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cerisereids · 7 days ago

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𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗗𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗭𝗼𝗻𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Gideon!Reader

WC- 5k

Summary- Jason Gideon's daughter reluctantly accepts a new position at the BAU. The night before her first day, she has a one night stand in order to quell her nerves. When that one night stand turns out to be her coworker and her father's old protégé, she'll have more to fight than just killers.

Contains- canon typical violence, reader coming head-to-head with an unsub, reader is a lil reckless and very stubborn, non-explicit sex scene (18+ MDNI regardless), Spencer has emotional issues from prison, actually proofread this time holla

A/N- divider from @thecutestgrotto !! I honestly don't love this fic so bon appetite I hope u guys do

Glasses clink together, celebratory whoops ringing through the crowded bar. Your crisp, refreshing vodka cran tickles your throat as a large gulp slides down. You’re desperate to quell the anxiety bubbling up in you, though you’re supposed to be celebrating.

You’re smiling, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Your fingers squeeze around your glass, your heart pounding. You’re desperate to appear happy and grateful, and your friends truly are great to you, celebrating you in such a way.

It’s hard though, knowing the clock just keeps ticking. The seconds fleeting, one by one, until your arrival at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your father founded it. You swore you’d never follow in his footsteps, scorned from the way it tore your family apart.

Yet, when you received a call from unit chief Emily Prentiss, you’d been hard pressed to say no. Something screamed deep inside you, all the parts given to you by your father, at the case details Agent Prentiss provided.

A serial killer targeting women, within 5 mile radii of historical landmarks all throughout D.C. She said she’d seen your work at the D.C. History Center, your ability to analyze and curate historical artifacts standing out. If you like it, then you have a permanent spot on the team. It’s more money, you told yourself. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel there’s a part of you, deep down, that needed to say yes.

The loud shrieks of laughter emanating from your table snap you back to reality. You scan the bar, patrons packed in like sardines. The low light mixes with the smoke filtering the air. Your eyes narrow into slits as they land on something quite breathtaking.

It’s a man. He seems older, a professional, with the tailored way his suit coat fits. That doesn’t stop his brown curls from flopping in front of his big eyes. His long fingers graze the rim of a whiskey glass, taking a long sip. Your friend follows your gaze, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline at what she finds.

“Oh!” she gasps, impressed by what she sees. “Good find! You gonna go talk to him?”

You shift your head from side to side, rattling the question around in your brain. You’re typically not bold enough to approach a man in a setting like this, let alone the Adonis sitting across the bar from you now. Tonight, though, you might be just tipsy enough, just desperate enough to escape the anxiety of tomorrow, that you may just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?

You slide out of the booth, fingers delicately gripping the rim your glass as you make your way across the bar. You slink onto the bar stool next to him, refusing to make eye contact, though you feel his gaze on you. You adjust your mini dress, pulling the sparkly gold fabric down as far as it’d go, your upper thigh tantalizingly on display. His head drops down to where your hand lay, and he licks his lips. Check and mate.

“Long night?” You ask, crossing your leg over your knee. You sip your drink, still refusing to look at him.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving your frame.

Your eyes meet his, unable to hold off any longer. God. He’s even more gorgeous than you thought. You study him up close now, your brow furrowing. There’s something about him- his round eyes, the slant of his nose- that feels hauntingly familiar. Like a friend from a past life, returning to you once more. You can’t place your finger on it, though, and the alcohol disorienting you just enough to brush it off. For now.

“How could you tell?” He asks, and it dawns on you that you’d never responded. You poise yourself, sitting up straighter to shake off the mishap.

“Had a hunch,” you reply over the rim of your glass. You let your lips close around it and take a sip. His eyes follow the movement. A shiver runs down your spine.

“You seem like a very smart woman,” he says, his voice soft yet firm. You want to bathe in it.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” you reply, your eyes narrowing as you size him up further. You introduce yourself, reveling in the way his eyes light up at your name.

“Spencer,” he responds, that pesky deja vu creeping back in at the name.

It falls silent between you then, but it’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary, actually. Your eyes never leave each other, having a silent conversation all on their own. His are dark with desire and want, they hang low slightly, due to the alcohol, most likely. They’re otherworldly gorgeous, big and brown like melted pools of chocolate. You could swim in him all night.

There’s something else there entirely, though. Hesitation, confusion maybe. The smallest tint of discomfort lasers through the heat, like he’s out of his comfort zone. A smirk crawls on your lips. What are the odds that tonight, of all nights, was the one in which you both decided to take a chance?

It only takes one more drink and some small talk until you’re up against your own front door. He’s kissing you within an inch of your life, his large hands completely captivating your face. His lips slot over yours, making your brain fuzzy. He kisses like a madman, all encompassing, borderline feral.

There’s a hunger in his tongue that you haven’t tasted in far too long. It’s addictive, his smoky scent, his soft pants against your mouth. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sensations. Your nails grip the root of his curls as his lips move to your neck, softly sucking and nibbling. A whimper escapes your lips, your eyes squeezing shut as you scramble for the doorknob. You rattle against the lock before fumbling for your keys.

You stumble in shortly after, tripping over your gold shoes. Spencer catches you, a large hand splaying over the small of your back. He tugs you closer with it, your chest pressing against his. You walk him down the hall before he scoops you up, taking you the rest of the way to your bedroom.

“Spencer,” you muffle against his neck, overwhelmed by your desire for him.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Give me just one minute and I’m going to make you feel so good,” he whispers against your temple. You nod feverishly, like if you’d stopped he’d disappear.

He lays you down, propping your feet to rest flat on the bed, spreading your knees apart with those large hands. He freezes, his breath hitching at the sight of you under your dress. You smirk, the lace thong you’d worn doing its exact job. His Adam’s apple bobs as you trace a fingernail up his forearm.

“What is it, Spencer?” You question his hesitance, the way he’s stuck in front of you now, dazed. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. It makes you feel divine, the goddess of the universe on display for him.

“You gonna leave me hanging?” you pout, reveling in the way his eyes darken. He kisses you with the fervor to prove he could never do such a thing. You let go. The feeling of his hands are intoxicating, like a rich wine.

They creep up your sides, your dress hitching higher and higher with the movement. You shift under his touch, your body writhing as heat pools in your lower belly.

The second he grazes your bare skin, he freezes. Your eyes shoot open to find his, wide and desperate and so, so gorgeous. It shifts something inside of you, your heart clutching so severely that it scares you.

“Spencer,” you whisper against his lips. He shudders.

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He kisses you again.

You blink slowly, the soft light of the sunrise filtering through your parted curtains. There’s a slight thump in your head, but thankfully nothing too bad. You massage your temples as you turn. Your eyes shoot open as you hit a body next to you, still sound asleep.

Memories of last night come rushing back- meeting Spencer, taking him home, the phenomenal night you had, and now this. This, the first day of your new job. Your heart drops. You scramble on the bed in a panicked attempt to find your phone. You whip around to see it sitting on your nightstand, thanking any and every higher power that might be.

You let out a sigh of relief when you see you still have some time to get yourself ready. You ignore the 47 text messages from your group chat last night. You’ll tell them you’re alive later.

You only have an hour, not what you’d ideally wanted for your first day of a brand new job, but it’s better than nothing. It still doesn’t solve your problem of the man in your bed, however.

Your hands push the dead weight, rustling him awake. He rubs his eyes, a raspy, “what?” escaping his lips. For a brief moment, you’re sad that you don’t have enough time to appreciate the sight, the sound of his morning voice. You shake it off quickly, though. You push him again, urging him out of your bed.

“Babe, it’s 5:30 a.m.,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. You’re both too tired to address the pet name. At least that’s what you’re telling yourselves.

“Oh, shit. I’m gonna be late for work,” he scrambles off the bed. You take a moment to admire his naked frame in the sunlight as he gathers his clothing.

“Me too,” you say, lunging off the bed yourself. “It’s my first day on a new job, I’m running more behind than I’d like to be right now.” You’re running around your room like a chicken with her head cut off, grabbing your towels and rushing to the ensuite bathroom.

