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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

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My Best Friend's Dad - Ch. 7: Sweet to Me

Dave York x Female Reader

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Word Count: 16.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

mentions of separation and divorce, mentions of infidelity, domestic arguments, alcohol use, dirty talk, male masturbation, oral (f receiving), age gap, reader descriptions (long hair, fit body), panty kink, olfactophilia, marking, daddy kink, vaginal sex. We also get some creepy/obsessive/possessive Dave in here which I LOVE

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A/N: ladies and gents this is the moment you’ve waited for.

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Shameful awkwardness runs white-hot through your veins when you hear him repeat the word back to you. You gulp heavily, the saliva sliding slowly down your throat. And David stares up at you as you begin to squirm slightly on his lap.

“Do you consider me to be your boyfriend?” he asks you, fully voicing the question currently running rampant in his mind. His eyebrows raise slightly as he looks into your eyes, curiosity and near bewilderment crossing his expression.

He’s baffled, completely caught off guard. He wasn’t sure what this was, he hasn’t been sure this entire time. The only thing he’s been sure of is his ability to soak up every single moment he gets with you. That, and how incredibly new this entire circumstance is. When you were near him, he always focused on you, whether others were around or not. And now that you’re alone together, his undivided attention is entirely yours, his concentration only increasing when he hears these words.

“Oh, well, I um… I kind of, I mean, you’re here and well, no one’s ever really been here before and –”

You’d been looking away, anxiety filling your gut while the blood drained slightly from your face. But as soon as you truly begin to babble, David’s hand comes up to your face. Immediately, he turns you to look at him, bringing you in for a searing kiss.

“Mm!” you murmur, your eyes wide open until you fully register his reaction. And when you do, you smile against him, your own hand coming up to brush softly over his cheek. His own grin widens against you, chuckling quietly while his free hand holds you tightly against him.

“Baby, I really like you, I like this. I want that.” it comes out in two quick pants before his lips return, and the expression of them makes your heart jolt inside. “I’m sorry I can’t be with you more but baby, I want to be with you.”

“Dave,” you smile kindheartedly, his fervent kisses trailing to your chin and cheek.

“I would love to be your boyfriend, baby.”

This is so incredibly strange for him. He hasn’t been someone’s boyfriend in years, decades even. Any uncertainty he felt about the situation you’d been describing between you and Molly at the mall completely melts away, the internal feeling similar to the physical one he feels as you begin to rest in his arms.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, kissing your lips once more. He then leans back slightly, looking up into your eyes with his hand still on your face. “Do you want to be with me? Like that? You want that?”

Your teeth tug on the bottom corner of your lip, doing your best to keep your rapidly forming grin at bay, your explosive internal emotions doing little to help. A few seconds pass, filled with nothing but your giddy grin and David’s delightful expression as your eyes flicker between both of his. And then, you nod, the feeling of his strong arms quickly tightening around you as he pulls you to his chest.

There’s something about being here with you that makes him feel more… alive. It makes him feel like he’s been missing something all his life. Are relationships always supposed to feel this way? Exciting and unexpected and like you’re falling but you’re hoping you’ll be caught? And that right there is probably the scariest part about this, he thinks, because he doesn’t know if he’ll land softly when this is over. But he does think it’ll be worth it. So far, you’ve been worth it.

It's almost like every single thing you give him, every little tidbit about yourself, every little habit you show, every little piece of kindness or sass or wit inside your heart, it makes him fall that much harder for you. Is there anything about you that he won’t like? Because right now, you’re everything he could ever want.

“I know it’s kind of a cheesy movie, but… would you want to watch it?”

You ask him this as he comes out of the hallway, having just gotten out of the bathroom. By now his clothes have been washed and dried, only needing a quick wash due to the few garments he had. And once they were done, he slipped on a pair of dark gray sweatpants to make himself cozier. And just above the hem of his pants, the bright lilac hue peaks out. It’s covered by his shirt, but it’d only take one slight movement to expose it. He smiles to himself at just the thought of it, glancing down at his new attire and then checking the time on his watch.

When he gets closer to the couch, he glances up, expecting to see a movie similar to Twilight or The Notebook, something he’ll likely just sit through. But when he does, he’s surprised to see something unexpected. Something he actually likes.

“Can’t Buy Me Love?” he asks, looking from the screen to you. “Are you serious?”

There’s a wide grin breaking across his face, one eyebrow raised as he expresses his doubt in your statement.

“You thought I wouldn’t like this movie?”

You ponder your response, turning in your seat with a smirk. But then, you look back at him, your heart stuttering over a few beats from what you see. His hair is still slightly damp on the ends from the shower he’d had just over an hour ago, giving him an almost boyish look. He has his watch on and the t-shirt, and… sweatpants. You’ve never seen him in sweatpants before. You’ve never seen him in anything other than his business attire before. It offers a different mood to the surrounding atmosphere, one that feels light and comfortable.

“Baby, I love this movie. I haven’t seen it in forever, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“Really?”

He laughs, rounding the couch to sit next to you. Dave leans back on it, that same charming smile lingering on his face. Internally, he considers his response, wondering if it’ll come off too harsh. With his grin unwavering, he lays his right arm over the back of the couch, just behind you, and sighs.

“Were you even alive when this movie came out?” he then asks, turning his head to face you.

Immediately, your jaw drops, your open mouth displaying a shocked yet amused grin. When he sees your response, he laughs again, hearing your own giggle begin to pour out.

“Wow!”

“Oh, come on.” He replies playfully, rolling his eyes as he slings his arm around your neck to pull you close. Those still-smiling lips press against your forehead, and while the force behind his tug isn’t aggressive, the ease in which he is able to move you makes you flutter inside. “I’m just playing with you.”

Dave hasn’t exactly come off as the softest man, at least, not when others were around. He seems stern and hard on the outside, that impression solidifying itself even further when you found out he was a military man. But knowing that this cheesy 80’s flick is one of his favorite movies makes you feel like you’re finally seeing the layers underneath. Although, you’ve already seen a peak of David’s tender side through your text messages and more intimate moments. And all of this makes you think… after everything he’s been through in life, he’s choosing you to open up to? You?

“You’re cute,” you coo when he finally pulls back, lifting a hand and stroking your fingers along his jaw. “You’re so handsome.”

“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head and lowering himself a bit.

Naturally, softly, your eyes close, nodding and whispering a small yes before your lips meet. He easily moves you backward, laying you down on your couch as his hands begin exploring once again.

“David,” you giggle, feeling those broad palms now pawing at you.

“I can’t help it,” he mumbles, his voice now muffled by the smooth skin of your neck. “I want more of you.”

“Mm…” your head tilts back a bit for him, your knees widening so he can slot himself right between your thighs. And he mirrors your quiet delight when your fingers slowly card through his hair, your core burning bright when his right palm slides around to cup the curves of your backside in hand.

But before much else can happen, your doorbell rings, and Dave’s head pops up. He looks to the door, then back to you.

“You expecting someone?”

“Yeah, I decided to order some pizza.” You tell him, watching as his eyes trail slowly down your form. “Would you be able to get the door?”

Something about you asking him to answer the door for you makes the entire situation feel domestic and calm, so he smiles, happily agreeing to. You make him feel so welcomed in your home, like it’s natural, like he’s meant to be here.

“Thanks,” Dave nods, handing the kid a few bills.

“Oh, do you want –”

Dave just waves at him, cutting the younger teen off while setting the soda you’d ordered on the table beside your entryway.

“Keep the change.”

“Oh, I thought I already paid for that online.” You frown, hearing his short conversation.

As if he’d been here many times before, David walks over into your kitchen to set down the boxes and drink. You walk over behind him, choosing to sit on a stool beside your countertop.

“I guess not.” He shrugs, glancing up at you. “Where are your plates?”

“Up there,” you reply, pointing to the cabinet behind him. “Well, how much was it again? I can pay you back for it.”

“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.” Dave chuckles, pulling two plates out and setting them on the stone surface.

Your face twists slightly in both confusion and doubt. “Are you sure? I mean, I meant to in the first place.”

“Honey, I don’t mind. Trust me.” He reassures you, offering a kind smile. “Now, how many slices do you want?”

On the inside, he’s practically buzzing. Would this be considered a date? Honestly, he’s not sure, but it’s the closest he’s come to one in years. Right now, your head is in his lap, and he has to work to keep his breathing calm. He’s seated on the end of your couch with you lying down, the two of you snuggled up while the movie plays.

When each of you had grabbed your cups and plates and finally sat down, he’d told you that he doesn’t usually watch these movies anymore. When you asked why, he said it was because he had no one to watch them with. And it’s not like he couldn’t watch them alone, he just didn’t want to. You’ve quickly come to find out that while Dave can be an incredibly strong and confident man, if he had a partner in his life, he didn’t want to do much without them. He liked being in a relationship, at least, when it was a fair and healthy one.

No matter how many times he thinks about how strange this is, he can’t bring himself to act differently. He doesn’t want to act differently, not with you. There were so many times throughout Dave’s life where he had to conceal his emotions and bring other ones to the surface. His job and marriage being two main examples. It got to the point where it was easy for him. But with you, it killed him. It was remarkably difficult to hide the feelings you so naturally brought out in him.

And while he continues to think, the movie continues to play, each of you paying attention to every scene. You can feel his breathing, the rise and fall of his stomach and chest behind you. You can also feel the soft stroke of his fingers as they begin to pet your hair, his knuckles occasionally brushed over your cheeks.

“This is my favorite scene,” you coo from below, smiling to yourself.

At this point in the movie, the two main characters had begun their fake relationship. She was more popular than him, and he just wanted to fit in. Amidst their difficulties, they decided to stage a breakup. And upon revealing your likeliness for the specific scene, David asks why.

“You can see they don’t mean it, not really.” You begin, “Neither of them. They’re both faking.”

He looks back up at the screen, having glanced down at you while you spoke.

“She’s falling for him; it’s all he’s ever wanted, and he doesn’t even see it.”

It’s cheesy, but that’s what you love about it. To you, these movies were the epitome of love. Writing poems for your crush, romantic confessions, opposites attracting each other. And that last bit… well, that makes you think.

“Dave?” you ask, rolling over onto your back. You stare up at him, and sensing the beginnings of a conversation, he grabs the remote and pauses the movie.

“Do you think we’re opposites?”

The question catches him off-guard; he’d never thought about it before.

“I, um…” he starts, crinkling his brows together. “I don’t know. Maybe, why?”

“Was just thinking about it. I feel like we’re different.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, wondering where this sudden line of questing is coming from. Are you rethinking things?

You shrug, still looking up at him. “I don’t think so, not always.”

“Well, what do you think is different?”

“I’m small,” is the first thing that comes to mind. “And you’re… big.” He smiles at this, giving you a small chuckle. “You’re usually so serious but right now, you seem so sweet.”

“Are there times when I’m not sweet? To you?”

“No,” you grin, still speaking quietly. “You’re always sweet to me.”

Laying like this allows you to stare directly into his eyes, your own expressions now moving to mirror his. After he receives your answer, he goes back to brushing his palm and fingers over your hair and the side of your face, his skin moving gently over your silky strands.

He’s happy with your answer, elated, actually. Because you’re right, after all, he isn’t a sweet man. Dave can think of few things that make him good, even nice. His entire career made him into a man he never thought he’d be, those feelings only growing worse when he ‘retired’. But when he saw you, something inside him shined. Something new bloomed inside, something that made him feel lighter and new.

“I like you being here.” You then murmur to him, watching as he releases a restful breath.

By now, the sun has begun to set, the dimness of its light changing the atmosphere in your living room. It was already calm and happy, but the sunset is forming the tone in the air to be even softer than you thought it could be. The gentle hue of those golden oranges and yellows slip through the peaks between your shades, creating small shadows on your face that Dave begins to trace.

“I like being here.” He reciprocates, his hand stalling as he holds your cheek, his thumb sweeping briefly over your bottom lip. All too quickly, he gets lost in the expression you give simply through your eyes. “You’re so pretty.”

“You think so?”

Dave almost scoffs. “Of course I do. Haven’t been able to look away since I met you.”

This is so weird, you suddenly think to yourself. And you’re not necessarily turned off by the intrusive thought; it only fills you with wonder. To be doing this – with her dad, of all people. But I just… I love this. I really love this.

Something about David makes you feel whole, makes you feel comforted while simultaneously feeling as though you’d just flung yourself off a cliff. What makes it so comforting though, is knowing that he’s there to catch you. And you trust that thought so much because he’s never shown you otherwise.

“Come up here,” he coos to you, giving you a single nod.

Without question, you do, smiling as you move to crawl onto his lap once again. It seems like this is the position the two of you find yourselves most often in, having accomplished many firsts within your relationship in this exact same spot. And when you’re finally settled over his lap again, straddling his hips, he holds you, looping those strong arms around your back.

“Mm…” he groans, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your cheek. “You’re so beautiful, baby. You’re so fucking pretty.”

Without a word, you turn your head, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. And he meets you move for move, stride for stride, easily parting your lips with his. His tongue strokes inside, your hands lifting to either side of his face as you relax above him.

“I’ve never seen or met anyone like you before.” he confesses to you, his kisses becoming more hurried as his left hand travels lower. “This is so different,” he mumbles over your mouth. “So different for me.”

“Baby,” you quietly whine, feeling him grip your backside and knead the flesh of it in his hands. “I like that… it’s new for me, too.”

Those comfy sweatpants give Dave little room to hide his rapidly rising erection, feeling you shuffle slightly over his lap. And while you keen from his affectionate words and praise, you also think back to your moments of jealousy while he had been gone. Being jealous that while Carol didn’t sleep with him anymore or get much of his attention at all, she still had him every day, every day and night. But it shouldn’t be a problem for you, it shouldn’t bother you because it’s so obvious that he doesn’t want her, he clearly wants you.

“Can you take this off again?” he asks against your parted lips. “Please?”

“You take it off this time, baby.” You grin, and the words alone give him confidence.

Without missing a beat both hands fall to the edges of your shirt, easily lifting it up and over your head. You raise your arms for him, allowing him to remove it fully and toss your shirt to the ground. You hadn’t been wearing anything beneath it, and the sight makes him groan. Now becoming more and more comfortable with you, he dives down, his mouth immediately sucking a mark on the swell of your left breast. You gasp when he does it, your hands flying to the back of his head. But he doesn’t let up, he just suctions his mouth that much harder against you. You can feel his teeth and tongue as they focus on this particular spot, giving your chest a single discoloration before moving onto the next. And when he’s done with that, he moves barely a centimeter down, lazily wrapping his lips around your nipple.

“Oh, baby, yes…”

“You like when I play with your tits?” he asks, his voice gruff and breathy.

“You know I love it,” you respond, sighing out shakily as you hold onto him, your nails already digging into his skin.

“Baby, I wanna taste more of you.”

You don’t have to think hard to become aware of what he’s talking about. He’d had his mouth on you only a few mere hours ago, and he already wants more?

“Really, baby? You liked it that much?” you ask him, entirely surprised.

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve made a woman cum?” he returns, lifting his head to look at you. And you grin.

“A few hours.”

“Before that.” he smirks, amused by your humorous remark. He then leans in, nudging your nose with his. “Years, baby. And the fact that it was with you? Some sexy, pretty, tiny college girl? Fuck, you feel how hard I am for you?”

Both of David’s hands fly down to your ass, giving you a firm shove over his lap.

“Just some college girl, huh?” you ignore his other words, your attitude getting the better of you. But you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips when you feel yourself slide over his length.

“I wasn’t searching for this sweetheart, but Jesus did you grab my attention. And as soon as you had it, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

If you’re being honest, you can’t really get mad at that. Neither of you were searching for this; neither of you had been in a relationship with such a large age gap before, either. And besides, even if the two of you were looking for companionship, the last place he’d willingly look was his daughter’s cheer team. And the last place you’d look was your best friend’s family.

“It felt so amazing making you cum on my fingers.” He confesses while mouthing at your earlobe. It sends shivers down your spine, feeling his passion boil over with eager delight. “Can I try to do it with just my tongue?”

“Ugh,” you groan out, rolling your eyes back into your head. “Yes.”

“Lay back for me,” he immediately responds, already rolling the two of you over.

You let him move you, feeling as light as a feather in his arms. David lays you down on your couch, the movie now completely forgotten. His fingers are already on the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down as he whispers sweet things into your ear.

“Love feeling you down here, holy fuck.”

Both your panties and shorts come down in one swipe, his body quickly returning to yours after discarding the last of your clothes onto the floor. The large expanse of his hands slide beneath your thighs, eyes zeroing in on your now naked sex when you spread your legs.

“Baby,” he exasperates, briefly shaking his head.

With gentle excitement, his hands loop around your hips, parting your legs and snuggling himself even further into you. He ushers your thighs up over his shoulders with ease, almost like he’s done it a million times before. You wish he has. But you don’t worry, you know you’ll get there.

You almost can’t help how quick you prop yourself up on your forearms, watching as his handsome face quickly disappears between your legs. Immediately, your jaw drops open, eyebrows folding in the center as he attaches his mouth to your glistening lips. His tongue easily swipes through, those mesmerizingly warm eyes falling closed.

“Oh,” you breathe out, the sound ending in a moan.

The scruff that’s slowly been blooming along David’s jawline rubs over your smooth, sensitive skin, your body already buzzing with excitement. He continues to mouth at you, licking into you fervently as he holds onto your hips, keeping you seated on his mouth. What really does it for you is the sensation, the reverberation, of David’s moans. They shiver through your core, your eyes rolling back in response.

“Baby…” you sigh, dropping yourself back on the couch, reaching your hand down and running your fingers through his hair.

He moans happily when you do this, his eyes closed while he savors your taste. And while he continues to lick inside your channel, his fingers grip the sweet flesh of your thighs, massaging you in hand and pressing you further onto his face. When he does this, you shuffle forward with his motions, rotating your hips up against him.

“That feels good, just – just like that… David…” he rubs his tongue against you, drawing half circles over your clit with the tip of his nose.

His pace changes from hungry to sensual, licking slowly yet firmly over every inch of your sex. You can’t help but thrust up into his mouth, swirling your hips over his face. But still, it’s as if he can’t get enough, continuing to shuffle closer to you as he quickly brings you toward your high. And the gentleness in which he licks you, it makes your mouth hang open in a silent cry.

“Baby, lay your tongue out, love it when you do that. Please do that…”

Immediately, he does what you ask, eyes opening to stare up at your beautiful form. He can see your chest rising and falling with vigor, can see the muscles tightening in your stomach. You’re still combing through his hair, occasionally tugging and making his cock fucking throb.

He drags the roughness of his tastebuds over your small, pulsing bundle of nerves. He focuses here now, wanting to make you cum so he can taste it, all of it. The small samples you’ve given him twice now have made him ravenous. He needs to have more.

“I need you to cum for me, baby,” he grunts out against you, hot breath fanning over your sex. He’s panting, too. “Please give it to me, Jesus fuck, I wanna feel you shake for me.”

His words send you over the edge, head tilting back as you cry out a passionate moan. David’s strong body holds you down without even placing his hands over your lower belly. Just by hanging onto your hips, he keeps you in place, and it surprises you just how much he can control you this way. With powerful motions you thrust upwards, feeling the rapid drags and flicks of his tongue over your clit. He can feel the wet rush of your juices land on his lower lip and chin, but he waits to drink you up, wanting to ride out your high for as long as possible. He keeps his tongue over your most delicate part, applying just the right amount of pressure for you. Toward the end of it, as you begin to come down, his head moves languidly with your hips, gently rotating as you revel in the euphoria he’s brought you.

“Ugh,” he heavily groans, dropping his mouth down to your fluttering hole once your hips have stilled.

Dave releases you of his hold, hands sliding down to the space between your legs. His palms hold the underneath of your cheeks and thighs, both thumbs spreading your lips open, allowing himself the very best access to your center. And he smiles, seeing your pussy entirely, so closely, easily sliding his tongue inside. You gasp loudly, back arching and pushing your chest up into the air. You feel so sensitive, having just come down, and you’ve never even experienced this before. You’ve never had a man be so adamant in tasting you, and when he smells you? Dear fucking god.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs out quietly, resting his mouth against your center as he inhales a deep breath. It makes you tingle, the filthiness of it.

“You like how I smell?” you ask with a small giggle of disbelief.

“Sweetheart,” he huffs out, “It makes me so hard.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” he answers, his face burning red. He’s embarrassed, he knows it’s strange, but he’s indulging in you as much as he can, for as long as he can.

He’s lost inside his head, lost in your feel and scent. The thoughts he conjures are ones that make his insides burn, with both lust and guilt. He’s absolutely in love with your kindness, your sweetness, adoring the matching underwear you bought for him. But what he would love even more, is to take them home after you’ve worn them. He’d smell and lick them, lay them in his palm and rub himself with them. It makes his muscles tighten, his heart racing inside his chest from just imagining it.

Almost every interaction you have with Dave is new for you, and you’re more than aware that he feels the same way. You’ve never experienced this before, someone fully immersing themselves in your taste and even your smell. Most of your exes treated oral like a chore, rarely ever making you cum. But Dave… he enjoys it, really enjoys it.

“Baby,”

“Oh…” He sighs, open-mouthed against you.

His tongue is completely laid out, thumbs still holing your lips as he keeps you spread for him. Slowly, sensually, he drags his tongue over your still-fluttering hole. His eyes are closed, his touch is gentle, and he seems… different, this way. He’s softer than you’ve ever seen him before.

“Baby,” you say again, your voice sweet as you reach down.

He feels your hand cup his cheek, thumb stroking him gently. And he leans into your touch, into your open palm, but he doesn’t stop licking.

“Can I keep going?” he asks pleadingly. Even though you’ve come down from your high, and he’s not actively ushering you toward another one, he’s enjoying himself thoroughly. But are you?

“You – you want to?”

You lean up slightly, glancing down at him. What you’re met with are soft, pleading eyes, his tongue poking out to swipe across his lower lip. He nods.

“But… what about you?”

“What about me?” he asks sweetly, cooing to you as he presses his lips to your inner thigh.

“Want you to feel good, baby.”

“I feel so good like this honey, I love this…” he feels himself getting lost again; he needs to see how you feel. “Is it, is this okay?”

His eyes return to yours, slight worry now swirling within them. He hadn’t done this with Carol in the entire time that they’d been together. He’d watch porn in similar fashion, but he never wanted to actually do it with her. But with you, it’s like he has a need to.

“Yes,” you whisper in response, nodding just barely.

“Really? It’s not, it’s not weird for you?”

You can see his cheeks turning red, the flush falling to his neck, as well. And it makes you smile. He doesn’t have to worry about anything; he’s safe with you.

“It’s different,” you admit openly. “But I like it.”

Upon hearing your words, he drops his head, keeping your gaze. Experimentally, he presses his nose over your sex, inhaling a full breath. He doesn’t expect your reaction, doesn’t expect the helpless moan that floats out of your mouth, the roll of your eyes and sudden drop of your head. Huh, you really do seem to like this.

By the time he’s finished licking you clean, his senses finally satisfied, night has completely fallen. And when he is entirely done, he cuddles up to you. Without leaving the space between your legs, he shuffles further up, wrapping his arms around you again and laying his head on your belly.

“Baby,” you coo, fingers running through his hair. His eyes are closed, and he murmurs a questioning hm? against you. “Do you wanna go to bed?”

“What about the movie?” he asks, lifting his head. You giggle, seeing his droopy eyelids.

“We’ve clearly forgotten about the movie.” You laugh, moving to sit up. “You wanna lay in my bed with me?”

“I wanna do lots of things in your bed with you.” he grins, eyes closing again as he cuddles into your lap.

It takes some convincing for him to move; he’s so comfy here. But you promise he’ll be even comfier in your bed, so he agrees. Before heading to your room, you make sure the doors are locked, and the lights are off.

“That’s all you have?” Dave suddenly asks.

You turn to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“One lock? Not even a deadbolt on your front door.” All you do is shrug. “I don’t like that.”

“What do you mean?” you say again, giving him a small laugh.

“It’s not safe.”

“Awe,” you tease, “Do you worry about me?” Walking over, you place both palms on his broad chest.

“I do.” He grins, looping his arms around you and pulling you in closer to him. Then, he kisses your head, whispering, “You’re precious to me.

“I need a shave,” He sighs, looking in the mirror. He runs his fingers over his jawline, assessing the stubble that’s grown far too much for his usual look.

“I don’t think so,” you practically sing, tying your hair up as you stand in the bathroom beside him. “I like when you’re scruffy.”

That makes him smile; how could it not?

“Well, maybe I’ll keep it that way.”

“Really?” you ask, hearing his firm footsteps as he follows you out to the kitchen.

He sits down at your dining table, shrugging playfully. “Maybe.”

You don’t have much, the options for breakfast being cereal or pancakes. You choose the ladder, bringing the stack to the table along with the orange juice. Dave watches you scurry around the kitchen, smiling to himself as you dote on him. You don’t have to, of course, but you don’t really give him a choice to help or not. You bring everything to the table before he can even offer.

“C’mere,” he says to you, not even looking at the food. It makes him happy to see you so giddily stroll over to him, plopping down on his lap and looping your arms around his neck. After last night, the two of you have grown even closer. And you don’t just mean the multiple sexual acts you engaged in together. When you went to bed last night, he was so incredibly sweet with you. He’d cuddled right up to you, holding you even closer than he did when you’d slept in his bed the one time. He’d nuzzled into your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of your hair. You suppose the two of you have a thing for that, for stroking and pulling on the other’s hair. So, while he rested beside you, you pet his, running your hands gently over his head. You could feel the weight of him relax against you, both of you on your sides and facing each other, your limbs tangled together. His soft snores did you in, along with the soft thump of his heart.

And while David enjoyed snuggling with you in your bed last night just as much as you did, he also enjoyed the thoughts that formulated in his head. He hadn’t expected to have such an erotic dream about you, and with scenes much more intense than anything you’ve done yet.

“You sick of me yet?” he jokes, smiling up at you.

You twist your face up at this, unwilling to stop your next words. “Well, if I was, you think you’d still be here?”

Dave certainly doesn’t expect that, but he just laughs. While you sit on his one thigh, his hand had snaked around to your lower back, the other holding your leg. The hand on your lower back slides down, lightly tapping your ass. And immediately, your face turns beet red; he hasn’t done that yet.

