I’m just… Well, done.

#btw in case youre wondering why i censored the name--im trying to minimize this clogging up the main tags/searches #t: wench on fandom

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strangelittlestories · 1 year ago

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The Witch Queen - she of the Endless Night Shift, our lady of instant coffee, the keeper of the Book of Hastily Written IOUs - knew the end was nigh.

There were various clues and omens that had led her to this conclusion:

The neon lights of her favourite late-night chicken shop had started blinking at her in morse code.

The advertising screens at bus stops had started showing her an endless parade of life insurance offers.

And she had begun to see the pattern of her own skeleton in the river, drawn out in bones of the long-abandoned shopping trolleys that emerged at low tide.

But out of all of the signs, it was the fact that someone or something had set her squat on fire that really clinched it.

Worse still - none of her wards had been triggered, which meant that whatever had done this was some combination of exceptionally powerful, terrifyingly well prepared, or lucky to the point of being *fated*.

Thus, when the firefighters finally reached her, she knew that it was already too late. She knew, too, that any countercharms, dispellings, or general magical wrigglings that she attempted would only put her would-be rescuers in danger from her killer’s inevitable redundancies.

So she simply smiled weakly as she was carried from the wreck of charred drywall, melted optimism and grubby failed anarchism (it was a squat, after all) and drew wobbly runes of blessing on the firefighters’ uniforms in ash.

And when they placed an oxygen mask over her face, she breathed out instead of in and whispered a spell with the last crisped croak of her voice to trap in place her last breath.

---

When they pulled *me* out of the fire, meanwhile, I lay there flopped like an upended plate of overcooked noodles until the firefighter gently placed the oxygen mask around my mouth and I slowly returned to reality.

I say ‘slowly’ here, not because it was taking me a while to recover from the smoke inhalation (although that was true too). No, I say ‘slowly returned to reality’ because on my first gasp pulled from the tank - the same tank into which the Witch Queen had stitched her last breath - *reality* was for sure not my first destination.

I experienced, at once, the birth and death of the planet. I felt my bones form out of stone and timber as the first cities rose. I was carried to oblivion as I tasted the first mildly toxic mushroom that someone ate *on purpose*. I heard the creak of bones of thousands of years of soul-calcifying labour; unrecognised, unthanked, utterly expected.

And I knew with all certainty that I had just become this city’s new Witch Prince/Princess.

Let me tell you: it was weird as hell, but after the agony of cinders and smoke ripping through my lungs? It was a real breath of fresh heir.

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #feghoot #puns #urban witches though #i started with a stupid pun and accidentally came up with another urban fantasy idea

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daydreamgoddess14 · 19 days ago

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The Escape Artist - Chapter 10 - The Finale

Masterlist

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9

Tag list: @moonmaiden1996 @theskytraveler @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

Here she is, the very last chapter 🥲

When I first had the idea for this fic, I knew it had potential to be something really great as long as I had the guts to stick with it. It's my longest fic by a long way - like 20k words longer - and it's also my most comprehensive. I've tried to let everything breathe rather than rushing through it. I've challenged myself in so many ways and I've honestly loved every second of it.

I can't thank you enough for your patience, support, comments, reblogs... all of it. It's been the most rewarding experience to hear from you all and I've made so many new feral pals.

I love you - I really, really do 💜

Now... shall we wrap this shit up?

Twelve months. For Ella Cole twelve long months had passed since she'd been moved from the Park to Slough House.

Six months spent living hand to mouth in dirty, dangerous accommodation.

Six months of realising the life she could have. The life she and Clover should have.

Always moving one step forward and two steps back.

She realised she'd never lived alone. Never been solely responsible for herself, or for Clover.

Eddie had kept her in a gilded cage. Materially wanting for nothing, yet emotionally starved and physically scared.

Six months ago, she was surviving, going through the motions each day.

Now, she was thriving.

She had a job that she loved, friends who cared for her, and a man who was slowly working his way into her heart.

The dogs had been recalled, the house too, but Ella chose to move forward, not back.

She attended Eddie's funeral, intending to go alone, but JK and River had pulled up outside the bus stop and stood either side of her in the back row of the crematorium.

She cried.

A surprise to herself, but not to them.

As the curtains closed, she mourned fifteen years of her life. She mourned Clover's father.

She didn't mourn the man himself.

As she cried, she was cleansed.

Emerging from her prison not a new woman, but a changed one.

Stronger, safer, happier.

She threw herself into creating a stable future for Clover.

Access to her own healthy bank accounts.

A small house just for them.

Ella felt no shame in spending the money in hers and Eddie's joint accounts.

Hefty anonymous donations to women's shelters across London.

The fight over properties, the businesses, the life insurance was still to be had, but the accounts were hers.

River read her mind.

There when she needed him, absent when he sensed she needed to retreat into herself.

Quietly championing her, and Clover, at every turn.

For the most part, Ella felt peace.

But the dark spectre of Diana Taverner hung over her like a cloud.

The knowledge that she was only ever one phone call away from prison still held her back.

It prevented her from reaching out to her family after so long.

It stopped her from opening herself up to, and fully trusting, River.

It held her back from openly, vocally and voraciously loving him.

Ella sank into River’s sofa with a happy sigh.

“At this rate, I’ll be co-parenting both kids with Lucy’s parents,” she smiled. “We’re gonna have some shared custody agreement going on.”

“It’s good that she’s got a proper friend.”

“It is.”

“Did you know Coe has volunteered to help on the school trip to the Houses of Parliament?”

“Probably planning his own Guy Fawkes event.” Ella said with a giggle. “Or that side hustle in school security actually happened.”

River agreed distractedly.

“You ok?” She asked.

"I need to tell you something," he said suddenly. Her face paled, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

"Alright," she said slowly, bracing herself for what was to come.

She assumed that he wanted to cool off whatever was going on between them.

“It’s all fun and games til someone nearly gets arrested for murder, eh?” She smiled weakly.

"When you first came to the hospital, and Clo was getting snacks?" Her eyes widened, realising where he was going instead.

"No," she whispered.

"I wanted to tell you sooner -"

"You were awake?" she guessed, her face flushed with embarrassment

River grimaced, knowing that the next part would be difficult.

"Yeah, I was. I woke up just before you...you -" he trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Oh my god," she panicked. "I was so stressed and so scared -"

"Did you mean it?" He interrupted.

"Mean what?" she asked, but the fear in her eyes told him she knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Ella," he said, his voice hoarse. "You said... you said you loved me," he implored

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"I... I -" she stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

The room fell silent, the weight of her confession hanging in the air between them.

"I did say that..." she said hesitantly. "You had just been shot saving my daughter.”

"I remember." He gently reached for her hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I was just wondering if you really meant it. Or was it just the adrenaline speaking?”

"River, I... did you hear the rest? It’s been so long, why are you only telling me now? Did you hear me say that I’m a total fuck up? That I'm no good for you?" she pleaded.

River loosened his grip on her hand, noticing her visible nerves.

"I heard everything," he assured her gently. "But I don't believe for a second that you're not good enough for me.”

She looked at her hands and rubbed them distractedly.