You can’t help but give him one last peck on the lips. This, incidentally, led to two, three, four more. Lastly, one that lingers longer than it should. One long enough for him to graze his hand along your bare arm. You shiver. Your thin bedsheet is the only fabric separating your bare body to his fully clothed one.

You pull away, taking a step back. You release a deep breath as you take him in once more before you leave.

“Feel free to make some coffee on your way out! Cups are in the cupboard above the coffee pot! Thanks for last night!” You call, before slamming the bathroom door on him, running the shower.

Miraculously, you managed to make it at an appropriate time. You park in the FBI car park at 6:45 on the dot. You lean back in your seat, taking a deep breath and a sip of coffee. Finally, you reapply your lip gloss before you turn off your car.

Your heels echo through the hallway leading towards the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You’d always told yourself you would never follow in the steps of your father. And yet, here you are. Each step you take feels as if you’re walking in a giant’s footsteps. You pray you’ll make him proud.

The FBI seal on the door looms over you, unable to keep its claws out of the Gideon lineage. You’re frozen there, stuck staring at it, unable to enter. That is, until you hear your name from behind you. The voice is familiar, too familiar. Your stomach drops.

You whip your head around, coming face to face with-

“Spencer,” you breathe, the air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him.

His hair is slightly damp, falling in front of his eye. There’s static in your ears, a faint ringing torturing you. Panic swells in your stomach, bubbling, boiling. And then it hits you.

Spencer. Spencer Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid.

“You worked with my dad,” you whispered. It’s all you can manage. Your voice still cracks.

“Your dad?” His brow furrows. He studies your face. His eyes scan up and down, desperation taking over. You can basically hear them asking, begging, “Who are you?”You’re still frozen, unable to speak.

Then, it hits him. You know, because he’s found the exact parts of you that resemble your father, his mentor. Your dark eyes, the slant in your nose, the curve of your mouth. The very mouth that was on his just hours ago.

“Oh, God,” he gasps. You turn, walking into the office. All you hear is static as you move, your heart pounding in your ears as you fake a smile through your introductions.

You move throughout your day as easily as you can. The rest of the team is incredibly kind, welcoming. The work starts almost immediately, which you’re thankful for. Like father, like daughter, you suppose. Yet, you can’t escape Spencer, looming over you like an inescapable shadow.

He hasn’t spoken to you since your interaction outside the door, but you feel his eyes on you the whole day. When you speak to the team, when you analyze a document, he’s there. Watching. You feel his eyes creep up your spine, their penetrative gaze lodging deep in your chest. Your heart squeezes each time he walks past you without recognition. The cold shoulder lasts through the rest of the day.

You’re conflicted, your heart at war with your mind. The Spencer you met in the bar last night is nothing like the image you’d created of him in your head years prior. He’s kind, funny, interesting, not because of, but in spite of his accolades and achievements. He’s someone you could fall for. At least, you thought so before seeing him today.

You were young when your dad took Spencer under his wing. You’d never met him, then, just seen a few pictures and heard endless stories. You always felt in his shadow, though. The way your father’s eyes lit up when he spoke about him, the excitement lacing his tone, it was all reserved solely for Spencer Reid.

You’d cry yourself to sleep some nights, desperate to do something, anything as worthwhile in the eyes of your father. You never did. He loved you, of course, and he was proud of you. Yet, nothing ever measured up to his pride and love for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, for Spencer.

As the weeks went by, Spencer couldn’t help but find himself pulling further and further away from her. It’s an anchor on his heart, weighing it down more and more each day. Everything inside him, his soul, his heart, screams to be near her, to hold her, to have her every night the way he did that first one. His mind, though, is an entirely different story.

His mind pumps the brakes, waging a civil war inside him that he won’t be able to win. He’s terrified. Terrified of being left the same way her father did, though he knows in his heart he can’t blame her for his faults. His mind once again holds him back, though. It’s funny that what’s supposed to be his greatest strength can also be his biggest enemy. He reconciled with that a lot when he was behind bars, yet another reason he’s apprehensive of opening up to her. So, he stays away.

Now, Spencer buzzes through the bullpen, coffee in hand as the team rushes to the conference room. He’s stuck behind her, of course. The floral scent of her perfume infiltrates him, threatening a shutdown of his central nervous system. His heart constricts as he watches her, her snug blouse cinching her waist, the tight pencil skirt it’s tucked into rendering him nearly brainless. He sips his coffee, eyes diverting.

He hasn’t spoken to her much in the month she’s been here, though not from a lack of desire. Quite the opposite, actually. His heart is fighting something. Something deep inside him from before he went to prison, before Gideon even left the bureau. Her relation to his former mentor has shifted his world on a different axis, like life is moving in reverse.

With his luck, the only seat left is the one directly across from her, the shine of her lip gloss inescapable. He tries his best to focus as Penelope debriefs them on a triple homicide in Texas, though something peculiar piques his interest. He sees it through the window, someone delivering an envelope on her desk. It’s a black envelope, not anything that would be used for official government business. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stands. The entire team looks at him.

“I need to go check on something,” he murmurs, but before he leaves, he taps her lightly on the shoulder. “You need to come with me,” he says lowly, so only she can hear.

She stands, hesitantly, offering the team a sheepish, apologetic smile. He suppresses a soft chuckle at that. She’s a Gideon, for Christ’s sake. She could show up late for a year straight and they’d thank her just for showing up. He pushes that thought away as he leads her to her desk.

“There was something that was dropped off on your desk just now,” he murmurs into her ear. “It was weird, I have a hunch. I just think you need to look at it before it’s too late.”

“Too late? Spencer-” she stops, her eyes going wide once she sees the envelope. “Oh, God,” she gasps, her fingers covering her mouth.

“What? What is it?” Spencer asks, his pulse speeding up.

“My father received letters in these exact same envelopes in the months before he died,” she looks at him, eyes wild and glossy, laced with deep seated fear.

Meet me at the park at 2:30 p.m. You know which one. Don’t be late.

Spencer races back to the conference room, the letter gripped tightly in his fingers. He lays it out on the table for the team, their brows quirking.

“This was left on her desk. She said her dad received ones just like it in the months before his murder.” It’s all he needs to say before the team scrambles out of the conference room. Penelope’s already on the phone with the case director, forwarding them a new unit for their case. Rossi, Emily, and J.J. are scanning for a return address,

Spencer exits the conference room to see her holstering her gun, fitting her badge in her back pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks her, a tentative hand out in front of him.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she snaps, and he flinches at her tone.

Regret flashes in her eyes, only for a brief moment.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going to that park,” he insists with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was someone you were interested in at all. What’s it to you that I’m fighting for myself when I couldn’t for my father?” Her voice shakes on the last word, his heart cracking at the sound.

“I know I’ve been…distant,” he mutters, his voice low, “but you need to think about the implications of what you’re doing.”

“Distant? That’s what you want to call it?” She scoffs, moving to follow the rest of the team. “I’ve thought about the implications of these letters since the day my father was killed. You may have been his golden boy, but I’m his blood.” She sneers in his face, before leaving with the team.

His heart plummets, dropping into his stomach like a brick in the ocean. He plows ten fingers through his hair before bringing the letter to Penelope’s office. They have some analyzing to do.

The car ride is silent as you drive. You knew what park they were referring to immediately. It’s the one your father took you to when you were a baby. You stare out the window, mind and body numb to the reality of what’s happening.

“Hey Emily,” your voice is low, tentative. “Did my dad ever talk about me?” You inhale shakily, not sure if you want the answer. You couldn’t help asking, regardless.

“Oh, yeah he did,” she has a soft smile on her face, and it melts something frozen inside you.

You let out an exhale of relief. “Really?” You ask, disbelieving.

“Really. He wasn’t a typical parent, not one to show off accolades or achievements, though we know you had tons of those,” she states, and you smile softly. “What he did show us were glimpses into his life with you.”

You furrow your brow at this, unsure of her point. She looks at you, then smiles, turning her attention back to the road.

“He’d bring you up in random conversation, when we’d work on paperwork, when he was interviewing families…‘Oh, my daughter loves that show,’ or, ‘my daughter loves the color pink.’ Any chance he had, he’d mention it. At a certain point, I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. It just happened.”