“You have a lot of sass, don’t you?” he asks, leaning in slightly.

Inside, you shiver, your cheeks heating up under his gaze.

“Oh, nothing to say now?” he teases in return, and Jesus it’s too early for this. Well, maybe not too early, you’d both slept in till noon. But lord, give a girl time to wake up.

“I like when you look all nervous like that,” he mumbles to you, analyzing the expression on your face. Damn, this dream really got to him. “You like when I put my hands on your ass?”

He’s got you entirely flustered, quite the turnaround from your early, slightly grumpy mood. And he’s right, you don’t have the words. So, you just nod.

“You’re cute, baby.” He says to you in that low voice, a sinister smirk crawling over his face. He reaches up, cupping your cheek as his thumb slides across your lower lip.

He wants you to be his; he can’t stop thinking about that. But it’s too soon, he knows that. But honestly, he just loves how you make him feel. Not only is he extremely attracted to you, but just being with you makes him feel so happy and carefree.

All of a sudden, your phone rings, both of you jumping slightly. You look across the table to see who it is, and it’s Molly. Quickly, you look back over at Dave, who just smiles and gives you a nod.

“Answer it honey, I’ll be quiet.”

How is he so confident with this? You’re damn near shaking as you reach for your phone, greeting Molly as you lean back in her dad’s lap.

“Hey,”

“Hey! What’re you doing today?”

The hand David hand on your ass rises to your face, brushing some hair away before he lightly kisses your cheek. Your entire being feels like it was just electrocuted, the entire situation striking your every nerve.

“Hello?”

“Um, not – not much. Why?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You clear your throat, seeing Dave’s smirk from the corner of your eye. “What’s up, Goof?”

“Theta Chi is having a party tonight, did you wanna go?”

Because of your proximity, Dave can hear every word that is said. And when he hears this, he frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of that, for either of you.

“Oh, man,” you sigh, “I’d really love to, but I have so much homework to do.” So much Dave to do, but same-same.

“I thought you just said you weren’t doing anything today?”

“I thought you meant like, plan-wise.” You immediately, nervously reply, feeling her father’s hand return to the curve of your ass.

Dave sighs quietly beside you, squeezing you gently in his hand. Next to your thigh, you can feel him hardening. Does he like this?

“Oh,” Molly says on the other end, sounding a bit let down.

“I’ll come with you to the next one, I promise.” And you will, no matter what. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she returns. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile to yourself, loving how close the two of you have become. “Bye.”

Once you hang up, Dave surges forward, lips magnetizing to your neck. A stifled gasp shoots out of your throat, feeling his tongue as he begins to lick. The hand he has on your thigh creeps up higher, tightening its grasp.

“You liked that?” you ask breathily, chuckling lightly. “Knowing we could get caught?”

He lifts himself from your neck, looking deeply into your eyes. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him before.

“I like knowing that I’m in control.” He nearly growls, squeezing your ass in his strong hand. “I know we’re not gonna get caught; I won’t let that happen.”

Your lips part at not only his words but his actions as well, tilting your head to the side for him as his lips return to your neck. He mouths at your throat, giving you sloppy kisses that you utterly love.

Part of his dream floats back into his mind, a very specific word that both of you have touched on before. It makes the muscles in his chest tighten, makes his erection rise fully.

“I guess I know the reason behind your Only Fans tag.” He mumbles over your skin, and the mere mention of it makes your eyes go slightly wide. Neither of you have talked about your Only Fans account since you’ve seen each other in person.

“You are a sassy cheer girl, huh?” he asks, rising from your neck to begin kissing your jawline and cheek. “Is everything you say on there true?”

You swallow thickly at his questioning, his words catching you completely off guard. He continues touching and kissing and licking your body, and you think you’ll never tire of feeling his tongue on your skin.

“Baby,” he says calmly, turning you to face him as he softly commands, “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you finally breathe out, staring directly into his eyes, almost mesmerized by his look and tone of voice. “Everything I say is true.”

“Yeah?” he asks in a voice far too sweet. “Even your kinks?”

Your heart feels like its on fire, your insides churning with adrenaline. No one knows about your Only Fans but him, so naturally, no one’s ever talked to you about it before. Desperately, you try to think back on different kinks you’ve discussed on your page. There aren’t really any you’re particularly attracted to, other than – oh.

“You can tell me, baby.” David coos to you, his hand still on your cheek. “Do you have a daddy kink?”

With everything you can muster, you manage to squeak out a tiny, “Yes.”

“Let’s test that out, shall we?”

“Wha – oh,” before you can even fully get the word out, David’s fingers are rubbing over your covered sex. You’d only slept in a t-shirt and panties last night, and you haven’t yet changed. But before the fun can even begin, another phone call interrupts your moment. This time, it’s Dave’s phone.

He frowns, reaching into his pocket when he feels the buzz. When he looks at the screen, his eyebrows nearly life from his forehead. It makes you concerned, and you instantly ask him if something is wrong.

“Um, it’s Carol.”

“Answer it. It’s okay, just answer it, you don’t want to come off shady.”

Dave looks over at you, giving you an amused and doubtful look.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I have this handled, baby?” and in the same breath, he answers the call, “Hello?”

“Where the fuck have you been?! I’ve been calling and texting and you haven’t been responding for more than a day!”

“Carol, I told you, my flight got changed.” Obviously a lie, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“Oh really.” She responds. “Then why did Resnik message me asking if you’re okay?”

“What?”

“Yeah, he said you weren’t answering your phone and wanted to know if you made it home okay.”

Shit.

“Carol,” he sighs, “Can you blame me?”

“What?”

“I didn’t want to come home, okay? I booked a hotel room for a day. I just needed a breather.”

How the hell did he come up with that on the spot?

“You couldn’t have told me that?! And a breather from what? Your family?”

“Yes.” he answers simply, and you have to admit, the authority in his voice is making you hot.

“You’re ridiculous. And you need to come home. The girls know you’re back in town and are wondering why you didn’t come home, too.”

“Why would you tell them that?!” he shouts, now enraged. Still, he doesn’t gesture for you to move away. “What goes on between me and you is none of their business.”

“Actually, it is. I think we should tell them, Dave.”

“You know what? You’re right. We fucking should. Because this needs to start being finalized. I am so sick of your backstabbing shit.”

You’re surprised he’s being so blunt in front of you, but you admire it. He doesn’t put on a front, not for anyone. He is who he is.

“Baby,” he says, abruptly ending the call. “I’ve gotta go.”

Immediately, you frown. “Really?”

“Yeah honey, I have to go sort this out.” He tells you reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I really wanted to spend the weekend with you.”

“I know.”

It’s foolish, but you pout. You really wanted him to stay the entire time; you’d been having so much fun together. This feels so nice, all of it, every second of it.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m gonna miss you!” you express, leaning your head on his shoulder.

You cuddle into him, and he returns your affections, wrapping both arms around you.

“I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. I really will. But we can still text, maybe even call, okay?”

“But I won’t get to see your face for a while.”

“You like it that much, huh?”

“Stop teasing me,” you pout again, lifting your head to look into those lovingly warm eyes. “You know I like you.”

For a moment, he holds your gaze, enjoying the girlish nature in you.

“Tell you what,” he then says, reaching for his phone again. “You want to take a picture?”

“Really?” this makes you perk up.

“Yeah,” he smiles, pulling up the camera on his phone. “Give us something to look at while we’re away.”

“Okay,” you respond, nodding enthusiastically.

The first thing that you move to do is kiss his cheek, and while it’s unexpected, it makes him smile. He snaps a picture like that, then one of you smiling with him, leaning your head on his shoulder. Lastly, he decides its his turn to give you a small kiss, turning and pressing his lips to the side of your head.

“I’ll send them to you,” he promises, doing so as he says it.

You can’t help but snatch your phone from the table, immediately pulling up the three photos. The smile on your face is undeniable, so bright it burns your own cheeks. And when Dave sees this, he smiles, too.

“Better, baby?” he asks, kissing your cheek.

You nod your head, smile remaining as you pull him in for a firm kiss. “I love them.”

After a moment of happiness passes, a thought pops into your mind. He can see your expression change, now tilting his head.

“You know… we could snap each other.”

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing deep. “What does that mean?”

“Dang, I guess you really are old.” You roll your eyes sarcastically, pulling up the app on your phone. “Look, it’s called Snapchat.”

“Ohh, I think I’ve heard of this. The girls use it.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, finding his lack of knowledge on the subject quite cute. “They do. I use it, too. Maybe you could make an account, and just have me on there. That way we could see each other whenever we want.”

He ponders the idea for a moment. How easily could this be tracked? He doesn’t have social media for a reason, and maybe he should stick to that. But, if he keeps his location off and uses an entirely different name, maybe he can squeeze in this one account.

It obviously doesn’t take much convincing for him to let you set up his account. Your mind is already reeling with the possibilities of what you could send him. What would he think of you teasing him through the app? What if you made him short videos similar to the ones on your Only Fans? And then you wonder… has he ever been sent a nude before? You’d definitely like to pop that cherry.

Reluctantly, he packs, zipping up the stayover kit you’d made him and putting it on the bathroom counter. You’re so cute and thoughtful, making this for him, washing his clothes, making him breakfast. It makes him want to do things for you, make you feel just as cared for as you’ve made him feel.

But while Dave is in the bathroom thinking about how hard he’s falling for you, you’re in your bedroom on a completely different train of thought. You’d pondered it during breakfast, wondering if he’d actually like it. This specific liking of his is one you’re not well-versed in. Maybe you can take a leap, and just offer them to him.

“Baby, I gotta go.” He calls out to you, and you can hear his heavy sigh.

With a deep breath and a few reassuring words, you make your way out into the living room to say goodbye. When you step into the hallway, you see him standing near the front door. He’s in his business suit again, with everything packet in his backpack and duffle bag. He’s checking his watch when you approach, glancing up when you get close. He gives you a sympathetic smile, feeling his mood go down. But your expression… it stays relatively blank, almost innocent. He watches as you look down, lifting the edges of your shirt and exposing the periwinkle panties that match his boxers. The mere sight of it makes him tighten inside.

When you look up, you see that his eyes are still glued to your hips, smirking as you analyze his expression. Slowly, you hook your fingers into the waistband, sliding the delicate fabric down your legs.

Holy shit – what is she doing?

When they’re completely off, you drop your shirt back down, just barely covering your now naked lower half. You step even closer to him, lifting your hand in a silent offer. And finally, he realizes what you’re doing. His eyes shoot up to yours, and then back down to the pretty panties in your hand. He inhales a deep breath, his chest rising before his lungs push the air back out. Once again, he meets your gaze, lust clouding his vision entirely. It’s almost intimidating, ravenous, the look on his face.

“Do you want them, baby?”

He just stares at you, gulping when he realizes his mouth has suddenly gone dry.

“I figured,” you step even closer to him, only inches apart. “You liked the way I smelled so much… maybe you’d wanna take me with you.”

“Baby,” he finally breathes out, choking in a breath. His voice is rough, almost shaky. “Really?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, moving your head up and down as you stare up at him. “I want you to have them. Is that… something you’d like?”

“I don’t, I…” he does his best to gain his bearings, shaking his head a little bit. “I don’t know if you’d be okay with what I’d do to them.”

“What would you do to them?”

“Honey, I have to g –”

“Tell me,” Comes your quiet interruption. “Please?”

David’s eyes shut, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip. He gains the courage to look into your eyes as he tells you, figuring it’s now or never.

“I’d lick them.” he says lowly, and your heart nearly stops. “Put them on my face and sniff them.”

“Really?” your response comes out in such a hushed tone you’re not entirely sure you actually said it. You’re so taken aback by his words, but not in a bad way. No, not in a bad way at all.

“I want to put them on my cock,” he continues. “And use them to jerk myself off.”

“David…”

“I told you,” He quickly says, the words firm. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“I want you to do that.”

“What?”

“Video it for me?”

“Wait, really?” he asks, narrowing his eyebrows in disbelief. Are you just fucking with him?

“Baby…” you place your hands on his chest, sliding them down slightly, watching as they glide over his crisp suit. “That’s so hot to me. I want you to do it.”

Unintentionally, your panties are placed directly over his chest when you brought your hands up. Of course, this didn’t go unnoticed by him. He glances down at them, now so close to his face. He wants them on his face, wants every intimate area you have to be touched by his mouth.

“Will you do it for me? Please, baby?”

Jesus fuck, are you really asking him to do this?

“Yeah,” he eventually croaks out, clearing his throat. “Baby, I’d fucking love to. I want to so bad.” He reaches out for you, having kept his hands at his sides to try and keep himself at bay.

“Use them, baby.” You coo to him, smiling when you feel his warm hands fall to your hips, easily sliding down to your ass. “Use them until you can come back and use me.”

Because he has to come back, he has to.

“Really?” he grumbles, checking the time on his watch.

Carol isn’t even home yet, and that pisses him off beyond belief. That means he could have spent more time with you. But at this point, he might as well go upstairs and unpack. For some reason, the entire house is empty. And that’s strange to him; he’s not sure where everyone is, nor when they’ll get back. He texts Carol, asking her these questions, but to no avail. She, of course, does not respond. But maybe he can use this to his advantage.

Haphazardly, he tosses his backpack and duffle bag to the side, closing the door to his bedroom just in case anyone comes home. Instead of unpacking, he plops down on his bed, quickly fumbling with his belt. He’s definitely still half-hard from the conversation you’d had only half an hour ago, and he’s sure he’ll be able to cum quick with your panties wrapped around him. Fuck, he’s never done this before, never been able to experience his desires to the fullest like this.

“Snapchat,” he mumbles to himself, remembering what you’d asked him for. “Gotta get to Snapchat.”

Fumbling through his pocket, he pulls his phone out and quickly locates the app. When he does, he sets his phone aside, reaching down to pull himself fully out of his boxers and pants. He also reaches to the side, unzipping the main compartment in his backpack and pulling your used panties out.

“Oh, god…” he groans, immediately lifting them to his face. “Oh god…”

He can feel himself throbbing, moving to wrap a fist around his shaft while he keeps your panties on his face. He uses his left hand to maneuver them how he wants, to place the center of them near his nose. The tip of his length is already leaking, his thumb swirling over the wet head and smearing the clear liquid down his shaft. Knowing there’s quite a bit of uncertainty revolving around his family’s arrival, he keeps his sounds to a minimum, but in all honesty, it’s hard for him. Before he can even think about it, he thrusts up into his hand, gasping out shakily at the sensation while the smell of your cunt fills his nose. It brings him back to last night, back to when he was tongue-deep in your pussy.

“Yeah…” Dave whimpers out, eyes pinching shut as he strokes himself faster and faster.

Already, his balls are tightening, unable to hold himself back from the arousal coursing through his veins. As the sensation continues to heighten, his tongue lays out, rubbing directly over the center of your panties. He can taste you, fuck, he can taste you on them. It feels so dirty, doing this, but that’s what makes it so exciting for him. With a few more rapid licks, he’s forced to remind himself of what he’s supposed to do. So, he brings the pretty fabric down to his length, wrapping it around himself as he tugs harder and faster. Already, his precum is soaking the fabric, running down his curved head and mixing with your feminine slick. With a shaky hand, he grabs his phone again, quickly unlocking it and sighing out a breath of relief when he realizes he never closed the app. It opens right on the camera, immediately seeing himself on the other side. You’d briefly taught him how to use it before he left, but all he knows is how to take a picture, and how to record. But that’s okay, that’s all he needs.

“Oh…” his moans are more than audible as he begins to record, the slap of his hand on his pelvis becoming louder and louder.

“Baby,” he speaks to you, “I love this – thank you.” Overcome with passion, he tosses his head back, pushing it into the pillows. But he doesn’t stop.

“I licked them, baby, smelled them too, just like I said I would.” He says it as if you’d be proud to hear it, and honestly, you will be. He’s a man of his word, and you’ll be more than happy to receive this short clip in the coming moments.

“Smelled so good, just like you…” David groans deeply, the camera capturing every squeeze his fist gives, every droplet that leaks from the slit of his tip. “Fuck, I miss your lips, miss your mouth.”

Dave can feel the soft fabric of your thong rubbing across his sensitive foreskin, and it only increases his pleasure. They’re still wet with you, too, making it seem like he’s still able to experience you.

“I can’t believe you blew me, baby.” He expresses to you through the camera’s audio and lens. “Can’t believe you liked my foreskin and my c – cum, ngh. I love it, I love being with you, sweetheart.”

The words come out before he even realizes it, but he doesn’t care, not in the slightest. He’s too caught up in how amazing this feels, too caught up in the dream he’s found himself in.

“I’m gonna cum,” he nods, as if you were really there. “I’m gonna, gonna cum all over your pretty panties, baby.”

The muscles in his lower stomach convulse, his scrotum tightening as his shaft begins to throb. He works his tip and foreskin the most, rubbing your panties and his palm over the sensitive skin. What sends him over the edge is the fact that he can still taste you on his tongue from when he’d just licked your used underwear, can still taste the exact same flavor he was immersed in last night.

“Mm… fuck!” he chokes out, grunting harshly as he finally releases his load.

The sight of David’s orgasm is captured by his phone beautifully, the forceful spurts oozing down his tip after they’ve shot an inch or so into the air. It’s so thick, almost creamy, his entire body tensing and shivering. He shoves his hips up into the air over and over again, chasing that euphoric cloud. His mouth hangs open as his fist begins to slow, emptying the last of himself onto your intimate clothing.

Still panting, he opens his eyes to look down, and what he’s met with makes him moan all over again. He’s softening, his foreskin sagging slightly with your panties still wrapped entirely around him. The light purple fabric is drenched in him, white globs covering at least half of the garment.

The video ends, and without a second thought, he sends it to you. Before he cleans himself up though, he snaps a picture of his messy crotch, wanting to be able to look back on the erotic sight. Though he hopes he’ll get the opportunity to do this more often in the future.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, glancing at your phone while getting ready.

As soon as Dave had left, you hopped on your homework right away. Since you weren’t seeing him tonight anymore, you decided to go to that party after all. Because of this, you also decided to clean up your home. You like coming back to a clean space whenever you go out, especially if there’s a high likelihood of you getting drunk. But apparently, you’d been so busy that you forgot to check your phone.

“Baby,” you whisper to yourself, a shocked smirk covering half your face.

He’d sent you a video on Snapchat for the very first time, and you feel awful that you hadn’t seen it sooner. You start to worry if it concerned him that you hadn’t opened it for so long, but you have to admit, it’s difficult to think about anything else other than the images on your screen. And he’s talking, dear lord, he’s talking a lot.

“I licked them, baby, smelled them too, just like I said I would.”

Your jaw hands open even further, eyes going wide. You can see his hand speeding up.

“Smelled so good, just like you…”

Oh, good god, and then he groans. You wish so badly that he was here right now, you already miss him so much. Why the fuck did Carol have to call and ruin everything? But amidst your side-tracked thoughts, you hear him say something that makes your heart stop.

“I love it, I love being with you, sweetheart.”

Certainly not a confession of love, no, not at all. But… it’s the closest thing either of you have come to it. He loves being with you? Really? You knew he enjoyed your company, and in a multitude of ways, but you never expected it to truly go deeper. Surely a man of his age wasn’t interested in sharing his life with a twenty-something year old college girl. That just didn’t make sense. And still, he said it.

The thoughts in the back of your head were right though, he was nervous that you didn’t like it. He didn’t know how to tell whether or not you’d seen the video, all he knows is that you haven’t replied. Did you not like it? Motherfucker, he knew it. He knew it was weird – Carol never understood it either.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself afterwards. No one was home and he wasn’t hungry enough to make dinner yet, so he decided to go out back. The lawn needed to be cut and some weeds needed to be pulled. He figured he’d busy himself with that. But the buzzing in his pocket prompts him to take a break.

He intends to say more, but the sliding of the back glass door demands his attention, first. It’s his daughters, both of them stepping outside to come say hello.

“Hey dad!” Molly says, trotting over to him.

Alice closes the door, following behind her older sister, and he’s honestly surprised to see them like this. He turns toward them, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket.

“Hey,” he smiles, accepting the hug Molly graces him with. Alice comes up, too, holding onto his side.

Inside and out, he’s beaming. He can’t remember the last time he got a hug so tight from them. With one arm on each of the people he calls his pride and joy, he hugs them back, smiling ear to ear.

“We missed you,” Molly mumbles, resting her head on his chest. “You were gone really long, this time.”

And she’s right, he hasn’t taken a trip like that in a while. Her words make him choke up inside. They missed him.

“I missed you guys, too.” He returns, “I always miss you when I’m gone.”

“Are you staying for long this time? Or will you be gone again soon?” Alice says, breaking the hug.

“Honestly honey, I’m not sure. I can’t really control that.” he gives her a sympathetic smile, reaching out to rub her shoulder. He looks to her, and then to his other daughter. “I love you both, you know that, right?”

“We know that dad.” Molly grins, “What’s for dinner?”

“Not sure, did your mom have any plans?” he asks, wiping his hands over his jeans.

“No idea,” Molly replies, all three of them walking over to the patio table to take a seat. “We don’t even know when she’ll be home.”

“Is she working?”

“No, she just said she would be out.”

“Oh, well, where were you guys? The house was empty when I got home.”

“Cheer practice.”

Huh, you hadn’t mentioned anything about cheer practice today.

“I was at Anna’s.” Alice replies, relaxing back in her seat. “She’s having a birthday party tonight; I was helping her set up.”

“Oh, okay, are you going back over later?” Dave wonders aloud. He was hoping to be able to spend some time with them today.

“Yeah, it’s a sleepover.” When Alice sees the apprehensive look on her father’s face, she adds, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, glancing down at his hands. “That’s fine, honey.”

He should be more understanding; he wasn’t even planning on coming home today. Why would they have cleared their schedules for him when they hadn’t even known?

“You got any plans tonight?” he then asks, looking to Molly.

“Oh, um…” shit, she hadn’t made up an excuse for tonight. He hasn’t let her attend a single frat party since she’d started her first semester. But she’s gone to a few since then, with your help, of course. You were her connection to all of them, and you helped come up with the best lies, too. But she forgot to ask you when you were on the phone earlier.

“I…”

Dave narrows his eyes slightly; why is she acting so suspicious?

“I’m leaving – in a little bit.”

“Okay,” he nods, eyes still focused directly on her. She knows he’s interrogated people before, and she can feel the change in his attitude, even his posture. “To where?”

“I’m going to a friend’s house.”

“Molly May.” Dave firmly says, expression growing stern. “Where are you going?”

“One of my teammates’ houses.” She says, rolling her eyes with a huff. She’s trying to act annoyed so she can buy more time. Damn, how are you so good at this?

“Whose house?”

“Um, Katrina’s.”

“Have I met Katrina?”

“No, dad, but can I please just go? She lives near campus.” She continues explaining to him that she’ll be safe, that it’s right around the block from your apartment.

“Okay,” he says, feeling soft inside at the mention of you. “Okay, fine.”

“Thanks dad,” Molly smiles, getting up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready, okay?”

“Okay, baby.” He sighs, unable to stop his smile. He’s just happy to see her now that he’s home.

“Me too,” Alice chimes in. “I still have to wrap Anna’s present.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I love you.” Dave tells her, heart beating at his youngest daughter’s smile and return of verbal affection before she goes back inside.

Great, he thinks, just me and Carol tonight.

With that, he gets back up, returning to the stubborn weeds that have taken over the flowerbed since he’s been gone. But since he heard your name, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking of you. So, he pulls his phone out, still at the patio table, and brings up Snapchat again. You sent him a picture, and he opens it right away. It’s of you in his marine shirt again, and it makes him inhale a deep breath. Quickly, he gives his head a single shake, turning the camera on to take a picture of the semi in his pants that you’d immediately made.

She can be so fucking hot, he thinks to himself, and he says ‘can be’ because you aren’t always hot. Sometimes you’re cute and sweet, sometimes you’re specifically pretty, and sometimes you’re downright, unbelievably sexy.

While waiting for your response, he decides to explore the app. With a couple of swipes, he finds out that people can post “stories”, pictures or videos that everyone on their friends list can see. You posted one about half an hour ago, and he clicks on it to see. You’d taken a picture of your pile of notes and books before cleaning up, captioning it, ‘When will this be over?’. The comment makes him chuckle, but then, for the first time yet, he thinks about what will happen when you graduate. Will you leave? Will you go on to get your master’s? And shit, that’s right around the corner for you, too.

Thinking this only makes him want to see you more, and the longer it takes for Carol to come back, the more pissed off he gets. Again, this is all time he could have been spending with you. But it’s not all bad, at least he got to see his girls. He thinks that after he’s done with the yard, he’ll come in and spend time with them, but before he knows it, an hour and half has passed.

“Alright dad, I’m leaving.” Molly shouts from the door, sliding it open and leaning out.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, me too.” Alice joins in, waving at him as she walks past her sister in the background.

“Already?”

“Yeah,” Molly shrugs. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, honey. Be safe, both of you.”

“We will!”

“I love you!”

But Molly is already in the process of shutting the door; maybe she just didn’t hear him. Either way, it makes him sad. And that sadness turns into a feeling of defeat, having finally gotten done with the yard just to return to an empty house yet again.

He waits to unpack his things until after his shower, having gotten quite sweaty and dirty while working. As always, he closes his bedroom door, stripping so he can get in a quick shower. What he doesn’t know is what will be waiting for him on the other side of this short break.

Carol already has a plan; while he was gone, she did some digging. Well, as much as she could, anyway. Dave was a private man in general but tie that in with working for the Department of Defense, she’s lucky if she ever finds out anything without it coming directly from him. But all it took was a brief once-over of his room to find your hair tie and scrunchie. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was looking for, but damn did she find more than she expected. There’s absolutely no reason something like that should be in his room; it’s not like the girls know he’s in there, and Carol most certainly doesn’t spend time in there.

“Jesus Christ Carol!”

He hadn’t closed his bathroom door, walking out with his towel wrapped around his waist. She’s standing in the middle of his room, arms crossed, and weight shifted to the side. She doesn’t look happier, either; why would she be?

“Care to start explaining?” she responds, her voice calm and cool.

“Can I get some fucking clothes on first?”

