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disgustingtwitches · 2 months

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**MDNI**

"The closest to heaven we'll ever get"

Saw a lot of stuff about Simon helping out a s*x worker. Anyways, it reminded me of a personal experience I had so... Here I am 😃

5.5k words

*This is kind of Simon needing company and being a weirdo who needs constant validation.

Not gonna lie, it gets blasphemous at the end!

I always played around with the idea of being an escort. I was offered to do things while working in the strip club, but I always turned it down. I was spending every dollar I made because I could always make more, right? But when I broke up with my ex and realized I didn't have the credit or rental history to get my own place, I started panicking. The only option was to put down at least three months rent cash upfront, to even be considered. Suddenly, money was drying up at the club for me, my regulars were being whisked away by girls who would do more for less. I couldn't really get mad, it's just a part of the game really. So I knew what needed to be done.

I hit up one of my girlfriends and told her that I needed the extra cash and what I was willing to do for it. She helped me set up a website, took professional photos of me, made me business cards. The whole nine yards. Now all I had to do was wait. About a week in, I finally get my first client. It was awkward and surprisingly, both of our first times in this situation. I was sent back home in a black car and a few hundred bucks richer for just 30 minutes of my time. I felt a rush I never felt before.

As the months rolled by, the money came. Luxury was the new standard for me. Designer everything, nice dinners, even nicer dates. To my surprise a majority of my clientele were, at most, 10 years older than me, and even more surprisingly, good looking. Finance bros, guys with daddy's money, or just men who had the money to spare. They always talked about how it was more fun and less work to hire me than get a girlfriend. To get a pretty girl in their arm to parade around that wouldn't bicker and give them a hard time at the end of the night. No feelings attached, just company and good sex.

So here I am Saturday night. Instead of going out to the club like a normal woman my age in Manhattan should be doing. I am in my hotel. Waiting for a call or text from someone. Anybody. My hair in rollers, makeup half done. Just waiting. My phone lights up, a text coming in:

Hi, Gia. Was interested in spending an hour with you tonight, 11pm.

I smiled to myself. Finally, someone who reads my ad properly. Follows the instructions on what to text to me. Straight to the point.

Wonderful, just need a picture of your ID or passport.

I reply. Always a rule my girlfriend drilled into my head. Safety first. If they don't do it, then what could they be planning? Anything goes bad and all you have is a name that couldn't even be real. Any client worth your time understands your safety is a priority. So this was my way of feeling safer. A moment passes before my phone dings again.

A picture of a passport, full name and age. Along with a picture. He's cute. A little older than what I usually get but I'm not complaining. I quickly look him up, nothing out of the ordinary. Good.

Great. Thank you, Simon. I'll send an address for you to send a car at 10:20. Reach out to you then❤️

Before I start to get ready he texts,

Wear something casual.

Not an odd request. Actually most clients prefer it. Want more of a girlfriend vibe rather than an escort. I finished getting ready, helping myself to a glass of wine. Playing my usual bad bitch songs, it helped me turn into the woman I needed to be- from me to Gia.

10:25 rolls around. I get a screenshot of the Uber from him. 5 minutes out. I grab my purse and strut out of my hotel, to a nearby park. Never give your real address. Always make sure you're not being followed.

A black SUV pulls up, I slide in. Exchange pleasantries with the driver and I'm off. Headed to midtown. I share my location with a friend and how long I should be gone. My phone goes off.

Walk into the building and head to the elevators on the left. 36th floor. Apt. 4A.

I nod to myself before shooting a text of confirmation.

Got it. See you soon ;)

I pull up to the building, it's huge. Nicer than most places I've been. He must have some serious cash. I walk into the building and follow the directions he gave me. A little adrenaline rushes through me as I walk up to the door, always did when meeting someone new. I knock. He almost immediately opens the door, as if he was standing in front of it. Waiting.

Simon!

I say with a wide smile. He steps aside as I walk in, looking around. Nice place. Really nice place. Ceiling to floor windows, minimalist decor, the lovely smell of something masculine and expensive. He looks me up and down as I turn to him.

You look just like your pictures.

His voice is deep, alluring, unreadable. Sends a chill up my thighs that shoots straight to my core.

You do too.

I reply playfully. A small twitch plays at the corner of his mouth before disappearing. His face inscrutable. I shimmy off my coat before he takes it, hanging it up in a closet near the entrance. I wait for him to move. He stands, hands in his pockets, studying me. An awkward minute passes before he walks to the living room. I follow.

Really nice place you got here.

I try to make the moment more comfortable.

Hm.

He responds. He wasn't like the other men I've seen before. They are sociable, or at least try to be. I take a seat on the couch next to him, our knees barely touching.

Money's there.

He gestures to an envelope on the table. I nod, grabbing it.

Do you mind if I...?

I ask, opening it up. He nods and stands to pour himself a drink. My eyes widen. This is more than my usual rate. Much more. I'm quiet, trying not to show my shock.

Was hoping to do an overnight, if that's alright.

It was less of a question and more of a statement from him. It was more than enough for a night. I nodded.

Of course, I do wish you would've told me; I would've packed a bag.

I smiled, putting the envelope down on the table. I grab my phone and update my friend on how long I'd be gone for. I put away the phone quickly and look up at him. God, was he hot. And the way he carried himself made him even hotter, so nonchalant. He shrugged, sipping his drink before sitting next to me again, some space between us.

How long you been doing this?

He stares at me, gaze so intense I squirm a little.

Just a few months.

We're quiet again. Usually I try to carry a conversation if the other party can't hold one, but he makes me nervous. I talk again, asking mundane questions. It's like pulling teeth trying to have small talk with him. Maybe he's just not much of a talker.

I scoot closer to him, our knees barely touching. He puts his drink down, and rests his arms on the back of the couch. I lean in closer to him, resting my hand on his thigh before kissing his lips. He kisses back softly. We exchange light, almost timid kisses for awhile. He finally moves. A hand reaching up to grab at my hair, gently pulling. I moan faintly and that seems to set him off. He grabs me by the throat, not hard, just enough to stand me up and guide me to his bedroom; our kisses getting more intense. We strip each other of our clothes. I unbuckle his pants and pull them down, it feels like I'm opening a gift on Christmas. He's big. I smile up at him. He just looks down vacantly. I pull down his boxers and his erection springs up, tip drooling. He opens a drawer next to the bed, pulling out a condom and rolling it on himself.

Lay back.

He commands. I obey, opening my legs. I've done this so many times before, but this time it's different. As unceremoniously as he's treating this, I can't be more excited. His body is amazing, tattoos and scars just adding to the mysterious aura. His natural scent drives me wild. I look up to him as he crawls over me, lining himself up with me. He gives a couple lazy slaps on my slick. I take a sharp breath. He watches as he slides himself in, I tense up. Most guys are well... average. And he's well... much more than that.

Relax.

He huffs. Sliding himself in more, not giving me any time to adjust. I grip the bedsheets, clenching my jaw. I stare up at him, he doesn't even look at me. His face emotionless as he watches himself slide in and out. I try to unclench, opening myself up more to him.

Mhm...

He grunts. My nipples harden at his voice. I moan as he slams into my cervix repeatedly. It makes him shoot his eyes up at me, glaring into mine. His eyes dark pools, intense. He roughly hooks his arms under my knees, pushing them up to my chest. He digs even deeper into me as I whimper. He takes quick, shallow breaths.

You're so deep.

I say panting, the breath getting knocked out of me. I reach out to touch his muscular arms. He grunts and pounds harder into me. I throw my head back, whining. Trying to not wince in pain. He slows for a moment, pulling back, keeping my legs on his shoulders as he slides in and out. My breasts bounce up and down with each thrust.

You're hot.

A hint of emotion in his voice, he reaches down to knead my chest. My face gets hot. I tighten around him.

Fuck...

He makes a sound that almost resembles a moan. I smile up at him, almost proud of making him show any emotion. He looks down at me, a flicker in his eyes, a small smirk on his face that leaves as quickly as it came. He parts my legs and rubs at my clit in rough circles. I squirm under him.

Say my name.

He orders. His strokes picking up as I get used to him.

Simon~

As soon as his name leaves my lips, a deep rumble from his chest fills my ears. He leans over me, arms on either side of my head. I reach up to run my hands up and down the back of his neck.

Say you love me.

His request takes me aback. I pull him closer, my lips just under his ear.

I love you~

He immediately tenses up and takes a heavy breath. I could feel him twitch inside me as he finishes. He pulls away quickly, going to the bathroom to throw out the condom and clean up. He brings back a wet towel, wiping me down.

What's your name?

His tone as flat as ever.

Gia.

I responded. I know what he's actually asking me. Never, ever tell a trick your real name. Hell, he shouldn't even know your real age.

You know what I mean.

He glares at me. I shift awkwardly. Don't do it. He doesn't say a word, just stares in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Why should he know your real name anyways? I tell him my name. Stupid. Fucking dumbass. I kick myself. He nods and slides into some sweats, throwing me his shirt.

Let's watch something.