"I've got blood on my hands, River. I'm a murderer. You can't possibly think that this is a good idea?”

His heart ached at the pain in her voice, but he was determined to make her see her worth.

"It was self-defence, El. He was about to…" he gritted his teeth in anger, "he was about to rape you. I couldn't get to you, I tried -"

"I know you did, I know." She said tearfully.

"He deserved it. You did what you had to do," he said softly, his voice filled with regret for not being able to prevent what had happened. "It wasn't your fault.”

"So why can't I wash the blood off?" She whispered fearfully.

River sighed at her question. He gently took her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs soothingly over her knuckles.

"It's not about washing it off, Ella. You need to forgive yourself," he said tenderly. "You're not a monster.”

"You don't want me," she told him as she tried to remove her hands from his. "No one ever has, not really.”

River's grip on her hands tightened reflexively. "That's not true," he said, his voice firm. "I want you.” He said fiercely, his voice shaking with conviction. "I'm still here, aren't I? I've been here the whole time?”

She looked doubtful.

“River, I was nearly arrested. For murder.” She shook her head. “I was fucking stupid to think I could escape this shitshow. How did I think killing Eddie would be the end?”

“They’ve released you without charge. You are free.”

Her stomach turned. She knew she couldn’t keep it from him any longer.

“Because of Taverner,” she said, shamefully.

“What do you mean because of Taverner? What did she do?”

“She arranged to have me released without charge. Told them that the Park was taking over the investigation and that I was still her employee.”

“She fucking owes you anyway, using you to get to Eddie -”

“She sees it the other way around. I’m very much indebted to her. She’s going to want something in return, she always does. It’s a never ending cycle of owing someone something. I don’t want you involved in that.” She sighed.

“No, fuck that, we can fix this,” he snapped.

“I don’t think we can. She threatened to hand me over to the police. She wanted me back at the Park but I refused,” Ella put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Ella, we will fix this. Did you mean what you said?" River's gaze softened as he went back to their original conversation, his voice gentle yet filled with hope.

She sighed, knowing that she was unable to lie to him.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

River's heart leapt at her quiet admission, a rush of emotions flooding through him. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her in disbelief.

"Really?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the surge of joy and relief coursing through him.

Ella nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“But -”

“No, no buts, you’ve said it now,” he smiled.

“River, stop! This isn’t over, Taverner is bound to come knocking again?” The smile faded.

“So we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” he told her firmly. “Besides,” he pulled her rigid body into his lap, “there’s something to be said about falling in love with a woman capable of murder,” he kissed a path up her neck to the spot that made her knees buckle. Her knees sank into the sofa either side of his thighs.

She looked at him again, her eyes searching his, silently questioning his turn of phrase.

“I'm serious. You should break things off.” Ella told him, shifting back to put some space between them.

“I should do what?” He asked, incredulously. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“You should. You have to be the one to do it. End it right now. Please.”

‘I can't. I won't do that, El. I love you, and I love Clover… And before you argue with me, I know that that comes with responsibilities. Clover is not going to be the thing that scares me off. Nothing is going to change how I feel about both of you.” He paused, making sure his words were sinking in. Making sure Ella was really listening. “Don't be a coward, Ella. If you want this to end, then you can do it. This is something more. Something real, and if you don't want that, that's fine, but don't expect me to break it off for you. We will fix this.”

Ella sat, stunned into silence by River's confession. The sincerity in his voice and the certainty in his statement had caught her off guard. She felt her heart skip a beat, her mind struggling to catch up with the reality of his words.

"You... you love me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, Ella, I do. And Clover too, even the bloody dog.”

Ella's eyes widened at his admission. It was almost too much to wrap her head around. She let out a disbelieving laugh, a mixture of emotions coursing through her.

"The dog?" she repeated, her voice tinged with incredulity.

"Maybe the dog goes above Clo -" Ella interrupted him with an ineffectual slap on his arm. "Alright, alright, maybe they're both above you," he continued teasing.

Ella rolled her eyes playfully at his teasing remark.

"You're impossible," she said, shaking her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"It has been mentioned before," he acknowledged with a wry smile. "I'm also not going anywhere," he told her, his fingers lacing through her hair and trying to draw her closer.

Ella's breath hitched as River's fingers tangled in her hair, the gentle tug pulling her closer to him. She tried to resist the pull, her mind still wrestling with her fears, but he was making it so difficult to fight against the powerful connection between them.

"You shouldn't be so stubborn," she whispered, her voice tinged with both irritation and affection. “I'm trying to stop you from fucking up your life.”

He shrugged. "That's already my own doing, you really think telling me to bloody break it off is what we both want?" There was a note of frustration in his voice that she'd even ask such a thing of him.

Ella felt a pang of guilt in her chest.

“Can you blame me for trying to protect you?”

"I don't need protecting, Ella. Least of all from Diana Taverner. You're the one who's been through hell, give yourself a chance.”

Ella's eyes flashed with a mix of stubborn pride and vulnerability at his words. She wanted to argue, to protest at his assertion, but there was a part of her that knew he was right. She had been through so much, and perhaps she was the one who needed the protection more than him.

"Speechless for once?" He teased lightly. Ella's cheeks flushed pink, a mixture of defensiveness and embarrassment. She had been caught off guard by his assertiveness.

"Shut up," she muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Open goal there," he whispered, pulling her closer and grazing his lips against hers, "means I get to say ‘make me’," he smirked.

Ella's heart skipped a beat as he pulled her closer, the whisper of his words and the brush of his lips against hers sending a rush of desire through her. Her eyes narrowed at his challenge, a spark of defiance igniting in her gaze.

"Oh, you want me to make you shut up?" she asked in a low voice, a hint of daring in her tone. "Let me guess," she said, her nose brushing against his, "you were thinking something like this?" Her tongue traced over his lower lip as he pulled her in deeply. “I'm a dangerous woman, don't forget,” she murmured against his lips.

River's breath hitched, the sensation sent a jolt of electricity through him. He leaned into her, his arms tightening around her in response to her playful challenge.

"Mm," he murmured in response, his voice a mixture of pleasure and amusement, "a dangerous woman? I don't think so. How do you think shutting me up is going?”

"I think you're still talking far too much, actually" she said, her eyes twinkling.

River chuckled, his fingers traced along her back, pulling her flush against his chest.

"Is that so? I take it this little disagreement about how you’re stuck with me is over?" her lips captured his in a gentle yet passionate kiss, effectively silencing his words for the moment.

Ella trembled against him, the kiss sending heat and longing straight to her core.

She felt herself melting into his embrace, the heat and desire within her growing with every second they were together.

She pressed herself closer against him, her hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt, her body responding to his touch.

River deepened the kiss, his hands roaming over her body, possessive yet tender in their touch.

River's lips trailed down her throat, exploring every inch of her skin.

When he reached her collarbone, he couldn't resist the desire to graze his teeth against her sensitive flesh, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from her.

He could feel the way her body responded, the way she slid deeper into his lap.

"Bed, River, please," she gasped as his hands skimmed over her hips.

The sound of her pleading sent a thrilling jolt through River.

He pressed a possessive hand to her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Bed," he agreed, his voice hoarse with his own desire. "Now.”