He moves over to his closet, securing the towel on his waist as he does it. He then grabs a clean pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a shirt. To dry off and get fully dressed though, he goes into the bathroom to do it.

“Why are you wearing sweatpants?” she asks, her face twisting up. “You never wear sweatpants.”

Usually, he opted for jeans. But after spending a day or so with you while wearing them, he just felt cozy in them. He once thought they looked sloppy but now, they’re a mini reminder of you. And after all, they aren’t sloppy, they’re comfortable. Plus, he’s in his own home, he can wear whatever he wants.

“Felt like wearing them today.” He answers with a low sigh, stepping out of the bathroom as the shirt falls over his head and then torso. “What do you need me to explain?” he then asks, wanting to get to the point.

“Well, I was going to ask why there were hair ties and scrunchies in your bedroom.” She begins, and David’s face is already red. “But I’m more interested in the purple thong sitting on your bed.”

Immediately, his head shoots to the side. Motherfucker, he left them out.

“Did you have a fucking woman in here, David?!” she then shouts, “In the same home where our children sleep?!”

“No! I didn’t have a fucking woman in here!”

“Then where the hell are the hair ties from? Huh? And what about the fucking panties on your bed?!”

David deeply sighs, eyes closing as his right hand rises to stroke the bridge of his nose, just below his eyes.

“Don’t fucking lie to me Da –”

“Don’t,” he shouts over her, cutting her off as he stands. “Fucking talk to me that way.”

Carol’s eyes widen, but her face remains stern.

“I have a right to know.” she says to him lowly. “Are you seeing someone?”

As quickly as he can, he contemplates his reaction. Should he tell her? There’s not really any way of avoiding this right now, though, she’s seen the evidence clear as day.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Who?!”

He laughs. “That is absolutely none of your business Carol. And besides, what the hell were you doing going through my room? I moved out of the master to have space from you.”

“It’s my house, I should be able to walk into any room I want.”

“No, not rooms that are specifically someone else’s. Do we go through Molly and Alice’s rooms? No, we don’t. Because that’s a violation of privacy, Carol.”

“What makes you think you have the right to see another woman when we aren’t even divorced yet?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I wait however many years the finalizing of the divorce is going to take?”

“I just, I didn’t expect you’d move on so quickly.” She sounds a bit somber, but her rage returns in the blink of an eye. “And to bring her here…”

“I didn’t bring her here!” Technically, that’s not a lie. You were originally here for other reasons, originally.

“You’re such a liar.” She scoffs, crossing her arms again and looking to the side. And when she does this, she sees the panties again, and her jaw drops. “And you’re fucking disgusting.”

She strides over to the side of the bed, pointing at the light purple garment.

“Is that your goddamn cum on them?!”

For some reason, this makes him smile, a sly smirk lifting on one side of his lips. “Yeah,” he nods, staring directly at her.

“Does this woman even know who you really are?”

“She does, actually. She really likes it, too.”

This makes Carol scoff again. “She must be as deranged as you are, then.”

“She’s everything you could never be.” It comes out quicker than he realizes, and he feels like he should’ve watched his tongue.

Her mouth drops open, a look of complete shock on her face. “How dare you…”

“Look, can we just drop the fucking act?” David finally asks, rolling his eyes. But Carol’s next words catch him by surprise.

“Do you love her?”

“…What?”

“You heard what I said.” She doesn’t know the extent of things, honestly, no one does. No one but him. Because every incredibly intimate thought he has about you, he’s kept in his head.

“Carol, this shouldn’t matter to you anymore, I –”

“Do you love her?”

“It’s not, I just…”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her voice drops again, and he looks down, trying to formulate a response.

“I really don’t know right now.” he eventually breathes out, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He feel so vulnerable in this moment, and just as expected, Carol takes advantage of that.

“You’re pathetic.” She scoffs, shaking her head.

Without missing a beat, Dave mumbles, “I’m so done with this.” Before standing to his full height once again.

The woman he’s unfortunately still tied to by law says something from behind him, her words becoming louder as he leaves the room. But he can’t really hear them, doesn’t really care to, either. He walks downstairs, turning at the bottom step and slowly making his way into the kitchen. It’s a mixture of depression and rage, the emotions he’s feeling inside. And Jesus, he wants you, he just wants you to hold him right now. The closest thing he can get to you right now are through text, looking at the pictures you’d taken, or Snapchat. He wonders if you’ve posted anything more on your story, so, he goes with Snapchat.

What he sees first is a house, one he hasn’t seen before. It’s not your apartment, and he quickly realizes it’s a video. Frowning, he narrows his eyes, trying to get better look. Where are you? When he hears your laugh, he perks up, but who he sees next isn’t you. A man comes into a view, a few, actually. They’re younger, and as your camera continues panning around the room, he quickly comes to realize that what he’s looking at is a frat house. It takes him aback; you hadn’t said anything about going out tonight, let alone with other men. Not that you can’t be out with guys, it’s just, you’re… you’re his.

“What…” he whispers, watching as the video continues on.

The camera flips around, now showing your beautiful face. He barely has time to appreciate it though before some guy is slinging his arm around you. Seeing that makes him burn inside. While sitting at the island in the kitchen, David’s jaw clicks to the side, his expression growing stern. He sees as you and these men take a shot together, and then you and a woman doing the same. More women can be heard, and he assumes they’re some of your teammates, and then, wait – is Molly there?

The next person to come into view is indeed his oldest, giving you a side-armed hug. Just before the video ends, he sees another man pull you away from her and into his arms with you giggling the entire time. Fuck no, fuck that. They think they can touch you like that?

“What are you watching?” Carol asks, shooting down the stairs. “We’re not done talking!”

He doesn’t even look at her as he stands up, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. Dave turns toward the hallway, grabbing his keys off the credenza near the front door.

“Where are you going?! David!”

She pushes the door open as he tries to close it behind him, following him out into the front yard.

“What are you doing?!”

“I gotta go.” He grumbles in return, expression full of anger, his insides boiling with jealousy.

“What, you –”

The door to his Tesla slams in her face, quickly backing out of the driveway after making sure she wasn’t in his way. She’s left absolutely gobsmacked and standing on the front lawn as she watches him turn and drive off down the street.

He doesn’t even think before sending the messages, he doesn’t feel like he has to. All he knows in this moment is that he doesn’t like you being here, and he doesn’t like being at home. He wants to be near you again, he needs to feel you again, wants to wrap you in his arms and touch every inch of your skin that he can.

Dave’s next thoughts are about Molly, and honestly how fucking pissed he is that she lied to him. But there’s no way he cold get her out of there without her knowing how he found out. He knows she’s safe, knows she’s with other teammates. He doesn’t want you out of there because he’s worried about your safety, he wants you out of there because seeing you around other men convinced him fully that what Carol accused him of is true.

His messages worry you, very obviously. What could be going on that he needs you to come home? Nothing like that has ever happened before. He’s also never texted you so seriously before, never come off so demanding. You wonder what’s wrong, and while you want to stay, you also desperately want to be by him, with him. So, you decide to leave.

“What? Why?”

“I, um…” you’re only two shots deep and they haven’t even flooded your system yet, and still, you’re having a hard time coming up with an excuse. “I’m getting this… crazy headache.”

“A headache?” Molly asks doubtfully, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I haven’t been getting good sleep lately. Haven’t…” you melt under your best friend’s skeptical gaze, doing your best to try and keep it together. “Haven’t been sleeping well, lately…”

Hesitantly, Molly pulls you to the side. She makes sure everyone else is out of earshot before she says, “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s only nine, the party doesn’t start for another hour. Why do you want to leave?”

“I’m fine,” you nod, gulping heavily. This is probably the worst you’ve ever felt in your whole entire life. You’re outright lying to her face. But something is going on with Dave, it’s not like you’re leaving for no reason. “I just have a headache.”

What neither of you know in this current moment is that Dave can see both of you exactly as you are in this present moment. It was far too easy for him to scan the area and find out exactly which frat house you were in. After all, you did have your Snapchat location on. And being the time of year that it is, it’s gotten dark out quite quick. Across the street from what is likely a fifty-year-old house, he sits in his car. He has the lights turned off and is hidden slightly by the underbrush of a tree. Narrowing his eyes, he can see the two of you in the kitchen off to the side, your profiles just barely visible through the window near the sink. He can see the apprehension in both of your faces as you continue to talk, but you’re going back home. He knows you will. And when he sees you nod, he starts up the car, and drives off.

It takes only a few minutes to reach your apartment, deciding to park off to the side there, as well. God forbid Molly came over just to see his car there. It’s not often that college kids park Teslas on or near campus.

Before he makes his way to your door, he steps over to his trunk. The deadbolt you had on your door was squeaky, loose. He knows he can break it. He doesn’t feel like waiting for you and doesn’t want to risk others seeing the two of you. So, he reaches in, retrieving a small bag before shutting the trunk. A few trots up the stairs and he’s at your door, sliding out his tension wrench and lock pick. He thinks he’ll only need one of the tools. Honestly, how hard could this be? He’s broken through much more complicated mechanisms before.

He decides on the simpler option, the pick. With both quiet and gentle motions, he inserts the tip of it into your keyhole, feeling for the outline of the pins. Easily, he identifies the binding pin, feeling its much higher resistance. He lifts it up until it’s set in place, continuing forward to do so with the remaining ones inside the lock. In under a minute, all of the pins are set, and he can hear the click of the lock on the other side. Smoothly, he removes the device, shoving it back inside the back and glancing over his shoulder before going in.

Your place is dark, obviously, and it feels strange being her. Strange but… at the same time, comfortable. Only weird because you’re not here. But he knows he belongs here, he belongs with you. He decides not to flick on any lights, not disturb a single thing you’d put in place, and sits on the couch to wait.

It doesn’t take long. After you’d convinced Molly to let you go, you did so promptly. She’d carpooled with another teammate on her way here, which made you feel better about leaving her. You’d text her throughout the night to make sure she was okay too, of course. You barely said bye to any of the guys, let alone your teammates. You didn’t want to draw anyone else’s attention, so you decided to slip out quietly. If Molly was skeptical of you, surely other people would be, too.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asks, becoming impatient. “Are you okay?”

“What? Of course I’m okay.” You glance around you, now walking through the parking lot, before whispering, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I want to be with you.”

“What? Aren’t we, aren’t we already together?”

“I need to be with you right now.” he says anxiously, running a hand over his thigh before it turns into a fist.

And then, upon hearing the slight jingle on the other side of your door, his head snaps to the side. He doesn’t hang up though, he’s too busy focusing on where you’re now entering. With a quick push, you’re walking through the door, the phone still pressed to your ear.

“Oh! My god!” you squeak, jolting back when you see him in the darkness. “David?”

“Baby,” he sighs, throwing down his phone while rising to his feet. “It’s me.”

In three large steps, he’s right before your very eyes. Both of his hands lift to your face, bringing your closer to him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How did, how did you, why are you –”

Your heart is racing inside your chest; how did he get inside? You anticipated him being here, but not before you – it’s not like he had a key or anything.

“Baby, I’m here,” he whispers, pulling you in for a hug. “I’m here; do you want me here?”

He doesn’t wait for your response; he just tilts your head up so he can get a better look at you. He’s moving and speak so quickly that you barely have time to comprehend it.

“You’re beautiful, and you’re mine. You know that, right?”

“Dave, I…”

“You,” he says firmly, passionately to you, “Are mine.”

You gulp, eyes flickering back and forth between his. You’d barely gotten the chance to close the door behind you before his hands reached out, but it didn’t scare you. He’s never scared you.

“They can’t touch you.” he shakes his head, dropping his hands to your shoulders, running his palms down your outer arms.

All of a sudden, it clicks. He must have seen your Snapchat story.

“Baby, I didn’t, they didn’t,”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, smiling a bit as he holds you tighter. “I’m here.”

“I’m… I’m happy that you’re here.” You tell him, something in your heart beginning to bloom.

You’re not sure how he got inside, but he did tell you that you needed better locks. And besides, it’s not like he’s here to hurt you. In a strange way, something about this attracts you; he wants to make sure you’re safe. But that’s not what him being here right now is about, right now, he’s making a statement.

“I missed you.” he suddenly expresses with a heated breath, surging forward to kiss you. “I’m sorry I came in like this, I – I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

You nod, only an inch from his lips. “It’s, it’s okay, Dave.”

Without realizing it, he’d back you up against your front door. He reaches to the side, locking the deadbolt he’d gotten past less than ten minutes ago. But when he does realize it, he leans down, hooking either hand around the backs of your thighs and lifting you into the air. You squeal quietly, your back sliding up against the door as he pushes his body weight into you.

“David,”

“Baby,” he enthusiastically moans, fixing his hips right up against yours as his mouth falls to your neck. “Say my name again.”

One of the things he’s grown to absolutely love about you is the way you say his name. The only time he ever hears the full name of David is when he’s being scolded or screamed at, most often by Carol. But the with you… the way you say it makes him love his name all over again. And you’ve noticed on your end how nicely he reacts to it, too, especially alongside any sort of praise.

“You like that, baby?” you grin, tilting your head to the side for him. There’s a low rumble that washes across his chest, his lips now suctioning to your next. “David, that feels so good…”

“Mm,” he moans against you, eyes shut as he rolls his hips into you.

It makes you gasp; he’s never held you in this way before.

“I know they can’t touch me,” you continue on, clinging to him tightly, your fingers raking through his brunette hair. “Not like you.”

You have no idea how incredibly happy it makes him to hear you say that. With Carol, when he found out she’d cheated on him, he felt like she was never really his. After that, he felt like their relationship was ruined; it was a fraud. He needs to know you’re his, he needs to know that you know you’re his.

David then moans your name, his tongue rolling over the mark he bit into your neck. And knowing that he bruised you somewhere visible makes you tingle inside. You’ll be able to show it off, but no one will know that it’s from him.

“Will you give me more?”

“More what?” he grunts out against you, rolling his hips forward and reveling in your small gasps.

“More hickeys,” you tell him, breathing quietly even though you know if you moan no one will hear. “Please give me more.”

“You want me to mark you?” he asks, then digging his teeth sharply into your skin.

“Oh!” you cry out, having not expected such a harsh bite. Your fingers curl, pulling firmly on his hair. “Yes,”

Once he’s discolored you twice, he lifts himself to your face, brushing tender kisses along your cheekbone. His breaths are fervent, not heavy but excited. And when you open your eyes, you’re met with his heated gaze, those brown orbs looking deeply into your own as he sighs. Suddenly, his right hand slides up to your back, holding you against him as he lifts you from your door.

“Baby, what –”

And then he’s kissing you again, spinning around and walking in the opposite direction within your home. He’d only spent a day and a night there but already he’s memorized it, making his way to your bedroom without even opening his eyes.

You’re flustered beyond belief, but you keep holding onto him. Your arms and legs wrap around his sturdy frame, much sturdier than you ever would have thought upon first meeting him. He’s in his sweatpants again and you could feel how hard he was from the moment he lifted you up. But now, you can feel a slight dampness growing, the realization making your insides tingle. His overt arousal is always such a turn on for you, you’ve never met a man that gets as excited as him.

Your bedroom door had already been open, and he wastes no time getting inside. But once in, he kicks it shut. Something about the extra privacy just gets him; makes him feel like he can do anything he wants.

Even when he lays you down on your bed, his body doesn’t leave. His lips trail down your neck, running sloppily over your skin while his hands get to work. He feels like he can’t stop himself, can’t even slow down. Thick fingers hook into the waistband of your yogas and intimate garments, sliding both down your legs in one go. And you lift your hips slightly for him, allowing him to do so. Once they’re tossed onto the ground near the foot of your bed, David reaches out, catching your left calf before you lay it back down. While tenderly holding your stare, he turns his head, kissing the soft flesh of your lower leg while doing so.

“Can I?” his lips mumble over your skin.

You feel breathless but sure, very sure of your next moves. Reaching forward, you bring him to you, and he allows you to. He crawls up the bed and over you, seemingly slower than before. Your eyes haven’t left one another’s, not until your lips connect. You can still feel the slight scruff growing along his jawline and cheeks, even some on his neck. And he notices when your fingers stroke the course hairs.

“You like it, huh?” he asks, leaning up to his knees.

He kneels between your spread thighs, quickly removing his shirt and dropping it at his side. He then dives back down, fingers immediately moving to your top. As you lean up for him, lifting your arms, your hands instantly return to his cheek and neck, forcefully bringing him back down.

“Baby, I love it,” you giggle, smiling over his lips. “You look so cute.”

“Cute, huh?” he asks, grinding himself in between your now naked legs. He’s still wearing his sweatpants, though; he’ll have to change that.

“David,” you chuckle once more, fingers caressing his cheeks and then his lower lip. “It’s so fucking sexy.”

When his mouth covers yours once more, he arches his back, fingers lowering to fumble with the strings on his pants. You assume he’ll step away to fully rid himself of his clothes, but he doesn’t. He side-steps out of them, a little clumsily, while remaining on top of you. The hot breaths of his hurried lungs fan over your face from his open mouth, his completely bare body now resting over yours.

“I like that better.” He tells you gruffly, lowering himself to your ear. David’s teeth nibble on your earlobe, nose running up the cuff. And the slightly sensual act makes your skin rise with goosebumps, making you release a shaky breath.

“You didn’t answer me before,” he continues, one hand steadying near the side of your head, the other leaving you completely. Dave drops his head to your chest, resting his forehead between your breasts. He then turns his head to the side, mouthing at your curves briefly before whispering, “Can I?”

The hand that had disappeared finds a home briefly between his thighs, grabbing himself and running a fist over his length. It’s not hard to, either; he’s not dry. His boxers were definitely damp when he removed them and honestly, he wants to see you lick the precum off.

Your hands guide him to your nipple, missing the feel of his hot mouth on your tender peaks. He moves with you willingly, and while he knows you’re enjoying every second of this, this still isn’t a clear answer.

“Baby,” you finally return, chest pushing up against him. He groans when you do this, biting into you when he finally runs his head up through your sex. It’s an unexpected sensation but not unwelcome, your blissful gasp immediately hitting the air. “Yes.”

As much as he loves to have his mouth on your tits, he shoots his head up, looking directly into your eyes. His pupils shift back and forth, flickering between the mesmerizing windows to your soul.

“I want you,”

“You have me,” you tell him with certainty. “You have me.”

Inside, his heart soars; he loves to hear you say it. It also gives him the confidence to move forward, shifting himself to your very center.

“Please,” you beg, hands lowering to his neck, fingers curling around and pulling him close.

Once again, his forehead rests over yours, a deep breath sucked into his lungs before closing his eyes. Slowly he breathes out, moving forward ever so slightly. But he doesn’t stop, he continues, the head of him just barely brushing through your folds.

Something about this feels incredibly monumental. Being sexual together was one thing, but actually having sex seemed to solidify this, seemed to scream this is real.

“D – David,” you whine, pressing your head back into your pillow.

He surrounds you, enters you, fully consuming you as his mouth moves to muffle your small cries. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he completely enters you, sliding inside your velvety warmth. And while he’d been trying to keep his composure, he can’t help but groan into your mouth. Every single inch he explores while diving deeper inside sends an incredible wave of euphoria through his body, feeling your muscles quiver beneath him. His own flex with the sensation of it, his chest tightening and releasing an almost pained groan when he’s entirely inside.

“Holy fuck,” he huffs out, pressing his body weight into you. He needs to feel closer to you, needs to be as close as he possibly fucking can to you. “This, you feel…”

“I love this,” you suddenly whimper out, tightening around him. The sudden clench of your heated walls makes his jaw drop, along with your words. They give him the confidence to speak his mind.

He says your name in the semi-darkness of your room, all of the lights in your apartment still off as you experience each other in this way. David’s skin is warm and taught above you, smelling of pine and tasting exactly like himself, exactly like that unique sensation you’ve come to crave.

And then, he says it again, alongside the motion of his hips. He’s gentle, the first few sways making you moan and gasp. You feel like you’re floating through air, feel like none of this could actually be real.

“I love you,” he then says, heightening the fantasy feeling of it all. “I want to take care of you.” he expresses to you, the steady rocking of his hips making your head swim with bliss.

“Baby,” you look up, lifting your head. Did he really just say that to you? “You…”

He uses his right hand to cup your face, breaths quickening above you. “I love you.” he tells you before you can even ask, brows folding in the center when he feels your legs begin to loop around him. He loves the feeling of that, loves to know, even without you saying it, how much you want him.

“You don’t have to say it back, I know, I know it’s a lot.” He tells you, picking up his pace.

The thick drag of his cock along your walls makes your eyes roll back, makes your hips shudder each time he thrusts back in.

“But I want this, I want you so bad, sweetheart. Want to take care of you,” he tells you again. And then he thinks back to those he has cared for in his life, and due to his line of work, his next words come naturally. “I want to protect you.”

“David,” you whine, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts, causing a stuttered groan to float from his throat. “I love you, baby. You need to know that I love you, too. I love everything about you.”

Right now, he’s not anyone else to you. He’s not Molly’s dad, he’s not Carol’s husband, he only exists as what he is to you; he’s yours, he belongs with you.

“You, you feel so… fuck…” your head drops back, and he takes it upon himself to slide his tongue up the column of your neck.

Your reciprocation makes his heart leap inside, making his entire body light up even more, if that were even possible. He can feel himself throb inside you, can feel the liquid leaking from his tip which is caused directly by you. Your muscles move below him, the ones in your stomach and sides and legs. He loves feeling this, along with your smooth skin, as both rub against him. He likes the feeling of your tits pressed against him, likes feeling your plush curves move and slide below him, right against his chest.

“I knew you’d feel this good.” He says with a laugh of disbelief, picking up on your unfinished words. “I always knew it. You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, in my whole entire life, baby. Will you let me take care of you, baby girl?”

“Yes, baby, I want that. I want that, yes please.” You cling to him desperately, fully hooking your legs around his lower back.

“Fuck, I fucking love it when you do that.” he growls against you, baring his teeth briefly as he hammers himself down into you.

“David!”

“David?” he asks, and you become confused. “Or something else?”

This makes you laugh briefly, airily. You of course know what he’s referring to.

“Say it, baby.” He says, almost cockily. “Say it to me.”

“D… Da…”

He leans in, smiling next to your ear, his hips now snapping into you. “Call me daddy.”

Detailed Chapter Summary

After confirming your relationship with him, the two of you have a movie night, David taking the liberty to pay for the food. While laying on the couch together, you share a few intimate conversations, with David eventually finding himself between your legs again.

A call from Carol cuts his weekend visit short. When he gets home, she tells him that she found your hair ties and panties in David's room, but she obviously doesn't know they're yours.

You and Molly decide to go to a frat party, which David finds out about when he looks at your Snapchat story. Seeing you surrounded by men sparks a rage of jealousy inside him. He texts you to go home, breaking into your apartment by picking your lock so he's there when you get back. This is when he takes you to your bed, finally making you his.

One-Shot: Obsessed

(Preceding Chapter Eight)

#oh FUCKKKKK #Daddy Dave has officially arrived #Dave York #Dave York x reader #Dave York smut #My Best Friend's Dad Series #MBFD Series

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twinklecheeks · 4 years

Text

Friends With Benefits (Jeff Wittek Imagine) Part 6

Summary: Jeff and Y/N have been hooking up for a while. The whole vlog squad assumes they’re dating and Y/N does too but Jeff doesn’t like labels. He eventually starts to express interest in Natalie.

Note: Planning on making this a multiple part series, depending on how good it does. You’re 21 & Latina in this (maybe) series. Also, I’d like to apologize for the typos, if there are any. I’m just illiterate lmao.

-I’d also like to say that I am SO sorry about not updating the series in 8 months. I started writing this the week school started last semester. I attempted to do it during Thanksgiving & Christmas break but I didn’t have the energy to do it. I know that we’re all struggling in quarantine and going through withdrawal because David has only 1 video in almost 2 months. I’m going to *TRY* to update this 2 times a week.

Warnings! Pregnancy, smut, nsfw, 18+

Don't read this if you don't like smut

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Word Count: 1.5k

You and David have practically been dating soon after the gender reveal and finally made it official but you don’t plan to announce it on social media anytime soon. He’s been helping you a lot. Since you’ve found out you were having twin girls, you went straight to planning on how the nursery would look like. Everytime David comes over, he brings stuff like baby toys, clothes, the whole shabang. I know that David isn’t the father but he’s very excited about the babies. You thought your first trimester was difficult and it was but there’s a big problem when in the second trimester…. You’ve become horny 24/7; before pregnancy, you had sex often and you loved it. But since being pregnant, you’ve been deprived of it! You bought a bunch of dildos and vibrators cause you just couldn’t handle it anymore. You would rub yourself, fuck yourself with the dildo or use the vibrator several times just to get through the day.

Texting Kylie:

Y/n: “why didn’t you tell me the second trimester makes you super horny”

Kylie: “GIRL STOOOP. Looking back on my pregnancy, that was the funniest part. Your hormones are just all over the place. I used toys and it helped but I also was with Travis”

Y/n: “I’ve been using them but it doesn’t feel the same as actually fucking someone.”

Kylie: “Why don’t you ask David? ;)”

Y/n: “Whaaat noo! I can’t”

Kylie: “Why not? Isn’t he your boyfriend? It’s not like he would turn you down and plus, it’s not like you can get more pregnant than you already are.”

Y/n: “I mean true but idk. I just feel weird. I’m fat and pregnant with twins. I love my girls already but why couldn’t they just be one baby”

Kylie: “blame Jeff’s super sperm”

Y/n: “I also blame myself. We were fucking all the time, anytime, anywhere”

Kylie: “Anywhere?”

Y/n: “Yeah… remember Zane’s earthquake challenge video at target? Jeff and I may have had a quickie in one of the dressing rooms…”

Kylie: “What the fuck”

Y/n: “Yeah. I know. Not my proudest moment”

Kylie: “but girl i’m serious, ASK DAVID”

Y/N: “Ugh fine. But if he says no, I’m moving away and changing my identity because this shit is embarrassing”

*On the phone with David*

Y/n: “Heyy, can I come over?”

David: “Yeah, of course. Are you okay?