I throw on his shirt. Now this is what I'm used to. Being a temporary girlfriend. Pretending to be affectionate. Giving much needed companionship. He splays out on the couch as I lay on top of him. He turns on the TV, resting a hand on my ass and squeezing it. Maybe this is why he hires girls. Because of how distant he is. The man can't even hold a conversation. He flicks on some show he was in the middle of, a business dramedy that I couldn't care less about. I rest my head on his chest and he runs his fingers through my hair. We're like this for a while, quiet.

Tell me you love me.

He says dryly, looking down at me. I look up and kiss him.

I love you, Simon.

He gets hard immediately, rubbing himself on me. He gets up, lifting me up effortlessly, and throws me on the bed. He lays on top of me, pinning me down onto the bed. Kissing me much more passionately this time, like he was trying to taste every inch of my mouth.

Keep saying it.

His voice gruff. He moves his kisses down to my neck, pawing at my bust.

I love you, Simon.

I moan. I wanted him so badly. I don't care how I got him, I just wanted to take him. Something about him made me go crazy, deep inside. He yanks up the shirt I was wearing, moving his kisses more and more south.

You fuck other people raw?

I shake my head. I might've been a whore, but I wasn't reckless.

Never.

He nods.

Can I eat you out?

I look down at him. Something about seeing him between my legs makes me wanna say yes. The way his eyes looks almost as if he's pleading, desperate. No way. Never do that.

Yes.

I allow him to keep going. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I allowing this? Before I can think more, he plunges his tongue between my lips. Lapping up desperately, burying his face into me. I roll my eyes back, running my fingers through his hair.

I love you, Simon.

I gasp. It's the only thing he wanted me to say. I saw something in him, the way he reacted when I said that, it made me want to stay in his place forever. To never leave. Make him happy. It's just the good head talking, you'll snap back to your senses afterwards. He moans so quietly I can barely hear it. Barely. My legs on his shoulders, his arms wrapped around my thighs. Digging fingers into the soft flesh. He sucks on my nub repeatedly. It's a tortuously delicious feeling. I grip his hair a little.

I love you, Simon.

I look down at him, watching him devour me. He looks up at me, his eyes showing an emotion I can't decipher. He moves one hand down to slide two fingers into me.

I love you, Simon.

I moan, throwing my head back and smiling.

Hmm...

He mumbled into my heat. Pumping in and out before bending his fingers in a way that presses against my sweet spot. I hiss, pleasure flashing through me like a strobe light. I'm dripping wet. He pulls his fingers out and plunges his tongue into my entrance, trying to suck out every drop of my juices.

You taste good.

Voice as flat as ever, as if he isn't lost in between my folds. He drags his tongue up between my lips, from my entrance to my nub again. He slips his fingers in again, pressing up against my sweet spot repeatedly. I get lost in the feeling. God I could stay like this forever. He looks up at me, like he's looking for validation.

I love you, Simon~

I slip out between heavy breaths. He picks up the pace of his fingers and tongue. My face gets hot as I get closer, grip his hair a little harder. He goes even faster, harder, almost feverant. I roll my eyes back, panting. I whimper before crying out, tightening around his fingers in a vice grip.

I love you, Simon~

I force the words from my throat as I spasm under him. He continues, seemingly determined to draw another climax out of me. I mewled, trying to push his head away. He was unmoving for an unbearable moment. The only sounds were my pants and his slurping.

I love you, Simon.

I wailed, almost hoping it'll make him stop. He does thankfully. He pulls away, tearing off his sweats, beating off himself. Staring at me, his gaze is intense as ever. He grabs me by the thighs and drags me into his lap. He continues to stroke himself, staring into my wet core as if he was hypnotized by it.

Can I...

He starts, almost knowing he shouldn't ask the question.

Can I fuck you raw?

His voice is uncharacteristically soft and unsure. I blink at him, mind racing. ABORT! ABORT! THIS IS LIKE RULE #1 IN HOE-ING!!! He looked so delicious from this angle, his eyes still glued on my wetness. ARE YOU INSANE?? NO!! His throbbing, beautiful dick is twitching.

...yes.

I nod. You're the dumbest person on the planet. I insult myself a million different ways in my head. A brief moment of regret is replaced with pleasure as he slides his tip teasingly in and out of me. His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling faster. His voice cracks as a moan escapes him, his eyebrows furrow.

I love you, Simon.

I stare at him, eyes half lidded. The smallest smile spreads across his face, still looking at himself entering me. He inches his way in. Pulling in and out, going deeper each time. I squeeze him, make him bite his lip.

That's good.

He stated, voice quavering. He clears his throat before grabbing one leg and lifting it to my chest, digging deep into me. I take a sharp breath in. He hovers over me, arms on either side of my head again. He slides in and out, slowly at first then picking up to a punishing pace. I whimper and wiggle under him. He grabs my face, forcing me to look into his eyes that bore into mine.

I love you, Simon.

I stare right back at him, passion shooting right out of my eyes. His eyes flutter for a moment before blinking back into his cold, unnerving self. He continues to dig himself into me, slamming and grinding himself into the deepest parts of me. It's a painfully addicting feeling. I take his hand and press it up against my lower stomach so he can feel how much he fills me. He clenches his jaw so hard, it looks like his head could pop.

I love you, Simon.

I whisper. He drops down on top of me, snaking his arms around and behind my back to grab my ass. His mouth right next to my ear, I can hear his fast and shallow breaths. Little groans that slip out every now and then. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tighter.

I love you, Simon.

I hear him groan under me as I said it again. He goes faster than before, pretty much jackhammering me into the mattress. My mouth is agape and head thrown back. Only grunts escape my throat as I get fucked senseless.

Mhm...like that?

His words bounce around in my empty head. I replay it in my head over and over until I clench around him, he doesn't stop though. It only seems to spur him on even more. His warm breath tickling my ear as it gets more ragged.

Keep saying it.

He demands through gritted teeth.

Fuck... I love you, Simon.

I squeak out the words. He huffs and continues to rampage my body.

Can I come inside you?

He asks- No, begs. No use in turning back now. Just the thought made me close again.

Yes.

I nod and he breathes harder and harder until he pleads in a strained voice,

Say it.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside me.

I love you, Simon~

He spills inside me. His stammered breaths and moans driving me crazy. The feeling of him pumping into me driving me over the edge. I pull him closer, practically squeezing him.

I love you, Simon.

I tenderly kiss the top of his head as he nuzzles into my neck.

How often do you do this?

My head clears, a wave of regret coming over me.

Never. I never even hired anyone before you.

He says in a way so sincere I honestly believe him. How do you know when a trick is lying? Their mouth is open. Rules. Rules to live by, to be able to survive doing what I do. Rules. They all meant nothing as soon as I laid eyes on him. Somehow saw this coming a mile away in the back of my head. He pulled away from my grasp, disappointment flooded me. He leaned back, opening my legs: watching both of our cum dripping out of me.

Say it.

His eyes so focused, as if he were trying to take a picture with his mind; so he would never forget this moment.

I love you, Simon.

I say with a tender smile. His dick jumps. Good lord is this man insatiable. He stands up and does the same routine as before, cleaning himself up and then me. He hands me his shirt:

Here.

I throw it on and he leads me to the bathroom, grabbing me by the shoulders and making me face the mirror. He gently pushes my back, I lean my elbows on the countertop. I stand on the balls of my feet, trying to get my hips to meet his. As I look in the mirror, his face looks almost tender watching me sway my hips.

I love you, Simon~

I sing softly. He bites his lip, entering me again. God, I never get used to the feeling. He grabs my hips and pulls me onto him, he bottoms me out. Groaning louder this time, he pulls my hair back so I'm looking directly at the mirror, locking eyes with him.

S'it, pretty girl...

A corner of his mouth upturned just enough to know he's enjoying himself. His words make me flutter around him. He groans and starts to pound into me. The bathroom is filled with the duet of our breaths and groans. He pulls my hair so my back is pressed against his chest. He rests a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough. Moves his lips to my neck, still sliding in and out of me.

You love me? Huh?

He grunts, warm breath on the pulse of my neck.

I love you. So much.

I moaned. I repeated the phrase so many times, it started coming out of my mouth naturally. He moved his hand from my hair to my lower stomach, pressing against it so he could feel himself hitting my walls.

You love this dick, yeah? Say it.

His voice getting more demanding and urgent. I nod and look at him through the mirror, smiling.

I love it, I love this dick so much, Simon~

He nips at my neck as he continues to fuck me. His nips turn into bites. Bites that definitely leave marks. I didn't care, that didn't matter right now.

You're never fucking leaving, you know that?

A threat that sounded like heaven to me. He could keep me chained to the bed and I wouldn't care, just as long as he kept fucking me like this. I giggled with excitement.

You like that, hm?

He smiles against my skin before continuing to lick and bite my neck.

I love it~

I truly did. It felt heavenly. Better than anyone I've ever had. Ever. Something felt so familiar about his touch. As if I belonged there.

I love you, Simon~

At this point I feel like I'm reciting a prayer, the words flowing out of me like a stream. I was melting in his arms.

