#Cast Iron Burner for Lazy Man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago

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Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.

He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”

“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”

“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”

You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.

You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.

Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.

You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.

“Last night…” you began.

“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Arvin,” you uttered.

“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”

“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”

His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.

“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”

A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”

“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”

He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.

“Go on,” he snarled.

“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”

“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”

You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”

His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.

Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.

“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.

“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”

“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.

“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”

“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”

“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”

“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”

He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.

Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.

Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.

“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.

“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”

🚬

The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.

You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.

He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.

He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.

“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”

You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.

“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”

You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.

He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.

Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.

Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.

“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”

You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.

“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.

“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”

He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.

He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.

“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”

You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.

His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.

“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.

He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.

You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.

Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.

You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh.

You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.

“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”

“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.

“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”

“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”

“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”

You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”

“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.

You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.

“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”

He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.

The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.

He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.

As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.

You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.

🚬

Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.

His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.

“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”

“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”

“Arvin,” you shied away.

He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.

“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”

You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”

You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.

You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.

#Arvin Russell #arvin russell x reader #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #Of something beautiful but annihilating #the devil all the time

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lochrannn · 4 years ago

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Hi! For the Diego and Lila prompt thing, I was thinking about 44, 46 or 50, whichever inspires you the most ❤️

I know I’ll end up doing all of them but the first one I got an idea for was 44. Thanks so much for the prompt! I’m so glad I’m not on my own in my love for these two idiots!

Read “A Moving Gesture” over on AO3 or below the cut.

Prompt: “You’ve always felt like home.”

No Warnings.

Diego pours syrup over his waffles and bacon strips and looks up to watch Lila push something around in her frying pan with a spatula, while he idly uses his fork to tear off a bit of his waffle and pop it in his mouth.

They both have a day off work and whenever that happens they try and spend a lazy morning together before going off to deal with their respective errands. They couldn't agree on breakfast, as Diego wanted waffles and Lila wanted a full English so they've each made their own.

While he chews he takes the time to let his gaze roam over Lila's body. It's fine, she tells him she likes it, so he feels like they both get something out of his inability to keep his eyes off her.

She's wearing nothing but underwear and one of his white undershirts, which she's tied a knot in the front of. Diego is currently following the line of her leg up to the swell of her butt, admiring how her dark skin accentuates the tone of her slender muscles and he thinks if he licked a strip up her thigh, her skin would probably taste sweeter than his waffles.

That's weird.

He's glad he didn't say that out loud.

Diego doesn't always know how to put into words how absolutely insane Lila drives him, but he hopes she knows and he tries as best he can to show her.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Knife Boy” Lila says sharply, and Diego looks up to see that she's spotted him staring.

He can't come up with a quick response, so he lets a lazy smile break out on his face, one he knows she can't resist, and quirks his eyebrow a little suggestively.

True to form, Lila rolls her eyes, but lifts the heavy cast iron pan up from the burner, saunters over to him while she holds the pan out and away from her in an impressively strong grip, and stops in front of him to plant a solid kiss on his lips.

When she pulls away, Diego watches her lick the syrup off her lips and the images that evokes shoot straight to his groin. Lila smirks at him, knowing full well the effect she's had and somehow Diego feels like he's lost a game he didn't know he was playing. He doesn't actually care as long as it involves making out with his super hot girlfriend.

Lila uses her spatula to push the fried eggs, mushrooms, and tomatoes, as well as some gunk she calls black pudding on to a plate that already has beans and toast on it, and sits down in her chair after leaving the pan on the stove, which she's turned off with a twist of the dial.

Before she starts tucking into her food, Lila lifts her legs and pops her feet on Diego's lap and while they eat in comfortable silence, he uses his free hand to massage the sole of one foot at a time.

Diego has finished his breakfast and is using both his thumbs to push into the bottom of Lila's foot, making her twitch a little on occasion but he can also tell that her posture is steadily relaxing, when she asks him, “So what're you getting up to today, then?”