Y/n: “Well… technically yes but… ummm…. I’d rather just discuss this in person”

David: “Sure”

*Y/n arrives at David’s house*

Y/n: *Gives David a quick kiss* “Hey Dave.” David: “Hey babe. You sounded a little weird on the phone.” Y/n: “I mean you’re not wrong… I just have a little tiny problem and I’m going to lose my mind if it isn’t resolved” David: “what’s the problem?” Y/n: “Ugh this is so awkward I don’t want to ask” David: *David wheeze laugh* “Dude just tell me”, Y/n: “Okay umm… i’msuperfuckinghornyandi’mwonderingifyoucanhavesexwithmeifnoticompletelyunderstand.” David: “Can you please say it slower cause I only understood like 2 words.” Y/n: “I said that I’m super fucking horny and I’m wondering if you can have sex with me if not, I completely understand…” David: “Like, how bad is it?” Y/n: “Ooo boy it’s baaad.” David: “Well, we’re technically together and I wasn’t sure if you were thinking about taking that step because you’re pregnant.” Y/n: “I’m open to ANYTHING rn. I just need to be fucked HARD.”

David: *Grabs y/n’s hand and leads her to his room* Y/n: “Is Natalie home? I don’t want her to hear us.” David: “Don’t worry. She’s at Todd’s.” Y/n: “At Todd’s?” David: “Yeah, Todd had a thing for her before Jeff did and he basically went for Natalie when Todd told him that he was going to ask her out.” Y/n: *pulls in David for a needy kiss and moans* David: “wow you really are horny.” *Pushes y/n on the bed and takes off her shirt* Y/n: *unclips her bra* “Do anything that’ll make me cum please.” David: *looks at y/n’s tits and sucks on the right nipple* “Wow. Your tits have gotten… wow.” You cry out in pleasure, letting your head fall back, your mouth open. They were so sensitive that every twirl of his tongue made your pussy even more wet. Y/n: *smirks* “You’ve noticed?” David: “okay... I may have had wet dreams about you.” Y/n: “good.” David: *gets undressed and pulls off your pants* “you have no idea how much I’ve dreamt about eating you out.” Y/n: “please. Do something.” David: *His fingers reach your clit.” Y/n: *You gasp at the feeling of him pressing down on your clit* “mmmm oh my god. Please suck on my clit.” David: *David twirls his tongue around your clit and fingers you* “babe you’re so wet. I can’t wait to fuck you sensless.” *David sucks your clit and fingers you faster* Y/n: “please don’t stop. I NEED to cum.” David: *feels her walls pulsate and she squirts on him* Y/n: “oh my god. Please make me cum like that 10 more times tonight.” David: “are you sure you want to do this?” Y/n: “I haven’t been this sure about something in a long time.” David: *aligns himself with your center and slowly thrusted into you.* Y/n: *moans, almost screams* “holy fuck. I know your going slow not to hurt me but Dave, I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.” David: *he hears you out and the lust took over and started pounding into you fast and hard* Y/n: “DAVID OH MY GOD PLEASE KEEP FUCKING ME I’M SO CLOSE.” David: “Shit I’m close too babe” *pounds y/n as fast as he can and cums inside her.” Y/n: *cums right after* “oh...my…” David: *pulls out and sees his cums drip out* “Damn. I don’t think I’ve ever cummed that hard.” Y/n: “If you keep fucking me like that, it’s going to be hard for me to keep my hands off you haha.” David: “I would not have a problem w/ that at all.”

(it’s getting close to thanksgiving and Jeff decides to fly home to Staten Island early and the only people who kind of know about the situation are his siblings)

Jeff: “Hey ma.” Jeff’s mom: “Hello Jeffrey. Natalie couldn’t come?” Jeff: “yeah no. We’re kind of on a break rn.” Jeff’s mom: “Oh well that's too bad. Hopefully she’ll come for Christmas.” Karyn (Jeff’s older sister): “hey Jeff. Can you help me out w/ shopping? I have to go to Manhattan” Jeff: “Sure.”

*On the Staten Island Ferry*

Karyn: “Okay so now that we’re alone, can you actually tell me what the fuck did you do.” Jeff: “Excuse me? The fuck you talking about?” Karyn: “I know that made up bullshit about y/n getting knocked up by a rando and Natalie asking for a break is a damn lie. Y/n was in love w/ you but you ignored all the signs and Natalie, she would only ask for a break if you were being a fucking idiot. I’m your older sister. I know when you’re lying.” Jeff: “Ugh fine… Y/n is knocked up w/ my kids and I basically said some horrible stuff that wasn’t true. As for Natalie, she was there to see me say all those horrible things and she dumped me on the spot, in front of the whole friend group…” Karyn: *stares at Jeff dumbfounded* “Excuse me did you say KIDS as in PLURAL??!” Jeff: “Yeah… She’s pregnant w/ twin girls…” Karyn: “Oh Jeffrey why the fuck did you act that way. You’re such an idiot. If mom and dad found out about this, they’d literally murder you.” Jeff: “I don’t know… I think it was because I got into something so serious less than a year after being dumped by Cierra; I panicked and I sabotaged myself. I know I’m wrong but I already fucked everything up. Everybody hates me.” Karyn: “I thought you changed Jeff when you got out of Prison.” Jeff: “What do you mean you *thought*” Karyn: “You have trouble w/ responsibility. When we were at your trial, you said you were not guilty, even when you got to prison, you still said you weren’t guilty but you were.” Jeff: “That’s different.” Karyn: “How?? You’re refusing to accept responsibility for those 2 babies. Jeff, you’re almost 30 years old. It took you 4 years after you got out to come to terms with what you did. Is it gonna take you until your 34 to realize you fucked y/n and those twin girls over? What is she gonna say when they ask for their dad huh? Sorry, daddy didn’t care about you? You either fix things with y/n ASAP or I’m gonna tell mom and dad.” Jeff: “what the fuck are you 5?! Why we gotta bring them into this?” Karyn: “so they fucking knock some sense into you Jeff and you know they are 100x worse than I am. I ain’t doin’ nothing to you rn because we’re in public. Imma give you until New Years... if you don’t tell them, then they gonna hear it from me...”

Karyn was never afraid to tell Jeff and their other brother how it is. Jeff knew that Karyn was right but he had no idea how he could possibly apologize for being a horrible human being to you. Will Jeff apologize before New Years? Will y/n forgive him?

Comment if you want to be on the taglist!

Taglist: @elvlogsquad @siemprestan @zavidzobrik @galxydefender @iminlovewithenchilidadas @ilsolee

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jackiebuckley · 4 years

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If it Stings Let it Burn (chapter two : & your flannel cured)

word count: 3,107

Warnings: mentions of f**d and kidnapping

Admin note: leave a comment or send in a yellow heart to my inbox to be added onto the tag list for the next chapter ! :) heres the official first one. I’m so excited for you to read this. look for a longer one coming soon !!

Summary: “It's more of a prison if you ask me.” but before it could have been questioned, she marched over to the door, knocking as she hit her fist against the door. “Mom it's Lorelai.” she spoke, and though there was a tinge of something in her that Hotch could see but he didn't want to profile this woman, at least not yet. [...] read more here: XXX

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

- Robert Frost

What was there to expect from a place where everyone knew one another? Here was definitely a safety net. A sense of wonder where everyone knew everyone in their community. Home is a place where usually it doesn't matter how many walls or how many stickers lay on the back of a minivan. Representing each child. Instead though it seemed to be people. Different ones showing different personalities. From the woman who taught ballet who called Reid "Sugar." To the man at the news-stand asking for any information that could be given for this case. You could tell this was the perfect place to grow up. Nothing fell apart. Until it all did. Seemingly in one go. Piece by piece shattering beneath you.

Hotch sat in the small dining area, discussing different items of the case with members of the team. "These abductions don't seem to have a pattern to them in correlation to when they were done. We don't know for sure the innkeeper's daughter has any part in this." JJ offered from where she was sitting on a counter. The chef of the inn brought out cupcakes which made for happy team members.

"But we also don't know for sure that she isn't playing a part in it." Morgan offered back. Messing with his pencil, tapping it against his notebook as they sat down. They had absolutely no direction for this and despite being in town for less than a day, members of the team thought that with a small town like this. They would have had something by now. As Hotch went to object or say anything to move them along. In walked Lorelai Gilmore. Bright-eyed as she looked at them. Her eyes showed compassion and warmth to the team of complete strangers who were as lost as anything else.

"So! Can I offer you anything? Tea...coffee. stories of stars hollow. Answering your questions. If you need to know anything. I'm here to help." She spoke the words. And before Hotch could speak, asking where her daughter might be. Rossi beat him to it.

"Actually Miss Gilmore. Could you show us where your daughter might be?" He asked and Lorelai's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

She took a second before she spoke. "If you have questions for her. She'll definitely answer those. Good kid. Great kid actually — and I'm not just saying that because shes MY KID. LOCATION. RIGHT. Shes at my parent's home, just outside of the town…" she spoke and JJ seemed to have gotten the information from that. Even though the brunette seemed to have spoken 9000 miles per hour. "Which I can take you to...now." she offered.

“I’ll ride with Lorelai, Emily, why don't you come with us,” Hotch stated, making a statement even though his words truth be told sounded questioning.

In the Gilmore truck there was a moment where if Hotch wasn't here with the team, he realized he wouldn't even know of its existence. It nested quietly among everything going on in the world. This was the kind of place Haley wanted to raise Jack in, too bad he couldn't find himself listening to that, and lost her in the process. The road was nice and sturdy despite the recent snow that frosted over. There was something magical to all of it, but it was an eerie kind of magic, like when you don't know what is going to happen. But you know something is. The anticipation builds up within you, it bubbles and keeps itself going. But whenever you dare ask what is to come, fear happens and you're afraid to break the chain.

Everything seemed quaint and small about this area until you saw the home belonging to Richard and Emily Gilmore. The walls were high, it was a clean shade of creme and had perfect scenery lining those walls. This was the kind of place that made castles feel small and made homes tremble because they knew there wouldn't be a way to compare. “Nice home.” JJ mumbled to Derek who nodded. The agents almost missed a hum of a noise from Lorelai who stated

“It's more of a prison if you ask me.” but before it could have been questioned, she marched over to the door, knocking as she hit her fist against the door. “Mom it's Lorelai,” she spoke, and though there was a tinge of something in her that Hotch could see he didn't want to profile this woman, at least not yet. When one of the maids answered the door that's when they got a deeper look into the home. “Mom, wheres Rory?” she asked, and while she didn't sound annoyed or even angry. She did still seem weirded out, was it being in her childhood home? Was it the fact her daughter could be in trouble and they needed to get this figured out?

“Well hello to you dear.” Emily Gilmore spoke, holding her wine glass in her hand. “She's in with your father. Why do you ask?” she asked taking a sip from the glass.

She ran a hand through her hair before speaking, “I ask for the FBI agents who are currently sitting in your front room.” she stated, raising a brow. Emily Gilmore's face paled, the natural blush fading away before she sighed.

“I’ll go get her now.”

Within a few moments, Rory walked out in her clothes from earlier that day. She had come to work on something with her grandfather. She offered a concerned doe-eyed look before walking over to the agents who sat circled in the room. “Morgan, Reid,” he told the two who took it as a signal to go question the youngest Gilmore.

Lorelai listened to her mom drone on and on about the bad press that this would bring to the neighborhood newspaper. She sighed as she listened to it, looking intensely at her glass of water that sat in her hand “mom. It's not like I WANTED them to come and question Rory. I don't exactly like this much either.” she stated as she took a drink from the glass. Rory was a good kid, also couldn't keep a secret to save her life. So even if there was something Rory was hiding from them. She would spill it in no time.

“You know we have the young leaders gala tonight,” Emily spoke to her daughter. “This is a BIG deal in these parts.” she offered and Lorelai rolled her eyes. She knew this was a big deal, she had been dragged to a few of those when she was Rory's age. Then she had Rory. None of those teens wanted to be there, she knew this. She was once in their shoes.

“I know, and we’ll be out of here soon. As soon as they finish questioning my child, or she gets arrested. Whichever comes first I guess.” she said, receiving a shocked and disgusted gasp from Emily.

One of the agents entered the room, the one she thought was Rossi but truth be told they all blended together. She knew there was a Jareau somewhere in there. And a Garcia but she thought that was the one on the phone. “We didn't find anything, we’re heading out.” he spoke, and she nodded. Taking a deep breath as she walked out the room. Every time she left this house, she left something behind. As she went to leave though, she heard a conversation that perked her ears.

“Well if it isn't Emily.” Rossi spoke as he crossed his arms.

“Dave Rossi,” she replied back with a small cross looking smirk on her face.

“Always knew I’d run into you again. Didn't think it would be under these circumstances,” he noted and she nodded.

Lorelai listened to them talk for a few moments, and as Rossi left. She approached him “so you're my almost daddy.” she said and noticed a glare coming from the man.

The ride back to Stars Hollows was quiet as they entered back into the small town. Maybe there was more to what was happening than met the eye for a place that seemed to have heart. What secrets did it hold?

"Are you hungry?" Lorelai asked them from the driver's seat. "We could show you Luke's?"

"He makes the best burger," Rory added in as Lorelai let out a happy hum.

The agents looked to one another. "I mean, I could eat?" JJ offered and Reid and Derek made their own comments of 'agreed' because truly they hadn't been too worried when it came to food since arriving in town.

Luke’s Diner, definitely looked as if it belonged straight out of an old Hallmark Christmas movie. It was cute and had a charm to it. To JJ who was raised in a small town it felt like home. But to Hotch he didn't know what to think as he viewed the area. He looked to Lorelai who talked to the man he assumed was the famous ‘Luke.’ The thing that caught his eye was the young man who entered the room. He had a certain air to the way that he walked. How his eyes were dim and looked like they had seen enough battles throughout his life. Hotch had seen this look in his own eyes far too often. “Who is that?” he asked after a moment. Pointing in the direction of the young man.

“That is Jess. He’s Rory’s boyfriend.” Lorelai stated before eating one of her fries.

“What can you tell me about him?”

“He came here a few months ago and is staying with his uncle, Luke. His mom sent him here due to his rebellious nature and outbursts.” she continued.

“Is he trouble?” Hotch dared to ask.

Lorelai took a deep breath before looking at the other. “If you think he had any part in this case, think again. He might be trouble and I might not be his biggest fan. But he had NO part in this.” she finished, “and I’m standing up for him, that is something I didn’t see coming.” she mumbled while taking a drink of her coffee.

“I didn't mean to imply…” he offered and she threw her hand as to say ‘don't worry about it.’ “Spencer, what can you tell about the young man on the stool?” he asked, pointing to the boy sitting next to Rory.

He took a second to examine the boy. From the way he stood to the way he dressed. “Well from the crumbled and rolled book in his back pocket I can tell that he’s more careless with his belongings. From the crumbled flannel he’s wearing and the denim jacket with paint on the sleeves he doesn’t care much for his appearance. He stands with a stature, as to say he doesn't care much about his reputation but with the playful movements he’s taking over there he cares for her deeply.” he finished. Hotch nodded, before looking to Rossi to see if the older man had anything to add.

“Whatever the kid said,” Rossi said with a shrug.

Well, that answered that…

“This rebellious nature needs to stop Aaron.” his grandmother shouted to her grandson from where he was standing. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at his grandmother. “You're lashing out, falling asleep in classes?! This isn’t the kid that I know so well.” she continued on. In some ways she was right, he knew better than this. Always had, he knew exactly what was needed. But things were getting tough at home, his father’s constant pushing into what he needed to do in his future. To his mother and her habits.

He was home for the break from his boarding school, and if he was honest. He didn't want to go back. He was missing so much and didn't like that much either. So in a way his rebellious nature was him wanting things to go back to before. ‘

“Aaron,” his grandmother’s voice faded out into the voice of Emily Prentiss who shook him lightly. Her own voice saying

“Aaron… Aaron. Hey, you're dazing out. We’re heading back to the inn… if you're ready?” she said, trying to keep her tone gentle.

Hotch sighed, smoothing his shirt as he stood up. “I’m ready,” he said as they exited the diner. He watched Lorelai move to her daughter as they walked out into the bitter November chill.

November 21st (11:35pm)

Family of four driving down a town street as they find a curve in the road. “When are we going to be there?!” a voice cried from the back seat.

“Our hotel is down the road another fifteen minutes.” a mother sitting in the front seat spoke. As she reached for her husband’s hand. As they kept driving down the path, they was something eerily quiet about the entire situation.

“HELP.” a voice yelped as she ran in front of the car. “HELP ME. PLEASE.” she shouted again. She wore an olive green dress. Curly brown hair and the makeup that sat on her face smeared in every direction. She looked as if she had walked straight out of hell.

The third victim in less than a week span, and this was absolutely sick. “My brother and I were at the Young Leaders Gala, and as we exited the home...we were driving. And someone jumped onto our car. He threw a blindfold onto me and my brother. Threw me out of the car and kept driving with my brother in it." She said looking down to her feet as she watched the agents across from her speak.

"Your brother James. Has he gotten into any trouble?" Emily asked from where she was sitting.

"No — he has always been a great guy. Top of his class…" she stated as she looked up to who she was sitting across from

Hotch sighed. Standing up, dialing a number into the phone. "Penelope, can you run a background check on our victims?" He asked as he exited out of the room.

"Will do sir." The blonde on the other end said as she typed on her computer. "No obvious connection. But I'll take a look and get back to you." She said with a nod as she continued on. Hanging up on the call.

"And as she does that...Rossi. Reid. Back to the Gilmore residence. Get a list of guests, servers, and anyone else that was present." Hotch instructed. The two nodded as they moved towards one of the cars.

“Babygirl, please tell us that you have good news,” Derek spoke as he stood in the scene of the newest part of the case. Or at least where the victim’s sister had run into the family who took her to the police station.

Penelope took a moment before spoke, a smile to her voice “i do in fact. so a piece of information that separates this victim from the others... James Newton attends Chilton, a prep school miles North of Stars Hollow. Looks like he got into a fight with a student at the start of last year and THAT student got expelled.” Penelope spoke as she looked through the pieces of the puzzle that she had in front of her.

“So the other student might have a part in this… can you check what student took the expelled student's spot?”

"...Rory Gilmore." Penelope's voice stated after a moment. "Oh, God." She said running a hand through her hair as she read through it.

"Pen...I think we need to alert Hotch. Rory is our connection." He said. As they hung up on the phone, he ran inside to where their bold leader had been. "Hotch. Our connection." He said looking at his boss and friend. "It's Rory…she's the end victim." Hotch's eyes widened as he looked at him.

Hotch knew that what he was about to suggest wasn't going to be the best idea. With him doing this, Penelope would have to come to Stars Hollow to help assist on this end. "I'll be staying with the Gilmores to keep Rory and her mother safe…" he sighed "call Pen — ask her to come here. You'll need the extra hand."

Telling the older of the two Gilmores what was needed was a lot easier than expected. She seemed to be a pretty easy going woman. But with all of this she definitely had a fire to her. "Hey, Rory! We're having an FBI man coming over for a sleepover." She said to her daughter. Her bright blue eyes looked up at her mother.

"Hotchner is coming over for a sleepover?" She asked looking at her mom.

"No...I'm not." He offered. But the mother and daughter both cheered a statement of

"FBI SLEEPOVER." They cheered as they raced out of the inn. Hotch following them as Emily laughed a comment of

"Well, have fun," she said with a smirk on her features.

November 26th

She opened her eyes, going to rub them to wake herself a little more. And at that moment it's when she realized, her hands were stuck. She had absolutely no way of squirming them. She was completely restricted. She tried to see if she could stand but it looked as if those were bound together too. She wasn't sure what it had been tying her up. It didn't feel like rope. Didn't seem like twine. It was too heavy. What was this?!

Taking a deep breath she steadied herself. Going to call out a "HELP." Or anything. But she didn't know where she was. So who knew if anyone could hear her. "So you're finally awake." The voice called, and it floated through the air. Chip, Matt, Dean and a few more were all sitting. Tied to various places around the room. Each one looked more and more wounded than the last.

"What am I doing here?! What do you want with us??" She asked. Trying her best to know what the hell had been happening. Fear drifted throughout the room as the boys and the other girl that was tied up looked terrified.

"All the guests are here. I believe you all know our newest guest… Rory Gilmore." The voice greeted, and it definitely didn't sound like a friendly greeting. It sounded mocking. Condescending. Like it had been waiting for their entire life to say those words. But who was it. And what the hell did it want with them?

TAG LIST: @hotchsbabygirl, @paget-prentiss , @willlemonheadsupremacy

#gilmore girls #criminal minds #hotchner fanfic #crossposted to ao3 #criminal minds fanfic #lorelai gilmore #aaron hotchner #if it stings let it burn series

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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In Defense of Spectre: Daniel Craig’s Last James Bond Is Better Than You Remember

https://ift.tt/3a60miY

It’s hard to believe that it’s been six years since the release of the last James Bond movie. The gap even ties the near fatal six-year distance between Licence to Kill and GoldenEye. But it’s true, Spectre came out in 2015. And as we stand on the cusp of its follow-up, No Time to Die, finally arriving in theaters after a delay of 18 months, it’s strange to think back to the arrival of Spectre, and the polarizing response it received.

The last James Bond movie to star Daniel Craig still sits with a 63 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, right in that vague netherworld between “fresh” and “rotten.” And while it was an enormous financial success ($881 million at the worldwide box office), it was considered something of a step back since its predecessor, 2012’s Skyfall, which grossed more than $1 billion. It might have been unrealistic to think Bond could hit that mark again, so in relative terms Spectre did quite well on its own terms and as part of the overall franchise.

There are, let’s face it, only a handful of truly great 007 adventures: Casino Royale, Goldfinger, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, and The Spy Who Loved Me come to mind. But there are likewise several that are almost all universally despised: Die Another Day, A View to a Kill, Diamonds Are Forever, and a couple of others tend to fall into that sorry category. The rest tend to exist in a mushy middle: fun to watch on a lazy Sunday afternoon but instantly forgettable until the next time you turn it on while doing laundry.

And yet a pall hangs over Spectre, and it seems as if the fans and critics who found it disappointing are really down on the film. Yet I’d place it solidly in that middle category, and if anything closer to the top. With the exception of its third act (more on that later), it’s a solid Bond outing for the Daniel Craig era, with its star more terse than ever (watching it again, one is struck by how little dialogue Craig actually has), while its action and plot points are mostly in line with the “gritty” feel of Craig’s previous three outings.

It also stretches the Craig template a little, allowing for a few more gadgets, some homages to past films, and a little more humor. In other words, it lets Craig come as close as he ever previously had to the fully formed Bond played by the previous five actors. No, he’s not winking and letting his eyebrows do all the acting the way Roger Moore did toward the end of his run, and he’s not quite the cruel misogynist popularized in the beginning by Sean Connery. But this is Craig’s version of that man.

Some of the Bonds that fall lower in the standings tend to have overly complicated plots, like The World is Not Enough or Octopussy. The plot of Spectre is pretty simple and straightforward: following the death of M (Judi Dench) in Skyfall, Bond goes on one last mission at her request (via a message recorded before she died) and without official authorization from the new M (Ralph Fiennes).

He learns that the man he was sent to kill, an Italian terrorist named Sciarra, has taken his marching orders from an ultra-secret criminal organization—the same entity that was apparently behind the actions of Le Chiffre (Casino Royale), Dominic Greene (Quantum of Solace), Raoul Silva (Skyfall) and Mr. White (the first two). Bond also learns that he and the head of this organization, which is named SPECTRE, have a personal connection going back decades.

Although he’s officially suspended from duty, Bond goes in pursuit of SPECTRE and its chief, Franz Oberhauser (Christoph Waltz), while also making a promise to the dying Mr. White to protect his daughter, Madeline Swann (Léa Seydoux). To make matters worse, there’s also a mole in MI6 who plans to surreptitiously turn the entire surveillance apparatus of British intelligence over to (you guessed it) SPECTRE and Oberhauser.

The story has a linear, straight line: Bond must find and stop Oberhauser while bringing down SPECTRE. There’s plenty of action along the way, including a vertigo-inducing opening battle in a helicopter, a chase in which Bond steers a plane down a snowy mountain slope, and a brutal fight aboard a train between 007 and SPECTRE’s top assassin, the monstrous Mr. Hinx (Dave Bautista), which deliberately channels the classic train clash between Connery and Robert Shaw in From Russia With Love.

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Hinx and Bond also have a traditional car chase of their own through the winding streets of Rome, in which Bond utilizes some of the enhanced features of his Aston Martin, such as a rear-facing flamethrower and an ejector seat (sadly the machine guns are not loaded, much to Bond’s amusing chagrin). Speaking of gadgets, Bond also gets to deploy an exploding watch, just one film removed from Q (Ben Whishaw) asking him in Skyfall, “Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don’t really go in for that anymore.”

It’s all in good fun, and most of the first two hours of this lengthy adventure breezes along with a bit less of the solemnity of Skyfall and a touch more (but not too much) of the old Moore and Pierce Brosnan swagger. We also thoroughly enjoy seeing Ralph Fiennes’ M, Ben Whishaw’s Q, Naomie Harris’ Moneypenny, and Rory Kinnear’s Tanner work as a team and even get their hands dirty in the field.

But then that last half hour hits and it kind of all goes to hell.

We’re not here to yet again relitigate the ending of Spectre and the big reveal of just who Oberhauser is. We’ve done that in our original review and in another recent feature right here. But just to quickly recap: Bond and Madeline are captured by Oberhauser and brought to his lair in a giant crater in the Sahara desert (a crater that looks suspiciously like SPECTRE’s extinct volcano hideout in You Only Live Twice). There we learn that Bond was adopted by Oberhauser’s father after Bond’s parents were killed, and a jealous Franz killed his father, staged his own death, and launched SPECTRE while renaming himself Ernst Stavro Blofeld—all for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance on Bond.

The idea of SPECTRE and Blofeld being behind all the other villains Daniel Craig’s Bond has faced is a sound one—it was, after all, the basis of the first few Connery films—but the notion that Bond’s estranged foster brother started this deadliest of all criminal organizations just because his daddy made him feel sad is ludicrous. By all means, have SPECTRE target Bond, especially after he defeats some of Blofeld’s most fearsome lieutenants, but does it have to be a retconned family squabble?