Turn around, wanna see that pretty face.

I did so eagerly as he lifted me up on the counter and slid inside me. I smirked up at him. He, as always, was watching himself impale me.

Looks so pretty...

He seemingly mumbled to himself. He leaned down and pressed our foreheads together, a firm hand on the back of my head. Hitting a spot so deep inside me I never knew I had. We were like this for a long minute, sloppy sounds of our sex bouncing off the walls.

I love you, Simon.

I stared into his eyes. They seem to soften for a moment before he tightened the grip on the back of my neck. A huff, and then he came undone. He stayed inside me until he was soft. He pulls out and pushes his fingers into my cunt, stuffing his seed back into me.

Hm.

He grunts in a way that sounds like approval before helping me off the counter. He leads me to bed and slips under the covers.

In my arms.

Commanding as he usually does. I press my head against his chest, his heart beating hard and fast. He wraps an arm around me, his touch much gentler than before. I fall asleep. Not too sure if he does too.

Morning comes and I'm woken up by the sun shining in my face. Sitting up, I'm in his bed, still wearing his shirt. Alone. I walk out to the living room and see him setting up breakfast on the coffee table.

You made this?

I question, surprised.

Ordered it. Good morning.

He turns to me, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks at me expectantly. I blink at him.

Good morning.

I say. He looks at me as if he was anticipating something else. I think for a moment before suddenly remembering.

I love you, Simon.

He steps to the side, inviting me to sit on the couch. I help myself to a seat and look at the plate in front of me. It's simple, French toast and eggs. I help myself.

Are you gonna eat anything?

I look at him quizzically. He shakes his head, staring like always. We're silent as I finish my plate. I grab my phone and check the time. Almost time for me to leave.

Can I book you for longer?

His voice is gruff. An underlying tone, pleading?

It'll be expensive.

I didn't want to say that. Wanted to say I'll stay as long as he likes. But I already made too many mistakes. Gotta get back on track.

I don't care.

Of course he didn't. He could probably buy me out for the rest of my life if he wanted to. He pulled out his phone, asking for my personal number so he could send the money straight to my bank account. Hesitantly I gave it to him. He probably could find out that stuff if he wanted to anyways. My phone dings, I check my bank app. My eyes pop out of my head. I look up at him bewildered.

How long would that get me?

He asks, as if he didn't send me an ungodly amount of money.

It's enough for a whole week...

Shock still overwhelming me.

You wanna stay that long?

He doesn't really ask. He knows I'll say yes. Doesn't even wait for my answer.

I'll let you get your things.

He throws some of his clothes my way and sends me back in a car to the hotel. I grab my bags and checkout. Is this really happening? A call from my girlfriend. I tell her about his extension. She says something about making sure he's not a serial killer. We laugh, tells me to have fun, don't fall in love. I scoff as if that was the stupidest idea I've heard. As soon as I know it I'm back at his place, he's grabbing bags from me, setting them to the side. Turning to me and running a hand up the side of my waist.

I love you, Simon.

We spend the whole week tangled up in each other. Taking a break before I say those four words and he has me pinned against a wall or over a dresser or kitchen counter. Any flat surface, really.

It's Saturday night and we're showering, cleaning off sweat and other bodily fluids from each other. His touch is so gentle, handling me like I was a piece of china. He liked me. It was obvious. Seemed like the only way he knew how to show it was by fucking me, though. I liked him too. Maybe not to the extent he did.

Seemed like he found something he needed for a long time. He was hungry. Famished. He couldn't just let go of me. He's not satiated yet. Don't know if he'll ever be. It was a looming feeling. Dark and heavy. A little scary. But it made me feel more desired than I've ever been before. And not just a carnal desire. It made me feel coveted.

We're laid up on his couch. Watching the show I didn't care for before, a little more invested. My phone lights up, buzzing. The name of a regular of mine across the screen in big bold letters. This is usually the time of the month he calls to set up a date. A reminder that this is all temporary. I let it go to voicemail. He tenses up. Jealousy and disappointment radiating off him.

How much for the whole month?

He doesn't even let me think of an answer before speaking again.

How much to make you quit for good?

I'm a little shook, sure I've heard it a dozen times before. Always said in jest. But he's serious. The few words he said, he always seemed to mean. No need to waste his breath beating around the bush. My heart races. I can feel his pound against mine. A number doesn't come to my head.

Let's just see how this goes.

He doesn't like that answer. He wants something solid. A promise that I'll never leave. More than a promise. But that's as good as he can get right now. There's a tense silence between us.

I love you, Simon.

The only thing I can think of saying right now. He takes hold of me, climbing into the bed and sits me in his lap. His back against the headboard.

C'mon love.

He says frigid. An underlying tone of disappointment and hurt. I slide myself down on him, a little more adjusted to his size now. He wraps strong arms around my waist, pulling me so close it seems like he wants to coalesce into my very being.

Give me a number.

A demand that seems more like a plea. We hold each other. Unmoving as he is still buried deep inside me.

Maybe it is a little toxic to spiral into the addiction to fast money. Maybe I'm a little sick of pretending to be the perfect woman. Maybe it is a little exhausting to be a fantasy and nothing more. Maybe it is a little lonely when it's just me lying in bed, when I have to comfort others. Where's my comfort in all of this? Where's my happiness in all of this? No more fake smiles. No more fake orgasms. No more fake feelings. I don't care if he's lying. I want to indulge in delusion. Even for a moment.

Ok.

I give in. He leans over, placing me on my back before adjusting himself on top of me. Touches my face, his showing an emotion that is genuine and staggering. Devotion? It feels like it.

I could almost cry, the way he takes me like I'm his. The way he talks to me like I'm not someone he hired. That didn't matter anymore. I wasn't an escort to him. I was his girl. The sex was different. Transcendant. Divine. Did I know I wanted to be saved? Of course I didn't know; for the life of sin and suffering is simply a thing to toil in until you are shown salvation. Every time he came, he baptized me. I was born again in his eyes, I was perfect and clean. Absolved of my sins.

He looked at me with so much adoration. I looked up at him, much in the same way Magdalene did to her Redeemer. He had turned a prostitute into a Saint. The unshakeable feeling of deliverance washed over as he touched me, no longer a leper. I was saved by him. His body. His sweat. His seed. Akin to taking Communion. The closest to heaven we'll ever get.

#cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #longer reads

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syoddeye · 9 months

Text

the christmas party

ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words

A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.

CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers

You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.

Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.

You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.

Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.

But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.

With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.

Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."

You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"

"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.

"More bellboy, but-"

"Rude!"

The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.

The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.

Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.

You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?"

"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"

Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.

At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.

The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.

Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.

The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it.

"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events.

"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.

"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.

And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."

The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.

The wager came up naturally.

"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"

"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."

"...That's boring."

"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink.

"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.

"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan."

"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."

Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you."

Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."

"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk.

"Not your type, then?"

You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."

Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."

Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list.

Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan.

"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.

Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head.

God, he looks good.

As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.

"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.

He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter.

"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers.

"Well, shit."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."

"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks.

With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention.

"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks.

You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.

John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.

"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.

"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?

You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."

Santa, run me over with your reindeer.

Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.

To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?"

You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five."

It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."

"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity.

John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"

"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"

You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan.

And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing.

"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh."

"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"

"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."

You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.

"I just thought of what I want for my victory."

Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.

"What?"

"So…You know #AskPrice?"

You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there."

#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.

"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas."

Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"

Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."

"He could fire me!"

"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."

To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.

"Jordan…Mercy. Please."

"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."

It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?

Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.

"That was terrifying." You whine.

"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance."

The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.

"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"

You nearly drop your phone.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #captain price #price x you #price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #price x female reader #cod fanfic #cod fic #ceo!john price

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darkdemeter · 8 months

Text

OLD DRAFT CONCEPT : " GUARD DOG "

—- not my gif, credit to original poster! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader (x slight Natasha Romanoff)

A/N — Here's a little bedtime story for ya'll. Old draft concept for an upcoming and looong oneshot for Wanda in a mafia au setting. Bits and pieces may be recognised in the published column plot wise but overall, we're taking an alternate route, my babbies.

WORD COUNT — 2.2k

READER DISCRETION — Alcohol consumption — mafia business and semi dark themes — profanity — mention of death and murder — mention of black market and auction — reader and Nat have some history — player reader Tony is so proud — Alexander Pierce is of course an arsehole, what else is new? — Rumlow is a bad guy (duh) — I think that's it?

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true.

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation.

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration.

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market.

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay.

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t every single cent he spent on you three years ago.

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs.

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one.

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.”

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot.

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particular deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need a refill and pronto.

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.”

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere oopsie?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.”

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women.

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his fold, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work.

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless.

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way and you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your refurbished liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress?

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun.

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, Sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.”

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow.

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support.

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs. But she never committed to joining forces.

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress.

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand.

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included.

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous.

She’s facing you, back arched and ass resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, the sweet bouquet of lavender rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin.

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow.

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress.

“You really think she wants a guard dog?”

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you.

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you.

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you.

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue.

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head.