“Was gonna head over to the mansion. Luther wants some help fixing up one of dad's old cars and I think Allison told him it would be a good opportunity for the two of us to bond. We've been doing just fine, I don't know why we need organized play-dates...” Diego says, laughing a little sheepishly.

“Don't tell me you won't enjoy getting all greasy and tinkering with heavy machinery!” Lila chuckles and kicks him very lightly in the chest, causing a slapping sound to reverberate around the kitchen when the sole of her foot hits his naked torso.

Diego grabs her foot and holds on tight, as he's pretty certain she's about to do it again from the way she smirked at the silly sound.

He ignores her antics and goes on, “Was gonna swing by the post office as well and get my mail from the PO box...”

Diego had set up a PO box after his third move in six months when he was nineteen and it had served him well through the years. He'd even held on to it after living at the gym for a few years, because with the anger he drew from Al if he had to take a call for him, Diego never wanted to imagine how the old man would respond if he had to take in his mail as well.

“I was thinking about that, actually...” he begins a little uncertainly and he isn't sure whether Lila is properly listening, as she is concentrating on cleaning up her plate with her last bits of toast.

He squeezes her foot meaningfully to get her attention and when she looks at him, he swallows a little nervously and goes on, “... I was thinking... uh, maybe I could start putting this address down...”

He's not quite certain he's brought his point across, at first, but the way Lila's eyes go wide and then narrow, makes him think that probably he has and there's a sinking feeling in his gut at her reaction.

“You want to use my address for you mail?” she asks harshly, and Diego tries to interject, to explain himself better, but she goes on, “ 'cause you're tired of having to collect it at your PO box?”

“That's not... no, fuck... why does everything have to be a confrontation with you?” Diego tries not to be exasperated but this is not how he wanted this conversation to go.

“Oh please,” Lila scoffs, “You threw a hissy fit last night because I chucked out the tooth paste before properly squeezing out the absolute dregs out of the tube.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, but Diego notices that she's not pulled her feet off his lap, so he thinks this situation might still be salvageable. “I just don't like being wasteful,” he says in a small voice with a half shrug.

Lila pulls one of her feet out of his grip again and puts the sole against the side of his stomach, the way she might her hand if she were closer and wanted to reassure him.

“You know, for a man who has seen his fair share of apocalypses, you seem oddly hung up on the small stuff...” She gets up and takes their plates over to the sink.

While she rinses them under the tap Diego sighs heavily, “It's not just my mail. I was thinking I could pay rent here, bring my stuff over... you know... move in... officially...”

Lila shuts off the water, puts the dishes on the draining rack, dries her hands on the dish towel, and turns around to lean on the counter. “Why?” she asks bluntly.

“Huh?” Diego says dumbly, a little surprised at her question.

“Why do you want to move in here? We talked about this when I first got the place. I like my independence but you're always welcome here, you know that. Why do you need to live here 'officially'?” she even does air-quotes on the last words.

Diego feels crestfallen. Not only does Lila not want him to move in, which was always a possibility, he knew when he started thinking about it, though he's more disappointed than he expected, but on top of that it seems like he really hasn't been able to convey to her how much she means to him, how much he needs her.

Sure, they tell each other they love each other, but maybe that's not always enough.

He starts rubbing his hands together. He wants to explain himself, but before he even opens his mouth he can feel the words slipping from his mind, he knows for certain that his tongue won't co-operate, so he stares down at his hands a little miserably instead.

But Lila must work out what's going on, because she walks over to him, strokes her hand through his hair and then unceremoniously plops down in his lap. While he reaches out to grab her waist and thigh, to make sure she won't slip off, she says none to gently, “Come on, spit it out!”

Diego huffs a laugh at the way the harsh and insensitive words contradict her gentle gesture. He takes a deep breath to settle his nerves, tries to work out what he wants to say, arranges the words in his head and says, “Whe-hen I left the mansion when I was s-s-seventeen, I didn't think I'd ever find a home again, let alone want one,” he's struggling to control his breathing, ironic as he doesn't need it to survive, but he does need it to talk properly, so he takes another deep breath, “but with you that's changed! You've always felt like home to me, Lila, and I just don't understand why we can't build one together!”