On top of that, after Bond foils Blofeld’s plan to destroy MI6 and take over its intelligence operation, he leaves Blofeld on the street for M to arrest and walks off into the night with Madeline, woman with whom he has no appreciable chemistry. Their romance isn’t nearly as well-developed as that of Bond and Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) in Casino Royale. When Bond almost resigned from the service for Vesper, you believed it. His actions at the end of Spectre are a little more ambiguous. We don’t know if he’s leaving for good or just taking a holiday, and it’s hard to imagine that this Bond, at the height of his skills, would chuck it all away for a woman he barely knows. Which as we’ve since from No Time to Die is definitely what was supposed to happen.

If you take those two plot points out of the equation, Spectre is a good film and even an above-average 007 outing. Sam Mendes directs with flair, even if a few sequences are too long and the movie overall could be a little tighter. Meanwhile cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema shoots the hell out of it, and Thomas Newman’s score is propulsive and exciting. The cast is uniformly good, especially the MI6 crew, Waltz, and Craig himself, even as we wish the long-awaited return of Blofeld could have been… different.

But as Madeline Swann says to Bond, “I’m not going to ask you to change… you are who are you are.” Spectre is what it is. And we’re okay with that.

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The post In Defense of Spectre: Daniel Craig’s Last James Bond Is Better Than You Remember appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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lrugloyak · 4 years

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Ben's uncle (i.e. another dream about a hot demon)

(Hi. If it’s your first time here, you can go HAHA. I’m not sure when I can focus back on my personal musings on here, but generally if you’re staying behind, I hope it’s for the memes. This is just a dream journal entry -- something I’d like to look back and laugh at in the future or, say, show to a therapist when I’ll need one lmao. Happy New Year!)

Like the actor who plays the old version of the lead guy in huling el bimbo; if not taller and darker but still theatre actor, basta real and dark like daveed but pinoy and no facial hair lmao

Ben's uncle drives me to school. Real school. With little Ben. Ben's uncle is wearing a black collared shirt with green double stripes.

I forget to bring socks and topple off the car with just slippers on and shoes in hand. He thinks I'm silly. I think he's hot. I tell myself I'll ask him out soon. I'm in high school.

I'm strangely waiting outside the lobby for class. It's afternoon. I go with Che to the gate bc I'm bored waiting. I trip over a few Christmas balls. When I get up, she's on the other side of the gate on some sort of fine ticking stuff off. I tell myself i can do that and reach for the pen. Ms. Joji is beside che with 2 familiar janitors from sisc. She politely chuckles to herself. I ask her why, and she tells me I'm kind but why care about this now. She touches my hand and carries on. I'm a bit disappointed.

It's nearly evening and i see ben's uncle's car roll around nearby but dismiss it. Bea v has a twin and draws in a small crowd of people as she loudly rants about her time at school, some story about being teased and embarrassed as she was called Bea Duh and V____. It seemed more like a pun that made sense in my dream. They were annoying but i had nothing against then so i just stayed behind the crowd and listened. They seemed like they just wanted people to listen and sympathize but it felt like a clout thing. The people seemed like they didn't like listening either but they were bored and liked being in the crowd. I giggled to myself while she was talking about something i wasn't listening to. All eyes turned to me. She asked if i had something to say. I saw ben's uncle's back from afar as he was rummaging through the back seat. I didn't think he saw me. I mindlessly started with my story about forgetting my shoes that morning and it was embarrassing. But i slipped with the fact that i wanted to ask ben's uncle out. I looked back at the crowd and saw their eyes light up. Someone asked me why. I said because he was hot. They ask laughed. I just said yeah he's hot! The crowd ate it up as i was pretending to be all the rage, making my story funnier and being more loose and confident with the way i moved. I didn't say it out loud, but thoughts of ben's uncle being attractive bc he was thoughtful, funny, kind and attentive were flooding my head. I look back at him and see he's staring right back at me with kind eyes and a wondering smile on his face. I laugh bc I'm having a good time with the crowd and i unknowingly proved a point to bea that you can turn embarrassing stories into good and still be in good company. Ben's uncle is by the gate. His elbow brushes past mine and we lock eyes. I asked if he heard all that. He asks what time my classes started and i realize oh yeah I've been waiting out here a bit alone for a class I'm not sure I'm having. We chuckle at the realization. He is admitted through sisc's electronic gate.

Search for the demon in a village that looks like manuela but with wider roads. Felt like the village in wallace and gromit. Forgot most of this part but it was heart racing and fun; i hate when i forget the adventure parts Couldn't capture the demon but found a book with some inscriptions. Had to go somewhere to find people who could help us. We were to go to a shack that same night.

I arrive with my friend to the shack. We find two guys in a room that looked a lot like lolas room now that i think about it. Guys are sleeping soundly in a bed. He tells me to take a nap first so i take a nap on a space on the right side of the bed, which was disappointing bc i wanted to help look for the demon. I am mostly asleep, but he didn't know i was still partly awake and listening and watching him decipher the book he just found. Guy in the middle wakes up and says demon is in the house, they just haven't found him yet. Informs they need to do a ritual to drive him out. They don't know how the ritual will go. They leave the room already chanting something foreign that doesn't seem to be working. I hear them enter the room beside this. September starts playing. They are chanting i think.

When the verse comes up, i hear one of them say it's not working. It was then when the legs of the guy on the left side of the bed started rising even though he was still asleep. He is wearing a grey tshirt. Hmm lol probs not important. The chorus comes and i hear the guys in the other room say that hey this isn't so bad; it's not working but they're not getting hurt from all the heavy chanting. Left side of the bed guy's arms were now rising too. "I'm not in my body" i hear the being on what looked like lolas computer chair in the shadows say. I understand he was driven out. That guy was ben's uncle. He tells me to go back to sleep. I smile and say no. So it's you, i think. He didn't have to answer. There was a bit of silence as September continued playing and the guys in the other room just sounded like they were dancing at this point.

I ask if he knew I wanted to ask him out when he passed me as he went to pick ben up from inside the school. He said yeah and smiled. I felt no shame. We both laughed. I was getting sleepier. I asked if he was the bad guy. He said yes even though I was hoping more that he'd say no. The info automatically popped in my head: he was called the necromancer. He asked why i asked, and i answered it was because nothing changed and i still wanted to go out with him. He considered it, i can feel it. He asked why, implying why i would want that knowing he's the demon, and i said bc he's hot. We both chuckled. He smiled again. Go to sleep he said, but i wouldn't budge. His human's legs and arms are still up. He won't keep his eyes off me. It seems more sincere. I'm not scared at all. Fuck, he's cute. He realizes he can't convince me. He walked over to my end of the bed and sat by my waist. We stare at each other for a bit and it feels like we've been talking for hours. I ask will you hold my hand and he takes it. His hand feels human. It even feels as nervous as one. I tell him everyone's capable of change. He looks at me with love in his eyes. The sound of September is drowned out by the feeling of time to rest your weary head clouding my senses. I don't want to wake up yet; i want to save him.

I wake up. I think there's been an earthquake.

I bite my lip.

Alright! So this was supposed to be a mind farts thing, which is why some sentences are less...sentence-like than others. Typed this out when I woke up at 5:48am. I was sad that I couldn’t get back to sleep bc I wanted to see Ben’s uncle again HAHAHAHA THE THIRST IS REAL and it’s so weird how I always just referred to him as Ben’s uncle and not??? a name?????

Okay, here are my notes possible factors:

• Gian Magdangal, but here in his role in AHEB and not anywhere else lol

I didn’t even feel the least attracted to him here; I’m not sure why Ben’s uncle took his form and why I was so eager to get in cahoots with him HAHAHAHA SORRY GIAN

• By “real school,” I mean my actual high school -- that part of the entrance was perfect in my head to the last detail. Little Ben, whoever the heck he is, was also wearing the grade school uniform.

• The last I’ve heard from Che was from an instagram post for the holidays. I’m not sure why she got in here.

• For the life of me, I don’t know what Ms. Joji and my school janitors represented. Maybe it’s my late feeling of detachment from being coined as a nice person. I can’t promise I’ll write about that here.

• I don’t know why Bea V is here either huhu. Despite what it seems like, I hold no grudges (or any real personal connection) to her, at least to my knowledge

• The action sequence in Manuela probably comes from how I’ve been going there often for the holidays and truly wanted to stay longer that I did.

• September??? My dad’s been playing songs of that era when his friends came around and when he’d have the hand at the Manuela get-togethers.

• The thirst? Yeah it comes with all the dreams now, it seems. Haha. Remember Suit Guy from the other dream? I’m convinced they’re the same character. After my closure with a real boy last month, I reverted back to talking to Angel. I don’t expect you to know who he is as I’ve never mentioned him officially in writing. It’s not like anyone’s going to read this anyway until I’m dead, but Angel’s been my imaginary friend for years. I’m not sure for how long, but perhaps it was since fallen angel tropes took over YA fiction (say, my 5th grade years?) or since I got into Supernatural. It comforts me to have a hot imaginary friend I can banter and actually fight with to talk to. I guess my fixation on tall mysterious guys (and after watching Daddy Long Legs din pala last night) just played into my metaphorical love for Angel.

#kylle #january2021 #dreams were all i ever knew

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ambiengrey · 4 years

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It's the third week of being back at work, and I hate it and feel like a terrible human being. I also feel like I Wasted my time during lockdown, even though I know I sometimes didn't. Like, I did some things. I got things done. I'm happy about that. Work is making me so tired, but I did kind of know it would which is Why I didn't watch TUA during lockdown, so I could watch it now while I feel so useless and like the day is already over.

.::a warning for spoilers::.

S2 E6

Run Allison :O

Hehe.

Aw.

It suddenly occurred to me out of basically nowhere, that I am a dumb. So, Lilah legit tells Diego her mom taught her to fight. And I was like :o I dig it, tell me more. Then literally like two episodes later she's sharing her tragic backstory about how she found her parents dead at age 4 and it went Right over my head, if that's true then how could her mom have taught her to fight? And I should have realized. I'm dumb. I mean, neither of those things were false, and she said them both sincerely enough, but, just presented as such without explanation those two things contradict each other. I was clearly not paying attention. I suppose Diego wasn't either, cause he didn't notice it either. XD

Of course she does XD Is the fish going to be there? Because I miss him.

"My Pursuers." I love that.

D'aww. Team Zero for the win. Lol. XD

TMI Ben :P

Oh no, that's not what he meant. XD the nodding, lol. This cult is really just doing its own thing X'D

This little montage, such fun :D

Ooooooooh snap. Oh :o

I guess the consequences of Allison's powers are that they're kind of addictive? and it's easy to lose herself in using them. I'm interested to know how Mr H...managed? her, as a child. How did they discover her powers? Did she have a wild rebellious phase where she just got everything she wanted with no one the wiser XD

I wanna play bingo.

These two are gonna have a real falling out. Or. Falling through. X'D

Are we gonna have a legit posession at some point? :D

Also, Ben feeling offended about sounding like Dad...like, I gotta know what happened to Ben my guys.

(before posting this I browsed tumblr -_-' and I got a little spoiled about Ben, but seemingly nothing I haven't already been suspecting though, so I guess it's not too bad)

We're all invited!

Oh, Dave D':

The Handler is being a busy busy bee. Setting everyone up just the way she likes. Let's hope Five doesn't decide to change his socks. :/ :P

Five's little smile.

Daddy's girl? Interesting, after I was just wondering what she and Mr H were like in her youth.

Dat no-nonsense entrance.

Mr H even brought a notebook XD

And Yet. XD

Oof.

Mr H looked So amused when Allison made Diego do that.

Oops XP

Mr H is a time. O.O A very self-assured time though. I. Like, don't hate him? Like, not at This time. Not, for who he is right now. I feel I ought to dislike him, for who he was or will be and what he did with them as kids, but, right now. He's just very interesting, and I can't dislike him because he makes sense.

Ben yass!

Yeah, Five is the only one that makes sense to you Mr H. Aw Diego, I'm sorry.

A smidge XD

Ah, they all got it.

That makes so much sense, starting with seconds.

How interesting, he's pretty accepting of the world ending apparently, but in another time he trains literal kids to prevent that from happening? Time travel will make your head hurt. I'm not sure how time travel works in this universe, but we have seen things Happen, and then be Changed afterward because Five traveled back to before they happened and so things happen differently the second time around. So, to just answer a thought I've been having by myself over here XD I don't think Their Mr H who is dead in 2019 had This meeting with them in his timeline. Only after we travel back to 2019 will he have had this meeting, because he couldn't have had it before it happened and it only just happened Now. So he adopted them and prepared them for the first apocalypse not because they told him he does, in this time here, but rather, for some other reason. At least, originally. Since they've now told him all the things, This might Become the reason he adopts them in This Version of the timeline.

The way Five says, they have to "get out of" the timeline, makes me think there's a million possible timelines, which is probs accurate.

Out of interest I'd like to mention, that poor Five is such an innocent bean concerning these apocalypses, because he hasn't been a part of what actually starts it either time XD he only arrives for the end or the aftermath. His fam is a time. XD

Aw, Five and Mr H are a nice pair. I feel like Five thinking he gave Mr H a hard time as a child is interesting, because on the one hand, that's something adults sometimes say sincerely to their parents, and it's fair of them to say that. But all of his siblings of course, would never say that, and probably still wouldn't no matter how old they get. But, Five's teenage years and entire adulthood, he spent without Mr H, so Mr H wasn't there to mess him up the way he had the others'.

If Five hadn't traveled into the future, would he hate Mr H as much as his siblings do?

That's not ominous.

That feeling when you inherited dental equipment from your father (right? I forget) and are then being tortured by two-thirds of the Swedes with it. :|

Some other place. Some literal other time.

CAAAAARL. like the llama.

Surprise! It's not a good surprise.

These green colours are a mood.

We've got some traveling to do.

I guess we'll see if events in this point in time, like the apocalypse, actually change the future of the current timeline? Or, when Five goes forward to the board meeting, will they be in a second timeline? Will they be unaffected by the apparent apocalypse, and be in a timeline prior to when Five's fam arrived in the 60's because the fam is in the process of basically resculpting that little section of time, technically for the second time because Five has now joined them so these ten days prior to the apocalypse are kind of not "set" yet? So whatever consequence they have is yet to be determined. And, if the Handler is to be believed, 2019 still exists as it was before they traveled and before their first apocalypse, because she claims to be able to take them back there. Which also suggests to me, that whatever causes the apocalypse, is their fault sure but it also hasn't happened yet. Like, I guess JFK's assassination has got to be the point of no return right? Whatever happens there has to be the thing that sets the apocalypse in motion officially. I haven't actually been trying to figure out what causes it, because I don't feel smart enough to pick up on any potential clues that might allow me to piece it together XD so I've just been going with the flow.

I feel like I could explain what I think time travel and the timeline works like, better, in a picture. :/

#The Umbrella Academy #TUA spoilers #TUA Season 2 #TUA S2 spoilers #The Umbrella Academy spoilers

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parkerparts · 5 years

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Nothing Scarier Than a Broken Heart

“You’re a gift to the world, Harley,” Peter sighed, burrowing closer to Harley. His cider mug, cupped in his hands, seared Harley’s skin, but he welcomed the warmth.

“I don’t really care about the world, I just care about you.”

“Bold words from a man who told me he wanted to fix the world. Seems like that man would care a lot about the world.”

“What if I told you that you are my world?”

Parkner Halloween Week 2019 Day Two: Spiders, Scary Stories, “I feel like I’m being watched.”

Read on AO3 here.

The click of a flashlight is accompanied by a bright, blinding light that causes Abbie to cringe and Morgan to shriek, half in discomfort, half in delight. Abbie grabs a corner of a blanket, folds it a couple of times, and places it over the bright light, effectively dimming it and giving it a scary, red glow from the color of the crimson blanket.

“There we go,” Abbie says, flashing a grin at the younger girl. It’s Abbie and Morgan’s fall break at school, and Pepper drove them all out to the lakeside cabin to spend the long weekend. Morgan and Abbie set up camp in Morgan’s tent in the backyard, the sound of the wind howling all around them. “Now, what were we going to do, Lady Morguna?”

“You were going to tell me a scary story,” the young girl replies, sitting cross-legged across from Abbie.

“That’s right.” Abbie places the flashlight on the ground face up, letting it cast its light and form long shadows against the walls of the tent. “Once upon a time there was a boy. He was a mechanic, which means he fixed things. He was really good at what he did, but he was very ambitious and never satisfied with just fixing things. He wanted to fix the world.”

Morgan props her chin up with her hand, staring at Abbie with dark, shining eyes. “What was his name?”

Abbie smiles sadly. “Harley. His name was Harley Keener.”

Of course, only the people who actually knew him called him Harley. Most people knew him as Junior. Once, that “Junior” stood for Harley Keener Junior, the son in the spitting image of a man who ran away from his family. Over time, it came to stand for The Mechanic Junior, the mentee of a legend who crash landed in Rose Hill on a snowy winter night.

Junior fixed things. He fixed cars, washing machines, lawn mowers, ovens, bicycles, tricycles, motorcycles, and once, even a unicycle that belonged to Dave Davis, who stubbornly refused to learn how to ride a bicycle or drive a car.

Every summer, a jet landed in a clearing in the woods behind the gas station. Little boys and girls like to run out and watch as Junior, sometimes accompanied by his sister, boarded the jet and took off.

The jet would eventually land in New York, on the grounds of a sprawling, high-tech compound that housed the world’s most famous, yet most controversial, heroes. Junior had never officially met any of them, save The Mechanic Senior. As soon as he arrived, Junior holed himself away in the expanse of laboratory space and got to work.

You see, Junior had a plan, a vision, a dream. He didn’t want to just fix things. He wanted to fix the world.

One summer, when Junior was seventeen and done with the formalities of high school, he locked himself in the labs and made a silent vow to himself to never leave. However, the universe had other plans for him, and these other plans came in the form of Peter Parker.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” Junior muttered aloud, fingertips buried deep in the recesses of metal and wire and electricity and something more like magic.

“You are.” Junior violently ripped his hands free at the unwarranted voice, eyes darting around. The sound of his pocketknife sliding out of its sheath and clicking open reverberated around the sterile room. “Don’t be scared. It’s just me.”

“Show yourself.” Junior swallowed a scream when a body dropped from the ceiling, landing gracefully at his feet in a catlike manner.

“You must be the other kid Mr. Stark talks about all the time. Junior, right? Or was it Tudor? Luther? I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I sort of had a stab wound in my stomach when I called him on the way here. But that was like four hours ago! I’m okay now. I’m Peter Parker, by the way. MJ says I talk a lot, so I’m sorry if I’m bothering you or something like that. I should really stop talking.”

Junior stared at the outstretched hand, let his eyes travel to the boy’s pale, glowing face as he talked a mile a minute, traced the swoosh of his freshly-washed hair, still damp. Before he even registered what he was doing, he placed his hand in the other boy’s. “It’s Harley, actually. Nice to meet you, Peter Parker.”

The gesture seemed to effectively shut the other boy up for more than just a breath. He stared at their joined hands, which should have been moving up and down but instead just held on tightly, but then his eyes wandered up to meet Harley’s gaze, and the world stopped moving for all of half a second. “Oh. Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Harley.”

Morgan raises her hand like she’s in school. Abbie calls on her with the uptight air of an elementary school teacher. “Yes, Morgan?”

“That’s Harley and Petey, right? Mommy told me they were Daddy’s other kids, that they were my brothers, but I wouldn’t remember them.”

Abbie has to close her eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath before answering. “Yeah. That’s Harley and Peter, your brothers.”

Morgan’s dark eyes pierce through Abbie’s delicate demeanor, like she can see all of the pain buried underneath, and that’s why she just nods. “Tell me more.”

Abbie always finishes what she starts, so she hides her shaking hands beneath her legs and pushes on.

Peter Parker had a vision, and it looked a lot like Harley’s: Harley wanted to fix the world; Peter wanted to save it. They helped each other do just that.

Peter, with his signature sheer genius and emotional intelligence, helped Harley channel his energy into what matters. Within half a decade, they made remarkable progress, accomplishing what only the bright-eyed generation of young geniuses can accomplish. In return, Harley crafted an armor of iron and flies around New York, the country, the world with Peter, doing all they could to save make sure people lived.

In the process of fixing and saving the world, Peter Parker and Harley Keener fell in love.

It started with the little things, as the big things always do. Catching the other staring while working in the labs, not-so subtle touches while working together, saving each other day after day.

It was a cold day in October, back in New York for Peter’s last semester of high school. The door to the lab hissed open, and in slipped Peter with two cups of apple cider and a weary smile. “Rough day?”

Peter shrugged, but the way he collapsed into the nearest chair, said a lot. “You could say that. Could you take over patrol tonight? I know it’s my turn, but I have this huge essay for English due tomorrow, and I’ve barely started. And by barely started, I mean I made the document, but it’s blank and haunting me.”

Harley laughed as he stood and made his way to where Peter was curled up. He settled in the spaces Peter’s body didn’t and tried to get comfortable as he draped the blanket over them. “Of course I will. I’d do anything for you, you know that?”

“You’re a gift to the world, Harley,” Peter sighed, burrowing closer to Harley. His cider mug, cupped in his hands, seared Harley’s skin, but he welcomed the warmth.

“I don’t really care about the world, I just care about you.”

“Bold words from a man who told me he wanted to fix the world. Seems like that man would care a lot about the world.”

“What if I told you that you are my world?”

Peter burst out laughing, cider sloshing dangerously in the mug. “That’s awful, Harley. Truly awful.”

“You love me anyway.” Harley hid his smile in his own mug as Peter flushed.

“Yeah. I love you anyway.”

“This doesn’t sound like a scary story to me,” Morgan pointed out.

Abbie just ruffled her hair and pulled the girl closer. “The best scary stories don’t start out scary. They’re happy at first, and then they become horrible. That’s what makes them so terrifying.”

Morgan sighed, but she still had a light smile plastered on her face, so Abbie knew she wasn’t actually bored. “Can we just get to the scary part now?”

The scariest thing about love was that it never lasted.

When Peter didn’t show up in the labs one afternoon after school, Harley got worried and emerged from the labs for the first time in weeks for something other than patrol, but Peter was nowhere to be found. “FRIDAY, where’s Peter?”

“Mr. Parker is not on the premises. Would you like to call him?”

“Yes.” FRIDAY redirected the call to his phone, which he clutched tightly to his ear, ignoring the stuttering of his heart.

“Junior? This is May.”

May’s warm voice did nothing to calm him. “Hi, May. Where’s Peter?”

“He’s sleeping. He wasn’t feeling well today and stayed home from school.” Peter was Spider-Man. No simple illness was supposed to be able to bring him down, which meant whatever was afflicting him was serious business.

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. Will you tell him I called?”

“Of course. Take care, Junior.”

“You too, May.” Harley ended the call with trembling fingers and retreated back to his section of the labs with a sinking heart.

Hour later, or maybe days, FRIDAY says, “Mr. Parker has entered the labs and is heading your way.”

Harley pulled himself away from his task and stared at the door. After a few moments, it opened, revealing a tired-looking Peter in his favorite pajama pants and one of Harley’s shirts. “Harley?”

“Hey, sweetie. What are you doing here?”

Peter burst into tears. “I’m dying.”

“This isn’t scary. It’s sad.”

“Patience, oh tiny demon.” Morgan giggles. “The fright is yet to come.”

The story is so cliche. It’s the perfect tragedy of love and death and shattered hope, and it makes Abbie want to vomit as she tells it, but Morgan’s looking up at her, enthralled, so she pushes on.

Peter was dying of radiation poisoning. The spider bite left radiation in his DNA, in his blood. The symptoms of it had been subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it had been nearly three years since he was bitten, and the rate at which he was dying sped up enough to cause alarm. The diagnosis from Bruce -- who worked in the same labs that Harley did, so he had no idea how he missed that -- came in that morning.

“Four months?” Harley asked, holding a shaking, sobbing Peter in his own weakening arms. “That’s plenty of time to find a cure.”

Everyone knew those were empty words, but an empty promise was better than letting an empty heartbreak consume them both.

Harley did work on a cure, alongside Peter himself, Bruce, Tony, and any other doctor or scientist Tony brought in. It was the first collaborative project Harley had ever done, aside from whatever he did with Peter, whose soul was so intertwined with Harley’s that it had never really felt like a group project at all, but rather shared ideas and genius. The only difference between Harley and everyone else working on the cure was that he had hope.

“Harley?” He hardly looked up when Peter woke up from the couch he had collapsed on while waiting for Harley to finish his work. He had claimed it would only be ten minutes, but that was ten hours ago, and the early risers of the team were starting to trickle in.

“Yes, honey?” Harley felt Peter’s presence creep closer, felt the fatigue rolling off the other boy in waves. “You should go upstairs, get some sleep.”

Peter’s arms wrapped around his waist, his cold fingers nipping at Harley’s skin, even through his lab coat. “You should too. You look exhausted.”

Harley sighed, marking his place in his readthrough of the data from the latest tests, and whirled around to face Peter. “Have you seen yourself?”

“I look like I’m dying because I am. You look like you’re dying because you are. If you keep up like this, you are going to kill yourself.”

“Peter, I have to keep working.”

“Working on what? Harley, in nine weeks, give or take, I will be dead. I want to spend what time I have alive with my boyfriend, who insists on spending every hour of every day in these freaking labs. It used to be fun down here, when we would create and make to our heart’s content, but now it’s all tests and pitying looks and empty promises.”

“They’re not empty.”

Peter screams out of frustration then, startling Harley out of his sleep-deprived daze and drawing the glares of the few people in the room. “Nine weeks, maybe less, to find a cure for radiation poisoning? You’re mad.”

“Peter, I have to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I didn’t do everything I could to fix this.”

“You haven’t left this lab in weeks. You haven’t eaten in days. You haven’t slept in days either. You haven’t patrolled once since I got the diagnosis. You haven’t done anything at all. Once upon a time, I met a boy who wanted to fix the world. What happened to him?”

“He fell in love.” Harley reached out to cup Peter’s face, shining with rage and disappointment and concern and heartbreak. “You are my world, Peter. I have to fix you.”

The fight left Peter in a single breath, and his shoulders fell. “Okay. Fine. Just promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“You’re my world too, Harley, and all I’ve ever wanted to do was save the world. Let me save you from yourself.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t easy. They still got into fights about it, but Harley left the lab more, went on patrols with Peter, spent some time with his boyfriend, who grew weaker with every passing day. In return, Peter submitted to the tests and the spark of hope in Harley’s eyes that refused to die.