River led her through the flat, the anticipation practically crackling in the air between them.

His hands tingled with the memory of her body, the way her skin burned beneath his touch.

He could hardly wait to explore every inch of her once more, to feel the heat between them flaring to life with a simple graze of his fingers across her flesh.

Ella found the bottom edge of his t-shirt, her fingertips running across his stomach.

She brushed the pad of her thumb lightly over his scar out of habit, and went to pull the t-shirt over his head

River gasped slightly as her fingertips brushed across his stomach, his muscles twitching involuntarily beneath her touch. He lifted his arms to make it easier for her to remove his shirt, the fabric falling away and baring his chest to her.

Her eyes raked over his chest, unable to hide her hunger for him.

She reached for the button of his jeans but he stopped her.

"Not yet," he rasped, running a finger down the row of buttons on her shirt.

Ella's hand paused in mid-air as he gently restrained her, his fingers wrapping around her wrist and stilling her movement.

The raw rasp of his voice as he spoke sent a shiver down her spine.

With a possessive gleam in his eyes, he took her shirt between his fingers, slowly undoing the buttons one by one with a slow, deliberate pace.

Ella stifled a moan as his mouth followed his fingers, leaving hot, wet kisses down her body tracing a path down the skin he’d unveiled. River lifted his head just enough to speak against her skin, his voice a low rumble that sent tingles down her spine. "I want to hear you," he whispered, his lips brushing against her flesh as he teased her. "Let me hear the sounds you make for me.”

He pulled her closer to the bed. Discarding her shirt, he popped the button on her jeans.

"How come you get to -" her protest died on her tongue as his large hands slid them down her thighs, taking her underwear with them. As the material pooled at her feet, he gazed at her hungrily, his expression full of desire and admiration.

"You were saying?" he teased, his eyes roaming over her body, taking in every inch of her curves.

He urged her onto the bed and stood in front of her.

"My turn," she looked up at him, her much smaller hand brushing over the front of his jeans.

“I'm starting to think you don't want me to break it off after all."

“You always have to be right don’t you?” She rolled her eyes.

Ella's fingers worked the button on his jeans, slipping them down his thighs. As she did, her hands brush his taut muscles, the feel of his skin and strength under her touch making her cunt ache for him.

She knew at that moment what she needed more than anything.

River's eyes locked on her as her tongue traced over her lips. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, his body practically thrumming with need.

Ella's voice was just as soft as her gaze raked over his body, taking in every inch of him. She couldn't hide the desire in her eyes even if she wanted to.

"Maybe," River replied, his lips pulling into a smirk as he stalked her up the bed. She moved back up the bed, he followed. "But it’s only because I know you don't really want to end this.”

He was confident enough that she'd only suggested it because she thought it was the right thing to do, not because it was what she wanted.

River positioned himself over her, his strong frame caging her beneath him. The feel of his weight pressing her into the bed only made her need him more, her body instinctively arching towards him.

"Please," she breathed, "please." His hand dragged over her thigh and around to cup her ass, pressing her core to him.

"Please, what?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me what you need.”

She whined, frustrated, her hips moving of their own accord, searching for friction

River watched her, his eyes darkened with desire as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You need this? Is this what you're aching for?"

He rocked his hips, his body pressed impossibly close to hers.

Her lips brushed against his earlobe pleadingly, her voice a desperate, trembling whisper.

"River," she begged, her body arching against his as much as she could in her current position.

River let out a low moan, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

She gasped out her words, "I need more. I need all of you," her voice was desperate and needy, her body restless beneath him. “I don't want this to end. I’m all in if you are.”

River's body tensed at her words, his own need for her burning like a wildfire in his veins. His last bit of control shattered at her words.

The feel of his body so close to hers made everything inside her clench with need. He could hear her breathing, fast and harsh, her chest rising and falling in time with his.

“Will you trust me?” He asked, his voice raw with need. Ella nodded hesitantly.

He propped himself up on his side, his hand tracing a soft path down her arm. "Turn over," he instructed, his voice gentle yet firm. She wavered, close to protesting, but did as he requested. "On your hands and knees," he instructed, his voice low and rough.

Ella rose onto her knees, the change in position making her feel more exposed. She took a moment to steady herself, bracing her hands on the bed in front of her.

River moved behind her, his hands trailing over her hips, possessive and firm. "That's it, El," he praised, his voice a low rumble. "I’m going to undo every bad memory you have.”

He groaned softly as she arched her back, her body practically begging for his touch. His fingers gripping her flesh as he watched her respond to him.

Ella's voice was pleading, her words a ragged whisper as she begged for him. "River," she sighed, her body trembling with desire.

His own body was taut with need. Hearing her beg for him only fueled the fire that was burning inside him.

He shifted his position slightly, pressing himself against her. "I want you only to remember the good," he murmured, his voice rough.

Ella's voice was a soft, ragged whisper, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. "Only you," she interpreted, her body trembling at the feel of him against her.

River's grip on her hips tightened, his control slipping a little at her words. Her devotion to him, only him, was almost too much to bear after everything she’d been through.

His own voice was rough with desire, his breath coming in shallow pants as he spoke. "I want to make you feel so good," he repeated, his mouth moving over her neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake.

His hands slid up her sides, trying to map out every inch of her body with his hands.

Ella's skin burned where he touched her, practically craving his touch. She arched her back, pressing herself further into him, needing more of his touch, of his presence.

Her voice was a desperate plea, her words tumbling out in a ragged gasp. "Need you, Riv, need you now, please, please," she begged.

River groaned softly against her skin, his own need for her almost overwhelming. He knew he couldn't hold back much longer, not with her begging and pleading so beautifully.

River's voice was a low, deep growl, his breath hot against her ear. "You've got me, love," he murmured. "I'm here." He held his hard cock in his fist, running the weeping head through her folds.

His other hand gripped her hips a little tighter, pulling her closer to him, his body molding against hers. She could feel the tense, coiled energy in his frame and cried out as he pushed into her. Her body arching against his as the pleasure washed over her, her senses completely overwhelmed by the feel of him inside.

"God, Ella," River groaned, his arms shaking as he held himself above her.

She sought out his hand, gripping it tightly, her trepidation still clear.

His other hand moved across her chest, pulling her upright, her back pressing against his chest. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against hers, the hard planes of his muscles against her soft flesh.

Her knees spread wider and she sank further down onto him, her body quaking.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her ear.

The grip on his hand loosened and he let go, holding her against his chest with a hand cupping her breast. She gasped at the unexpected depth, at the way he brushed her g-spot with every thrust as he fucked up into her.

“God, River -” her voice broke.

Ella felt his body wrap around hers, holding her up.

She felt safe.

He moved slowly inside her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

Her breath came in snatched gasps as she met his every move, rising and falling on his pulsing cock.

River picked up the pace, pinching her pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A low moan tore from his throat as she reached behind herself to run her fingers through his hair.

His teeth grazed over her shoulder before biting down softly.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, her body melting into his, completely trusting and submissive. From this angle, he had a perfect view down her body, his eyes roaming over her breasts and the place where their bodies met.