You didn’t even realize your eyes were glossing over until a lone tear rolls down your cheek. You swipe it away with your fingers, clearing your throat and looking down at your lap.

“Thank you,” you croak. Emily nods.

It doesn’t take long until you reach the park, each member of the team splitting up in various directions. You’re with Emily, on strict orders to stay near any member of the team. You feel something, though. Something deep down that’s not right, that the team is headed in the wrong direction.

You entered the park at the south entrance, the opposite side from where your father would take you. You scan the premises, your breath catching. It’s mainly families, some couples enjoying a walk or a picnic. It’s peaceful. Guilt boils in the pit of your stomach at the thought of disturbing these people. The job is the job, as your father would always say.

It takes a split second for you to make a decision the entire team will have your head for. You break off from the group, sneaking off to a backwoods trail you would hike with your father. It’ll get you to the other side of the park, the side you need to be. You know you should include the team in this decision, that you’re putting yourself directly in harm’s way. This feels so personal, so vulnerable, though, that your feet are moving before your mind can catch up to your body.

It doesn’t take long for Emily to notice you’ve gone, as you can hear her muffled “shit!” come from behind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you pause, waiting for her to pass by to continue your route.

The trail leads you to the other side, just as it always did, and it doesn’t take long for you to see him. Growing up in the shadow of your father means you know everything there is to know about psychoanalysis. This includes how to spot an unsub. It’s almost too easy at this point, like chess to their checkers.

You exit the trail, the unsub clocking you almost immediately. He cocks his gun, pointing it right at you. You holster yours, holding your hands up in surrender.

“I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk,” you say, voice calm and collected.

“I refuse to talk to a Gideon,” he spits your name. It’s venomous, vengeful. So it is personal.

“Okay, then pretend I’m not a Gideon. Pretend I’m someone who just wants to have a conversation,” you say. You move closer, despite your better judgement.

“Do you think I’m stupid?!” He grits out, aggravation evident in his tone. People around are starting to notice, to flee. You put yourself between him and any other pedestrians still at the park.

“God, you look just like him!” He sounds pained as he says it, like it almost hurts.

He lunges at you, then. Before your body can react, his forearm is held tight against your throat, the gun pressed to your temple. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, as your eyes frantically search for anything they can find.

Then, you spot it. It’s tiny, you could’ve easily missed it. D.M. Small, stark letters tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Your breath catches in your throat when it sinks in.

“Your dad killed my father,” you say. It’s strained as you fight for breath.

“What?” The man says, gripping you tighter.

“D.M. On your wrist. Donnie Mallick. He killed my father,” you breathe, a bead of sweat forming on your forehead. The man pauses, lowering the gun from your head. He’s distracted. Now’s your chance.

You make quick work of gripping the gun, stomping on his foot with your heel to get him to let go of the weapon. His arms collide with your middle, knocking you to the ground. Your knee strikes his gut, and he keels into you. You watch as his arm winds back, gearing up to deliver a severe punch. You wiggle around, bracing yourself for impact.

“I have to finish what he started.”

It’s the last thing you hear before his weight is taken off you completely. You turn to see Spencer on top of him, cuffing his hands behind his back. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, the adrenaline mixing with the utter shock of seeing Spencer take down an unsub like that, of seeing Spencer at all. He hands him off to Rossi and makes quick work moving to you.

You dust yourself off, standing on shaky ground. You look at Spencer, only a few feet away, but it feels like oceans. You’re both breathing deep, his chest mirroring your own heaving. You watch as he takes long strides, his hands gripping your face before pulling your lips to his.

He kisses you like you’re Penelope and he’s Odysseus, reunited after 10 years apart. In a way, you feel like you have been. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He deepens the kiss, his lips covering yours almost entirely. His hands find the small of your back, hoisting you closer. He pulls back for air. You can’t help but chase his lips. He gives you one more peck before pulling you back into his chest.

“You really shouldn’t sneak off alone like that,” he breathes. You laugh against him, squeezing him tighter.

The ride back to the bureau with Spencer is quiet. Not tense, but a comfortable silence that falls over you two like a soft blanket. Your brow quirks when Spencer veers to the right, 2 blocks from the office.

“Spencer, you’re going the wrong way,” you breathe out, knowing deep down there’s no possible way he made this mistake unintentionally.

“No, I’m not. You’ll see,” there’s a small smile on his face. You settle back into your seat.

A swarm of butterflies is unleashed in your stomach as he pulls into an all-too-familiar parking lot. The red and white neon sign frames the car in the late sunset. ‘Buddy’s 24H Diner. Best Milkshakes In Town!’ A tear sneaks its way down your cheek before you can stop it.

“My dad used to take me here all the time,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only place he liked that he could take me to after cases.”

“I know,” he smiles. “Let’s go.”

You’re seated in the corner booth, the one your dad insisted on every time. Your lips curl around your milkshake straw, fighting for your life to suck out the thick liquid. It’s not lost on you when Spencer’s eyes follow the movement, bringing his own cup to his lips.

“I’ve been having a hard time, having you on the team,” Spencer mutters. Your heart sinks.

“Oh?” You attempt to remain as calm as possible. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Your heart picks up in speed, thrumming in your ears.

“I was such a different person when Gideon was in my life. I don’t think I was prepared for another one to enter,” he takes a bite of his burger, chewing before continuing. “Since I got out of prison, I’ve been so desperate to put my old life behind me. You joining the team has forced me to admit that life doesn’t work that way.”

You pop a fry into your mouth, chewing on that and what he said.

“Why were you in prison?” You ask, feeling a slight tinge of regret at the way he flinches.

“I was framed by an unsub. She had someone on the outside,” his voice is clipped. You count yourself lucky for getting even this much information.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. He shrugs.

“It’s just…thinking about the me I was when I worked with your father…” he trails off, eyes darting out the window. “I was so different. So naive. I had no idea what this job would do to me. So, when I saw you on your first day, it was like all these pieces of my life were colliding. I wasn’t ready for it. I froze. It’s no excuse for how I’ve treated you these past few weeks, and I’ll do everything and anything to make it up to you. I’m sorry,” he finishes with a deep exhale.

“I had a hard time, too,” you mutter, his eyes shooting up to you.

“With what?” He breathes.

“Reconciling my feelings for the great Dr. Spencer Reid.” His brow quirks in confusion. “You’re not the only one with a past life, y’know?” Your voice is sarcastic, but kind all the same.

“You may have only heard about me in passing, but my dad…God, he worshipped you. You were all he talked about most days. I was young. I felt inadequate. When I found out that was the man I ended up sleeping with, I…retreated. I couldn’t make peace with it either,” you utter, a shaky exhale following.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles, his eyes going soft.

You reach across the table, holding his hand in yours.

“Thank you for the apology, Spencer. It’s okay. How could you have known?” your eyes gleam, the emotion palpable between you two. “Expect to be put through the ringer, though. You said everything and anything, I’m holding you to that.” You point a fry at him in a threatening manner. He smiles.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” God, his smile is pretty.

“So…” you trail off, flirtation lacing your tone. “What was that kiss back there? You weren’t even supposed to be in the field.”

He avoids eye contact again, fighting back a smile.

“When someone I care about that much risks her life for a case, I’ll find a way to get there. No matter what.” His voice is low, warm. A shiver unzips your spine.

“I’m glad you did,” you smile.

Hours tick by, you and Spencer only moving to use the restroom. It’s like you’re catching up on all the dates you could have had in one night. You’re not complaining.

Each new fact you learn about Spencer makes your heart swell. His pain, his joy, his work. You want to swim in his memories until you’re laced in all of them.

You talked about your dad, about your work at the History Center, and how it led you to the bureau.

“Emily sweet talked me into it. I don’t know how anyone can say no to her,” you chuckle, sipping what must be your fourth cup of coffee.

It’s pitch black out now, the diner nearly empty. Your eyes began to feel heavy hours ago. You still haven’t moved. You can tell Spencer’s tired, too. The bags under his eyes are prominent, darker than usual.

Speak of the devil, both your phones buzz with an alert from your unit chief.

Emily: I know you’ve been at that diner all night. Go home and go to bed, you psychopaths.

You look at Spencer, brow raised. “My place?”

“Let’s do it,” Spencer smiles.