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.”

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave, because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help.

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing.

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST — (Even though I doubt this is worth putting the taglist on, here it is anyway)

@alexawynters

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

At long last, a meaningful step to protect Americans' privacy

This Saturday (19 Aug), I'm appearing at the San Diego Union-Tribune Festival of Books. I'm on a 2:30PM panel called "Return From Retirement," followed by a signing:

https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/festivalofbooks

Privacy raises some thorny, subtle and complex issues. It also raises some stupid-simple ones. The American surveillance industry's shell-game is founded on the deliberate confusion of the two, so that the most modest and sensible actions are posed as reductive, simplistic and unworkable.

Two pillars of the American surveillance industry are credit reporting bureaux and data brokers. Both are unbelievably sleazy, reckless and dangerous, and neither faces any real accountability, let alone regulation.

Remember Equifax, the company that doxed every adult in America and was given a mere wrist-slap, and now continues to assemble nonconsensual dossiers on every one of us, without any material oversight improvements?

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/20/equifax-settles-with-ftc-cfpb-states-and-consumer-class-actions-for-700m/

Equifax's competitors are no better. Experian doxed the nation again, in 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/30/dox-the-world/#experian

It's hard to overstate how fucking scummy the credit reporting world is. Equifax invented the business in 1899, when, as the Retail Credit Company, it used private spies to track queers, political dissidents and "race mixers" so that banks and merchants could discriminate against them:

https://jacobin.com/2017/09/equifax-retail-credit-company-discrimination-loans

As awful as credit reporting is, the data broker industry makes it look like a paragon of virtue. If you want to target an ad to "Rural and Barely Making It" consumers, the brokers have you covered:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#axciom

More than 650,000 of these categories exist, allowing advertisers to target substance abusers, depressed teens, and people on the brink of bankruptcy:

https://themarkup.org/privacy/2023/06/08/from-heavy-purchasers-of-pregnancy-tests-to-the-depression-prone-we-found-650000-ways-advertisers-label-you

These companies follow you everywhere, including to abortion clinics, and sell the data to just about anyone:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

There are zillions of these data brokers, operating in an unregulated wild west industry. Many of them have been rolled up into tech giants (Oracle owns more than 80 brokers), while others merely do business with ad-tech giants like Google and Meta, who are some of their best customers.

As bad as these two sectors are, they're even worse in combination – the harms data brokers (sloppy, invasive) inflict on us when they supply credit bureaux (consequential, secretive, intransigent) are far worse than the sum of the harms of each.

And now for some good news. The Consumer Finance Protection Bureau, under the leadership of Rohit Chopra, has declared war on this alliance:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/08/16/cfpb-looks-to-restrict-the-sleazy-link-between-credit-reporting-agencies-and-data-brokers/

They've proposed new rules limiting the trade between brokers and bureaux, under the Fair Credit Reporting Act, putting strict restrictions on the transfer of information between the two:

https://www.cnn.com/2023/08/15/tech/privacy-rules-data-brokers/index.html

As Karl Bode writes for Techdirt, this is long overdue and meaningful. Remember all the handwringing and chest-thumping about Tiktok stealing Americans' data to the Chinese military? China doesn't need Tiktok to get that data – it can buy it from data-brokers. For peanuts.

The CFPB action is part of a muscular style of governance that is characteristic of the best Biden appointees, who are some of the most principled and competent in living memory. These regulators have scoured the legislation that gives them the power to act on behalf of the American people and discovered an arsenal of action they can take:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Alas, not all the Biden appointees have the will or the skill to pull this trick off. The corporate Dems' darlings are mired in #LearnedHelplessness, convinced that they can't – or shouldn't – use their prodigious powers to step in to curb corporate power:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

And it's true that privacy regulation faces stiff headwinds. Surveillance is a public-private partnership from hell. Cops and spies love to raid the surveillance industries' dossiers, treating them as an off-the-books, warrantless source of unconstitutional personal data on their targets:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/16/ring-ring-lapd-calling/#ring

These powerful state actors reliably intervene to hamstring attempts at privacy law, defending the massive profits raked in by data brokers and credit bureaux. These profits, meanwhile, can be mobilized as lobbying dollars that work lawmakers and regulators from the private sector side. Caught in the squeeze between powerful government actors (the true "Deep State") and a cartel of filthy rich private spies, lawmakers and regulators are frozen in place.

Or, at least, they were. The CFPB's discovery that it had the power all along to curb commercial surveillance follows on from the FTC's similar realization last summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

I don't want to pretend that all privacy questions can be resolved with simple, bright-line rules. It's not clear who "owns" many classes of private data – does your mother own the fact that she gave birth to you, or do you? What if you disagree about such a disclosure – say, if you want to identify your mother as an abusive parent and she objects?

But there are so many stupid-simple privacy questions. Credit bureaux and data-brokers don't inhabit any kind of grey area. They simply should not exist. Getting rid of them is a project of years, but it starts with hacking away at their sources of profits, stripping them of defenses so we can finally annihilate them.

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

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bitchesgetriches · 6 months

Text

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about How to Pay off Debt

Understanding debt:

Let’s End This Damaging Misconception About Credit Cards

Season 2, Episode 10: “Which Is Smarter: Getting a Loan? or Saving up to Pay Cash?”

Dafuq Is Interest? And How Does It Work for the Forces of Darkness?

Investing Deathmatch: Paying off Debt vs. Investing in the Stock Market

How to Build Good Credit Without Going Into Debt

Dafuq Is a Down Payment? And Why Do You Need One to Buy Stuff?

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Making Decisions Under Stress: The Siren Song of Chocolate Cake

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Paying off debt:

Kill Your Debt Faster with the Death by a Thousand Cuts Technique

Share My Horror: The World’s Worst Debt Visualization

The Best Way To Pay off Credit Card Debt: From the Snowball To the Avalanche

The Debt-Killing Power of Rounding up Bills

A Dungeonmaster’s Guide to Defeating Debt

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke

Ask the Bitches Pandemic Lightning Round: “What Do I Do If I Can’t Pay My Bills?”

Slay Your Financial Vampires

Season 4, Episode 3: “My credit card debt is slowly crushing me. Is there any escape from this horrible cycle?”

Case Study: Held Back by Past Financial Mistakes, Fighting Bad Credit and $90K in Debt

Student loan debt:

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: “The Government Put Student Loans in Forbearance. Can I Stop Paying—or Is It a Trap?”

How to Pay for College without Selling Your Soul to the Devil

When (and How) to Try Refinancing or Consolidating Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: I Want to Move Out, but I Can’t Afford It. How Bad Would It Be to Take out Student Loans to Cover It?

Season 4, Episode 4: “I’m $100K in Student Loan Debt and I Think It Should Be Forgiven. Does This Make Me an Entitled Asshole?”

The 2022 Student Loan Forgiveness FAQ You’ve Been Waiting For

2023 Student Loan Forgiveness Update: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Our Final Word on Student Loan Forgiveness

Avoiding debt:

Ask Not How Much You Should Save, Ask How Much You Should Spend

How to Make Any Financial Decision, No Matter How Tough, with Maximum Swag

Your Yearly Free Medical Care Checklist

Two-Ring Circus

Status Symbols Are Pointless and Dumb

Advice I Wish My Parents Gave Me When I Was 16

On Emergency Fund Remorse… and Bacon Emergencies

Should You Increase Your Salary or Decrease Your Spending?

Don’t Spend Money on Shit You Don’t Like, Fool

The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

The Only Advice You’ll Ever Need for a Cheap-Ass Wedding

The Most Impactful Financial Decision I’ve Ever Made… and Why I Don’t Recommend It

3 Times I Was Damn Grateful for My Emergency Fund (and Side Income)

Buy Now Pay Later Apps: That Old Predatory Lending by a Crappy New Name

Credit Card Companies HATE Her! Stay Out of Credit Card Debt With This One Weird Trick

Ask the Bitches: Should I Get a Loan Even Though I Can Afford To Pay Cash?

The Bitches vs. debt:

I Paid off My Student Loans Ahead of Schedule. Here’s How.

I Paid off My Student Loans. Now What?

Hurricane Debt Weakens to Tropical Storm Debt, but Experts Warn It’s Still Debt

The Real Story of How I Paid Off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years

Case Study: Swimming Upstream against Unemployment, Exhaustion, and $2,750 a Month in Unproductive Spending

That’s all for now! We try to update these masterposts periodically, so check back for more in… a couple… months??? Maybe????

#debt #mortgage #credit card debt #debt management #debt consolidation #pay off debt #student loans #student loan debt #loan #financial tips #money tips #personal finance

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levelfinancingblog · 8 months

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ONLINE LOAN FINANCING SERVICES | LEVEL LOAN FINANCING COMPANY

Level Financing is one of the top online loan financing companies that offers reliable and efficient online loan services for bad credits. Explore our range of online lending options today!

#ONLINE LOAN #online loan financing #finance companies for bad credit #online loan companies

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builtbybrokenbells · 1 year

Text

Long Time Coming

After spending your entire life getting to know the optimistic, perpetually happy Josh Kiszka, you are pleasantly surprised when he shows you a different side of him.