River's breathing became ragged and heavy, the sight of her body against his own almost too much to bear. He pressed his body even closer to hers, the heat between them almost unbearable.

Ella leaned on him, her body moving in a slow, fluid roll of her hips, a silent plea for more. Her hands gripped his arms, using his strength to keep herself upright, her body completely surrendered to him.

River groaned at the feel of her moving against him, his body responding instantly to her touch. He held her tighter, his arms anchoring her to him.

He moved the hand that wasn’t holding her up and brought it around to her clit.

The thrust of her hips faltered and she looked down at his hand before covering it with her own, guiding him to where she really needed him.

The arm across her breasts held her tighter as her legs began to shake. The first tremors of her climax starting to build as he split her open.

"Jesus, River," she gasped, her body arching.

His response was a low, rough whisper against her neck. "I know," he agreed, his lips and teeth continuing their assault on her sensitive skin. He wanted to mark her, to make sure she would remember this moment, remember him.

Ella felt the pressure low in her belly, the intensity of their connection making her legs tremble and her breath come in ragged gasps.

River could feel the tension in her body, the way she was holding on by a thread. "Let go, baby," he murmured against her neck, his voice rough.

Her cry was lost in her throat, her mouth open but no sound escaping. Waves of pleasure coursed through her body, almost too much to bear.

The rhythmic tempo of her hips stuttered again as her whole body trembled.

“Let me hear you, El,” he pleaded.

“River,” she whimpered, “fuck, River -”

His grip on her hips tightened at her words, his own control hanging by a thread. "You have no idea how good you feel, baby," he growled, his breath hot against her skin.

Her hand found his thigh, her fingers digging into his flesh, a desperate attempt to anchor herself as her body trembled with ecstasy.

She cried out his name, the words a ragged gasp of pleasure and need. "Riverr," she moaned, her voice breaking on a high, keening note.

With her release, River held her tighter, his grip unyielding as he followed right behind her, the walls of her cunt tightening around him as he spilled into her.

He groaned loudly, his body shuddering against hers, his arms holding her tightly, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder.

Ella crumpled against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her skin flushed and glowing with sweat. Her hand found its way to his hair, her fingers running through the damp locks, a soothing, affectionate motion.

River held her close, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath, his arms wrapped around her like a lifeline.

Her voice was a soft whisper, a touch of amazement in her tone as she spoke. "Oh my god," she repeated quietly, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

River chuckled softly in response, his hold on her tightening just a little. "You all right?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

“Told you to trust me,” he said quietly into her ear. He pulled away from her, he moved slowly, giving her a moment to catch her breath, continuing to tease her with light kisses along her neck and collarbone.

Her voice was soft, filled with wonder, as she mumbled her question. "Where've you been all this time?"

River chuckled softly, his arms tightening around her as he pulled her closer, her back pressing against his chest. "Waiting for you," he teased, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“As if,” she scoffed, rolling her hips against him. “You’re too cute to wait for anyone.”

River groaned softly at the feeling of her wriggling against him, the heat between them reigniting. Her words sent a wave of desire through him.

His voice was a low, possessive growl, his words a challenge and a promise all in one. "Not you, time to show you everything you've missed out on," he said, his hands roaming her body, caressing and claiming.

River nuzzled at the sensitive spot behind her ear, his lips warm against her skin. Ella couldn't prevent the low, guttural sound that escaped her. Her body was not used to being treated this way, being adored and pleasured so completely.

River pressed his lips to her skin, his hands roaming over her curves, taking his time to memorize every inch of her. "You have no idea how good it feels to make you feel good, Ella," he murmured against her neck.

Her need was undeniable, a fierce, aching thing that burned through every inch of her. Despite the tender ache in her thighs and core, she found herself wanting more, needing more.

River's lips continued to roam over her neck, his hands still exploring her body, his touch firm yet gentle. He could feel her need, the way she was arching into him, and it only fueled his own desire.

"You ready for more?" he asked, his voice a low growl against her skin.

Ella’s voice was soft, almost vulnerable, as she spoke. "I didn’t know it could be like this,” she said softly, her body relaxing against him.

River chuckled softly, his lips still against her skin. River could hear her small whine as he moved away, her body missing the contact with him. The thought of her craving his touch set something ablaze inside of him. He pulled her to lay with him but she sat up on his thighs.

“My favourite view,” he told her. Her eagerness, her new found confidence, only fueled his own desire.

His gaze was fixed on her hand as it slowly traced down her body, her movements deliberate and teasing. River's eyes darkened with growing desire as he watched, his body tensing with anticipation. "Show me how to touch you," he asked quietly. Her breath hitched, her body still sensitive from his previous attentions, his cum still coating her thighs.

His eyes roved over her body, watching as she worked her clit with her other hand at her breast, his own need growing at the sight.

River's breathing became ragged as he watched, his hands resting on her thighs, desperate to touch her. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration.

“I thought of you,” she whispered, blushing. The admission sent a bolt of desire through him.

He rose up onto his elbows for a better view, his voice a low, possessive growl, "You think about me when you touch yourself?" he asked, his eyes burning into hers. She nodded

Her back arched as she crept closer to release, the hand at her breast kneading and pinching. Her eyes didn't leave River's, wanting him to see her come undone.

River's eyes darkened further, the possessive edge becoming even more pronounced as he watched her writhing above him. "Don't look away," he instructed.

She held his gaze as she reached her peak, crying out for him.

She slumped, boneless, and moved to lay next to him.

River took hold of her wrist, bringing her hand up to his mouth. He wrapped his tongue around her fingers, tasting her.

“Best thing I’ve ever watched,” he told her once he’d released her fingers with a pop. She felt her cheeks heat up, a blush creeping onto her face.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she confessed, still breathless.

He pressed against her, the evidence of his arousal clear, she felt a shiver of desire run down her spine.

“I’m glad you did,” he murmured, “it was beautiful.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, brushing off the compliment.

He pressed against her again, his body still taut with wanting, “I mean it.” He insisted.

He rolled her onto her back, lining himself up against her core. “I’m not going to let you forget it, El. If it takes a lifetime, I’ll replace every single bad memory with a new one.”

He sank into her, swallowing her moans, helping her forge a new path.

Taverner tapped her nails impatiently, unused to being the one summoned.

“How fortuitous that I'm here.” She declared.

“Why's that then?” Ella asked from the doorway.

“Well, seems a good time to request you back at the Park. I have you some grace by letting you stay here a little longer. Time's up now.” Ella hesitated, looking to Lamb and Standish for support.

River sensed Ella's discomfort.

"What do you want with her?" River demanded, his voice firm but controlled. “Why do you need her at the Park?”

"I want her service, she owes me, Cartwright, and it's time she comes back where I can keep a closer eye on her.”

Taverner's words hung in the air like a dark cloud. River bristled at her words, his jaw clenching with suppressed anger. "She's not your puppet," he said, his voice low and angry. "She doesn't owe you anything.”

"I think you'll find she does," Taverner turned to Ella, "You didn't tell your little friends? The only reason she's not rotting in prison is because I got hold of the investigation. All I need to do is hand her over to the police."

"For what possible reason? You know her ex-husband was a bully, you know he nearly killed her. Just let it go," River said angrily.