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sweetbuckybarnes · 1 year ago

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Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

#bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #sam wilson #sharon carter #baron zemo #takes place in the falcon and the winter soldier #this had been going around in my head for DAYS!!!#1k #2k

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disregardcanon · 1 month ago

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thinking about shauna shipman's catholic phase contrasted against how much she HATES the way the others co-opted and ritualized the grieving process surrounding their losses. (javi, jackie, but mostly her baby)

this communal, worshipful mourning process is VERY in line with the saints, shauna's favorite part of catholicism. she loves the Capital R Romance surrounding their tragedies. it's something that she can consume and filter and it uses the deceased up to and including their body parts.

these people become nothing but stories and relics- patrons of certain domains to seek guidance from. they're not real people anymore! certainly not normal people to be mourned quietly by only shauna herself in whatever ways she sees fit.

just like shauna did with these hypothetical far-off dead people, the fellow survivors have taken HER dead and made them into OUR dead as they ignored her toxic, simmering grief. they didn't even consult her on their actions while she considers herself the Chief Mourner for 2/3 and an important one for the other: mother of the stillborn, best friend of the guide, butcher of the lost boy.

in catholicism, motherhood gives mary some importance and ownership over the loss of jesus, over functions of the church, and the over the saints that isn't carried over into protestantism. mary becomes the queen of the saints for the combination of her love and loss. yes, she has to share her grief with all of the world, but at least she gets a crown out of losing her son. shauna didn't even get that

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #shauna shipman #catholicism #shauna shipman's catholic phase #wilderness baby #javi martinez #jackie taylor

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hotchner-edu · 1 year ago

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Down We Go | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: Aaron takes you shopping and you both find yourselves in a predicament when you run into his team and they recognize you as Jack's friend. — part 3 of (one and two)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Younger (Of Age) F!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (r is over 22, Aaron is in his late 40's), fluff, best friend's father trope

"Not to alarm you or anything, honey, but you do realize how this looks to others, right?" You ask, voice tinged with unbridled amusement as you suppress a laugh.

Aaron blinks at you blankly, trying to figure out what you were talking about as the clerk shuffles away to bag up the necklace he was buying for you.

"Aaron, you look like my sugar daddy right now." You explain with a snicker, pinching his side as his eyes widen a bit.

"There's no way people are actually thinking that, right?" He asks almost incredulously as he glances around and curls his arm around your waist.

You shrug and lean into his side, "We're in the right age range for that to be an appropriate assumption." You joke quietly, not bothered by the lingering stares you could feel from other mall patrons.

"When did a man buying his girlfriend jewelry become a crime." He grumbles in false exasperation, thanking the clerk when she comes back and passes the gift bag over the glass display case.

You smile as he carries it for you, taking his hand as he leads you out of the store. "You tell me. You're the one that works with social taboos for a living, Mr. Unit Chief."

"You're going to be the death of me." He murmurs under his breath, a small smile accompanying his complaint.

"You love me." You grin cheekily and bump your hip against his as you both walk. "Now, let's go buy some more ties for you."

"What about that pretzel you wanted earlier?" His asks, already relenting to your sudden suggestion. He lets you drag him toward a multi-story department store at the end of the mall, the glossy floors and milling patrons drawing you both in.

"Forget about the pretzel, honey." You rush out, glancing back at him to see the familiar defeated smile on his face that you've grown accustomed to.

He gives a big sigh and tugs your hand back gently so he's walking closer to you again, pressing you against his side. "Don't think I'm not aware that you just want an excuse to see me wearing more ties."

"Aaron, if you were me, you'd understand this obsession that I harbor." You jokingly lament, looking down at your phone and scrolling past the very appropriately-timed flash of your lockscreen, a selfie (that you begged him to take) of him in his suit while he was on his lunch break.

Just as you both cross into the threshold of the department store, you hear a surprised call of Aaron's name. "Hotch?"

Both you and Aaron spin on your heels to see a small group of people staring at you both. Sifting through your memories, you quickly deduce that it was his BAU team, recognizing them from the various photos he's shown you.

"JJ... Hi." He says politely, nodding to the rest of his teammates who were now gawking at you. "Having a good weekend so far?"

The woman— JJ, nods and smiles faintly, eyes flitting to observe you for a millisecond. "Yes, we all decided to just walk around after grabbing brunch."

"So... gonna introduce us?" A man you recognized as Derek speaks up, sharing a look around the group.

Aaron pauses for a second before squeezing your waist reassuringly and clearing his throat. "Right... guys, this is Y/N. Honey, this is my team." He keeps the introduction short, clearly knowing they'd likely interrogate you anyway.

"It's nice to meet you, Y/N. Y/N..." Derek mutters your name softly after greeting you, trying to get a feel for its familiarity. "Huh, you have the same name as Jack's friend." He says, pausing as the last syllable leaves his lips.

You see JJ and Emily cringe a bit at his cluelessness, clearly having realized who you were a bit before him. "Ah, yes, that's me." You answer sheepishly, smiling and meeting his gaze evenly.

Penelope, who you recognize from her colorful jewelry and joyful disposition, is quick to recover from her shock as she gasps and looks at you. “Oh my gosh, I love your shoes!”

“Oh, thank you!” You’re quick to accept the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I bought them a couple of weeks ago.”

“You’ll have to come shopping with us!” Penelope excitedly says, looking as though she was already planning out the entire trip in her head.

Emily nods warmly,. “Oh please do, I’m dying for a new dress. Even if we barely have the time to go out these days.” She jokes and rolls her eyes playfully.

“I would love to. Though I think Aaron will be the first to tell you that the last thing I need to do is more shopping.” You jest back, feeling Aaron’s hand rubbing your back slowly.

“Whatever makes you happy.” Aaron speaks up to defend himself, amusement decorating his tone as he tries to hide his little smile.

“So it’s settled then.” JJ chuckles, motioning for the group to start walking as to not create foot traffic.

Penelope flashes you a bright grin, starting to walk. "No wonder you declined for brunch, sir. But worry not, all is forgiven!"

You direct your attention back to Aaron and you frown a bit, feeling guilty for causing him to miss a team bonding day. "I thought you said you had no plans today, honey."

Aaron shakes his head gently and swiftly wraps his arm around your waist again. "I wanted to spend the day with you."

You eye him a bit with faux uncertainty before catching Derek's gaze.

“So… I have to ask. How did this happen?” Derek says, motioning between the both of you as he walks beside Aaron.

Aaron looks to you and lets you explain, knowing you always got a good kick out of telling the story. “Jack accidentally set us up together on a blind date.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise up and he huffs out a light chuckle, shaking his head. Spencer speaks up for the first time, eyebrows furrowed as he turns back a bit while he walks. “Accidentally?”

“Yeah, he had an elaborate plan to set me and Aaron up on different dates at different places, but he accidentally sent me the wrong address. And much to his absolute chagrin, we hit it off.” You elaborate with a lighthearted tone.

“He set you both up on dates on the same day?” Spencer clarifies, looking a bit befuddled.

“Between you and me, I think he just wanted some peace and quiet.” You joke, smiling when the group lets out small laughs.

Derek crosses his arms and glances at Aaron, eyes glinting in playfulness. “So this is why you’ve been all giddy these past few weeks?”

You snort, the mental image of your no-nonsense boyfriend suddenly being go-lucky at the office popping into your head. “Giddy?” You ask and raise an eyebrow at Aaron.

“I have not been giddy.” He deadpans, seemingly trying to inch away from the group with every passing second.

“Oh, no, you’ve been pretty cheerful, sir.” Penelope chimes in from in front of you.

“Yeah, I mean he’s even going back home at reasonable hours.” Emily says to you playfully.

“Never thought I’d see the day where you’d leave the office with work still on your desk.” Derek adds.

You chuckle and squeeze his hand. “Really now? He’s still putting on the workaholic facade around me. He told me that he's just been getting less paperwork lately. Good to know you’re whipped, honey.”

Aaron rolls his eyes fondly and just sighs in defeat. You have been trying to instill a sense of self-concern in Aaron, texting him almost every night to make sure he got home before midnight.