He looks her in the eyes and is trying to read what she's thinking but he's finding it hard to tell.

Then she leans in and kisses him on the temple and when she pulls back there's a little smile on her lips that has his heart stutter in his chest and she says, “Good answer! I'll call the landlady tomorrow about the rental agreement, I need to talk to her anyway about the light fitting in the bathr-mmmmmhhh”

Diego cuts her off by kissing her deeply. Right now he couldn't give two shits about the light fitting in the bathroom, but he's already looking forward to that being another one of their shared problems.

#fanfic #tua #lila pitts #diego hargreeves #dielila #liego #diego x lila #diego/lila #prompt fill

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bbqpartsfactory-blog · 7 years ago

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grillpartszone-blog · 8 years ago

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nhlhoser · 7 years ago

Text

On The Rocks- 22

Part 21 Masterlist

Word count: 2670

probably swearing

It was about 5 pm when our stomachs decided it was time for food seeing as we've only had espresso and a hissy fit, we were quite hungry. About 3 unsuccessful suggestions of where to go and some feelings hurt on the way, I wordlessly rose of my bed got changed in my closet into actual underwear, my softest gray leggings and old baggy quarter zipper burgundy sweater. My leggings barely touch my ankle because of the length of my legs.

"We are going out," I announced re-enter my room to the lazy looking teen fiddling with my TV remote. He eyes my outfit for a clue of where we are going, me clearly looking just as lazy before just this time my own clothing doesn't give him much of a clue where.

"and where are we going?" Auston humored with an amused smirk on his face.

"Well, first I am gonna see what I have in the freezer and I think I should have gnocchi or lasagna prepped. Then you and I are going shopping," I smiled brightly gaining Auston's attention at shopping but his posture is doubtful in my intentions.

"Two things, where are we going shopping? and Nonna Gnocchi?" Auston's tone changes from scared to excited to hopeful all in one sentence as he slowly gets up from my bed, turning off the TV. I remember Auston being chirped for his love of shopping that has spanned way before he was making the big bucks that he is now, but this shopping won't be to his standards.

"Grocery shopping 'cause I saw your fridge," Smirking as Auston groans falling back onto my bed with a pout on his lips and a blush on his cheeks. "Come on Auston. Didn't you tell us that your Mum and dad are coming in this week or are already here?" I prodded already knowing that his parents are indeed in town because every time they are, Auston goes socially MIA and he hasn't been hanging around with Mitch or Morgan as often.

"Yeah, they're already in town but staying in a hotel. Claiming that 'I need my space for this important time of the season'," Auston drops his voice an octave mimicking what his dad is supposed to sound like probably. "So, I have been taking them to restaurants around the city," He sat up with a shrug.

"Okay but Auston was still going to grocery shopping because this is an important time of the season," I whined grabbing his arm half ass pulling him but he doesn't budge. "Okay, I'm not gonna talk about hockey anymore but you still need food," I pulled more, he smirks at the failed attempts to move him, thinking that I can't lift him.

"How much do you weight?" I asked pulling away from my plans being determined by his next answer as I assess him.

I think I can lift him.

"220, why?" He frowns as I smirked well looks like this gonna be a PR.

I lift 200 pounds in the gym what's another 20? Bracing my legs comfortably, bending my knees I wrap my arms under his and tugging him swiftly off the bed with minor difficulty lifting dead weight. He stumbled before gaining his balance now standing in front of me with a shocked face.

"Great, come on," I stepped abound him about to walk out the door.

"Well, it's rude to ask a lady's weight," I was lifted into the air and flung back on my bed, landing on my back staring wide-eyed at Auston who's smirking.

"Come on," He dragged out as if it was my fault we are still in my room instead of downstairs. Rolling my eyes I huff dramatically taking my time getting off the bed, hurrying past Auston bumping his shoulder as I pass.

"Where's Steph and Mitch?" I wondered aloud confused by the lack of noise in the apartment coming down the stairs into the living room seeing no one either.