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), swearing, angst, alcohol consumption, mentions death/sickness, mentions of drug use and addiction, parental issues, creepiness from men. Sorry if I missed any!!

here’s some smutty angsty grumpy x sunshine love. Writing this whole thing has been a bit therapeutic, so it turned out a little longer than I expected 😭 I apologize. anyways, be kind, I hope you enjoy, and please excuse any grammar mistakes! ALSO it’s been a long time since I’ve written smut so if it’s bad please bear with me

There was something about him. Something that all of the girls seemed to swoon over, that implored them to flock to him and fall to his feet. Sure, you could understand how it could be charming, but to you? It drove you absolutely insane. And not in the good way. You didn’t hate the guy; far from it, really. But you did try to limit your one on one time with him, just to spare yourself the headache later in the day.

Josh Kiszka was not a bad person. He was nowhere near it. He was very attractive, but also nice, kind, and quite funny, too, but he was so unbelievably happy all of the time. You didn’t hate happiness, but by god, you were sure if you told him you’d murdered his whole family he’d still find the best in the situation. Admittedly, you were aware that you lived your life a bit more on the grumpy side, always leaning towards the glass half empty idea, but even so; you didn’t understand how he never seemed to be in a bad mood.

You didn’t hate optimism, but he sure as hell made you feel like you shouldn’t be sad over the stuff you’re allowed to be sad about. That, and due to your mediocre life filled with more than enough troubles, you envied that you’d never seen a frown on his face. You loved him, sure. He was one of your friends, albeit you found yourself closer with the other three boys. You’d grown up with them, always found yourself in their company, and even moved to Nashville after you’d finished university just to be around them again, and perhaps to get away from Michigan, as well.

You worked in finance, securing a well paying job as an accountant at a big name company not long after your move to the big city. You had sort of moved on a whim, with no real promise of a good job or any sustainable income. You didn’t want to move until you had one for sure, but eventually conceded because of a promise from Sam that he and Danny had a spare bedroom in their apartment that was begging for someone to take it. They had been pestering you for as long as they’d lived there for you to move in with them. You had graduated with Jake and Josh, but found more solace hanging out with the younger two boys once you all grew up. Josh still took credit for ‘founding your friendship with Sam’ as he was the first of any of the brothers to spark a conversation with you.

You got plenty of alone time when the boys were off on tour, and didn’t mind the noise at all when they came home. As much as you liked to believe you were an introvert, you found yourself longing for their company after coming home every day to silence. Maybe it was just Sam and Danny that brought that out in you.

You pulled into your usual parking spot outside of the apartment complex at exactly 5:17, the same time you were home almost every day, due to the ungodly (but predictable) traffic always in the way of the roads. The firm you worked for should only be a five minute drive, at most, but city traffic was tedious and nothing like what you were used to in your small hometown. You were certain you’d never get used to it. You pulled your keys out of your ignition, followed by a cigarette from your pack. You had the habit kicked for a while, but picked it up sometime during the three month stretch the boys had been gone. You hoped you could quit it again before they got back within the coming weeks, but you had little hope.

You sat on the grass by the door, lighting the end of the cigarette. You let your eyes scan the parking lot, looking for nothing in particular. The sun was warm and it was nice being outside after eight hours of stuffy office air. Your dress pants were growing even more uncomfortable by the second and you were eager to get inside so you could curl up in bed and start your weekend off correctly: a glass of wine and a date with your book. You were excited to play the new vinyl records you’d picked up earlier in the week on a spur of the moment shopping trip.

You decided to have another before you went inside, just to curb the craving for a bit longer. Just as you put the filter between your lips, the front door of the building opened. You didn’t bother to look up, figuring it was just your creepy neighbour. He always seemed to be waiting for you when you got home from work. Sam promised you he’d get him evicted when he got back. “Chainsmoking, now, y/n?” You heard a disapproving tsk follow the sentence. Your head snapped up, barely believing your ears.

“Sammy!?” You shot up from your position on the ground. He held his arms out and you jumped into them, not caring how stupid it looked. “What are you doing home?” You asked, head still buried in his shoulder. He held you until you were ready to let go.

“Missed your pretty face too much, had to come back just to see it.” He said, pinching your cheeks when he finally let go.

“You’re too sweet, Samuel. Don’t flatter me.” You rolled your eyes.

“Seriously though, you’re smoking again? I thought you were the first person to actually adhere to their New Year’s resolution.” You gave a shrug.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” You admitted. He nodded as if to say ‘fair enough’. “Is Danny back, too?” You asked, a hopeful gleam in your eyes. He nodded, a grin still stuck on his face.

“We had a stretch with no shows so we came home to see you.” He informed. “I know you’d never admit it, but we know you get lonely when we’re gone.” Instead of his usual joking tone, it was laced with sincerity. Instead of responding with words, you just pulled him into another embrace. He smelled like Sam; a scent that felt more like home than anything else. “Come in, get comfortable, and get something to eat. We brought you your favourite takeout,” he paused before continuing. “Thing one and Thing two are coming over tonight, too.” You chuckled at Sam’s pass at his brothers. You missed them so much, you weren’t even dreading having to deal with Josh’s exuberant personality all evening.

When you entered your apartment, you wasted no time searching for the honorary Kiszka brother. You found him standing in the living room, anxiously awaiting your arrival. You wasted no time running to him, tackling him in a hug. You both fell to the ground in a mess of limbs and echoing laughter. “I missed you too, bug.” He said, with his arms still wrapped around you. Danny was the only person in the world you allowed to call you any pet names, aside from your Grandmother, who’d raised you your whole life. Josh tried his luck, calling you ‘mama’ any chance he got, which was always met with a glare in return.

When you both got back on your feet, you implored them to tell you all about the last few months. They waved it off, assuring you they’d tell you all about it later night. You ushered them upstairs to show them the new vinyls you’d added to your collection. Eventually, you had gotten changed and graciously ate the food your roommates had brought home to you. You took a quick shower before the twins arrived, reapplying a bit of makeup so you could cover the exhaustion caused by your never ending pile of work. You sipped on a glass of wine while music played softly from your phone.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door, catching your attention. “What’s up?” You asked, unsure of who would answer.

“Get dressed up, we’re going to head to the bar down the street.” Sam’s voice sounded. You opened the door so you could talk to him face to face, rather than through a wall.

“Implying I don’t always look fantastic?” You teased.

“Not in the slightest, my dear, for you are the fairest maiden in apartment 3C.” He gave a dramatic bow. You rolled your eyes, shoving him backwards. He stumbled slightly before regaining his footing.

“I’m the only ‘maiden’ in 3C, Sammy.”

“Not true, I’m not sure if you realized but Daniel also lives with us.” You let a giggle escape your lips as you fumbled with the tube of mascara in your hand. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

You finished getting ready not long after Sam left you, pulling a nice dress from your closet and throwing it on. You took your hair down from its clip to let it dry naturally. When you made your way back to the living room, four voices sounded down the hall. You appeared around the corner, staying silent until one of the twins noticed you. After a few minutes, Josh broke from their conversation to check if you’d shown up. His eyes lit up at the sight of you. You didn’t even find yourself annoyed when his infamous smile crossed his cheeks. He pushed past everyone to greet you. You welcomed his hug, to everyone’s surprise. “Looking good, as usual, mama.” He whispered as he let go. You bit your tongue, fighting back a snide comment at his pet name.

“Thanks, Joshua.” You replied. You let your eyes linger over him for a moment. He looked good, too, but you’d never let yourself say it out loud. It would fuel his ego a bit too much. He’d cut his hair, which you’d failed to notice in the photos Sam had sent you. It was shaved on the sides now, the top a curly mess. You noticed he looked a little less boyish since the last time you’d seen him, now growing in a bit of facial hair. He looked really good. After an awkward staring contest, Jake pushed his twin to the side to greet you, too. “To the bar, then?” You asked the group after a few moments. There was chorus of agreements.

It was dark out now, the sun just finished setting, leaving a rusty glow in the sky. The group of you walked down the busy sidewalk together, passing other groups of drunkards with the same idea. You were sandwiched between Sam and Danny, both of their arms wrapped around you. To be honest, you hated the bar. Sweaty drunk people dancing to shitty music, creepy guys who made your skin crawl, and always leaving feeling dirty. It was not something you desired to experience. But tonight, you were more than happy to go if it meant you got to be with your friends.

Jake led the way to a booth in the far corner, away from the crowd. You slid in first, and Josh jumped at the chance to sit beside you. You bit the inside of your cheek, wishing someone else had claimed the seat first, but you stayed silent. The night was filled with chatter, stories about the tour bus antics and the different cities they’d been lucky enough to visit. “You have to come with us sometime, y/n, I think you’d love it.” Josh said.

“I can’t just get up and go, Josh. I have to work.” You told him, shutting the idea down. It irked you slightly, knowing he thought you could just drop everything and leave.