You end up walking around with his team for almost an hour, swapping stories about Aaron and getting to know them. By the time you all decide to part ways, you've gotten the girls' numbers and been put into a groupchat with them.

"I'd say that went well." You muse happily and walk with Aaron to his car. "I was nervous they wouldn't be super receptive of the relationship. I was certain Derek would throw in a few quips about you being a cradle robber."

"Oh don't worry, Dave's already got that base covered." Aaron sighs to veil his fondness.

"A little office banter can't hurt." You tease, knowing about his bond with the older agent. "And I can't believe you really almost fought that death-row convict! With your bare hands, too!" You say suddenly, recalling Spencer's little anecdote.

He exhales through his nose as he can feel the carefully crafted line between his work life and his personal life blurring. "He was intending to kill me and Reid."

"Well, I'm happy that you're always ready to defend yourself." You reassure him, grinning when he gazes at you softly. "I feel like I learned so much about you today."

"I don't want to indulge too much into my work." He says quietly, leaving no room for question. "It's not something you have to hear."

"But it's a huge part of your life. I don't need all the grisly details, of course. I just want you to be able to talk to me when you've had a hard case... when you're not feeling great about something that happened on the field." You supply with a gentle tone.

Aaron stays quiet for a moment and you take the chance to continue. "You don't have to hold your burdens in, Aaron. You've always stayed strong for everyone around you, so lean on me."

When you both get to his car, he gently guides you to face him, trapping you between the passenger door and his body. He leans to kiss your forehead as an adoring look ripples across his expression. "Thank you, sweetheart." He whispers against your skin and brushes his thumb across your cheek.

"Just doing what I can." You speak quietly, rubbing his sides a bit.

"Will you stay tonight? At my house." He requests with a tender look in his eyes. Even if you wanted to decline, the vulnerable expression painted across his face is enough to have your heart swelling with affection.

You nod and pull him in for a chaste kiss. "Of course."

When you and Aaron make it back to the Hotchner residence, you're immediately greeted by Jack's narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I just missed you too much." You say with sarcastic longing, opening your arms for him.

His face twists in playful disgust and he tosses a pillow at you. "Ew, what the hell."

"Kidding. I'm staying the night." You explain with a light chuckle as you duck away from the pillow.

The soft object hits Aaron's chest and he shakes his head, dropping a kiss to your temple and placing the pillow back on the couch before walking up the stairs. "I'll be in the shower, honey."

"What's that?" Jack asks, stuffing some popcorn into his mouth as he pauses the show playing on the tv.

You hold up the small bag in your hand and walk toward him. "This?"

"Yeah, what'd you get?"

You pull out the tissue paper and hand him the small jewelry box. "Aaron bought me a necklace."

"Please don't tell me you're his sugar baby now. That's my inheritance you're messing with, you know." Jack huffs, looking at the necklace with interest.

You joke and take the box back. "Oh don't worry, you're already off the will."

part 4 here

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #criminal minds aaron imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds aaron #aaron hotch imagine

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welostheplot · 20 days ago

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── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: during your first week of school, you get a taste of jackson—its biting mountain air, cliquey friend groups, and a steady stream of hallway gossip. you learn about the millers, though “learn” feels like a strong word considering how little anyone actually knows.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: no warnings! besides a touch of daddy issues if you really squint.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.1k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: i was literally kicking my feet writing the iconic bio class scene hehehehe. just so we're all on the same page, the twilight parallels will be both from the books and the movies!! :0 also thank you for all the support on this series so far!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: "welcome to jackson"

YOU HADN'T CRIED YET.

not when you said goodbye to your mother, who clutched you in a fierce embrace in the middle of the chaotic phoenix airport terminal, her own tears wetting the shoulder of your crewneck.

not when you experienced the stomach-dropping sensation of the plane's wheels lifting from the tarmac.

not when you unpacked your clothes into the dusty drawers of the wooden dresser shoved into the corner of the your bedroom and prayed the mothball smell wouldn't seep into the fabric of your shirts.

not even when you finally did fall asleep that first night, every creak and hum seeming a thousand decibels louder in a house left empty thanks to your father's overnight shift at the police station.

but now, standing outside jackson hole high with the hard plastic of one of your binders biting into the skin of your palm and your hair sticking to your cheek from the snow flurries, you kind of wanted to.

you had hoped getting out of the unforgiving january cold and into the school away from the dreary, overcast weather might improve your mood, even minorly.

it didn’t.

inside, the hallways smelled like petrichor and old textbooks, and your damp converse squeaked with every step on tile floors worn down from generations of boots and snow.

the woman at the front desk of the main office was nice enough, handing you a stack of papers with a patronizing pat to your shoulder. kept calling you “hon” and giving you smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“you’re the chief’s kid, right?” she asked, like she already knew the answer.

you nodded.

“well,” she said, placing your class schedule on top of the growing pile of printed materials. “welcome to jackson.”

YOUR HOMEROOM WAS ALREADY FULL WHEN YOU ARRIVED.

if you didn’t already think the people of jackson had a staring problem, entering the classroom and being forced to stand in front of twenty curious eyes while your teacher introduced you sealed the deal.

after she finished butchering your name (you didn’t have the heart to correct her and hoped the mispronunciation wouldn’t stick), she gestured for you to take a seat near the back.

the chair squeaked as you settled into it. someone a row over whispered something you didn’t catch.

you were halfway through pretending to listen to announcements detailing clubs and events you knew nothing about when someone tapped your shoulder.

you flinched. then turned.

“hi,” said a girl with big, inquisitive brown eyes and shiny cherry red lip gloss. “i’m cassie.”

you blinked. remembered your dad’s newest kitchen countertop note from that morning: be safe. have fun. make friends.

“hi.”

“you’re new?”

you thought it was pretty fucking obvious. but held your tongue. “yeah.”

she smiled like it was something the two of you were now in on.

“i’ll show you where the good vending machine is,” she said. “the one that always has the red sunchips in stock.”

you decided she’d be worth keeping around.

THE LUNCHROOM WAS A MINEFIELD.

you had barely made it through the cafeteria doors before you were overwhelmed by the roar of hungry high schoolers. it was loud and bustling, but organized chaos: every table had its own ecosystem.

cheerleaders. jocks. theater kids. a group in the back wearing too much camo and carhartt.

cassie stuck to your side like she was being paid to do so, firmly guiding you to a table where three other people already sat.

they looked normal enough. or at least that’s how you felt until you were forced to awkwardly hover with your tray of food while one of them—“nat. short for natalie. but you can call me anything you want, new girl.”—insisted on pulling your chair out for you in an act of chivalry.

“laying it on a bit thick, don’tcha think?” cassie chided as devin, the awkward but oddly confident, spiky-haired boy sitting to your left, made his second comment in five minutes about how pretty he thought your hair was.

you let out an embarrassed chuckle and scraped at the sticker on your apple with the jagged, bitten nail of your thumb.

then there were hands gripping your shoulders from behind, giving you a teasing shake as another student flirtingly jeered, “everyone just can’t get enough of the shiny new toy from arizonaaaaa.”

“knock it off, marcus, you’re clearly making her uncomfortable,” leah, a soft-spoken girl with round-rimmed glasses, came to your rescue from across the circular lunch table.

“wait, aren’t girls from arizona supposed to be like... bimbo sorority girl wannabes?”

you didn’t really know what to do with that, opting for an awkward attempt at self-deprecating humor—your specialty.

“yeah... maybe that’s why they... kicked me out. i dunno.”

there was a beat before the table dissolved into laughter, seemingly placated by your joke and attention shifting to individual conversations you didn’t have the energy to insert yourself into.

you let their chatter fade into background noise, opting to scan the room, your eyes bouncing from face to face.

that’s when you noticed.

it was them again. that weird group from the gas station.

and your eyes were, once more, instantly drawn to that same girl in particular.

she sat slightly slouched in her seat, elbow resting on the surface of the table, fingers drumming a slow rhythm next to a tray of food she paid no mind to.

then the energy in the room shifted. and your stomach twisted.

because she was now looking at you.

not a glance or a casual once-over.

a stare. direct and unblinking.

you dropped your gaze immediately, and the thumbnail you’d still been mindlessly scraping over the apple sticker bit into the flesh of the fruit as you white-knuckled the object in embarrassment at being caught.