Taverner turned her attention to River, a hint of a sneer tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The reason is simple," she said coolly. "She killed him and got away with it."

River's anger was barely contained now. "And you think that gives you the right to use her like a pawn? You're out of your mind, Taverner.”

"I know you love to bend everyone to your will, Diana," Lamb interrupted, "but really? Is this the hill you want to die on? Sending a battered woman down for a murder which was quite obviously self defence? No jury would convict her and you damn well know it.”

Lamb's interruption caused a slight fissure in Taverner's composure. She shot him a venomous glare before turning her attention back to Ella.

"I suppose you think you're above the law, is that it?" Taverner snapped. "Just because you were a victim doesn't give you the right. And Cartwright," she shot a sharp glance at him, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. You've always assumed yourself above your station.”

"Above the law? Diana, pull the other one. I'd run out of fingers and toes counting your indiscretions." Lamb laughed mockingly.

Despite her attempts to maintain control of the situation, Taverner seemed to realize that she didn't have a strong case against Ella. Her expression was a mix of frustration and anger, but there was no denying that Lamb's words had hit their mark.

"We'll see about that," she snarled, but her voice lacked its usual certainty.

"You have authorised worse and you know it. Give up Di, there are better ways to exert control." Lamb warned.

Taverner's eyes flashed with anger. "Don't tell me how to do my job," she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

But despite her harsh words, there was a hint of uncertainty in her gaze. She knew Lamb was right; she had authorised far worse without a second thought.

"Heaven forbid," he raised his hands. "Drop it, Di. Pick a better battle.”

Despite Lamb's mocking tone, his words seemed to penetrate Taverner's defenses. There was a moment of silence as she considered her options. Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh, "Fine. I'll let it go... for now. But don't think you're going to get off scot-free.” She pointed directly at Lamb.

"Never," he mocked. "Always in your pocket, Diana.”

Lamb's words dripped with sarcasm, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smirk. “Always at your beck and call.”

“You’ll continue to use me,” Ella said aloud, recalling her conversation with River.

“Nonsense, this draws a line under the whole thing.” Taverner sighed defeatedly.

“Do I have to go back, then?” Ella looked from Taverner to Lamb. “Do you not want me here?” Ella asked him desperately.

“She can stay. If she wants to. I don’t give a shit either way to be honest, as long as she doesn’t forget the jaffa cakes.” Lamb said to Taverner.

“Jesus christ, Lamb. I’m honestly astounded as to why these idiots choose to stay here over literally any other job in the world.”

“You and me both, Di. Must be my winning charm.”

“Hmm. If you say so,” she looked him up and down disdainfully. She turned back to Ella, “I can hardly complain, can I?”

Ella stood, her hands balled into fists. River moved directly in front of her, blocking Taverner from her eyeline.

“Let it go, El.” She opened her mouth to argue but relented at the insistence in his eyes. “It’s over now,” he said firmly.

She didn’t trust herself to speak without directing her anger at Taverner, so she kept quiet.

No one saw Taverner out.

“Put the kettle on then, if you’re sticking around.” Lamb instructed halfway up the stairs to his office. “And I expect daily jaffa cakes now, since you’re Miss Moneybags.”

“Where'd you think you're going?” Catherine called up to him. “Get your coat, Jackson, we've got to get to the school.”

“Why on earth am I going to a school, Standish?”

Ella reached for her coat, but River got there first and held it open for her.

“Clo wants you to come and see her gymnastics show, remember?”

Lamb reappeared, looking annoyed, but carrying his coat regardless.

“The kid's got a father figure, she don't need another,” he looked over at River.

“A grandfather wouldn't go amiss though,” Ella told him with a straight face. Behind him, Standish was having less luck, a giggle bubbling behind the hand she'd clamped over her mouth.

“I can still send you back, Cole,” he muttered, taking the stairs. Halfway down, Louisa, Shirley and Coe were all waiting. “The fuck is this?”

“Family outing. Who kicked out the wicked stepmother?” Shirley asked.

“Boss man did.” Ella told her with a grin.

“Will you lot get a move on? We're going to miss her group routine,” Ho shouted up the stairs.

“Sorry, sorry, we're coming,” Catherine appeased him on the way past, “two cars - Roddy and River, yours?” River held up his keys.

“Yep, got mine.” he waited while Ella let the others head down the stairs before her.

“She's going to go mad that we're all turning up,” Ella smiled up at him.

“She'll love it,” he insisted, pulling her into a deep kiss once Louisa had rounded the landing out of sight. “And I love you, in case I haven't said it enough yet.”

FIN

If you think I'm ditching you now this is finished, then think again!

I have a few lovely prompts to get through for River x Sid which I'm so looking forward to, and I've had some glorious Ficmas requests - get in on the action if you haven't already - it's my gift to you! 🎄

And then of course, once the festive season is over.... we get to meet The Thief 👀

#river cartwright #slow horses #jack lowden #slowhorsesfanfiction #river cartwright fanfic #river cartwright smut #river cartwright fic #rivercartwright/ofc #river cartwright/reader #the escape artist #the thief x river #a thief's gamble

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wolfawaycamp · 7 months ago

Note

Rylan gets together during camp. After finding out, Chris gives Dylan a (very light) shovel talk.

🐰 turns out that I CANNOT be brief talking about these two but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. :3

The green rectangle of the swimming pool glowed like an emerald in the night, its undisturbed surface both tranquil and tantalizingly forbidden, as Dylan and Ryan made their way to the low brick wall surrounding it, to the the torn panel of the chainlink fence. It had taken Dylan the better part of three weeks to convince Ryan to give him a shot, but now that he finally had, Dylan was working on convincing him to bend a rule or two in the name of some harmless fun.

It was a sweltering July night, stuffy even at this elevation in the Catskills, and Dylan had floated the idea of a night swim without really expecting his new boyfriend to take him up on it. Ryan rarely did anything he thought might displease their boss. But even the camp-leader’s pet struggled to sleep in this heat, and perhaps Ryan was finding it difficult to resist the temptation of a little one-on-one time between the two of them. Dylan could flatter himself by thinking so, anyway.

He climbed easily onto the top of the low wall and held a hand out to Ryan, hauling his boyfriend up next to him. “Mr. H should really get this fixed,” Dylan said, grinning like a Cheshire Cat in the moonlight, “seems like an insurance liability for the pool to be this accessible. An attractive nuisance, I think they call it.”

“You’re an attractive nuisance,” Ryan teased, shoving Dylan off the edge of the wall and jumping down after him.

“Hmm, all I hear is that you think I’m attractive.” Dylan preened, winking over his shoulder at Ryan, who shoved him again, playfully, closer to the pool.

“The emphasis was on the ‘nuisance’ part,” Ryan countered, and Dylan shot him a fake pout. Ryan grabbed Dylan by his shirt, pulled him in for a kiss that was soft and warm and perfect—albeit entirely too short—and, fuck, he could really get used to that. “Of course I think you’re attractive, you massive dork. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

Ryan could be pretty direct. Dylan was pretty into that. “Well, every time you say that, I end up pinching myself to see if I’m dreaming and, unbelievably, I’ve been awake every time, so I think the answer is yes.”