"Mitch's parents are treating him to dinner for getting into the playoff," Auston following behind me tossing his body onto the couch with a groan. "Mmm, You also gotta fix ma back," He stretched like a cat before looking for the remote.

"Yeah later," I waved him off going into my freezer looking for food. Pulling out the Gnocchi as the lasagna is way too big for only two people eating it. Switching the stove on, I fill a pot with water setting it on the lit stove to boil. Ignoring the sound of the TV get into my cooking zone, chopping some onion and basil for the red sauce.

I was so in the zone that I didn't notice Auston move from his spot on the couch to on a stool to watch me work around the kitchen. I had just put the pasta into the water and was about to ask Auston to grab the sauce for me when I noticed the vacant couch, his laugh startling me from being right beside me. My hand instantly covered my chest where my heart pounds, I stare wide-eyed as he laughs.

"Jesus, Wear a bell or something," I breathe still shaken up. Auston just shakes his head at me as he laughs some more at my expense but slowly settles for a cheeky grin when I just stare at him.

"anyways, Can you grab a jar of sauce from the laundry room? thanks," It was more of a statement than a question but he gets up and gets it for me anyways. He reminds me of me when I was really young cooking with my Nonna, easily fascinated by anything in the kitchen. His posture is lax as he lazily bends down at the waist to grab the jar, prompting me to look away when I realize I was watching his butt the entire way.

Opting to find my skillet to hide my reddening cheeks, I turn on the spot before he even is vertical. Bending myself because genuinely I don't remember where I put it last, sorting through the various metal pots and pans until I find the cast iron skillet at the very back shouting in victory.

Ignoring the man watching me, I get back into cooking. Placing the skillet on the burner as I wait for it to heat I strain the cooked pasta and blanching it in cold water. Once the skillet was radiating heat I drizzled some olive oil let it bubble a bit before scraping in the onion and basil. Turning away from the stove for the jar this time not spooked by Auston's presence. Grabbing the mason jar sitting in front of him, its already opened. He smiles a contagious smile that makes him look a lot younger despite the growing facial hair.

"Grazie," I laid the accent on thick with a wink, earning a brighter smile and chuckle.

Finishing up the food, Auston works around me to set the table and getting water bottles. I set the steaming bowl of food between us in the center of the table. The scent is mouth water and my stomach ached for it. Wasting no time in dishing out the portions and digging, the only sounds utensils hitting the plates, chewing and moaning.

"My Nona's recipe for the sauce but the pasta is a small Italian place in Markham, definitely not as good as my Nona's," My tone is sentimental as Auston hums his pleasure still stuffing his face. Occasionally taking a breath or a sip of water.

"It's hard to believe it get's, better than this because I have to about 225 now," His words muffled by the food still in his yap.

"Probably helps that its like 6 pm and it's our first meal," I noted finishing off my plate, glancing at the dish debating if I want more or my taste buds want more. Instead of committing to another portion, I steal forkfuls straight from the bowl between us.

"Mmm, I found a solution for my lack of fresh food," Auston gleamed with a devilish smirk pausing for another mouthful of pasta. "You can just come cook for me and then I don't have to order the meal preps anymore," His suggestion is a joke but there is some hope in his eyes as he waits for me to react.

"Sure," I forked another mound of food into my mouth, Auston sat across from me shocked by my ease.

"Wait, actually?" He smiled but was on guard.

"Yeah but I have a price," I added ominously purposely to spook him, which it did because he paused mid-bite to watch me waiting for me to say what the price is.

"Don't hide injuries or I swear to a high power I'll let you starve," I pointed my fork at him for dramatic effect as he slowly nods eyes wide.

"That simple?"

"Can be if you want it to be," I riddle off picking up my plate and the now empty bowl between us and working on cleaning up the kitchen. Auston comes in silently rinsing his plate and putting it into the dishwasher as I handle the pots and skillet, the cast-iron needing different treatment than the other metal pots.

"Deal?" I quirked once everything was cleaned up, turning to Auston my hand outstretched for a shake.

"Deal," shaking on it.