“Take some vacation time, then. We’d love to have you come along. Plus, I hate the thought of you being here alone all of the time.” You had to take a double take when the words left his mouth. Not once, in your lifetime of friendship, could you ever recall him saying he hated something. ‘Weird’ you thought to yourself.

“Y-yeah, maybe.” You nodded, taking a long sip from your drink. After the silence lingered too long, the youngest brother jumped at the opportunity to break it.

“Shots, anyone?” Sam asked, eyeing you specifically. You shrugged.

“As long as it’s not bottom of the barrel liquor.”

“Don’t I always treat you well?” Sam snipped back. You smiled at him as he left the booth, Danny and Jake following suit, presumably also to get more drinks. That left you and Josh to yourselves.

“How’s your big girl job treating you?” Josh asked, taking sudden interest in your personal life.

“Uh, it’s work, I guess.” You let out a small laugh.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad! You work for a huge company - it must be exciting!” He smiled at you. You let out a long exhale, nodding and forcing a smile on your face. There it was, the dreaded, mind-numbing optimism.

Sam returned with a platter of shots. He sat them in front of you with a charming smile. “For the lovely lady.”

“All for me?” You raised an eyebrow.

“If you feel such a need to have all of them, then I suppose I couldn’t be too upset with you.” He joked. You took two off the tray and the lime slice. You threw one back with no salt or lime, barely flinching at the burn it left behind. You finished the second one and popped the lime in your mouth, sucking the juice from it. “Good god, woman. You could bring any man to his knees shooting liquor like that.” Sam said with a humorous, lustful tone.

“I’m just getting started, darlin’.” You mumbled. Chasing the shots with the last of your drink. “I’ve got to take a trip outside; I will be back.” You said, shooing Josh out of the booth. You went outside for a cigarette, letting the cool air settle deep into your bones, returning feeling slightly rejuvenated. When you went back inside, you stopped by the bar to grab another beverage. As you waited to be served, a man just around the same age as you squeezed into the limited space between you and the next person.

You shifted awkwardly, not wanting to bump shoulders with him. He turned to smile at you, looking you up and down. “What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing buying your own drinks?” He asked. You brushed the comment off, not responding. You drummed your fingertips off the sticky bar top, signalling your impatience. “Playing hard to get, eh?” He pried, making a move to put his arm around you. You tried to shimmy out of his grip, but you were packed too tightly between other people to get away.

“Nope, just not interested.” You huffed.

“Oh come on now, let me buy you a drink, at least. Then maybe another, and I might get you drunk enough to agree to come home with me.” He gave you a sly grin. You couldn’t see it, but Josh was staring daggers at him from the booth. He’d been the first to notice your delay in returning, and the first to catch sight of the sleazy guy trapping you beside him. He was ablaze with anger just at the thought of someone touching you when you didn’t want it.

“Yeah, not the best pickup line, buddy.” You shut him down once more. His grasp around your waist tightened as you saw a flash of anger in his eyes. Your heart drummed against your chest, hoping one of the boys would notice and help you out.

“Oh come on, quit being a tease. Showing up here in a dress like that? You’re begging someone to take you home.” He practically growled. Just as you were trying to formulate a good enough response to get him to leave you alone, a firm, but gentle hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Hey, man, get the fuck away from her.” The person snapped from behind you. You turned your head, expecting to see Jake due to the tone of voice, but you were very surprised to see Josh standing there. The unknown man scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“And who are you?” The guy puffed up his chest, wanting to seem scarier than he was.

“My boyfriend.” The words tumbled out of your mouth faster than you could process them. “Come on, babe.” You grabbed Josh’s hand and pulled him back towards the booth, finally getting a moment of freedom to allow you to do so. Josh was just as stunned as you were at your proclamation, but both of you brushed it off quickly.

“You okay, mama?” He asked, silently begging you to look at him.

“Yeah, thank you, Josh.” You breathed. Your hands were still intertwined. He nodded, eerily still, afraid that the physical contact would end.

“No need to thank me, I can still go and punch him, if you-“

“No, that’s okay.” You cut him off, even more surprised at the anger that was radiating off of him. You’d never seen Josh any less than content. His eyes held an emotion you weren’t sure Josh even knew existed. You hated to admit it, but you found it quite attractive. The thought of Josh getting that worked up on your behalf was causing you to have some conflicting thoughts. He nodded, looking to the floor.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat. You shook your head, giving him a small smile.

“No need.” You whispered back. You felt your eyes linger over his face, still trying to fully grasp the situation at hand. “Did you maybe want to play some pool? Take our minds off it?” You suggested. He gave a slow nod.

“Sure, yeah.” He mumbled.

You gathered the rest of the boys, making your way to a vacant pool table. You sat on a stool and watched the brothers play a viciously terrible game, stifling laughs the whole time. “Sam, what the fuck was that?” Danny asked, motioning to the ball he’d hit too hard, causing it to fall from the table to the floor.

“Hey! I may be pretty, but I never once said I was good at pool,” Sam raised his hands in defence. The game ended in a stalemate, as all parties gave up at the realization that there was no progress being made.

The night carried on without another hiccup. It was filled with laughs, jokes and stories that you likely would not remember by the time you woke up the next day. You were positively drunk, stumbling to the bar after Sam had convinced you to do a terribly hilarious karaoke performance with him. “Hey! Can I get another screwdriver and whatever that man has been getting all night!” You shouted at the bartender, pointing to Josh. She laughed at you but nodded, getting you the drinks.

You returned to the group, handing Josh the drink you’d bought for him. “For me?” He questioned.

“Yeah, as a thank you for earlier!” You practically yelled in his face. Your level of drunk could always be measured by the volume of your words. You were a loud drunk, for certain. Josh laughed at you.

“I think it’s time to get you home, mama.” He said, placing a hand on your hip as you tumbled into him. For once, the nickname sounded nice on his lips. His smile wasn’t irritating, and his hand felt fantastic on you. You weren’t sure what had come over you. Something changed while he was gone.

“Only if I’m going home with you.” You batted your eyelashes at him. You had no idea what you were saying, and you sure as hell would regret it in the morning. Josh gave you a questioning look, but clearly whatever you said had affected him greatly. His hand on your hip tightened a little bit and his breathing sped. “What? You are my boyfriend after all,” you giggled, trying to make light of the earlier situation.

“God, I wish,” he mumbled under his breath. You didn’t catch it, your inhibitions greatly diminished. He was grateful for it, not sure if he was ready to admit that proclamation yet.

“You look good too, Josh. I wanted to say it earlier, but, you know…” you trailed off. He didn’t know, but he didn’t question it, too scared that the moment of intimacy would end. His fingers grabbed at the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer to him. Your faces were inches apart. He could smell the vodka off your breath. Your chest was almost fully pressed against him. You were both quite intoxicated, not really understanding that you were on full display in front of everyone. Sam was watching everything, mouth agape in shock. He was quite aware of your usual disdain for his brother, not understanding what was happening. Jake had a smirk on his lips, always knowing it was bound to happen eventually.

“Thank you,” He whispered, voice sounding a bit strained, not breaking eye contact with you once. You took a long gulp of your drink, feeling the liquid courage coursing through your veins. Your skin was on fire with a feeling you’d never felt before. Sure, you’d had a fling or two, a short term relationship here and there, but you’d never felt desire quite like this. Seeing Josh angry had sparked a fire in you. It showed you he was much more complex than he let on. You two stayed in that position, not sure how to continue on from there.

“So are you going to take me home, Joshua?” You leaned in, whispering in his ear. He sprung to action in an instant, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair and ushering you out the door. Sam shared a look with his brothers, a silent protest, wondering if he should stop you.

“Leave them be, it’s been a long time coming,” Jake said.

“Okay, then.” Sam nodded. “Looks like we’re stuck with the tab and nowhere to go for a while.”

•

You practically fell through the door of your apartment, hanging on to Josh for dear life. His hands were exploring your body as you led him to your bedroom, wanting to become familiar with every curve. He kicked the door shut behind him, pushing you back onto your mattress. He stood for a moment, heart pounding in anticipation.

You reached out for him, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him on top of you. Your mouths met for the first time, coming together with a neediness you couldn’t comprehend. It was messy, your teeth clashed into his a few times but you were far too invested in the moment to care. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, feeling the soft skin that lie beneath. You hastily pulled it over his head, finally taking a good look at him.

Your distaste for his loud personality seemed to overshadow how attractive he really was. Your mouth was practically watering at the sight of him, more exposed than you’d ever really seen him. His eyes were dark with a look never shared from him before. You never wanted it to go away. “Can I?” He asked, tugging at the bottom of your dress. You gave an overly-eager nod, too desperate to chastise him for his politeness. He slipped his hands under, lifting the tight skirt up to your stomach, letting out a guttural groan at the sight before pulling it off completely. “Fuck, mama.” He said, running his fingertips over the smooth skin of your stomach. His hands found your breasts in a second, quickly leaning down to pull your nipple in his mouth. He let his tongue flick over it, biting down softly after, causing a sharp gasp to break from you. You felt him smile against you.

“You like what you see?” You managed to stutter out. He pulled back, eyes raking over you again.