Ryan shook his head, but one of those cute little half-smiles tugged upwards at the corner of his mouth, even as he turned away in a failed attempt to hide it.

“So, how long d’you think it takes for the pool to cycle through enough fresh water so that it’s less than one third urine?” Dylan asked, staring into the deep end.

Ryan’s nose crinkled in disgust. “Okay, gross, you talked me into getting in there with you and now you’re talking about urine.”

“I’m just stating facts, man. You know the kids pee in there. They just do. That’s why the chlorine smell is so strong. Pure chlorine doesn’t even smell like that. It’s a chemical reaction between the chlorine and the ammonia in urine and sweat and stuff, gives off these chemicals called chloramines and that’s what you smell in the pool.”

“That’s enough professor, you’re ruining chlorine smell with your chemistry bullshit and it’s one of my favorite smells! Stop saying the word ‘urine’ and take your shirt off.” Ryan emphasized this by taking his shirt off and Dylan didn’t think he’d ever get tired of gazing at a shirtless Ryan for as long as he lived.

“Okay, yeah, I hear you, less chemistry,” Dylan pulled his own t-shirt off over his head, “more, uh, chemistry.” He waggled his eyebrows, hoping the feigned swagger was convincing enough.

Ryan ignored the quip and dove into the pool. Dylan followed, hurling himself gracelessly into the water with a laugh. The pool was still warm from the day’s sunlight, but getting wet made the air feel cooler when they back came up, at least.

“Keep your voice down,” Ryan shout-whispered, “Chris’ll freak if he catches us out here.”

“Oh, come on, what’s he gonna do, fire us?” Dylan flicked water at Ryan who splashed a little back at him. “We’re already understaffed. I’d like to see the old boy try to work the PA system, do all the scheduling, and teach all those sailing classes himself.”

“He probably could do the sailing,” Ryan reasoned, “he’s the one who taught me when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, but now he’s like 100, no way he could haul kids out of that lake like you do.” Dylan put a hand on Ryan’s upper arm and even this chaste contact sent a thrill running through his entire body. They hadn’t been together long and they’d barely ever been alone together. Getting to touch Ryan at all still felt like a privilege. “No way he has the upper body strength.”

“Stop talking about Mr. H,” Ryan said, “stop talking, period,” and Dylan might have taken offense if it hadn’t been clear from his tone and the look in his eyes, the way he’d come closer and angled his face upward towards Dylan’s, that Ryan had other plans for their mouths—better plans.

Dylan nodded, leaning in close, and then… a beam of blinding light landed on them from the other side of the fence. Ryan jumped away from Dylan as though he’d been electrocuted and Dylan ducked his head under the surface of the water as if he could hide, as if they hadn’t already been seen.

He surfaced to the sound of Mr. Hackett shouting, “Ryan, Dylan, out of the pool, please.”

Dylan risked a glance at his boyfriend and had to stifle a laugh at Ryan’s wide-eyed expression. As the chastened boys exited the pool and tried to quickly towel dry and wring out their trunks while still wearing them, Ryan whispered, “I told you we were gonna get caught!”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. You can gloat later.” Dylan whispered back, pulling on his shirt and cringing a little at how it stuck to his damp torso.

“I am not gloating! It’s not like I wanted us to get in trouble!”

Dylan clambered onto the wall and helped Ryan over again and Ryan immediately fell all over himself to apologize to their boss, who was standing there in his usual head-to-toe khaki ensemble as the two boys dripped miserably in front of him.

“I’m really sorry Chris, I…” Ryan began, and Mr. Hackett, flashlight in one hand, held the other up to silence him.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Ryan, you go straight back to your cabin right now, I’d like to have a word with Dylan.”

“Hey, no, it was my idea,” Ryan lied, and Dylan immediately corrected him, doing his best to ignore the warmth that spread through him at Ryan’s attempt to take the blame.

“It was definitely not his idea,” he said simply.

“Look, I don’t care whose idea it was, you both broke a rule and you’re in the same amount of trouble. And we will talk about it in the morning. Ryan, go to bed.”

Dylan and Ryan gave each other a nod, resigned to their fates, and Ryan headed back to his cabin. Dylan turned to face the camp leader, who had begun walking toward Dylan’s cabin on the far end of the circle near the radio hut. He wasn’t speaking now, so Dylan broke the silence.

“So, uh, am I… fired?”

“No, god no. Dylan, nobody’s fired! I haven’t fired Jacob or Emma for any of their antics yet, why would I start with you?” Mr. H asked and Dylan had to admit this was a fair point. “I wouldn’t even care about you two being in the pool,” he went on, “if I didn’t have to worry about the kids in your cabins needing something while you were distracted.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Then, uh, what did you wanna talk about?”

“You and Ryan, you’re obviously involved and I just… I want you to be careful, okay?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no. Was Dylan’s boss trying to have a safe sex talk with him right now? Had he had it with Ryan already? Well, this was mortifying. He thought he might rather have been fired. Plus, what was the point if they kept getting interrupted before anything worth getting a lecture over could even happen?

“We’re not, I mean, we haven’t, y’know, not yet anyway…” Dylan floundered, his cheeks flushing, “we haven’t really had time, but if we ever did, I mean I’m sure we will and, when we do, then we’ll definitely be…”

“No, that’s,” Mr H. chuckled awkwardly, “that’s not what I meant, although you definitely should, uh, use protection. And, please don’t do… that when you’re on the clock. But what I meant was, be careful with his feelings.”

“His… feelings?”

Dylan blinked at him blankly. Of all the outcomes he’d imagined for this relationship, him hurting Ryan’s feelings had never even occurred to him. In fact, Dylan had thought the most likely scenario would involve his own heart getting pulverized in the end.

“I’ve known Ryan for years. He’s like a… close family friend at this point,” Mr. H said, and Dylan only realized when he finished the statement that he’d been expecting him to say Ryan was like a son to him, but he hadn’t. “I don’t know how much he’s told you about his family life.”

“Not a lot, actually,” Dylan admitted.

“Well that’s his decision, but I don’t think he’d mind me saying that it hasn’t always been easy for him. Feels like he’s maybe looking for some kind of stability. And that’s not always something you can get out of a relationship when you’re this young. I remember being your age, everything feels really intense. I just… don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Mr. H., I—I really like Ryan,” Dylan said, feeling awkward as hell but being very earnest, “I’m trying my best not to fu—uh fumble this, okay? And you’re kind of… well you’re sorta freaking me out, actually, but I, um, appreciate the sentiment, anyway. I don’t want Ryan to get hurt either.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Because I think Ryan really likes you too.”

“You do?” Dylan swallowed. “What, uhh, what makes you think that?”

“Because,” Mr. H smiled, “he just lied to my face trying to keep you out of trouble. That kid never lies. He’s… really bad at it.”

“Oh. Yeah, he really is,” Dylan agreed. “Wait, Mr. H, is this the part where you tell me you know a guy who can make me disappear if I do anything to hurt him?” Dylan laughed, softly, at his own joke, but Mr. Hackett didn’t.