“the millers.”

the words came from cassie, unprompted, like she knew what you were thinking.

“and the one who just caught you staring? ellie.”

you scoffed and rushed to defend yourself, but cassie barged on like she didn’t even hear you. “they’re foster siblings, technically. joel—he’s their, like, dad-uncle-grandpa figure, i don’t really know. they keep to themselves.”

you tried to sound normal when you asked, “what’s her deal?”

cassie raised an eyebrow.

“what’s your deal?” she countered.

you smiled, the left corner of your mouth tilting up, and she returned it, then fixed you with a serious look.

“don’t waste your time trying to get in with them, by the way. the millers don’t talk to anyone.”

“why not?”

cassie shrugged. “some say they’re homeschooled weirdos. others say they’re part of some religious cult. i say serial killers.”

you blinked. “seriously?”

she grinned. “kidding! ...mostly.”

you turned your head just enough to sneak another glance back at their table.

the freckled girl—ellie—was still staring at you.

and now she looked pissed.

YOU COULDN'T WAIT TO GET HOME.

you spent the rest of the school day navigating the maze of hallways and trying not to react too stiffly to each new, overly friendly introduction that came your way.

you'd even managed to put on an embarrassing, flailing display in p.e. that somehow resulted in you smacking the ball over the net into an empty spot on the other team’s side of the court, earning your own team the winning point.

“way to go, arizona!!!” nat had yelled from across the gym, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t throwing her own group’s game in favor of watching you instead.

now, you were in the home stretch with your final class: biology.

you approached the entrance to the lab, eyeing the interior of the room and its durable tables designed specifically for partner work.

and then realized how the only available seat was next to...

ellie.

you hesitated at the doorway, mentally weighing whether it might be worth it to ask your teacher to reassign you, the memory of ellie’s intense, angry gaze in the cafeteria still haunting you.

ultimately, the decision was made for you: you had already arrived late, there were no other empty seats, and you were promptly ushered further into the lab room by your teacher, who damn near slammed the door shut behind you in his desire to get the lesson started quickly.

you stumbled forward at the brisk movement, a gust of air from the sharp swing of the door strong enough to blow a few unruly strands of hair into your face.

collecting yourself and brushing the hair back with a quick swipe of your hand, you took your seat—but not before noting how ellie visibly recoiled at the mere scent of you.

you weren’t much of a perfume user; you had grown up occasionally asking your mother for a dollop of cucumber melon bath & body works lotion before school, in an attempt to “smell pretty” and fit in like the other girls your age.

but you knew for sure you didn’t stink, and you had even opted to roll on an extra layer of deodorant before and after p.e. in fear of the nervous sweats. you tried to subtly sniff at your shoulder as you settled onto your lab stool anyway.

ellie sat rigidly, her eyes fixated on the small petri dishes that rested on the table in front of you both.

as the teacher began the lesson, you chanced a glance at her. her jaw was clenched, and her hands were balled into fists on the table.

“hey,” you ventured softly.

“i’m new here.”

she didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly.

the tension was palpable. you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

with a shaky hand, the other one clasped firmly over the lower half of her face in an attempt to 'subtly' cover her nose, she nudged your petri dish towards your end of the table and slid her own closer to her side.

then, she hunched in on herself, angling her body away from you as much as she could while still facing forward to pay attention to the lesson.

this was going to be a long forty-five minutes.

AS SOON AS THE BELL RUNG, SHE WAS OUT OF HER SEAT.

her stool screeched against the tile at the sudden movement, and by the time you fully registered what had happened, she was already up at the front of the room, seemingly arguing with the teacher.

ellie jerked her head back in your direction, muttering in a voice that was quiet yet urgent. you couldn’t make out the words, but the teacher shook his head, and she stormed out of the room.

it didn't take a genius to infer that you, for some reason, were the problem.

confused and honestly unsettled, you made your way back to the front office to make sure all the paperwork for your transfer had been finalized before leaving for the day.

as you approached the desk, you saw ellie there, her back to you. she seemed to be engaged in a debate even more heated than the one you witnessed back at the lab. this time, you were actually in earshot of the conversation.

it was your first time hearing what her voice sounded like, low and a bit raspy. you’d have probably taken more time to enjoy the timbre of it had she not been asking to transfer out of her biology class as soon as possible.

you caught your name. and then: “…any other open labs? i'll retake astronomy if i have to.”

"you passed astronomy with flying colors, ellie. if mrs. cochran could've given you a grade above an A+, she would've."

upon your entry, she turned slightly, green eyes widening as she saw you. without another word, she brushed past you and exited the office.

you stood there for a moment, processing the encounter. the same front desk woman, still wearing that fake smile, beckoned you forward and asked if you had a good first day as a newly official ‘jackson hole bronco.’

ten minutes later, as your truck pulled out of the quickly emptying school parking lot, you gripped the cold steering wheel and tried to keep your tears at bay.

YOU DON’T SEE ELLIE AT SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY.

and one day with no sight of her quickly becomes the rest of the week. none of the millers seemed to be in attendance, actually. you were perplexed as to why nobody batted an eye at their disappearance.

you guessed it must be that typical “homeschooled weirdo” behavior as cassie had called it.

when curiosity got the best of you one night during yet another dinner where your dad spent more time watching the game than talking (you didn’t blame him—starting over was awkward for everyone involved), you’d asked him about them.

“what do you know about the millers?”

your dad’s eyes finally left the grainy tv screen to look at you instead. he spent longer than necessary chewing a bite of his steak. scratched at his beard.

“their dad— er.. their… joel? whatever he is to them, he’s doing something right. kids never cause any issues with me or the force, unlike some of the others in this town.”

you nodded, ready to leave it there.

your dad regarded you carefully. stabbed at a roasted mini potato with his fork. didn’t move to eat it just yet.

“why do you ask? one of them do somethin' to you?”

you paused, unsure. why had you asked? you didn't even know any of their names besides hers. and at this rate, their attendance made it seem like they’d skipped towns or something anyways.

you shrugged, sliding out of your chair and bringing your empty plate to the sink to scrub at it.

“they’re just kinda…. odd. yanno?”

he nodded in agreement. “this town’s got some quirks. everyone’s a little weird,” was his gruff reply.

“but quite frankly? we’re lucky to have someone as smart as joel around on the council. don’t know what this town would do without him.”

you shook the excess water off of your now-clean plate, moving to prop it up on the drying rack. taking a chance at breaking the ice, you joked: "all of them kind of look like they stepped out of a magazine."

with a chuckle, your dad replied, "you should see joel miller in the flesh then. he's got all the moms in town swooning."

you both laughed and there was a comfortable silence after. it was the first conversation you'd had with him that didn't feel like you were talking to a complete stranger.

YOUR MOM CALLED YOU LATER THAT NIGHT.

your phone nearly vibrated off the bathroom counter as you rushed to spit out foamy toothpaste, caught mid-brush. the screen was lit up with some number you didn't recognize, but you answered anyway.

“there’s my big shot jacksonite,” she cooed, the sounds of clinking bottles and a laugh that definitely wasn't hers echoing faintly behind her.

“what’s the damage? has the cold frozen off any of your toes yet?”

“nope, no frostbite yet,” you mumbled, sliding under your covers into bed and pulling up the duvet to your chin.

"well, tell me everything about your first week at school! i was gonna write you a postcard, but then i realized i can just harass you over the phone instead."

you smiled, even though your chest ached a little. you had missed the sound of someone who actually knew you.

"not much to tell. it's pretty boring here. cold. people stare a lot."

“probably because you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to that school in ten years,” was her reply.

a loud beep cut in through the line. "please insert 25 cents for three more minutes."

“ugh, hold on—stupid machine—”

you could hear her fumbling for coins, the clang of quarters, the receiver wobbling as she probably tucked it between her cheek and shoulder. "you're calling me from a payphone?"

"don’t sound so horrified! we’re between cell towers and i saw one out back behind the bar. it’s vintage. kind of romantic," she added, dreamy.

"oh!" she gasped. "speaking of romance—have you met any cute guys yet?"

you rolled your eyes automatically.