“You have no idea.” He said lowly, causing a knot to form in your stomach. You reached over and unbuttoned his jeans, hastily trying to get him out of them. You wanted him. No, you needed him. He stood, shimmying out of them and discarding them somewhere on the floor. He took no time in resuming the position on top of you. “So beautiful,” he mumbled, his lips meeting the sensitive skin on your neck. You were aching, desperate for his touch. Your fingers knotted in his hair at the nape of his neck. His hand found your hip once more, gripping it with a strength that made your heart flutter. “Can’t believe this is all for me.” His fingers dipped into your panties, running his fingers through your arousal. Your hips bucked upwards off the bed to meet his touch.

The pornographic moan that slipped from your mouth when his hand fully connected with your cunt sent a shiver up his spine. “Please, Josh.” You begged.

“Please, what?” He teased, his fingers lightly brushing over the bundle of nerves you’d so desperately wanted him to touch.

“Touch me, please. I need it.” You realized how desperate you sounded, but any sense shame was long gone.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He whispered. The feeling of his body hovering over you, trapping you down to the bed, was overwhelming. When his finger dipped into you, you could’ve come undone on the spot. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He said before connecting your mouths again. His fingers pumped into you at an agonizingly slow pace, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit with every movement of his hand. He was driving you crazy.

He pulled his hand away just as you felt yourself reaching a climax. You whimpered at the loss of contact, eyes pleading with him to continue. “As pretty as you look begging for me to touch you, I’m not done with you yet.” He said, dipping his finger into his mouth to taste the wetness. He let out a soft moan as he pulled his finger from his mouth. You were throbbing, unsure how Josh had found this power over you seemingly overnight, unsure how he was this hot and you’d never noticed it before. He took one more look over your exposed body before hooking his fingers in your panties and pulling them off you completely. He kissed down your stomach, letting his lips linger just below your bellybutton.

His fingers slipped inside you once again, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from you. He resumed his pace from earlier, now letting his tongue slip over your increasingly sensitive clit. Your hands found his hair, pulling at the ends of it, completely lost in pleasure. Your hips rose from the bed, desperate for more. “That’s it, mama.” He mumbled against you, driving you crazy. “Can you cum for me?” He asked.

“Please don’t stop, Josh.” You begged, your breathing ragged.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He breathed against you. He curled his fingers upward and gave another flick of his tongue, pushing you over the edge. You clenched against his hand, slurring out a string of profanities mixed in with you crying his name. He watched you longingly as you rode out your orgasm, slowly tapering off his pace. “You make my name sound so pretty, baby.” He said pulling his boxers off and throwing them with the other discarded clothes. You admired him in the moonlight, noticing he was much larger than anyone you’d been with before.

He barely gave you time to recover before he lined himself up with your entrance. He slowly thrusted into you, giving you time to adjust. You were having none of it, pushing yourself down on him and gasping when he filled you up. His eyes fluttered closed, revelling in the feeling for only a moment before he began fucking you. He started slow, but your whimpers only fuelled him further. He reached back with his hands and grabbed your knees, pushing them into your chest. You let out a yelp when he pushed himself back into you, his tip brushing against your cervix. His movement stuttered, the look of lust quickly turning into concern. “You okay?” He asked, searching your eyes for an answer.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Please keep going.” You begged. It took him no time to resume, thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “Fuck, Josh!” You moaned. The sounds coming out of him were delicious. You felt your orgasm creeping up on you again.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He growled, looking down at your pleasure-ridden expression. “Look so pretty wrapped around me like this.” Your moans were desperate, never having felt this way before. You had no idea sex could be this enjoyable. You had no idea sex with Josh could be enjoyable, period.

“M’ gonna cum, Josh.” You rushed out. He let one of your legs drop back to the bed, reaching his thumb back down to swirl around your clit once more.

“Come on, Mama. Cum on my cock.” He spat. The authority in his tone was heavenly. The words alone were enough to send you over the edge, but the added sensation of the circles he’d been rubbing over your most sensitive spot sent you spiralling, clenching around him and crying out his name.

You were fucked-out; ready to be nurtured, but he wasn’t done. He slipped his arm under your ass, pulling you even closer to him. The new angle caused a new wave of pleasure to hit you. He let your other leg drop, now bringing his hand to pinch one of your nipples between his fingers. You bucked against him, unwillingly but desperately searching for another orgasm. When you met his face again, he was almost smirking at your reaction. “Can you give me one more?” He pleaded. Sweat was dripping off him, showcasing how hard he was working to give you a good time. You could tell how hard it was for him to hold back, to pause his orgasm to ensure you were satisfied. He hadn’t faltered once, needing this just as bad as you did. You managed to give him a nod. “One more, baby, you can do it.”

You were sure the neighbours woke up from the scream that tore out of you as your third orgasm took over. Your legs were shaking, your head was spinning, and the only words you could muster were his name. His hips stuttered, pausing when he bottomed out inside you. He let out a long moan as he spilled his release into you. You two stayed still, scared to move, unsure if what had just happened was real, or some sick dream.

Eventually, he pulled out slowly, causing you to sigh at the sudden emptiness. He stood and disappeared, coming back with something to wipe you clean. He collapsed back in bed beside you once he was finished, pulling you into him. You hummed at the warmth of his body, basking in the intimacy. He placed kisses over the back of your neck and shoulders, a silent thank you for the best night of his life.

“So about that boyfriend thing,” he finally spoke, humour laced in his words. You let out a soft giggle. It wasn’t long before you both drifted into sleep.

•

You woke with a startle, your phone ringing angrily from somewhere in your room. Your head was pounding and your stomach was churning. Your eyes fought hard to locate where the sound was coming from. The scattered clothes around the room took you with a shock, but not as big as the shock when you realized someone was wrapped around you. Your stomach dropped as the memories from the night prior flooded your brain. Pushing the dread away, you continued your search for your cell phone. You didn’t have time to worry about him, yet. Silently slipping out of Josh’s grasp, you tried your best not to wake him.

You were still naked, and very sore. As much as you may have regretted what happened, the thought of Josh between your legs sent a rush of emotion to the pit of your stomach. As annoying as he was, he was damn good in bed. You finally found your phone under your discarded dress, realizing you must have dropped it in the rush of last night, but by the time you picked it up it had stopped ringing. The moonlight cascaded through the bedroom window, letting you know that it wasn’t quite morning yet. Fear settled in your stomach at the realization whoever was calling probably didn’t have very good news.

You grabbed Josh’s t-shirt and threw it over your head, checking the screen of your phone to see you had multiple missed calls from your grandmother. The same fear from before seeped into your veins as you stepped into the hallway to call her back. The phone barely rang before she answered. “Nana?” You whispered, praying it was her that answered the phone.

“Hey, pumpkin,” She greeted back. You let out a sigh of relief.

“What are you doing up? It’s..” you pulled the phone away to look at your screen “like five in the morning, there.” You stated.

“It’s your mom.” You could practically hear her grimace through the phone. The panic you had before grew even larger, but a new found anger came with it. Your mother had never been your favourite person. She’d had you when she was quite young and left as soon as she could. She had no shame in sticking her responsibilities on your grandmother, who’d never once treated you like you weren’t her own daughter. The last you’d heard from your mom was when she showed up for your university graduation, high on whatever drugs she’d taken before the ceremony, and embarrassed you for the millionth time.

“Uh-huh,” you said, not certain about what she would tell you next.

“She’s sick again, I’m at the hospital now.” Sick was subject. Your grandmother never liked to admit that your mother was an addict. You always presumed that it hurt her to do so, knowing that she felt like she’d failed your mom.

“Should I come home?” Was all you asked.

“I think so, pumpkin.” The sadness dripping from her tone was more than enough of an answer.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You didn’t give her time to respond before you hung up. You went back into your room, barely glancing at the sleeping boy in your bed. You pulled a new pair of underwear on and some sweatpants, not immediately recognizing them as your own. You concluded that they must have belonged to one of your roommates, as you had to cuff them a few times just to make them the right length for your legs. ‘Lanky bastards’ you thought to yourself.

You grabbed a backpack, shoving the necessities in it, being unable to process a single thought. You were so angry at your mother. It had been a whole lifetime of broken promises, lies, and embarrassment. Multiple hospital stays and near death experiences that brought everyone to her bedside, just for her to recover and disappear again. Asking for money, begging for a place to stay, but barely ever an ‘i love you’, a thank you, or even the common decency to tell you who your father was. You hated her, hoping deep down that maybe this would be the last time, that it would all just be over, but you felt dirty for even thinking that.

A sob left your mouth as you pulled your hair back into a messy bun. You tried your best to stay silent as you pulled out your laptop out and searched for the next flight back to Michigan. You pulled your knees to your chest as you scavenged through the ticket sales, crying into the worn fabric of your pants. You found one leaving later that morning. By pure luck, you managed to get a ticket. You were unsure if you should buy a second, thinking maybe you could ask Sam or Danny to come with you. You bought it just in case you wanted company, not caring about the wasted money if you chose to go alone.