Then Peter died, and with him, all of Harley’s hope.

Harley Keener fixed things, but he wasn’t even able to fix the one thing that mattered most to him. How was he supposed to be able to fix the world?

That doesn’t mean he stopped trying. He tried his best to carry on with his dream, with Peter’s dream. He ran away from New York, and although he knew Peter cared a lot about New York, about his home, Harley was never able to step foot in the area again. He roamed the world, doing what he could, but he never felt like it was enough. Peter always made him feel like he was enough. God, he missed Peter so much that it hurt to breathe most days, but he carried on and tried his best to live.

They say he’s still out there, that sometimes, when you’re in need, you’ll find yourself visited by a knight in shining iron armor.

“The End,” Abbie sighs, switching off the flashlight. The harsh shadows and red glare in the tent disappear, leaving only the faint, warm glow of the single electric lantern in between their two sleeping bags.

“That’s so sad,” Morgan says, squeezing Abbie’s hand in both of her own. “So what’s what happened to Petey and Harley?”

“Yeah. Your mom or dad ever tell you anything about them?”

“Daddy doesn’t really like talking about them. I think it makes him sad. Mommy mentions them sometimes, but I never knew what happened to them.”

“Well, that’s their story.”

“It’s a sad story. It was a very nice story, but you said you would tell me a scary story.”

Abbie laughs gently, as she helps Morgan zip up her sleeping bag. “I’m sorry, baby. I forgot. Maybe next time?”

“It’s okay. I like it when you tell me stories, even if they’re not very scary but very very sad.”

Abbie smiles fondly. Morgan is still young, but one day, she’d understand. Abbie hopes that day was very far away because she doesn’t want to imagine her little sister’s heart broken, shattered. There’s nothing scarier than a broken heart, than the pain of loving someone. the scariest thing in the world is to watch the people you love get hurt or slip away or die, knowing you can do nothing about it. “Goodnight, Morgan.”

“Night, Abbie.”

Abbie reaches over and switches off the electric lamp. In the silence and the darkness, she takes a moment to collect herself, allows a few of the tears she had held in to escape. It’s been years since Peter died and Harley disappeared, but she feels their absence deeply every day.

“Abbie?” She sniffles quietly and wipes her face before replying.

“Yes, Morgan?”

“I feel like I’m being watched.” Abbie sits up and listened hard, to the world outside their little tent, their safe haven. There, amongst the chirping crickets and the rippling water, was a familiar sound.

“Don’t worry. It’s just the Iron Knight. Want to tell him goodnight?”

Morgan quietly giggles. “Goodnight, Harley.”

The pain in Abbie’s chest intensifies, and for a moment, she can’t breathe, blinded by the tears that threaten to fall whenever she misses Harley the most. “Goodnight, Harley,” she repeats.

Within moments, Morgan’s asleep again. Abbie too lies back down, but she keeps listening intently to the quiet whine of a repulsor hovering just outside the entrance to their tent. When she’s on the brink of sleep, she hears a quiet blast of acceleration and listens as the sound of the repulsor fades away.

#parker halloween week 2019 #peter parker #harley keener #parkner #abbie keener #morgan stark #angst #fluff and angst #fanfiction #bella writes

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

Text

the tangled web of fate we weave: iv

part iii/AO3.

The incredibly stupid (and rather terrifying) situation that Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan has presently found himself in goes like this.

Something feels off about the botched operation the instant he gets off the phone with Neville, and since Wyatt is still technically the official personnel assigned to this case, if he doesn’t want to drop it, he doesn’t have to. He stands there in the middle of the pickup curb at LAX, being jostled to every side by passing travelers, until he decides he should, if nothing else, get out of the way. Heads back to his car, stares through the windshield for a long moment, then takes out his phone again. Sorry babe, he texts Jessica. Order some pizza and invite some friends. Don’t think I’m making it home tonight.

With that, he tosses the phone into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt. Jessica knew when she married a serviceman, especially one in special ops, that it would be a lot of long separations and unexplained absences, and she’s held up admirably thus far, but she has to be wondering when the buck finally stops. So is Wyatt, for that matter. They need this. They love each other a lot, but they’ve become different people during his last three deployments. A relationship can’t survive forever on Skype calls and care packages.

Putting that out of his head for now, Wyatt turns on the engine, pays the exorbitant parking charge, and rolls into downtown L.A. He can’t help wondering if he’s been outsmarted and the mark is going to turn up at the Burberry store now that a potential accomplice has given him the all-clear. But how would a relatively routine drug runner, or even mid-level member of the mob, be privy to the classified details of a Delta Force sting arranged just hours ago? Their counterintelligence is good, but not that good. And while tons of information isn’t exactly par for the course in this job, they usually at least give you a name. Even a fake one.

At that, Wyatt makes a decision. He isn’t hauling all the way back to San Diego tonight, and he’s gonna drop by Bam-Bam’s. Dave Baumgardner, given the nickname for his enthusiasm for certain parts of the job, is on leave, but he lives here. Has a nice bachelor pad in Westwood. His dad is rich, because Bam-Bam definitely does not make enough money to afford it by serving in the army, even in a specialized unit. At least Wyatt can get a second pair of eyes on this, judge if there’s actually a wrench in the spanner, or he’s just being paranoid. Everyone in their line of work knows it happens eventually.

Traffic is a crawl up 405, because aside from all the other reasons for L.A. to have terrible traffic, there’s a Los Angeles Tech Convention and some billionaire bigwig named Connor Mason is the featured attraction. Has all kind of gizmos he’s wheeling out for public display for the first time ever, so this place is Nerd Mecca. In Wyatt’s opinion, it’s bad enough they keep inventing new iPhones every year. Who needs all that?

He sighs, reminds himself not to be quite so curmudgeonly, and makes it to Westwood with only two minor road-rage incidents. Pulls up in front of Bam-Bam’s place, parks, and heads up the walk. Technically the term for what Bam-Bam is on is “paid administrative leave,” because there’s still some question about whether his actions on the Abu Dhabi mission were entirely necessary. This is, also in Wyatt’s opinion, a dog-and-pony show. The U.S. government pays David Baumgardner to kill people, and the legality isn’t something they’re concerned with except when it appears in the press. It does occur to him to wonder if this is a great place to be asking advice, but hell, he’s here now.

A few moments after his knock, Bam-Bam opens the door, holding a sweating Budweiser bottle and looking surprised. “Hey, Logan! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Complicated,” Wyatt says briefly. “You gonna let me into your beer and porn den, or what?”

Bam-Bam smirks, gives him a bro clap on the shoulder, and leads him into the kitchen, where he twists the cap off another cold Bud and hands it over. Wyatt takes a long swig, leaning against the counter, then follows Bam-Bam out to the porch. Here in an airy, comfortable suburban backyard, it feels as if he might definitely be overstating things, but no point chickening out now. As economically as he can, he explains his hunch. The fact that he can’t be sure, but this feels like a setup, and not in the right way. Bam-Bam might be trigger-happy, but he’s a good soldier. Wyatt trusts his instincts.

“Huh,” Baumgardner says, when he finishes. “That is a little weird.”

“Okay, so it isn’t just me?”

“No, that does sound off the ranch. Not even this guy’s name or who he’s supposed to be working for – ‘Ndrangheta, Yakuza, plain old Mafia, Big Pimpin’ dealing weed down in Compton?” Bam-Bam takes another slug of beer. “Who’d you piss off?”

“Nobody,” Wyatt says. “Far as I know. This all came out of nowhere. Yesterday I thought I was finally going to have a real weekend with Jess, today I’m here with… this.”

“Just send her a dick pic.” Bam-Bam finishes off the Budweiser and chucks it expertly across the lawn into the recycling. “Tide her over?”

Wyatt gives him a cold fish stare, as he doesn’t think that any woman, not even his wife, just magically needs his genitals to appear in their life. “Good thing I don’t ask you for romantic advice, you dog.”

“Whatever.” Bam-Bam shrugs. “Anyway, what are you planning to do about this?”

That catches Wyatt short. He doesn’t actually know. Critical thinking is a valued skill for a solo operative, but independent thinking, less so. A soldier follows orders, he doesn’t start yanking at threads and veering off on tangents and trying to rewrite the script, thinks he knows better than the brass and can do whatever he wants. Finally he says, “Should we call someone?” You never know. Pestering the boss could do something.

“Guess you could try? I’d call my dad, actually, but he’s at some retreat up in the Bay Area this weekend.” Bam-Bam’s rich daddy, Rick, is a defense lawyer in Orange County and makes gigabucks shielding even richer assholes from the consequences of their crimes. In other words, if there’s a big bust afoot, he might know something about it, albeit on less official channels. “Leadership development potential, or whatever.”

“Can you call him anyway?”

“Because my Delta Force buddy thinks something smells a little fishy about one of his jobs?” Bam-Bam gives Wyatt a weird look. “This is still classified, remember?”

“You don’t have to tell him it was me. Just put it in general terms.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work. Anything else?”

Wyatt racks his brains, trying to recall the paperwork he skimmed through quickly to get to the operational summary. This is probably a cautionary tale about why you should actually read it. “I think there were initials? Dunno if it corresponded to the guy at all. G.F.? And something about an unauthorized investigation.”

“Shit.” Baumgardner’s eyes widen. “Garcia Flynn?”

“What?” That catches Wyatt off guard. “Who?”

“He works in the NSA. He’s from somewhere in former shithole-Soviet land, he’s been in Eastern Europe for most of that time. I met him a few times, actually. He’s about the one guy who could take me in a shooting contest.” Bam-Bam sounds proud of this, which Wyatt finds worrying – is this the guy they sent him into LAX to take down, solo op, civilians to every side? “Anyway, though, that’s not why I thought of him. My dad was just talking about him earlier. Apparently Flynn’s lost his marbles, and that worries people.”

“Your dad’s work colleagues? Flynn sounds like the exact kind of client they love.”

“You think anyone from Orange County is gonna defend a possible Russian mole?”

“Yeah. Probably have three on the payroll already. Is that what they think he is? A mole? How the hell is that too controversial to tell me?”

“Look, man, I don’t know. This is probably on shaky confidentiality grounds anyway, but you and I are on the same security clearance, so…” Firearms-related or otherwise, David Baumgardner has never been bound too strictly by an exacting observance of the rules. “You wanna stay and play some Halo, or go and do your fucking job?”

“Probably the latter, huh? Not all of us get to sit on our ass and stuff our face right now like you.” Wyatt slugs down the last of his beer and stands up. “Do you have anything else you can think of? Anything at all?”

Bam-Bam considers, frowning. Then he says, “I think my dad knows that tech guy who’s in town for the convention. Connor Mason. If you wanna pull rank and flash a badge at him, pull him off into some back room and scare him, he could be helpful. Not sure, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll get a last-minute ticket to that and haul the keynote speaker off the stage in front of ten thousand hyped-up nerds?” Wyatt looks at the ceiling, then blows out a breath. “Not like I got anything else to try. Thanks, buddy. Hope they let you out of the doghouse soon.”

With a quick hand-shake and bro-hug, he lets himself out, gets back in the car, and drives to the packed convention center, which involves subjecting himself to I-10 at peak evening hours and thus takes approximately eighty-one eons. It takes him several more after that to find a parking space, which is practically in Chavez Ravine, and he heads to the door and asks to speak to the security staff. It takes (more) time, but he finally gets the head honcho, introduces himself quietly as Delta Force, and says there may be a security threat that he needs to speak to Mr. Mason about. Yes, he knows that Mr. Mason is scheduled to give the kickoff speech at 7:00pm, which is nineteen minutes from now. It’s urgent.

The security guys look at each other, but after Wyatt repeats “credible security threat” a few more times, one of them slopes off to get Mason. He arrives fixing his cufflinks and the microphone pinned to his lapel – twelve minutes to go – and clearly angry at the interruption. “They said there was some bloke who wanted to talk to me? Now?”

“That’s me, Mr. Mason.” Wyatt clears his throat, with a significant look at the others ordering them to scuttle off. “This won’t take long.”

“It better not.” Mason is a bald black British guy in a very expensive suit, who has not gotten to the level of success that he has by tolerating fools. “Well?”

Wyatt checks that they’re alone. “Do you know a Garcia Flynn?”

It’s a good thing Mason wasn’t trying to take a drink, otherwise he definitely would have done a spit-take. He takes half a step backwards, as if Wyatt has turned radioactive. “I’m sorry,” he manages, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “Who did you say you were with, again?”

“I didn’t.” Wyatt takes a step of his own, in case Mason tries to bolt. “You’re the one in the hurry. Tell me what I want to know, we can make it quick. Well?”

“You’re… not…?” Mason’s eyes search Wyatt’s face, as if trying to uncover a mask, a sudden reveal. “Is this some attempt to punish me for not attending the…? I’ve told them, many times, that the work is on schedule, and…”

“What work?” Wyatt asks. “On schedule for who? Not attending the what?”

Mason’s eyes flick from side to side again. He scrutinizes Wyatt carefully, then asks all of a sudden, “Scientia potential est?”

“Is that Latin?” Wyatt is more baffled than ever. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“So you’re not.” Mason seems to have been checking something. Rather belatedly, he hitches his professional, P.T. Barnum smile back into place. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. …?”

“Smith.” Wyatt is pretty sure Mason is lying out his ass, but he’s not sure how to force him, short of tackling him and dragging him off to a broom closet for the old shock-and-awe routine Bam-Bam recommended – and that is definitely a bad idea. “You really sure you don’t know anything about Garcia Flynn? Really sure?”

“Absolutely.” Mason almost sells it, too. There’s a moment more in which they stare at each other, and then there’s a harried knock on the door.

Mason turns away to open it, and a young African-American man in a MIT sweatshirt sticks his head in, looking frazzled. “Mr. Mason, what the hell? Your cue’s in five minutes!”

“Yes, Rufus, of course. My apologies, I was unavoidably detained by G.I. Joe here.” Mason tweaks his cuffs, stares back at Wyatt, and turns on his heel with a slight, sarcastic flourish, marching out after his – assistant, aide, graduate student, whatever Rufus is. Wyatt has about five seconds to decide if he is in fact going to throw his weight around – he’s not a cop, and if he’s going to hold Mason for questioning, he needs something to, you know, actually question him about. Mason seems like a smarmy dick, but that’s not illegal. But who the crap do he and Rick Baumgardner both know that makes Garcia Flynn a potential problem for them? They’re both rich, successful corporate types. Bam-Bam said that Flynn’s in the NSA. Has he gone black hat, exploiting security loopholes in their servers and threatening to hold their trade secrets for ransom? Sophisticated cybercrime? But then why wouldn’t Mason want him taken down? Or does he, but he doesn’t want to tell Wyatt how he knows him?

Yeah. There’s something really fucking fishy going on here, it’s not just Wyatt’s imagination. As Mason and Rufus vanish down the corridor, he blows out a breath and tries to work out what to do next. He can’t tap Bam-Bam for any actual action, he’s still on leave, and that would land Wyatt’s ass in hot water right next to him. And yet again, the question remains. Action against who? It feels like kickboxing with your own shadow.

Wyatt thanks the security guys, assures them the threat has been dealt with (which is a lie, but he doesn’t know what else to say), then hikes back to his car, pulls out his phone, and scrolls down to the encrypted numbers, the ones you don’t call except on (hopefully) rare occasions. Once it’s been picked up and he’s gone through the various steps of verifying his identity, he is finally transferred to whatever Lovecraftian horror that is the NSA switchboard room, insists he has the proper clearance to three different people (you’d really think the U.S. government would be better at sharing intelligence and coordinating between departments, but nooooope) and finally, finally gets someone to tell him that yes, Garcia Flynn is an agent on active roster. As far as they know, he still is, but he has missed a scheduled check-in and reassignment. That was supposed to take place today. This afternoon, at the Tom Bradley International Terminal in LAX. At the Burberry store. He didn’t show.

At that, Wyatt feels a goose walking over his grave, as the saying goes. What the shit. He was sent to arrest – as far as Flynn’s bosses know – an agent still on his regular assignment, a fellow high-level, elite operative, but why? Someone who has been, apparently, making trouble for Rick Baumgardner and Connor Mason’s chummy corporate buddies? Mason assured Wyatt that the work was on schedule – what work? Did Wyatt just stumble into the middle of an attempt to whistleblow a whistleblower – stop Flynn before he can pull the clothes off whatever emperor he is trying to disrobe? What. The fuck.

It takes Wyatt several more minutes of cajoling, but he finally convinces the NSA lackey that he’ll try to get in contact with Flynn, put him off his guard, and see if there’s anything he can extract about this very, very puzzling situation. The lackey gives him the company phone number that they have on file for Flynn, and Wyatt jots it down on his hand. He thanks the guy, then hangs up.

Wyatt isn’t nearly stupid enough to call a potential hostile on his own government phone, especially since that could lead to him getting tracked. So he starts the car, wearily girds his loins for his – what – fourth go-round with L.A. traffic for the day, and drives off to the kind of totally reputable establishment on Sepulveda Boulevard that sells burner phones that can be bought with cash. By the time he’s done that, it’s getting quite late, and Wyatt is starving, so he makes an In-n-Out run. He scoffs it down, buys a second burger for the road, and sits in the restaurant until he’s pretty sure the traffic will only be mildly exasperating rather than hellmouth terrible. Then he trucks out, gets back in, and drives off to a deserted high school parking lot. According to the dash clock, it is 11:23 pm.

This is probably a horrible idea. The guy could be full-on, off-the-ranch insane. Or – almost more frighteningly – he couldn’t be.

Wyatt checks that the number on his hand hasn’t gotten too smudged, and dials.

Lucy is getting changed into the Walmart pajamas when she hears Flynn having a terse conversation through the door. He’s keeping his voice down, so it’s hard to make it out, but it sounds like it’s important. God, not something else, not now. This has already been the absolute hell of a day, and she just wants it to be over. Please no more.

She combs out her tangled hair and brushes her teeth with the toiletries he also got, which was nice of him. So was the rescue, if that’s what Lucy wants to call it. She had everything under control, or so she would like to think. Told Cahill five minutes, and then… well, then she was somehow changing for an evening party with his serried social set, they were telling her how great she was, and she kept swearing that she was about to make a run for it somehow. And then out of nowhere, dragging her back into the library with its mounted deer head, scaring the life out of her and yet making her never so grateful to see anyone, Flynn. He keeps doing this. Turning up, and saving her. The last several times, from situations he put her in in the first place, but still. And that car with Benjamin Cahill and company, that wasn’t him. That was something else entirely, and Lucy didn’t like it.

She clenches her hands,which briefly seem inclined to tremble, and looks at herself in the mirror. She is a little pale and wan, dark smears of washed-off makeup lingering beneath her eyes, but she still seems like her. She waits until Flynn has finished his conversation, out of her usual polite instinct not to interrupt someone else’s private business, then steps out of the bathroom. “Who was that?”

Flynn jumps, then puts down the phone, which he has been glaring at as if expecting further information, or just because he’s annoyed. “You should probably go to sleep.”

“Maybe.” Lucy folds her arms. “Who was that?”

Flynn considers her, then gets abruptly to his feet, which is a fairly imposing thing for him to do. “You aren’t working for Rittenhouse,” he says, half as a statement and half as a challenge. “Are you? Some play-pretty-and-ignorant act, some very deep cover?”

“I am not working for Rittenhouse!” Lucy bristles. “Didn’t we settle that? Would I have left with you, or just gone to take a shower, instead of – I don’t know, calling someone and tipping them off where we are?”

“I was gone for a good twenty minutes or so,” Flynn points out. “I don’t know that you didn’t call someone.”

“I didn’t. Here, check my phone if you like.” Lucy thrusts it at him. “Besides, if you really thought I might be some kind of deep-cover agent, why did you rescue me?”

Flynn opens his mouth, realizes he doesn’t have an answer, and shakes his head brusquely. He takes her phone and scrolls through it, tosses it down on the bed, and finally says, “That was a Wyatt Logan. Friend of yours?”

“For the last time, no. I have no idea what is going on with any of this!” It’s close to midnight, Lucy’s exhausted, and this day has been, to say the least, a bitch. “Do you have anything else to interrogate me about, or can I go to sleep?”

Flynn briefly looks chastened, mulls another response, and jerks his head at the bed; apparently the Emperor has given permission. Lucy marches over, turns the covers back, and crawls beneath them, determined to put up a brave front but feeling shaky and small. Why, why has her mother kept this from her? Was it for her safety? It must have been for her safety. Realized that Benjamin Cahill was up to his eyeballs in whatever bad news Rittenhouse is, and cut Lucy (and later, Amy) off for their own good. It still hurts, but at least that way, Lucy can make sense of it. When she gets back to Palo Alto, hopefully soon, she’ll call her mom and clear the air, see if there’s anything else Carol needs to tell her. Maybe she can even help Flynn with this hell-bent investigation of his. Must know firsthand how sketchy they are. Maybe put him onto a few leads.

That is Lucy’s rational historian brain at work, the part that wants to cycle the kaleidoscope pieces together and see the big picture, the best outcome. And yet, all she can think of is Henry Wallace, all the times she called him Dad, and he never gave her any reason to think that was anything but the truth. How much did he know? All this time raising another man’s daughter – did he ever resent her? Did he truly just love her that much? Lucy wants beyond anything to see him again, to know. And yet obviously, she can’t. Lucy the historian understands all this, but Lucy the daughter is broken-hearted.

She sniffs, once and then again. Can feel a wetness soaking into the pillow under her cheek, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. There can’t be many worse places to have this breakdown. Not yet, not yet. But another tear escapes, and a third.

Lucy thinks she hears an uncomfortable cough, and isn’t sure if she wants Flynn to notice this or not. She’s not really sure that he’d have anything particularly comforting to say, since his whole attitude about this seems to be “I told you so.” Why the hell did he come after her, then? Track her all the way out to the literal Rittenhouse in the middle of nowhere, but still won’t entirely relinquish his belief that she might be in with them somehow? Ugh. What the hell. This man is beyond frustrating.

Despite herself, Lucy slips into an uneasy haze, seeing as Flynn has apparently decided that the best strategy to deal with this is to sit very still and pretend he’s a tree. Yet again, if she was thinking that he might offer any comfort or …comfort, she’s mistaken. It’s really a good thing that she didn’t actually kiss him that first night.

Satisfying as this may be, it’s still hollow, and since Lucy doesn’t have Amy’s lap to put her head in, she could at least do with some brief moment of human connection or support. But if Flynn’s not offering, she’s not asking, and pulls the covers up tighter. If Rittenhouse comes barging in here during the wee hours, it is decidedly not her fault.

When Lucy opens her eyes again, the light is grey, the room is quiet, and the clock on the bedside table reads 6:43am. Flynn has dozed off on the other bed, still dressed, the same way he slept on her shitty couch back in her apartment, and nobody has been murdered, so there’s that. Lucy still feels like she’s been hit with a hammer, and could probably sleep another six hours at least, but she’s not sure if they’re going to have to pick up and bugger off somewhere else. It’s Sunday, maybe that will help with the traffic. It’ll still be at least two hours back to the Bay Area, though. If that’s where they’re going.

Lucy groans, closes her eyes again, and steals another forty-odd minutes of precious slumber, before she’s woken by the sound of Flynn moving around. She lies still and pretends to be sleeping, until he says gruffly, “Lucy, I know you’re awake.”

Ever the charmer, her knight in shining armor. Lucy sits up slowly. She has not had a ton of time to go to the gym recently, and yesterday was the most workout she had in months; she can feel it down to her toes. “Other people say good morning.”

Flynn’s mouth twitches, as if he’s almost about to smile, until he catches himself. “You should probably get up.”

“Oh? And what have you been doing all night?”

“Thinking.” Flynn pulls off his shirt, wads it up, and tosses it on his unmade bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Lucy was about to shoot back some remark about how she can’t see that going well – if he’s going to prod her, she’s going to prod him – but she’s momentarily distracted by the sight of his torso. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and several rugged scars – whatever the majority of this man’s career has been spent doing, it is not just annoying nearly-completed PhD students in California hotel rooms. There is a small, puckered, pinkish circle that looks like a bullet wound, and a few others that look like knives. She doesn’t know how old Flynn is – maybe mid-to-late thirties, seven or eight years older than her – but he’s clearly lived a hard life. Unwelcomingly, unnecessarily, her fingers flex, and her breath hitches.

Flynn catches her looking, and his tongue flicks out briefly to touch his lips. “Yes?”

“I thought you were taking a shower,” Lucy says, as coolly as she can. “Or are you still afraid that I’ll call Rittenhouse if you turn your back on me?”

Flynn arches an eyebrow at her. This man does have a remarkably expressive face, even if it mostly is employed for various permutations of smug, sass, smirk, and son of a bitch. “What, were you planning to come in? Only room for one in there, I’m afraid.”

With that, he strides to the bathroom and shuts the door, for all the world as if he just virtuously turned her down from making a move on him – which, obviously, did not actually happen. Lucy rocks back and forth on the bed, fighting an urge to scream, then gets up, gets dressed, and wonders if she can go down to the continental breakfast by herself, or Flynn will come tearing in and terrify some yuppies. Which might be amusing, at least momentarily, but will then result in even more headache and hassle to sort out.

It takes a while, but they finally eat (though Flynn, to judge from his dark looks at the buffet tables, doesn’t think much of Holiday Inn Express’s culinary selections), check out, and head back to the car. Lucy is not enthused to see it. “Are we going home yet?”

“No.” Flynn gestures her to get in, but she doesn’t. “I couldn’t keep you safe there.”

“Who said that was your job? Can’t you call someone? Whoever you work for?” Lucy folds her arms. “Get me a protection detail, so I can go back to my life, even if someone has to babysit me? However this is ordinarily handled?”

Flynn looks frustrated that she isn’t just taking his word and following his orders. Finally he says, “It’s… last night. When Logan called. There’s been some kind of complication. He said he was supposed to arrest me, at LAX. I don’t know what’s been decided on, but first they ordered me to drop the investigation and now Rittenhouse is trying to – ”

“What? Your bosses ordered you to drop it, and you didn’t see fit to share that with me?” As if he was going to share anything. “So what, we’ve been off the grid and against orders for at least the last twenty-four hours? It was one thing to be on the run with you when you were working on some official government business, now you’re off that too, and – what? I’m supposed to just trust you and get in the car?”