"oops! i mean girls. girls, right, right—sorry, honey, i always forget. force of habit."

a beat.

"have you told your dad about that yet?"

you snuggled further into your bed.

"...no."

another pause. longer this time.

“okay,” she said, softer now. “you don’t have to. not ‘til you’re ready. just don’t think you can’t, okay? he’s a little slow but he’s not a lost cause.”

“mm,” you said, which was safer than agreeing.

“he used to wear cargo shorts year-round, babe. if that man can grow out of that, he can come around to anything.”

you snorted softly. there was a stretch of silence where neither of you said anything, listening to each other's breathing.

“i miss you,” you murmured.

“i miss you more,” she said softly. “i think i might’ve cried for, like, the entire state of utah.”

“you say that like you didn’t ship me off yourself.”

“hey! it was a joint decision. plus, your dad missed you. and us? we need some time to… i dunno. exist in a tiny metal box and pretend we don’t have any obligations.”

you laughed in spite of yourself.

"he’s still good to you?"

“he’s still amazing,” she confirmed. “he bought me one of those horrible souvenir snowglobes at a gas station today and told me it was for when i wanted a reminder of you since you're out there shivering in the jackson tundra. rich, hot, and super thoughtful.”

“gross.”

“i know, right?” she sighed contentedly. “but also… not.”

a strange pang tugged at your chest. you were happy for her, but the kind of happy that also stings.

“i’m glad you’re good, mom.”

“me too, baby.”

another loud beep cut in. “please insert 25 cents for three more minutes.”

"ugh. okay, this thing's unforgiving and i think they just announced last call. probably time to hit the road anyway."

you bit your lip. "call me when you're somewhere normal. preferably from your cell, please."

“what is normal, really?” she hummed.

and honestly? after moving here, you found yourself asking the same question more and more.

"i love you, honey. keep sending me those e-mail updates. i'll read 'em like they're the tabloids whenever we can stop at a library and get to a computer."

"love you more. bye mom," you got out, just before the call dropped.

you tucked your phone under the pillow your head was resting on and curled into yourself. no matter how much you tried to cuddle in, the sheets were cold, and the wind howled faintly outside your window. but her voice lingered—soft and bright and warm around the edges.

as you drifted off to sleep, you found yourself thinking, not for the first time that week, about a girl with sharp green eyes and a voice like gravel.

you wondered if she’d be back on monday.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

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theannoyingurge · 5 months ago

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On the topic of Durge / Ketheric / Durgetash and how it potentially echoes the lore of the Dead Three...

Back in the mortal adventuring days of the Dark Three, it was originally just two power hungry humans with a common enemy who'd gained respect for one another's capacity for ruthless violence and paired up - not so different from Durge and Gortash.

The duo was comprised of Bane of the Ancients (a former battle slave to a primordial evil from Abeir) and Arabhal (a chief assassin and spymaster from ancient Netheril).

Long before Myrkul joined the party, Bane and Bhaal adventured together seeking power for themselves, plotting to slay Bane's former master and take divinity from Jergal (Bhaal's patron deity). Sort of like how Durge and Gortash were allies before Ketheric joined the cabal. I can see Durgetash plotting to ascend together.

See where I'm going with this?

Anyway, Jergal thought they were neat. He encouraged their antics by blessing them with terrible nightmares and leading them to powerful weapons - most notably, leading them to Myrkul (a crowned price and powerful necromancer). It was Myrkul who finally managed to gain the three access to Jergal's domain, and Jergal really wanted to retire.

I suspect Bane and Bhaal remembered how critical Myrkul had been to their initial ascension, and that was why Ketheric Thorm was eventually looped into their new alliance.

Despite Bhaal and Bane's long history together, something funny happened following their ascension. Suddenly Myrkul and Bhaal have way more in common. Their portfolios make them natural allies. In the Avatars novels, Myrkul actually grieves the death of Bhaal, noting that one could hardly exist without the other, and states that 'amongst all the gods, they were perhaps the closest'.

Which means... Bane isn't Bhaal's favorite anymore. In fact, Bhaal can seriously fuck him up. While Myrkul truly appreciates the lord of death and murder for feeding his kingdom, Bane has as much to fear from Bhaal as to gain from him. (technically Bhaal claims he could starve Myrkul's kingdom, but since he really enjoys killing and hates the living world, Myrkul's kingdom is probably like a vacation home he'd prefer not to burn down.)

What we see after a thousand years or so of this is Bane antagonizing Bhaal every chance he gets, and profiting off every one of his failures. Bhaal picks a fight with the Moonshaes and gets exiled from Toril? Bane sees free real estate and conquers the wreckage. Assassins fail to kill the mortal Midnight (Mystra) and retrieve the tablet of fate during the ToT? Sacrifice them all in a massive death ritual to fuel Bane's new avatar! Bhaal is dead and his remaining loyalists team up with Bane's kid to bully Cyric, who usurped them both? Return in a pillar of fire and annex them into the church of Bane! Sucks to suck, your worshippers are mine now. Again.

I can see a BG3 prologue where Gortash and Durge are super best friends right up until Ketheric Thorm joins the party. I won't get into all the reasons why Ketheric's and Durge's personal issues make them ripe for toxic bonding, but suffice to say that Gortash soon gets jealous of the undead immortal stealing his Bhaalspawn's attention and (whether unwittingly or out of spite) leads Durge down the path to ruin (shooting himself in the foot in the process).

Meanwhile, Bhaal (who has been raging at Bane for stealing his stuff for the last century or two) is now raging at Bane and Myrkul for fighting over that stuff until it physically and mentally snaps and becomes a hero.

Now it's ruined and I have to settle for Orin. Fuck you both.

#durgetash #ketheric thorm #durge #enver gortash #bg3 #jergal #the dead three polycule is my favorite chew toy #mmm delicious petty spite #funny how Myrkul is the most competent of the three while seemingly the reason for their downfall #like yeah I'll take you to soaring heights! but also drop you on your face #let's steal the tablets of fate what could go wrong #(it went wrong) <- Bane did it #the dead three #lord bane #myrkul #bhaal #forgotten realms #it speaks

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 1 year ago

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#387

“Hey Michael, do we really need to go through all this? You know why you are here, right?… Yeah you are here to be an intern, but did your dad tell you what you would be doing?… Jesus! He didn’t! Well shit! I’m just going to be blunt; there’s no reason to be coy here….

“Do you recognize me?… We met a few years ago at the company Fourth of July picnic. Yeah, I’m the Chief Security Officer of the company your dad works for. When your dad was in my office, going over this very last-minute two-week business trip to Vegas, he was saying that he was worried about you being alone for all that time. I reminded him that you are of age and should be responsible to be alone. He started going on and on that he was worried about you getting in with the wrong crowd. I laughed and said you spend most of your afternoons in the back theater of Ruby’s bookstore taking dick after dick and that the wrong crowd would be all the tradies who work the docks.

“Ha ha. If your dad didn’t know you were a sperm burper, he does now. The panicked look on your face says that you didn’t tell him. Oh well not my problem. He didn’t seem too phased by it though.

“A bit later we were talking about the expansion of our sites in Amsterdam and Munich. He started dropping hints that he wanted a promotion. I started to laugh. I told him that the Executive team, especially the CEO, Bryce Mullins, doesn’t think he’s upper management material. Your dad asked what he could do to change Bryce’s mind. I told him point blank, ‘Offer Bryce your son to fuck.’

“Oh yeah, we were talking about you. I bet he didn’t tell you all that when he said you that you could get an internship with us, now did he?… I didn’t think so. Yeah, if your dad allowed the CEO of the company to breed your cute little ass, he might just get that promotion and raise.

“And it’s not just Bryce, but me too…. What? You think I would conduct an interview for a legitimate intern at my private residence wearing a pair of swimming trunks?… Seriously, you would think that? Bryce and I go back decades to when we were both in the Corps. We would pick up a faggot like you just off base and take him to our motel room and fuck that cunt good. After the Corps, we met Ben Tutwiler who shares our affinity of using and abusing boys like you. The three of us formed this company. He’s the Chief Operating Officer, and he’s going to fuck you this week as well. Although, it will probably just a few times. He’s grown closer to his own faggot.