“Y/n?” A sleep-laced voice broke you from your thoughts. ‘Fuck’ you thought to yourself, wiping away your tears. “What’s going on?” Josh asked, rubbing his eyes, making a move to sit up. You refused to look at him, trying to transfer the plane tickets from your browser to your phone.

“Nothing, Josh. Go back to sleep.” You snapped, words as cold as ice. He had to stop himself from recoiling at your tone. He’d hoped that maybe after last nights events you’d finally warm up to him a bit more. He knew you held some sort of disdain for him, but he wasn’t certain why.

“Are you crying?” He ignored your statement, now standing to come over to you. He pulled on his boxers, covering himself up.

“No.” A grand lie. “Everything is fine, Josh. Just go back to sleep.” You sighed. His eyes fell on your computer screen.

“You’re going back home?” He questioned. “Today?” His heart dropped, hoping that he didn’t cause whatever you were feeling in that moment. When you didn’t answer, his anxiety grew even larger. “Did I do something?”

“No!” You finally broke, more tears falling from your eyes. “It’s my fucking mother, again!” You slammed your laptop shut, finally pulling the boarding pass up on your phone. “Just when things are going okay, when I think that maybe she’s done ruining my life, something else happens.” You choked out. Josh crouched to be eye level with you, now wide awake. “She’s in the hospital again. My grandmother says it’s not good, but they say that every time, and she always manages to bounce back. Makes everyone drop everything to run to her side, then fucking gets up and leaves and we don’t hear from her until she needs something or ends up back in the ICU!” You were pulling at your hair as you spoke, so distraught you didn’t even realize what you were saying.

Josh knew that whatever was happening was serious. Very rarely did you ever willingly tell anyone about your mother, or even really speak about her at all. He knew that you hated her, and that she was never around, but that was about it. He didn’t even know her name. As much as you were hurting, he felt his heart soften at the fact you were willing to share your troubles with him. “You know, I don’t even know where she lives, Josh. I’ve never been to my mothers house. I don’t know if she has a boyfriend, or if I have any siblings she abandoned with somebody else, or if she lives on the fucking street, or what. I don’t know her, at all.” A scoff fell from your lips as you finished. “The only time she bothers to call me is when she needs money, or somewhere to crash for the night. I don’t even have her phone number saved, because it’s a new one every time she calls.” You cried. “I was hoping when I moved here I could get away from it but she’s always going to ruin my life!”

“Mama, just take a breath-“

“I don’t even remember the last time she said she loved me. I’m tired of uprooting my entire life every time she decides to fuck up again. I don’t even want to go, but I’d feel too guilty if this time she finally decides to kick the bucket. Knowing my luck, that’s what would happen! Then I’d be the bad guy because I wouldn’t be there, that I refused to see my mother when before she died!” You were practically screaming the words. If the others hadn’t been so drunk when they returned, they likely would have woken up to your breakdown.

“Y/n,” Josh started, desperate for your attention. He was panicking. You finally looked up to meet his eyes. He took your cheeks in his hands, wiping away stray tears with his thumbs. “Baby, it’s going to be okay. I promise, everything is going to be fine. Your mom is gonna pull through, and maybe things will be different this time.” You recoiled at his statement, pushing him away from you.

“Jesus Christ, Josh!” You were furious. “Enough with the fucking positive vibes and the optimism. I cannot deal with that right now. My mother sucks, the situation is terrible, and it’s never going to change until she finally fucking dies!” You yelled. Your head was searing with a migraine and you felt like you could throw up. “I don’t understand how you always have a smile on your face, how things never go wrong for you, o-or how you always try to see the bright side of things. Sometimes, things are just shitty, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” You stood, wanting to get your bag packed and out of his company as fast as you could.

“Mama, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“And quit it with the pet names!” You snapped, tearing your phone charger out of the wall. “We fucked, that’s it. It was a drunken mistake and it will never happen again.” Josh tried to reason with himself, wanting to believe your harsh words were only because you were upset, but it felt like you had stabbed him. “I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about me. You cannot begin to understand what this feels like. I don’t think you’ve ever been anything other than happy; you have no idea what I’m going through right now. You try and console me and tell me that she’ll be okay, and it’ll all work out. Maybe I don’t want it to, maybe I just want her to fucking die, so I can leave and run away and start over. I just want to live a life that she has nothing to do with.” He was beginning to get angry now, too. “God, you always do this. You always make me feel like I’m an idiot for being upset!”

“Why I’m so concerned about you?” He shot back. “Are you that fucking blind?” You paused, unsure how to react to his words. You turned to look at him, finally willing to give him your attention. Something about Josh snapping made you realize that you might have overstepped. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I care about you, a lot. You keep shitting on me because I’m ‘always happy’ and you’ve ‘never seen me frown’ but have you ever thought about why that is?” He asked, taking a step closer to you. He took your face in his hands again, forcing you to keep eye contact with him, not even allowing you to ignore him anymore. “I am in love with you, and maybe the reason you’ve never seen me upset is because I am always happy to be around you!” You were frozen, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. “I hate seeing you sad. It kills me. So yeah, I always throw out something optimistic because I want nothing more than to make you feel better. I’m not doing it to make you feel like shit.”

Your chest ached at his words, feeling like the worst person in the world for misjudging him so badly. “Did last night really mean nothing to you?” His voice broke as he asked. In turn, it shattered your heart.

“No, of course it didn’t.” You reached up to run your thumb over his cheek, wanting to take back every mean thing you had said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m scared, and I’m hurting, and I don’t know what to do or where to go. I know it’s not an excuse, but I had no idea that you felt like that for so long.” You took a breath, searching for something in his eyes that would make you feel better like it always did. “I don’t hate you, Josh. I could never hate you. You absolutely piss me off sometimes, but I don’t know… last night when you stood up for me like that, something changed. Seeing you doing something other than smiling, hearing you say words that weren’t dripping with optimism, I dont know… made me realize that there was more to you than I ever really noticed. That you were more than this ray of sunshine in an untouchable bubble.” You had to laugh for a moment at your own words. His hands dropped from your face and grabbed you by your waist, pulling you into him. He kissed you again, gentle and more meaningful than the ones you’d shared the night before. You never wanted it to end. When he pulled away you had to stop yourself from pulling him back in.

“It scares me, Josh. Im terrified. We’ve always been so different that I never could have imagined we’d end up here, but now we are, and I don’t mind it.” You admitted. “I don’t know how to let people help me. I’m always defensive and closed off; I know I’m grumpy almost all of the time, and I wish I wasn’t, but my life has never been that nice to me. Im still waiting for the day Sammy or Danny will tell me they don’t want me here anymore. I’m not used to good things lasting, and I’m so scared that if anything happens, I’ll lose all of you. Hell, everything is fine and I’m still always scared I’m going to lose you guys.” You confessed. His eyes softened.

“You could never lose us.” He soothed your worry. “You could never lose me, that’s for sure.” He said, pulling you into his chest. You rested there for a moment, feeing at peace in all of the chaos. “All I ever wanted to do was make you happy. I still want that, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m so scared, Josh.” You whispered, reiterating what you had told him earlier. You were terrified, but also painstakingly curious about what it would be like. You wanted to know what it was like to love him, and to be loved by him. Really, genuinely loved. You wanted to know him, the little things that you’d always overlooked. You found yourself yearning to be held by him, for some sort of comfort. For once, you weren’t annoyed at the thought of his optimistic words, you almost wanted him to say them, to soothe you with them. “I’m terrified of everything right now. I don’t even know what to do.”

“Just let me be here, then. Let me help you through it.”

“Okay,” you whispered. His hands were burning into you. You could feel the emotion radiating through his skin. “I think that you already make me happy.” You told him. He pulled you tighter to him, if it was even possible. “I mean, I’ve been with people, but I’ve never felt anything like I did last night. Even now, when everything feels like it’s falling apart, you’re with me and it doesn’t feel hopeless like it always does.” He placed his lips to the top of your head. You closed your eyes, breathing in his scent. The cologne he put on last night was still lingering on him.

“What time does your flight leave, mama?” He whispered.

“Eleven.” You answered, not daring to open your eyes or move away from him.

“Think I can still get a seat beside you?” He asked. You looked up at him, tears starting again. As if you already knew how this would end up, you remembered the second ticket you’d bought. Still, you felt guilty asking him to do something like that for you.

“You don’t have to do that.” You shook your head. “It’s too much.”

“I want to.” He assured you, tucking your stray hairs behind your ear. “What kind of guy would I be if I let my girl deal with something like this all by herself?” You heart fluttered at his words, swelling with affection. You never wanted anyone to be a part of your mess. You wouldn’t even talk to Sam about it. Danny pried bits and pieces of your troubles from you, but never enough to know the full story. But with Josh in front of you, touching you with so delicately, saying the words you always wanted to hear from somebody, you couldn’t help yourself. You wanted him to come with you, even if it was selfish.

“Okay.” You agreed.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked, his thumb and forefinger bringing you chin up to look at him. You nodded. “Then I’m all in. I’ll be here until the day you don’t want me here anymore, Mama. I promise.”

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