The camp leader let out a long-suffering sigh instead, clapping the young man on his damp shoulder. “Let’s just both hope it doesn’t come to that, Dylan, hm?”

#the quarry #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #chris hackett #rylan #radioheads #the quarry fanfic #precanon Rylan #ficlet #asked and answered #🐰#short form but probably overly long lol #Dylan gets the shovel talk #Chris does know a guy #he knows a few guys

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hoffstrap-yuri · 10 months ago

Text

For Sickness and in Health (Insurance)

ao3 // masterlist

*SUMMARY: Agent Strahm was by the book when it came to solving cases. Being honest about his marital status was a different story entirely.

*RATING: +18 for Explicit Mature Content

*CONTENT/TAGS: M/M, Hoffstrahm, Coffinshipping, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fake Marriage/Dating, Fake Relationship, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe

*STATUS: Chapter 1/2

Author's Note: Second chapter of this fic can be found here! Woo my first MLM saw fic, it's only fitting it'd be coffinshipping. Huge thanks to @cubestrahm for helping me stay motivated on this project, and come up with an ending for it <3

There was an eerie silence in the air. Hoffman was in the middle of his daily crossword puzzle, scratching his head at what possibly could be the answer for 5 down. Strahm took a glance at the desk across from him before clearing his throat. When Hoffman didn’t look up the first time, he cleared it again with more phlegm coming up.

“Do you need something, special agent?” Hoffman finally looked up from his crossword. To say he was mildly annoyed by the other middle aged man would be an understatement. Unless he had the answer to 23 across, Hoffman didn’t want to hear a damn word come from his mouth.

Strahm took a deep breath before he said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask Perez.” Hoffman replied, turning his eyes back down to the paper in front of him

“Would if I could, believe me.” Strahm propped his head up against his fingers, “See… I need you to.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman raised an eyebrow, bringing his coffee cup up to his lips. He started to take a sip when Strahm said maybe the most outlandish thing that Mark had ever heard in his life,

“I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

Hoffman spit out his coffee, droplets making it onto Strahm’s crisp white shirt across the two desks.

“Agent Strahm, are you high?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell are you smoking,” Hoffman sputtered as he kept trying to string words together. Something to make a coherent sentence. “Are you insa… Actually, I’ve seen the footage of your interview with Jill Tuck. I know you’re insane. Why would I even entertain this idea, Special Agent?”

“You get better insurance?” Strahm shut his eyes, hoping that the offer of a better plan would be enough to entice the man before him. There was a pause in their banter. Peter couldn’t believe that Mark would actually even consider this.

“Does the plan include dental?”

“Wait you don’t get dental?”

“I do.” Hoffman scoffed, “But I have a ridiculous co-pay. What’s yours look like?”

“500.”

“… Fine. What do you need from me?”

“Just come with me to DC. We’ll talk to an HR person for an hour, get the paperwork sorted out, and we both get better insurance.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright.” Strahm said with a heavy sigh of relief. He was still quiet around Hoffman the next couple of minutes until Perez came back from lunch. Naturally, Strahm turned his back away from the other man to talk to his partner. Hoffman pulled a straw wrapper off the side of his desk he’d been meaning to throw out anyway, crumpled it up, and threw it at the back of Strahm’s head. When Strahm turned around to see whether something had actually hit him, Mark played coy. Almost too coy. Strahm raised an eyebrow at him, trying to goad him into a confession. Other, weaker, men would have folded under the gaze of the man with immaculate eyelashes, but Mark was stronger than that. Or so he thought at the very least. Mark leaned forward on his desk and rested his head on his fists, inviting some kind of challenge from the agent. As Strahm opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, he thought long and hard whether a fight right now was worth it. He zipped his own lips back up and turned back around to talk with Perez.

‘Did she know?’ Mark wondered to himself, ‘About Strahm’s stupid little plan?’

Strahm massaged the wedding band on his finger, as if a sign to Hoffman that he heard his thoughts. That Lindsay was in on the whole scam too. She had to know… He shook his head and tried to clear the thought from his head. Maybe Hoffman was the one really getting scammed.

---

“Nice ride.” Hoffman slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at the car behind Strahm parked in Hoffman’s driveway.

“Shut up.”

“First road trip…”

“Don’t.” Strahm pointed at his partner in crime, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Aw, afraid you’re gonna like hearing the words ‘newlyweds’ come from my mouth?” Hoffman got up in Strahm’s face. Strahm’s lips were mere inches from brushing up against Hoffman. He felt the tickle of a sharp inhale from the detective’s nose and the heavy sigh when the air came back up along his upper lip. Peter turned his head away so he didn’t have to look into Mark’s eyes. He turned on the back of his heels and opened up the trunk for Mark to put his bag inside of. Mark plopped his bag down next to what he assumed was Strahm’s overnight bag before attempting to open the back passenger side door.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Strahm asked, sticking his head out of his window

“Sitting in the back, idiot. What does it look like I’m doing?” Mark wriggled the handle some more

“Why the hell would you sit back there?”

“So I can get some sleep.”

“And make me feel like a damn taxi driver; I don’t fucking think so. Sit up here.”

“Fine.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and got into the seat across from Strahm. He crams himself in before feeling up the seat to find the height adjuster. He pushed it as far back as it would go and crossed his legs before pressing his weight up against the car door.

“Here, grab the directions from the glove compartment.” Strahm said. He wrapped an arm around the headrest of Hoffman’s seat as he backed up from the driveway. Hoffman handed him the three sheets of paper folded into threes. Before handing it off however, he took a peek under the fold to see where the MapQuest directions lead to. Some two-star hotel on the DC-Maryland border. Not that Hoffman had any right to complain about the lodging, but he wondered if the accommodations were coming from the FBI or Strahm’s wallet.

“Take a left here. It’ll be faster and it’s easier to get on the turnpike.” Hoffman pointed up a couple of blocks ahead of them. Strahm gave him an apprehensive look before following the instructions the other man gave him. “Nice smooth merge instead of fighting.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Take it you don’t go home much? Or am I not good enough to bring home to mom?” Hoffman asked as he handed the papers off finally.

“What are you on about now?”

“Why aren’t you taking me to your place?”

“My place?” Strahm looked at him, more confused than ever

“In DC.”

With a sharp inhale Strahm asked, “Do you think every FBI agent is based out of Washington DC? Are you really that stupid, Detective?”

“Maybe I am.” Hoffman shrugged nonchalantly. Was Hoffman trying to scam him, even now? A blood vessel was popping on the edge of Strahm’s forehead and he could feel it. That seemed to make Hoffman’s lips curl at the ends ever so deviously. So it was all a fucking joke. “What’s the plan?”

“What?” Strahm’s attention returned in that moment.

“When we get to DC, smart ass.”

“Go to sleep. Get up in the morning, go to the office, and get this done. We’ll be home by tomorrow night.”

“How punctual.” Hoffman purred. “Did you bring something for me to wear?”

“No, why the hell would I do that?” Strahm asked.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you, this was your plan. I thought you asked me because you had something already.” Hoffman sat up in his seat, giving the other man a dumbfounded look

“I asked because you’re the only one not in the registry like Perez is. I mean why the hell wouldn’t you go out and buy a cheap dress or something after I told you about this?”