“Lucy – ” Flynn looks exasperated, as if he has genuinely never considered how insane he and all his plans sound. She’s gone along with it thus far, because she didn’t really have a choice, but before they head any further away from home, off into whatever planet he lives on, she needs solid answers. “Don’t make this difficult, just – ”

“Oh, me? Me? I’m the one who should not make this difficult?” Lucy catches sight of a nice retiree couple eyeing them from the hotel portico, and waves reassuringly. She might try to run for it right now, but all her books and her computer are still in the car, and it does not seem beneath Flynn to hold them for ransom. “Either we go home, or you explain a hell of a lot more about who this Wyatt Logan person was and what he told you.”

“He – ” Flynn rolls his eyes viciously. “It’s not a conversation for right here. Get in, and I promise – I promise – ” he repeats, seeing her look deeply dubious – “we’ll drive around a bit and I’ll tell you. Yes or no?”

Lucy hesitates, then jerks the car door open and gets in with as much icy dignity as she can muster. Muttering, Flynn does the same, pulls out with only a slight grinding of the gears, and keeps to his end of the bargain in puttering around at 30mph on some residential streets. As he does, he provides her a doubtless still-very-abridged version of what he learned. Wyatt Logan is a soldier of some description, though he didn’t specify his exact branch of service. He was sent by person or person(s) unknown to arrest Flynn at LAX, which is where he was supposed to go instead of staying with Lucy. Given that Flynn’s boss told him to go there, either he didn’t know that the rendezvous had been compromised, or he did. In short, someone highly placed in the U.S. government has ordered Flynn taken off the Rittenhouse investigation, and has gone to the lengths of sending a fellow special-ops guy to apprehend him. In short, Flynn can’t trust anyone back at headquarters, or know who they’re reporting to. That’s why he can’t just call in for backup and let someone else take it from here.

Lucy stares at him. If Flynn isn’t lying about this – and lying isn’t really his way, rather brute-force application of the unvarnished truth with all the subtlety of a speeding freight train – then that, obviously, is worrisome. “Why would he call and warn you?”

Flynn shrugs. “Dumb decency. Some people have it. But he wasn’t told either, he smelled a rat, so he did some digging.”

“How did he find out it was you?”

“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t say.” Flynn flashes a grim smile. “Had to play some of it close to the vest, after all. Said that he asked a few people. I assume someone like him, it wasn’t just the local hot dog vendor. So then. Do you see the problem?”

“You’re not willing to just drop me off back home and…” Lucy has no idea what the ordinary protocol would be, it’s a little outside her area of specialty. She doesn’t want to be kidnapped by Rittenhouse again, obviously, but she also doesn’t want to be joyriding around with a possibly-ex-NSA agent who’s managed to push the envelope too far even for them. “They couldn’t have had some good reason for pulling you off the case?”

Flynn looks at her flatly. “You’ve met who I’m after. Do you think so?”

Lucy hesitates. Yes, Rittenhouse was obviously creepy, there was a Waco-compound vibe to the party, and to have all these powerful, accomplished, wealthy people suddenly swanning out of the woodwork and offering her a dream job clearly came with a major catch. But… political parties and lobbying groups and other business conglomerates might be distasteful or even unethical (shock, horror, politics are dirty) but that still doesn’t make them strictly or flagrantly illegal. “I don’t know. I need more evidence.”

“Need more evidence.” Flynn makes a derisive noise in his throat. “That’s a historian’s answer.”

“I am a historian, in case you forgot. And I need to be back to Stanford by Tuesday, I have a class to teach.”

For a moment, Flynn looks as if he can respect this commitment to professional responsibility, even if he has no intention of honoring it, himself. “Why did you want to be a historian?” he asks instead. It doesn’t sound entirely like pleasant small talk. “Though it’s better than dropping out of college to join a band.”

Lucy flushes. That is the first reference he’s made to the fact that he saved her life seven years ago. But as to his question, she isn’t even sure she remembers consciously choosing. Just that it was implicit in her mind ever since she was a little girl, that she was going to study history and follow in her mother’s footsteps. That time with Jake was the only time she came seriously close to deviating from the plan, and Flynn is the reason she returned to it. Well, indirectly, since if he hadn’t come along, she would have been six feet under for a while now. “I just… always knew that was what I was supposed to do,” she says, after a pause. “My mom was… well, she is very… she just wanted what was best for me. She pushed me a lot, and that time when… when you saved me, that was when I’d decided I was going to tell her that I could live my own life, and not just mimic hers. But when I almost died, it… it seemed like a sign. That it had been a mistake. So I continued.”

“Do you even like it?” Flynn asks. Bewilderingly. “Or is it something else she made you do?”

“Of course I like it.” Lucy stares at him. “Really. If I hated it, I wouldn’t have gotten this far, even for my mother.”

She isn’t altogether certain about that. Just because she’s not sure she could live with her mother’s disappointment, her constant remarks about how Lucy isn’t really doing everything she could be. And she – she does want this, she can’t think of anything else she wants to do with her life, and frankly, if you’d be happy doing anything else apart from getting a PhD in history, you should probably do that. But that’s odd to think about, almost unsettling. If Puff the Tragic Wagon hadn’t gone off the road, and she hadn’t almost died, and Flynn hadn’t saved her, would she have gotten to her mother’s house, told her the plan, and followed through on dropping out of Stanford and running off with Jake? Or would she have wilted at the first sight of her mother’s disapproval, called the whole thing off, and continued as normal anyway? Does she actually have it in her to defy Professor Carol Preston, who red-penned her homework assignments from the age of nine? Who used to open up her laptop and go through her college papers and just delete whatever she thought wasn’t strong enough?

Lucy starts to say something else, then stops. “What about your mom?” she says instead, not sure why she’s inviting more intimacy, but determined to learn something about this man, half guardian angel and half obnoxious, dangerous, stubborn liability. “You said she was American, but you were born in Croatia.”

“She was.” Flynn rolls to a precise halt at a stop sign, then continues. “From Texas. She worked at Lockman Industries in the aeronautics and engineering division. She was in Houston during the moon landing, actually. A very talented woman.”

Lucy glances at him. She’s always up for hearing more about talented women. “What was her name?”

“Maria.” Flynn’s mouth shapes around it as if he hasn’t said it in a while. “Maria Thompkins. She died a few years ago.”

It’s plain that he would rather not keep talking about the subject, and they drive for a few minutes, going nowhere in particular. They make a few loops around the Windsor main drag, until Flynn says, “All right, I’ll take you home. But if anything happens on the way, or when we get there, then – ”

He sounds so grumpy and yet so worried that Lucy can’t help but smile. Impulsively, she reaches out to put a hand on his where it grips the gearshift. “I’ll be fine, Garcia.”

He blinks. His fingers tense under hers, for a moment as if they might turn and take hold. She gets the sense that people don’t often call him by his first name; it’s either Flynn or Agent or something else curt and formal. He’s still looking down at her. The air feels thick. She hasn’t quite let go.

“Lucy.” It sounds half as if he was trying to say something else, and half as if it just spilled out, as if he wanted to taste it. It lilts on his tongue, he looks at her from under his eyelids, and – Lucy doesn’t know what might have been about to happen. And for that matter, doesn’t get a chance to find out.

She’s aware of a flash, a glint, from the car that’s just pulled up next to them at the stoplight. Is aware, in a horrible, too-slow way, of Flynn realizing what it is, and slamming her down. In the next, the entire world has exploded in Lucy’s ears.

Flynn spreads his arms, sacrificing the chance to go for his own gun in order to shield her, and she hears him grunt as he straight-up takes two shots. All she can think about is those scars she saw this morning, how there was at least one bullet wound, and –

At that, Lucy moves. Reaches over, half-climbs into the driver’s seat, and hits the accelerator, trying to steer with one hand and thinking madly that she has to get them to a hospital. She can barely spare a moment to look in the rearview mirror and see if they’re being followed; all her attention is for him. “Garcia?” she says frantically. “Garcia!”

He grimaces, pressing a hand to his side. It wells up red. “Shit.”

“Don’t talk. Don’t talk, all right?” Lucy looks madly from side to side. She can see a sign for an urgent care, but she isn’t sure how well-equipped they are to handle a drive-by shooting. There’s probably a proper hospital in Santa Rosa, but how bad are his wounds? She tries to look, then has to swallow hard and turn away; blood has never been her strong suit. And if they go somewhere that needs ID, if that’s the exact thing they don’t want to do –

“Lucy.” He sounds somewhat squashed; even aside from being shot, their impromptu driving arrangement is making it hard for him to breathe. “There’s… a kit. In the back. Pull over somewhere, I’ll – ”

“You think you’ll fish two bullets out of you by yourself?” Lucy snaps. “We are getting someone to take care of you!”

Flynn opens his mouth, grimaces, and stops. The left shoulder of his shirt is wet red. He looks like he might pass out, and Lucy decides to hell with it. The urgent care it is. She veers them into the parking lot, slams on the brakes, and hauls Flynn out with a considerable effort. Once she has gotten him inside to the very alarmed receptionist, Flynn is just in command of himself to grouch, but someone takes hold of him and he vanishes into the back. Lucy drops into a chair, covered in blood and shaking. What the hell. What the hell.

She doesn’t think she’s going back to Stanford today.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #the tangled web of fate we weave

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the-firebird69 · 11 months

Video

youtube

Freya Ridings - Castles (Official Video)

and they talk about it. and the two say we are addicts...and figured out something..these peoople are giants. biig. and he says it. the giants crushed a ton of jeager one hundred mile high.and now it happened they saw it later..w.ere in awe and fear. saw him and thought ours. and wont leave lol. no its sick they die a lot dont care. we use it ok. but for real we have an annuoncment. and regarding castles. they are huge into it. well. mac daddy is. and we say it jc mary iddnt have the stone we did. and he drilled. tested. and ti did not go in. no. the daimond wet drill did not. and carrie from king of queens has been wiating, and really, his father i s the king of queens and is trump. meaning dave named him ok. and i walk like the freia here. she is wierd i act odd too like her. but they copy my characters yes. odd. ok. i walk with distinction. and regal and they all say it. i am important. and they hv a dummy on hte bus smoking say it is my husband but really it is rob lowe. he found out about macs konwing. the whole story ok. was not the dummy on set ok. they drilled, and stopped.

took pics and tried witha new bit. nope and a wet one same as teh first. nope. tried a control yeh but not on the wall.

now they are upset. seek answers dont have any. want him up there need to study the whole thing look for clues ue it as an excuse. nonoe will allow they fire on morlock here shut up then and shoot them all. and kill them. rounded behind the one hundred thousand. consumed them with fire. and hit them all. blew away those outside and h ave new ferver.

now these psuedo empire are charged. and at it with teh others. hit. and are in here shortly pulling. twenty more p lan to go to the first ring, and they will go they say it. and ready now. but the psuedo emire is there at the ring. hit the groups. took them down. are at them sortly here. say it too. tons see. these fleas sucka as well he hits one. saw it. tons see hits them yes. and we hit thse. needed to see this. and i mean it. the psuedo empire is in. needed tos ee thier aggrerssion. however, we needed to see the morlock reaction it is very bad we know it is. we help now here. stop his capure and stop the mrolock. the psuedo empire willt ry to grab him a lot now.

the mrolock fall

Hera

Zues

we can confim it.they fall globally. are out shortly. then the psuedo empire. they shall fall after not long after. and are mean about it. have just days left. but will defeat the morlock first. are crushing them now. seek them all out t oo. all over. offer rewards hire mercs. tons of them. and hit. all over. tons of them die tonight. they say it. need it the ships and stone and more. will try for him too non stop. and yeh it is a pain not as dumb but a pain. and will try to fund him to move him out of here use theri infight. the empire too wnats this. will try it shortly. we see them ready at ss and to issue it. tons say it no way. they hear why and are getting onboard cannt resist. we needed this this scenario blows. tommy f seen to have the pole position, move him push the ship down and get now.

we expect it shortly too. within onne week. he will be shocked. it is a lot. the break beetween arriving at his dads after buffalo and to the re starting. it was about three months so about 5400 but he was there for five months. a while ok did work too. and the amount is more. about 9000 plus. and they add days too. and see why it is these they wont do it at all didi it in the start. are going to get hit now. did iit to force thier way in and took it from them and it was from psuedo empire and they work for macs.

Thor Freya

we knew but her it. the morlock say no not over our dead body adn more we repay for the gap your bush ppl did ad they infight. and over the dollar value. tons say it. they pay out tahat you pay this. but move him to utah on prupose and to take the ship fromn clones and true it is what that is.

Olympus

#youtube

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stargleeksil-blog · 7 years

Text

Criminal Minds S06E21 “The Stranger” review - or more aptly named, funny and twisted in the same episode? Hells yes, we’re back on track XD I love this!

Episode 21 – The Stranger

Hey everyone! So last time was uberly weird, and depressing and emotional ... I need a reprieve, so let’s hope this has slightly more humoristic scenes with my three faves (Derek, Spence and Penelope) and more Rossi sarcasm, because I need it direly.

Let’s see what happens.

“Unnecessary. There’s too much blood and gore and ew.”

And that is why me and her are so perfect for each other.

“Garcia, it’s a slasher film. How do you do a slasher film without violence?”

“You imply it.”

“Baby the movie is called Slice 6. What were you expecting?”

“A refreshing beverage with a twist of comedy.”

“I’m gonna have nightmares for a week.”

“With everything that we do and see on a daily basis, that got to you?”

“Listen, newb, you may be all Sigourney Weaver ass-kicking tough, which is awesome, but the mystical mavens of innocence like myself jump at things that go bump in the night.”

So I don’t need to even comment on this, because the dialogue does it for me XD

“Why are you worried? I’m sure that Morgan will protect you.”

“As long as he’s not jumping out of his chair like a prepubescent schoolgirl.”

WHAT?!

“The only reason I jumped is ‘cause you guys woke me up.”

“How could you sleep during that?”

“Easy. You drag me out after a 12-hour workday … for what?”

“You telling me that girl didn’t know the unsub was waiting for her upstairs?”

“Come on.”

Oh my tough puppy.

“Villain.”

“What?”

“In movies, unsubs are called villains.”

“My bad.”

I LOVE THIS SHOW SO FUCKING MUCH!

“Still, it’s totally unrealistic. No one should be walking through ha dark alley by themselves at night.”

“Ahem, hello.”

“Ah. No one should be walking through a dark alley without a Derek Morgan by their side.”

Oh lordy, this show is awesome.

“What we didn’t see coming is the Slicer’s brother was in the closet.”

“Frightening.”

Ah, the sarcastic Rossi.

“He betrayal consumed him and he sent his brother to his own private hell.”

Oh my god, just look at him so happily describing a horror movie. I balk at those.

“Speaking of horror …”

“What’s Strauss doing here?”

“Whatever it is, I cast my vote on ‘no good’.”

I love my goddess XD

“I left them on your desk last night.”

“This really isn’t the time for another evaluation.”

So Strauss is being the regular bitch and trying to get Aaron to do an evaluation on himself? And to have everyone take it again? I’m going to smack this bitch.

So three girls in college, who look eerily alike, were murdered ... yikes.

“As it stands right now, I’m coming up empty.”

“Their apartments were spread throughout the city, so … no fingerprints at the crime scene.”

“The unsub uses gloves.”

“He’s organized.”

“Forced entry at all the apartments. Back door, patio door, living room window.”

“The homes were wrecked.”

“Clear evidence of a struggle.”

“He’s creating a scene.”

“He wants to inflict fear not only in his victim but in whomever finds the body.”

“Could be a message to the local PD. ‘Look what I can do’.”

“He’s killed three women in under a week. San Diego PD wants us on the scene as soon as possible.”

Stephen King: “Sometimes human places create inhuman monsters.”

Dang, Mr. King, just dang.

“Our unsubs has a type and a temper.”

Yeah, he’s angry at brunettes. Seriously creepy (I’m brunette :O)

“Amber was getting ready for her bath. It would have been an easy target for a sexual assault, but none came.”

“That’s highly unusual for this kind of unsub.”

“You know, extreme violence in physical aggression is in its nature sexual.”

Again with the hot people talking about sex.

“That’s true, but as a substitution for the sex act.”

“This guy could be impotent. He can’t perform, so that’s why he goes all out for the kill.”

Again with the sweet ‘innocent’ people talking about sex.

“If he’s targeting female college students, we need to make sure that campus officials are informed if they haven’t been already.”

“We also can’t rule out other students and faculty.”

Insert Reid’s immense knowledge about San Diego college layout ... that’s a lot.

“Each girl lived off-campus and was attacked in their apartment.”

“That’s pretty high-risk.”

“Less risky if he’s stalking them in advance, running layouts and routines.”

“Between classes and part-time jobs, they’d be home sporadically at best.”

“Which tells us they’re not victims of opportunity. He targets them, then stalks them to know where they live and when they’re gonna be home.”

“Morgan, you and Reid go to the last victim’s apartment. Seaver, interview the roommate. Dave and I will go to the medical examiner’s.”

“Well, there’s no secure parking.”

“I rode a bike when I was in college.”

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t old enough to drive, Einstein.”

Oh my god, the Reid-Morgan bromance teasing is back. I love those two so fucking much.

“I could drive. It’s just the government wouldn’t issue me a license until I was fourteen.”

Oh, schooled!

“A lot of places for the unsub to hide out here.”

“Yeah, he could have easily grabbed her when she passed through here.”

“Yet she made it all the way to her apartment.”

“Where she should feel safe, but then he took that from her.”

“The number of stab wounds increases with each victim, yes?”

“Did the strike indicate any medical knowledge on the part of the unsub?”

“He hadn’t built his confidence yet.”

“He’s improving quickly.”

“He made the struggle last longer because he wanted her to suffer.”

“So now he’s starting to enjoy it.”

And I’m about to upchuck the strawberries and banana

“I’m Agent Derek Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“He jimmied the lock on the window.”

“I guess he needed the privacy to complete the torture.”

“Well, most sadists like to kill on their own turf. This guy didn’t risk taking her to a secondary location.”

“Maybe something happened which makes the location of the kill significant. Look.”

“That’s something new.”

What is?

“He’s smearing the blood on the walls, exhibiting more control and rage over his victims, taking pleasure in the kill.”

Ew!

“It looks like he’s taking his anger out on women who represent someone he knows.”

“Yeah, like Edmund Kemper. He most likely can’t confront his true target yet, so he’s going after women who look like her until he can build up the confidence to complete his endgame.”

“So she wasn’t into the college scene.”

“Academically or for money?”

“Do you know where she heard about the part-time work?”

Craigslist ... yikes.

“The first victim, Monica Shanley’s, BFF reported that they were talking on the phone and hung up just before Monice stepped inside her apartment.”

“What does that get us?”

Phone time with the sexy goddess?

“Well, some neighbors heard loud screaming coming from Monica’s apartment at 11:12 pm.”

“At 11:15 they called 911.”

“11:26 cops arrived.”

“He’s able to strike, kill, and get out in less than 14 minutes?”

That’s one fast sicko.

“How’d it go?”

“According to her roommate, Amber worked odd jobs to make ends meet.”

“Could be where she met with the unsub. Garcia, get us a list of jobs that Amber worked the last few months, and look for personal checks she might have deposited as under-the-table payments.”

Oh, you smart Italian stallion.

“Copy that.”

“The unsub stalks his victims. He knows their routine.”

“He could attack them anytime they’re alone, even in their cars, but he chooses to attack them in their homes.”

“And waits for them to bolt the doors before he strikes.”

“He wants them to feel safe before he takes that away from them.”

“It’s about making them feel powerless in their own personal space.”

“So it’s physical and psychological torture.”

No shit.

So he killed a babysitter. Yikes. Poor baby.

“We profiled that he gets off by striking inside the victims’ homes. Why did he kill her here?”

“That’s a big change in MO.”

“Maybe Laurie had a roommate, so the unsub figured he’d have more time on the job.”

“Did he hurt the child?”

Thankfully, no.

“I’ll talk to them. You two go in.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, I’m David Rossi with the FBI. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“And how did you meet her?”

Again with the fucking Craigslist.

“How many people did you interview?”

“Did she talk about any boyfriends or say anything that may have raised an alarm?”

“And how long ago was that?”

So she had a boyfriend up till a month ago. Yikes.

“With an infant in the room, Laurie would have been at her most vulnerable.”

“Look at this.”

“He felt compelled to organize the supplies.”

“Look.”

Now, if it weren’t for the blood, I would have so many images of Daddy!Derek.

“Do you think the unsub fed the kid?”

“Then he stabs Laurie, so the kid probably starts crying.”

“Maybe he gave the kid the bottle in order to keep him quiet.”

“We might be looking for someone with a deep-rooted abandonment issue.”

“One who identifies with the child.”

“Or maybe the baby crying interfered with his enjoyment of watching the babysitter bleed out?”

“Well, either way, caring for the child would be psychological torture for Laurie.”

“Reid. Look at that.”

“She’s got several missed calls and a few texts from social networking sites.”

“‘What’s with the photo? Halloween isn’t for months’.”

“Speak, boy wonder, behold my might.”

“Garcia, the latest victim Laurie Burgin was writing something on the internet last night. Can you figure out what it was?”

“Yeah. I was just tweeting myself. Uno momento.”

She tweets? Damn. I love this woman.

“Oh, God. Reid.”

“She managed to take a picture of the unsub before she died.”

Oh shit.

“Can’t really make it out.”

“I can tell you more. Laurie’s account was active two hours after that photo was posted.”

“And continued posting status updates after she died.”

Shit. That dude is fucking sick.

“‘Feeling faint at heart.’”

“‘All alone and too scared to cry.’”

“All right, this isn’t good. He’s mocking his victims now.”

“He sat here tweeting while Laurie bled to death.”

“All right, baby girl, listen. I need you to go through Laurie’s accounts. See who was following her and see who was messaging back.”

“On it.”

“All right, let’s get out of here, let’s get back to Hotch.”

“We got a photo and we got a profile.”

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“We’re looking for a while male in his early 20s.”

“And because he’s stalking his victims, we believe that he either works out of his house or a part-time job.”

“This unsub strikes in the home rather than the outside where he could more easily abduct his victims.”

“Now, this tells us that his social skills are most likely lacking and he may not have the confidence to talk to women.”

“His confidence with killing, however, is growing. He’s gone from hesitant strikes in the victim’s home to painting the walls with blood.”

“Our unsub is developing a taste for the kill. And his victims share similar features and backgrounds.”

“And we believe that they represent someone whom the unsub thinks has wronged him and he’s taking out his rage on them.”

“Because the unsub shows signs of one neat aspect and started killing suddenly and effectively with no break, we believe he was recently incarcerated or institutionalized.”

“Look at men who got out a month or so ago. Their records will show a history of violence, anger toward women and/or symbols of authority.”

“We need to warn all young women to be hypervigilant, especially in their online acquaintances, but also with service workers, maintenance staff, and deliverymen.”

Hey! Assholes, don’t make fun of my superheroes!

“No, but tell them to double-check IDs, call dispatch before they let anybody inside.”“Panic is inevitable, but we still need to keep everyone informed. Uniformed officers are posting warnings across campuses.”

“Now, since the Jenkins family found Laurie online, we believe the unsub may be using similar methods …”

“Profiles, job postings, anything that gives a little too much information that the unsub could use to hunt his victims.”

“And time’s not on our side. We think that he’s already got his next victim in his sights.”

“The account tracks back to an email address he created yesterday morning, IP address leads to a public terminal. That’s where the trail ends.”

“What about the Jenkins house?”

“He was tweeting with her prior to the assault.”

“The unsub hacked into the Jenkins’ Wi-Fi network.”

“Pretty smart for a guy who’s been locked up.”

“Yeah, he has gotten good at covering his tracks. How are you doing on a list of criminal records and releases?”

“Oh, right, that. Okay. I searched local college students, which is a lot, and I’m a masochist, so I went ahead and included military personnel because San Diego has a big naval and marine presence.”

“Combine those with those two pools and he’s swimming in criminal infractions.”

“All right, filter out sexual assault and lewd behavior.”

“Filtering at the speed of light, sir.”

Someone give her writers all the awards.

“And what about background financials on the victims? Is there any evidence of jobs being performed under the table?”

“Actually, in all cases there were personal checks deposited from several accounts, most under $100.”

So babysitting isn’t that financially beneficial.

“All right, send a list of account holders, and, Seaver, when you get them, start making phone calls.”

“What am I looking for?”

Another brain? Because you’re looking at babysitters, activate those neurons.

“Any victims who might have worked as babysitters.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shit. Fucking Strauss is sticking her nose in everything. Fuck.

“We’ve delivered the profile and the locals are canvassing the area. Did you call for a field update?”

“How’s that?”

Wait. So now he has to run an assessment on himself? Isn’t that against protocol?

“My orders were to assess the team.”

“Is that an order?”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we’ve got four women dead and we’ll probably have another one by the morning.”

“She’s relentless.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Did he get another babysitter?”

You bet your ass he did.

“Who’s that?”

“They were locked in here all night?”

“I’ll meet you guys inside.”

So he locked the mom and the baby in the beddroom while he killed the babysitter and daddy? Fuck.

And now he’s just the cutest little puppy thing ever comforting that lady and being the most amazing hunky thing ever.

“Hello, Amy. My name’s Derek Morgan. I’m with the FBI. I understand you’ve been through a great ordeal. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay.”

Oh my cutie polite puppy.

“Did you happen to see the man who came in your home?”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“Did you hear anything while you were locked inside?”

“Jake suffered multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. The sitter, Lily, got the brunt of it.”

“She could be the one he’s been after all along.”

Wasn’t that the whole point of this? He hates brunette babysitters?

“I don’t know. This guy’s meticulous. He plans everything out.”

“Then why didn’t he know the Ellisons were returning?”

“I think he did. I mean, the unsub was watching the house. He knew that they came home, but he just didn’t care. He adapted.”

“He went after the biggest threat first. He eliminated Jake in order to gain control over Lily and Amy.”

“There are two initial points of attack, one in the hallway outside the nursery and the other one here. Yet, both bodies ended up together.”