“Yeah, our company is founded by three fag fuckers. About five or six years ago we brought on our fourth fag fucking executive, our Chief Financial Officer Gary Roberts. Now you probably don’t realize this, but he’s already fucked you a few times. He’s a frequent patron of the same Ruby’s bookstore as you. How do you think we first heard about you being a cum dump whore? In case you were wondering, he’s the one who holds you head firmly in place while he instructs the men to back their asses onto your tongue.

“…Oh that got a smile out of you. You know who he is, hunh? Good. The four of us have specific tastes in our faggots. And each one of us will… interview you.

“We start now. Get naked faggot.

“…You can instantly follow orders. That’s good. Should you get hired as our intern, you won’t be wearing much around here. Come to think about it, you won’t have many possessions.

“Hell, like any other intern you work for free. Don’t worry, we’ll pay off your debts, which isn’t much.

“Nice body. You shaved? That’s a bonus. You will be kept hairless; Bryce will insist on it. Nice ass. Bend over and show me your cunt. Goddamned! You’re wearing a plug? I love it. Shit it out….

“Oh wait a moment, you’re loaded up! When was the last time you got fucked?… Lunchtime? At Ruby’s? How many loads are in you now? You don’t know!

“HA! I fucking love it. You come to what you think is a legitimate job interview, with your cunt loaded and plugged up. That’s fucking great. Take it out but clamp down. I want those loads to ferment in you a little longer…. Good. Good. That’s an interesting plug. It’s very stumpy. Perfect size for it to go in your mouth. You do realize that anything that comes out of your cunt should be cleaned off in your mouth? No, don’t lick it, just hold it in place.

“Follow me. Here let me give you something to look at, my ass. I may be fifty-nine, but my ass is still beefy like a 30-year-old who works out three hours a day. I don’t see you, but I know you are thinking about eating it. Don’t worry, like Gary, I love getting tongue fucked. You will be licking my shithole several times a day along with every other sweaty part of my body.

“OK. This pool house will be where you are going to be for the next couple weeks. I purchased this estate because of it. I put a lot of money into this space so that the four of us have a place to go to use faggots however and whenever we want. Mostly it will be you. Sometimes on game day, Ben will bring his boy over and both of you will serve and service us. It usually ends with a fuck fest of four on two.

“The two bedrooms are converted into a play space and a gym. You’ll sleep in the walk-in closet on a cot. The closet also doubles as a sling room when needed.

“Don’t be intimidated by all the sex furniture we have in here. Most of the time it goes unused, except for parties. The fuck bench is probably what you will spend most of your time on. Gary will definitely have you under the rimseat here or there’s another one in the bathroom. Ben will have you on the St. Andrew’s cross. That cupboard over there is nothing but various ropes, chains, leather restraints, plastic ties, rubber, and so on. If there’s a way to tie you up, Ben has it here.

“Speaking of which, here help me put these wrist and ankle cuffs on. You’ll have these on the entire time. It’ll make securing you into different positions easier. Ben likes to see them on the faggots we have here. He has had them on his boy for as long as they have been together. Here, let me put the padlocks on; we will be the ones to control when they come off…. Good. You’ll get to try them out on the St. Andrew’s cross over there.

“On your knees and lean forward. While Ben will like tie you down, Bryce likes to control you. This collar symbolizes that. When a faggot cunt is collared, it knows that it is not in charge, that it is owned, and that it is merely an object for real men to use. And that click of the lock now cements everything.

“I can see you are excited about this. Your pecker is leaking. You know what? So is mine. Look at it. I want you to beat off. This will be the first and last time you are cumming while here. So make it good. A pecker cage will be going on after you shoot.

“Then I’m gonna use your cum as my lube. Get your knees spread wide. Fuck this is beautiful. I have a faggot to play with for the next few weeks, maybe longer. Three of my best buds will share in your holes. You really have me leaking back here. I’m enjoying the view of your ass and back, thinking how good my arm would look going up your cunt.

“But I need to do this first. Hold your head still. This is a strap that will hold that plug in your mouth.

“Damn! That arm is going a mile a minute. Somehow let me know when you are close to cumming. I want to know the exact moment.

“Just think about your time here. You will be serving four men pretty much non-stop. Other men will be brought by. We may work you at the same time, but more often than not it’s done one-on-one.

“I want to fuck that cunt of yours, but I want your load first. So hurry the fuck up. My cock is ready to explode.

“From you grunts, you about to cum?… Good. Remember to collect it in your hand. I want you to cum on the count of five. One… Two… Three… Get ready. Four… And FIVE! Shoot!

“…Ha Ha Ha! You weren’t expecting that ball kick from behind, were ya? You faggots never do. Did you get any cum in your hand?… No? That sucks for you.

“What’s wrong? Your neck? Ohhhh. I forgot to mention. That collar is wired up. We can deliver painful shocks to you at any time. In case you were wondering, the shock was probably delivered by Bryce who is also in Vegas. This place is wired up with over one hundred cameras with microphones. Like any one of us, he has the ability of watching and probably was. I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything; the speaker system can broadcast orders to you, from anywhere in the world, and from any one of us.

“Roll over on your stomach and get your ass up in the air. I don’t give a shit that you are in pain from my ball kick and a shock from your collar. I want your cunt. You know what? I need a spreader bar first…. This one will do.

“I have nearly forty years in security and surveillance. There are sensors all over my property. You are to stay here or the pool area unless I give you permission. The collar will not allow you to go any further than this building, the pool, and the sauna hut. Oh, and that collar is waterproof. When I need you up in the main building, I’ll have the sensors turned off for that area.

“Monitoring faggots is so easy these days. I have been surveilling you for the past couple of months. Oh yeah, I know everywhere you went since Gary first connected with a bookstore cum dump whore, one that just happened to be the son of one of our employees. I ran a full background on you. I was able to hack into your phone, and I observed. I know the older men you try to connect with on Grindr and Scruff. I see the porn you watch. And you watch a lot of daddy porn, cruising porn, gang bang porn, ass eating porn, and so on.

“I know where you go. You hit the bookstore at lunchtime on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. On Fridays you stay back there to hit the after-work crowd. On Mondays and Wednesdays, on your way back from your community college, you hit the rest area.

“During this time, I did an extensive background check on your dad just as I did on you. Your dad has some issues with workplace security that are being addressed today by Bryce in Vegas. Trust me, your dad will not interfere in your internship. This was all planned, faggot. Every moment you thought you had a choice, we chose it for you.

“Now the spreader bar is in place set to painfully wide. Since you didn’t catch your load, I’m going in dry.

“With your wrists clipped behind your back, you aren’t going anywhere.

“Are you crying? You are. And you look panicked! Feel like you have no control over anything? Good!

“Fuck it’s not going to take me long to cum. I’m ready to burst.

“Jesus! You are loose! And sloppy! The cum stew feels good. Oh man.

“Not going to take long at all…. Oh faggot, you are made to be a cum dump faggot whore. This cunt belongs to me.

“Get ready. Get ready. Here I cum. Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuccccckkkkk!

“Shit! That was good. You got my load added to the cum stew you’re brewing.

“Your gaping hole could be tightened up. Clamp down on me…. That’s it? We’ll need to start cunt training on you. Get those pussy muscles back to providing pleasure.

“Hold still. I got to piss…. Oh man. Does this feel good. It feels right. You are a natural toilet. Gary said he pissed down your throat a few times. Toilet service will be expected of you. Mostly Gary and I are into it, but Bryce and Ben will use your mouth on game day.

“I’m gonna pull out. You need to keep this slop in you. Clamp down. It’s going to be tough, but do not spill one single drop. You do, you will regret disobeying me.

“You are a sight. I’m gonna lift up the spreader bar to the motorized pulley. Suspended upside down should keep that sludge in. The butt plug gag needs to come out. My cock needs to be cleaned off, and your mouth is at the right height.

“That’s it. Swirl your tongue around. Just like that. Faggot, you’re going to do fine here.

“Ok. I got to do some paperwork in the main house. I’ll be back in a while. If you need to be let down, respectfully call out. If one of us is watching you, we can let you down remotely.”

This story continues in Story #389, Story #394, and Story #400

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