Hoffman just sighed before realizing the implication of this. “So guess that means you have to take me shopping.”

“What you want to go to the National Mall for that, dumb ass?”

“And if I do?” Hoffman smirked. He was clearly enjoying himself far too much. On the other hand, it took every bone in Strahm’s body to keep the two of them from careening off the highway and into the Atlantic ocean. Most of the car ride was in silence after that. Mark would occasionally peer out the window when they crossed a river, making it damn near impossible for him to get his planned nap in during the drive. Like that, they were pulling up into the parking lot of their hotel. Strahm left the car on while he checked in, and made a motion out to Hoffman when they were all set. Strahm walked back out to the car and sat in the driver’s seat before looking behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“To go shopping.” Strahm said with a sigh.

---

“Where to first?” Hoffman asked, stepping out of the car. Strahm hadn’t allowed for any stops on their way down south, so getting out to stretch was completely out of the question. Now that he was free, Hoffman lifted his arms over his head and let out a yawn. Strahm shot him a look before saying,

“It was only three hours, you don’t need to be so dramatic.”

“It was four.” Hoffman corrected him. Strahm just rolled his eyes and locked his car, walking away from the verbal conflict.

“Let’s go find you a dress first.” Strahm said in a hushed voice. Not that there was anyone else in the garage, but if there was he was worried someone would hear the two male voices.

“Does it have to be a dress? Or do you just want to emasculate me?” Hoffman growled slightly.

“There’s no way you’d fit in a woman’s suit.” Strahm stated, as if it was common knowledge. “And this is the FBI, you have to look halfway decent.”

“Your wish is my command, hubby.” Hoffman slapped on the most offensively fake smile as they walked into the mall. While neither of the men knew the layout of the mall, Strahm seemed to fall in behind Hoffman. This was unlike his usual behavior back in New York but Hoffman didn’t think it was worth getting into. They walk up to a directory and find a shop to pick a dress out from, first trying the anchor stores and getting nowhere with that. They tried a specialty store next, with more results. The only issue is the staff seemed to glare as the two men rummaged through the racks to find something that would fit a man like Hoffman. Hoffman noticed that Peter kept stealing looks as he would step out from the dressing room to look at the dress in the full length mirror. “Here, this should fit, but I need to to zip the back up.”

“Fine.” Strahm approached Hoffman and pulled the zipper up. It seemed to fall back as it was just about to close so Strahm told him, “Suck your gut in.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hoffman rolled his eyes and sucked his stomach in. The zipper went up fine and Strahm secured it with the tiny hooks on the back. His hands slowly lingered onto Hoffman’s hips as they looked at the outfit in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, you just look like a nice broad now.” Strahm replied quickly, before realizing where his hands were resting. He took a step back and Hoffman did a half spin to see what his back looked like in the dress, “I think it’ll work.”

“Yeah.” Strahm’s eyes wandered up at the ceiling. Hoffman reveled in this power and slid his hands down his hips with a whistle. Strahm turned his head back to look at the other man before darting his eyes away again. Like fucking putty in Mark’s hands. He walked back to his dressing room, came back out, and quickly threw the garment into Peter’s arms. Strahm shuffled to catch it before Hoffman walked past him and back into the store. Strahm veered towards the cashier before Hoffman pulled him by the back of his shirt and asked,

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To check out.”

“Not before I get some accessories.” He turned Strahm around and took a look at the gaudy earrings the store had on display

“You don’t even have piercings.” Strahm huffed quietly, “You’re not about to get them pierced for this.”

“And if I wanted to?”

“I’d tell you ‘you’re insane’ and pull you out of Claire’s. Dumbass.”

“Well at the very least, you can treat your wife to a nice necklace.”

“Fine.” Strahm sighed, feeling the grip Hoffman had on him growing tighter. “We can go to a jewelry store for that.”

“God you really know how to spoil a woman, it’s a wonder you’re not actually married.” Hoffman teased him, taking the dress from his hands and bringing it up to the counter himself. The cashier at the time didn’t seem to care that two men approached her with a feminine dress. She finished the transaction as quickly as she could, and went back to sulking while the two men headed back into the mall. Hoffman dragged Strahm back to a directory to plan their next course of action. It would be shoes, makeup, and jewelry in that order. There were more than a few instances where Hoffman didn’t need to be so close to the FBI agent, but would still press his body up against the other man. Like when a family tried to walk around the two of them. It would turn Strahm’s face an embarrassing red to have the fabric of Hoffman’s shirt slide across the leather of his jacket. In a low voice that he was certain only Strahm would hear he’d say, “My bad.”

“Just shut up and keep walking” or some variation were the only words Strahm was able to eek out. They managed to find some heels that weren’t ridiculously chunky, and Hoffman could balance on before going to a makeup store in the mall. They found a disgustingly light powder pink that the saleswoman said ‘any girl would love’, while Strahm stood out in the mall proper pretending that he was just shopping with a friend after work. She also threw in some samples that Hoffman didn’t really seem to understand, but was thankful he wasn’t buying any more makeup than was necessary. Not that it was on his dime, but he’d have no use for it after this elaborate fraud. Next, the two walked around a jewelry kiosk. Mark pointed at a diamond necklace and Strahm nearly cussed him out there in front of the sales clerk but just handed the Amex over before there was any questions. They walked back to the car before Strahm excused himself and headed to the bathroom.

“You really can’t wait for 20 minutes to get to the hotel?” Hoffman asked him, rolling his eyes

“It’s four o’clock, there’s no way in hell the ride is only going to be 20 minutes.” Strahm retorted before going in. Hoffman waited impatiently, stamping his foot down and glancing at the clock. How long did it take this idiot to piss? Out of the corner of his eye, Hoffman saw another store that he ducked into. If he was going to be Strahm’s wife, he was going to make the agent really regret it. He hurried back to the spot where Strahm was just zipping up his jacket. “Where were you?”

“Looking at Auntie Anne’s, the fuck does it matter to you?”

With a huff Strahm replied, “Whatever” before beginning the walk back to the car. This time Hoffman was sure to follow behind the agent. He seemed more… on edge than he had been this morning on Hoffman’s doorstep. Were the nerves setting in? Was his bravado really that fragile that shopping for women’s clothing was going to trip up Special Agent Peter Strahm?

“You seem tense.” Hoffman remarked

“I’m fine.” Strahm dodged the accusation, but not very well. There was almost an edge of bitterness in his words. He seemed to realize how rude he’d sounded by the way his eyes softened and said again, “I’m fine” in a much gentler tone.

“Nervous?”

“About?”

“Lying to your employer, the federal government?”

“No. No that’s the easy bit.”

“Easy, huh? Don’t tell me you’ve deceived the government before.”

“Yeah. Then when they caught me in my lie about 5 years later just told them it was a clerical error.”

“How rebellious of you. Never in my wildest dreams could I see you, Agent Strahm, bending the rules. Much less for your amusement.”

“And you’ve always filed your taxes on time.” Strahm laughed

“I’d never mess with my taxes.” Hoffman replied with a slight frown

“Sure thing, altar boy."

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