“Look at the way they’re posed, directly looking at each other.”

“He wanted them to watch each other die.”

“I think it’s more than that. This change in behavior could be the piece that we’re missing.”

“This guy knew the Ellisons were home, but he struck anyway. He could have taken out the entire family, but he chose to spare the mother and the child. Why?”

“With the Jenkins, the unsub actually fed the baby. Here, he spared the mother and locked her in a room with her son. It’s likely he’s protecting the children.”

“The addition of Jake Ellison caused the unsub to change his methodology.”

“For the first time he posed the bodies, and he’s also sexually violated one of the victims.”

“Okay, we have a father posed to look at a dying babysitter and a mother and child protected upstairs. That’s a pretty clear message.”

“Garcia, search for local women who died in their early 30s and they’re survived by a husband and at least one son. Go back 10-15 years. Cross that with new marriage licenses filled by surviving husbands.”

“The unsub’s always been troubled, Garcia, so look for youthful offenders who would have fit into the sociopathic triad.”

“Okay, I’ve got a few.”

“What about …”

“Here’s one. Greg Phinney, Chula Vista.”

“He was put into juvie when he was thirteen for … threatening his stepmom with a knife.”

“What do we know about the stepmother?”

“Kate Jones, aka the second Mrs. Phinney. Married Greg’s father a year after Greg’s mother was killed in a car accident. Greg was 11 at the time.”

“Mr. Phinney died four weeks ago.”

“Is there any evidence that Kate worked in the Phinney home before the mother’s death?”

“Oh, the plot solidifies. Kate cited additional income as caregiver on her tax returns when she was a college student. Payments trace back to the Phinneys.”

“Kate filed numerous reports against Greg for violent behavior, experimentation on animals. Greg’s father finally put the kibosh on things when he was seventeen, had him institutionalized.”

“Greg was released two weeks ago.”

“Just before the killings started.”

“Garcia, where’s Greg Phinney now?”

“Yeah, that’s a good question. Oh, dear …”

What?

“Greg Phinney, FBI. Open the door!”

“He’s not in here.”

Captain Hot and OBvious.

“The bedroom’s clear.”

“Baby girl, can you tell me why Greg Phinney’s laptop has an employee login screen?”

“Well, lover, I have been doing some digging.”

“Did you know that he’s been working part-time as a data entry clerk at the San Diego Register?”

“If he was in an institution, where did he get the time to find a job?”

“Uh, he didn’t even have to look. This job is part of his work-release program. And twenty hours of internet privileges will go a long way.”

“That’s how he finds his victims. He browses the classifieds. Did he have access tos the customers’ personal information?”

“Oh, honey, he entered it.”

“That must be Kate Phinney.”

“Well, he’s obviously built up the confidence to confront her.”

“Garcia.’

“Reading your mind. Calling the others.”

I love those two.

“Greg’s not at home, so he’s probably already at Karen’s house.”

“Kate’s the object of his hostility. He’s gonna take his time.”

“Let’s light ‘em up. I’m sure he knows we’re coming.”

“Dave, take some uniforms and find the back door. I’m gonna try to get inside and talk to him.”

“You think that’s gonna work?”

“I don’t think Kate gets out of this any other way.”

Oh boy, what are they gonna do now?

“Greg Phinney, this is Agent Aaron Hotchner. I need to talk to you about your demands so you can let Kate go.”

So he’s a serial killer without demands? Well, that’s weird.

Wait. He’s blaming Kate in all of this? Why?

“What has she done?”

“Greg, I think this has more to do with your dad than it is about Kate.”

“Your dad put you away.”

“Greg, I need to ask you a very important question. Do you want to live?”

Well, that’s seriously worrying.

“I think you do. And if so, you need to let me in the house. Otherwise I can’t guarantee that you’re gonna walk out of there.”

“Seaver, I want you to come in with me. Leave your firearm here.”

“Be compassionate and sympathetic to him. Let him tell you how Kate betrayed him and how much you understand his devastation.”

Heh, he’s pissed he brought in Seaver. But he can smooth his way into anything, can’t you, Hotch?

“I know, but I thought if we talked inside we could work this out ourselves.”

“No guns.”

No guns? Have you lost your marbles?

“As long as you’ve got a gun, if one of the agents outside has a clear shot, he’ll take it.”

Sneaky Rossi.

“I don’t have a line of sight.”

“Tell me what you want Greg.”

“Don’t you really want Kate to apologize for making your dad forget your mom?”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry’, I don’t want to hear anything else from you.”

WHOA!

“I understand, Greg. I do.”

“She took care of you. You trusted her. And then she betrayed you as soon as your mother was gone.”

Spider-Rossi! (Flexibility and stuff)

“It must have crushed you when Kate married your dad.”

“How did it make you feel, Greg?”

“You felt betrayed, didn’t you, Greg?”

“Ask her the question, Greg. Go ahead. Ask her.”

Wait. So this whole fucking thing was about him being in love with his babysitter-turned-stepmom? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

No. Fucking. Way!

“Bring in backup.”

“No. I had to be aggressive towards you in order to gain Greg’s trust. None of this is your fault.”

Aw, that’s nice of you, b;ondie.

“Greg has always been troubled. Losing his mother and then his father made him even more unstable. Sometimes we do everything right and we still lose. Greg was a sociopath and there’s nothing you could have done to change that.”

“Good work, agent.”

“Hey. Nice job, kid.”

I love Rossi so fucking much!

Adrienne Rich: “Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.”

What the fuck does that even mean?

“Why, uh, why the interest in the well-being of my team?”

“What kind of concerns?”

“What’s going on?”

So Erin has problems and she needs to go away? Finally.

Heyo! So this episode had everything! Humor, sarecasm, banter, cutie patooties making me smile, and then that whole bit iwth the unsub being a total nutcase. Just what the Dr. Spencer Reid ordered XD I have faith in this show again XD

Alrighty, I gotta go finish up the reviews for this season and get cracking on seven (holy shit, where has time gone?)

Thank you so much for the ever-surprising support!

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

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possessive. daddy dave 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 that chapter was sooo good i can’t wait for more

I’m so glad you loved it because I am living for it!!!! 😭😍😍

#Daddy Dave is HERE #he has officially arrived #and my panties?#they’ve left the building

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noprepracing · 5 years

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In the world of drag racing, you’d be hard pressed to find a current stage with more momentum surrounding it than no prep. With the speed, sound, drama, and variety of cars, it truly is a sensory sport to the extreme. And nowhere is all of that on display more than the hit TV show Street Outlaws: No Prep Kings. Combining huge payouts, larger than life personalities, endless story lines and controversy, the Street Outlaws spin off series has reinvigorated a passion for the sport and brought it back into the mainstream. But what all goes on when the cameras are off, when the spectator gates are closed, and nobody is watching the drivers’ every move? Exactly how much effort is put in by each team for just a two-hour episode? I went in search of these answers, traveling with driver Robin Roberts and his team for the season 3 finale in Ennis, Texas. I wanted a behind-the-scenes look into the world of Discovery Channel’s reality series. And in doing so, I quickly learned that while it may seem like all glitz and glamour on television, the reality is much different. As Roberts says, “If people knew everything that we have to do to come race, nobody would wanna do it.”

Part 1: Preparation It’s 3:40 a.m. on Wednesday morning, and my alarm is ringing. Filming doesn’t begin for another two days, but we have to be on the road by six, and I’ve got an hour drive ahead of me before I join the team just north of Kansas City. When I arrive at the shop, there are three crew members already pulling the rig out. I load up my bags, and we’re on the road five minutes early. Already running low on sleep and high on caffeine, we trek south across the endless plains of Kansas. We cross into Oklahoma at 9:55, and stop for fuel a little while later in Oklahoma City. We’re in the heart of 405 country, but it’s doubtful many of them are currently here. Like us, they’re already on their way to Texas. We are greeted in the Lone Star State soon after with road construction and heavy traffic. At 4:00, exactly ten hours after leaving the shop, we arrive at Xtreme Raceway Park in Ferris, Texas. Robin is already at the track when we pull in. The Chairman and CEO of Central Power Systems & Services, he has had business meetings in Dallas for the past two days. The plan for this evening is a late night of private Team 405 testing in preparation for the main event this weekend. Ryan Martin, Jeff Lutz, and Chris Poncia are already here. We’ll soon be joined by the likes of Big Chief, Murder Nova, Daddy Dave, Monza, Dominator, and Chuck 55. Although he lives outside Kansas City, Robin has been friends with Ryan and Chief for many years, and has agreed to be a part of their group for this season. The team unloads the 1968 Firebird, named High Voltage, in preparation for our first pass of the evening. The car features top of the line equipment from front to back. Sitting on a chassis built by Terry Murphy, High Voltage is powered by a ProLine 481x motor with twin 98 mm turbos. The transmission and converter are from Mark Micke at M&M Transmission. It has a Visner billet intake and throttle body controlled by a FuelTech FT600, twin billet Atomizer 700’s, a Quick Performance billet 3rd member, and QuarterMax shocks and struts. No expense has been spared in creating an elite no prep car. It’s here where I learn that the work on the Firebird has actually been going on for weeks. After returning home from the previous No Prep Kings event in Florida, the crew has to change the rods, and then find numerous broken gears that are typically difficult to replace. A call to Quick Performance and an emergency trip to their shop in Iowa ensue, and it appears everything is back in order. Then two days before we’re set to leave, there’s more bad news. “Ryan [Martin] called me Monday night about seven and asked me if I had the motor all back together,” says crew chief Allen Bruflodt. “I said, ‘Yeah, it’s all back together, it’s ready to go.’ He said, ‘Well, you need to go look at the heads.’ The set that were on his motor were cracked, and it was a brand new fresh engine from ProLine. So they called ProLine and told them what they found. ProLine started looking at the heads, and every single cylinder head that ProLine had on the shelf was cracked. So me and my boy jump in the truck, run over to Robin’s, pull the top of the intake off, start looking, and sure as shit, it’s cracked.” Allen says the crack is on the #3 cylinder intake runner, where a stud runs through. Short on time and options, he used thread sealer on the stud and put it all back together. For the time being, it was fixed, and when he fired it up that night, it ran better than it did before. Allen’s hope is that it stays that way through tonight’s testing, and for the finale. “We’re gonna run it tonight and keep an eye on it,” Bruflodt says. “I brought a bore scope with me, so we can see if that crack is getting bigger. If it does get bigger, tomorrow we’ll have a set of heads delivered to Ennis. If we feel like it’s going to be an issue before the race, tomorrow night we’ll put a new set of heads on it.” Even with all the work put in before leaving home, the team cannot simply unload the car and make a pass. It immediately goes up on the Pro Jacks, and the front clip is removed. The team looks carefully over the entire car, checking for anything that might have moved or come loose on the long drive down. The wheelie bars are attached. They fire up the car and spool the turbos, building a little heat in the transmission and torque converter. Finally, while it cools off, they do a final check on everything, add fuel, and check tire pressure. The hood and front clip go back on, the push bar and golf cart are attached, and we’re ready to make a pass.

Part 2: Testing Ryan Martin is the first driver to make a test pass, then it’s our turn. After a quick last-second check of the tire pressure, Robin starts the car and pulls forward. ProLine tuning expert Jamie Miller is on the property, and he helps Allen line the Firebird up. The first test pass is only going to be to half-track, and Robin makes a very solid hit to the 330. Testing is officially off to a good start. Back in the pits, crew member Jeremy Raney begins adjusting the valve springs while Allen looks over the data from the run. Bags of ice are dumped into the transmission cooler, and fans are placed atop the engine in an effort to cool the car down. One of the nice things about testing is there is no schedule to follow. The crew can stop at any time to go watch the rest of Team 405 make their test passes, then come back and continue working. Optimistic after a good first hit, we head back for pass number two. Unfortunately, as happens so often in this sport, things don’t go as planned. After the burnout, it quickly becomes clear that something isn’t quite right, and the pass is nowhere close to what they’re looking for. They find out a nut has come off the line lock, preventing Robin from making a clean run. It’s nothing major, however, and everyone quickly gets ready for another try. It’s dark by the time we pull up for our third pass, and the warm Texas weather has cooled off considerably. Conditions are ideal for this run, and Robin makes the most of it. Watching from the starting line, we can all tell he’s absolutely flying, but it’s not until Allen receives the time slip from the tower that we understand just how quick it was. It’s a new personal best elapsed time for Robin, and while I’m not at liberty to divulge what it was, I can say with certainty that fans would be in shock. We’re all abuzz as we drive the golf cart down to the end of the track to greet our driver. Robin is out of the car, grinning already, knowing we were coming with good news. Allen hands him the slip, and it’s hugs and fist bumps all around. We know this is a car that can win the event. “The neat part is, once you’ve made some fast passes, and you get comfortable in the car, you can tell what a fast pass is,” says Roberts. “For me, I know that car is fast when I feel it dangling the front tires to the 1/8. And in that pass, it dangled ‘em the whole way. I just knew it was going to be a good run, and the time slip bore that out.” Spirits are high as the crew cools the car off and goes over everything again. The plan is to turn it up even more on the next pass. But as Robin warned me earlier, drag racing is like a roller coaster, where highs and lows are a normal experience. We’d already seen that occur earlier this evening, and it was a trend that would continue. As Robin prepares for his fourth pass, it is apparent once again that something isn’t right. This time the issues are two-fold: the trans-brake isn’t working correctly, blowing a fuse in the process; and a setting was accidentally changed on the dump valve. Robin shuts the car off, and we push it back to the pits. The joy from the previous run is gone, and the team is all business as they search for the source of these problems before making our final run of the night. In four passes, we’d experienced two exceptional runs and two mechanical failures. So it’s no surprise when the fifth and final pass offers a bit of both. As Robin attempts to stage, the car still won’t bump in. He gently rolls the car in and lights both bulbs, then begins to build boost as the light turns green. It’s a good, straight pass, one that will win a lot of races. But the staging issue negates all that, and it’s a problem that must be fixed before race day. Robin knows it’s imperative that the team stay focused, and not get caught up in the emotional roller coaster. “What I’ve learned in business is, you’ve gotta get your people’s mind right around you,” Roberts says. “When you do great, you can’t let that get in your head. And when you do awful, you can’t let it hold you back. You’ve gotta get over it quickly, and move on. That’s what I’ve tried to drive into our entire crew. You can’t allow yourself to get caught up in the moment of euphoria, and you can’t allow yourself to get down when you’re trying to keep moving forward.” It’s been a long day, and at two in the morning, we all finally have a moment to stop and eat. Robert Brown, a friend of one of the crew members, has graciously driven all the way from Arizona and offered to feed us this weekend. The aroma of spaghetti and three-meat sauce brings other teams like Murder Nova, Monza, and Dominator over to share in the meal. It’s a great way to end a night that was full of ups and downs. While the rest of the crew stays at the track, Robin, Jeremy and I head to our hotel. It’s nearly 4 a.m. when we arrive, and the front desk has marked us down as a no-show. Thankfully, the attendant gets us set up with rooms again, and because it’s so late, doesn’t charge us for the first night. After some quick showers, we get to bed at 4:30. We’ve been up for 25 hours straight, and it’s only day one.

The post Behind the Visor with Robin Roberts and Team High Voltage Part 1 appeared first on No Prep Racing NoPrep.com.

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courtneytincher · 5 years

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A Creepy Look Inside Ammon Bundy’s Oregon Occupation

Rick Bowmer/APAs December wore on, more denizens of Ammon’s and Ryan’s patriot’s FaceWorld were trickling into the county. Some of these folks were of considerably different temperament than mild-mannered Ammon. Jon Ritzheimer was one of the more widely known and more troubling of these newcomers. Before coming to Burns, the young Iraq War veteran had ended up on the national news for leading an armed protest outside a Muslim community center in his home state of Arizona. At the rally he’d sported a fuck islam shirt, the principal product of his online business, Rogue Infidel. In the coming months he’d recant on the shirts and claim, in emotional videos posted to the internet, to regret the whole thing. It wasn’t that he’d mellowed, exactly; around the same time he’d also been making threats to personally arrest a Michigan senator who’d supported the Iran nuclear deal, an act he promised to follow up with more arrests, including a citizen’s arrest of the president if necessary. A scroll through his internet videos reveals, unsurprisingly, an emotionally volatile man. Sometimes he’s ranting, angry and shirtless, at the camera, but in other videos you can find him in happier moods, like the one where he cheerily shoots up a Koran—with a pink rifle, for the added humiliation factor—alongside his friend Blaine Cooper. Cooper, originally named Stanley Hicks, had made his own contribution to the mini-genre of social media Koran-desecration videos; in his, he’d wrapped some Koran pages in bacon and “roasted” them. Next he shot the whole book with a compound bow and burned that too. By December, both these men were being seen regularly around town. Ritzheimer was spotted following a BLM employee in the Safeway; his unidentified companion shouted threats of following her home and burning down her house. Dave Ward reported being followed by Ritzheimer and Cooper around another store; at the time, the sheriff was Christmas shopping with his eight-year-old son.Ammon Bundy Starts Wingnut Woodstock in OregonWhile Ritzheimer seemed to cause plenty of turmoil in person around town, the true focus of his public engagement remained where all the real action was, in the new incubator of all America’s ugly and unruly feelings: the World Wide Web. In the weeks between his arrival in town and the Bundy Revolution’s big strategic move into the Harney Basin, he shot a number of videos. These were some of the strangest, most emotionally extravagant, and, in the case of one video in particular, most watched documents of the entire occupation saga. This is no small feat; he had a tremendous amount of competition. The hours of web documentation shot at Malheur, if anyone were ever really able to gather all the footage and splice it end to end, would likely rival or even surpass the actual event in total duration.A video from late December went viral and made Jon Ritzheimer a favorite target of comedians and internet wits during the early days of the occupation. His gift for high drama made him irresistible; that gift is on display from the moment he hits record. Even before he begins speaking, he’s pulling back his head, breathing in deeply, trying to contain all the emotion. He’s in the cabin of his truck, so the sonic effects of all this feeling—and all this breathing—are amplified. (Parked cars make excellent impromptu sound booths and are a favored location for Patriot video-missives.) “This is going to be one of the tougher videos I’ve had to make,” he begins, already struggling to get the words out, eyes already tearing up. As we “eavesdrop” on this video he’s posted for the wide world to watch, Ritzheimer directly addresses his family, telling his wife how proud he is “of the mother you’ve become” and explaining to his daughters how “Daddy swore an oath,” which is why he’s been away so long. “You are only three and five now, and you have no idea,” he says, shaking his head with the weight of it all. There’s more silence, more tears, a heavy, dramatic sigh, and another look away before he turns back to the camera and brandishes his pocket Constitution. “Your daddy swore an oath,” he repeats, wagging the pamphlet in the foreground. “He swore an oath to protect and defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic. And that’s why he couldn’t be with you on Christmas.”It can be hard not to laugh when he lands on Christmas—hard not to laugh at all the staged feeling, no matter how genuine it may also have been. As Ritzheimer’s holiday message found its pathways through the ether, many would be laughing—a lot—and passing it on. Some people didn’t just laugh. The internet responded rapidly with the giddy malice of parody; the imitable form of Ritzheimer’s video made it all too easy. In early 2016, men responding to the hashtag DaddySworeAnOath hopped in their own cars to make their own oaths: pledges to be a better lover “to your mother,” to return books to the library, or to go down to the strip club “to give these dollars to Sinnamon with an S.” The parodies were heavy on the silences, the breathing in, the tearing up. Across America, thanks to Ritzheimer, men were sitting alone in their cars and pretending to have feelings.Parody aside, the level of overwhelming emotion in Ritzheimer’s many online communiqués makes it hard to be a witness to him: it’s a little like watching a stranger in desperate mourning, or a child in the throes of feelings he can’t control or understand. It’s easy to imagine Ritzheimer as a child. He’s a small man physically, overtaken at times by tears, storms of rage, spasms of righteousness, and puerile obscenity. His shiny, egg-shaped skull adds to the impression; it seems a full size too large for his body, like many a screen actor’s. And while Ritzheimer may not be the most articulate speaker, his many silences are pure theater. Throughout his “Daddy Swore an Oath” video, his face shifts in anguish or disgust as words fail him yet again, or as he performs the full weight of the failure of language to express the size of what he has to say to us. Sometimes it’s simply because he seems to never have learned all that much about what was actually behind the particular cause he’d so forcefully embraced. He runs out of details very quickly. It didn’t really matter though. He had just enough talismanic syllables—Freedom, BLM, Tyranny, Oath—to get him out of his sinkholes of silence and on to what seemed to be his true point: his death. I’m ready to lay down my life was the main message I heard in Ritzheimer’s Malheur missives. I’m ready to die. Are you?* * *It’s disorienting to recognize how, in writing this book, I’ve become entirely used to watching men publicly declare their readiness, even eagerness, to die. Sometimes, as I peruse the hours and hours of video of the occupation, I don’t even notice that it’s happened again—the pledge is so constant. Ritzheimer supplements the weight and meaning of his own oath with the oath from the final lines of the Declaration of Independence, the part right before the unrolling of all those glorious, foundational white men’s names: “We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor,” he reads. Having joined his troubled American life, ritually, to those of the most magically significant of all Americans, he stares again in silence at the camera, eyes reddened, before closing the pamphlet and turning away.I asked David Ward about all the oath-taking going down in Harney County that fall. He’s a man familiar with oath magic. As a sheriff and a military veteran, he’s taken some very solemn oaths, but in the fall of 2015, all this oath-taking had started to seem to him like the liturgical magic of some kind of death cult. The Bundyites, he thought, “were setting up Ammon as a prophet.” As a devout Christian, he’d begun to find this very troubling. While he had still taken all the official oaths in question, something about it all didn’t seem right to him theologically. One passage in particular from the scriptures gnawed at him. He quoted some of it to me, and later I looked up the rest. It was from the Gospel of St. Matthew:But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne; or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. All you need to say is simply “Yes” or “No”; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.He’d also tried to remind Bundy supporters—who often harangued him about his oaths as a sheriff and soldier—that, leaving points of Christian doctrine aside, the oaths in question didn’t really say exactly what Ammon and Ryan said they did. For one, the military oath of service included a key passage about swearing to heed the orders of the president. “Those guys didn’t like Barack Obama, so they leave that part out.”* * *The Great Unfuck* * *There’s another, less-known video of Ritzheimer’s from around this time that I actually enjoyed watching. The more I watched this one, the stranger it got—I found it had effects well beyond Ritzheimer’s patriot intentions. Its lack of deathly oath magic was a plus—nobody swears any oaths or promises to die. Also, Jon’s outdoors in this one, and that seems to be a good thing for his mood.He’s pulled his truck out into the desert and parked it under an especially craggy and regal-looking butte, its coating of snow only adding to its aloof, aristocratic air. Dressed in desert combat fatigues, Jon has an assault rifle slung across his back. He’s not alone this time; another camo’d-out dude is standing in the snowy sagebrush holding up a big colorful map of the United States—yellow, pink, green, and blue. A third compatriot, Arizona militiaman Joe O’Shaughnessy, watches in the foreground, bemused, as Ritzheimer launches into his routine. Let’s call it the Great American Unfuck, because that—unfucking, as he’ll explain—is what he and the boys are here to do.First, though, he needs to locate himself, and all of us, on the earth and on the map. To unfuck, you’ve got to know where you stand. He’s pointing at the sky, seeming to use the sun to orient himself in relation to the map, even as we see the sun is shining dimly behind him, smeared and grayed by a thin layer of cloud. “We’re here,” he says. “Yeah, we’re here in Oregon, and the mission is to UNFUCK allllll of this.”As he says this, his gloved hands sweep diagonally southeast across the continent. “So... I’m hoping the rest of the militiamen and everyone out there is ready cuz, uh,” he concludes, “we’re going to initiate this mission.”Next, pleased with himself, he just does it all over again. “We’re here in Oregon,” he repeats, to the chuckles of his buddies, pointing to the sky again and then, again, the map. “Yep,” he says, as if confirming that they definitely aren’t lost. “We’re here in Oregon, and we’re gonna unfuck ALLLLLLLL this.” Again, his dark-gloved hands move like cloud shadows across the map, gliding west to east across the continent, pulled by his elongation of “ALL” until the spell is complete, punctuated by the sibilant precision of “this.”I say “spell” because, however improvised and dumb whatever it is Ritzheimer and friends are doing, and it is both, this is some kind of rite, and all who watch are participants in its hokey witchery. Magic is always at least a little hokey, but the more I watch, the more it occurs to me that whatever is meant by unfucking has also got to be some seriously occult stuff. An undoing of the fucked?—it certainly sounds elemental. Then there’s this: in the movement Ritzheimer traces across the map, he’s recapitulating, in reverse, the arc of Manifest Destiny, the path of Ammon’s Beautiful Pattern, the old route of the Oregon Trail. What would unfucking this entail—its dis-conception? I know he means something else, maybe the opposite—more like a reenactment, a restoration of Ammon’s Beautiful Pattern, but it’s not really what he’s done.At this point my cinema-colonized imagination takes over: all those would-be pioneers who died out there along the way—do they spring back to life in some other universe, reassemble out of the dust into coherent flesh, walking backward, zombied-out, to the east, as Jon traces the great messianic reversal, and rewinds America, erasing it? As I hit play again and again, another witchy thing is happening to me. It takes a while for me to notice, but with each viewing, the silent world around Ritzheimer and his friends gets more present. Soon my attention is riveted to the craggy rim of the basalt bench. That butte lurking above them begins to leak in from the background to take over the whole frame. By my fifth or sixth time through the clip, I’m not listening to Ritzheimer at all anymore. More than that, it’s like I actually can’t hear him, or even see him. Fucked or unfucked, all I see is stone.Excerpted from Shadowlands: Fear and Freedom at the Oregon Standoff by Anthony McCann. Copyright © Anthony McCann, 2019. Published by Bloomsbury USA. Reprinted with permission.Anthony McCann is the author of the poetry collections Thing Music, I Heart Your Fate and Moongarden. He currently teaches creative writing at the California Institute of the Arts and in the Low-Residency MFA program of the University of California, Riverside. Born and raised in the Hudson Valley, McCann now lives in the Mojave Desert.Read more at The Daily Beast.Get our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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