Shopping with Auston is a pleasant experience, he follows my lead majority of the time but will veer off if something catches his eye and returns putting it in the cart. He would pout lightly if it was something unhealthily as if he thought I would scold him for it but I'd shrug and continue pushing the cart down the isles occupationally sneaking things I like into the cart.

"Steak or chicken?" Auston held up the different meats, recipes for both came into the forefront of my mind instantly.

"Both," Auston shrugged carefully placing the meats into the last empty place at the bottom. Continued down more isles filling the cart more, coming to the baking products Auston just by-passes it but I venture down, grabbing the stable; flour, baking soda/powder and bulk of salt. I also grab ingredients for desserts; vanilla, cocoa powder, and chocolate chips.

"Amelia?" I can hear Auston's voice call from a couple aisles over clearly just realizing I wasn't behind him anymore. I see him before he sees me, he's peering into isles. I can't see his eyes from the black hat covering his eyes but I can see the frown on his usually emotionless face.

"Aus," clumsily spinning to my voice Auston relaxes he glares as I approach with the cart.

"where did you go?" He lets up as he looks for the added items in the cart stops and lifts the chocolate chips with a grin. "Okay, I approve as long as these eventually turn into cookies," He tosses the large bag of chips into the cart once again.

"I think we covered everything to last you for the next couple of weeks," I noted as the cart is full to the brim of fresh produce and meats with of course some junk food. Mentally cataloging what's in the cart to make sure we got everything, a quiet voice interrupted my thoughts as a small boy approached with a smile wearing a Leafs shirt and hat covering his blonde locks.

"Are you Auston Matthews?" He whispered scared that he might not be Auston. My heart melted instantly, having a soft spot cutie little kids.

"Yes, I am! What's your name, buddy?" Auston knelt down being way too tall for the beaming boy, he smiles soft as the boy gasps and says his name is 'Spencer'. They became to talk about hockey and the little man looked like he his face was gonna split from smiling so much.

"Spencer?!" An older lady with matching blonde hair but brown eyes, unlike Spencer's bright blues. I wave her over pointing to the boy who's over the moon and safe.

"Spencer, You can't run off like that," his mother scolded out of breathing, bending down to pull her son into an embrace.

"I know ma, but the look is Auston Matthews," he beamed like that was suppose to make up for the fact for giving her a heart attack.

"Who?" The lady not knowing who Auston was but the boy was quick to roll his eyes at his mother confused face.

"He's only the best hockey player, ma" he drew out dully. His mom shook her head at him with a laugh.

"Do you want a photo?" Auston offered standing up to his full height again. Spencer instantly shift his hate and shirt making sure they look good, Auston pulls the boy up into arms resting him on his hip.

The mom takes mutinous shots as per Spencer's request. Auston continues a quiet conversation with the boy until the boy whispered something into Auston's ear prompting him to look over to me with a warm smile before putting him down, signing his shirt and hat.

"That was the cutest thing ever," I gushed as we got to the car as There wasn't really a time a gush in the store as Spencer was near until we got out of the building and to the car where we stand now loading in the trunk carefully.

"One of my favorite parts of my job are kids like Spencer, maybe some more than others given the situation but it warms the heart and it motivating," He was more relaxed now than before as he shuts the trunk.

"What did he whisper to you?" I recall the boy's red cheeks and Austons smile.

"Secret can't tell you," he teased getting into the car smirking as rolls my eyes at him, following suit.

This car ride is a lot more pleasant than the ride to my place before, the memory of Austons anger leaves unpleasant feeling sitting on my chest the whole way up to Auston apartment arms loaded with bags. He goes back down to get the rest that we couldn't manage.

Slipping out onto the balcony as I wait for Auston to return, the fresh air is crisp on my overheated face from too much thinking. Setting myself onto the same couch from the morning tucking my feet under me, I took in the view of Toronto's night lights but this mornings view puts this to shame.

Checking my phone its 8 pm.

Sighing the feeling doesn't let up and only gets worse when Auston returns, putting things away before coming out and sitting beside me saying nothing but he has to be able to sense the tension.

"I'm so sorry for making you feel like I don't trust you, Auston." I blurted out relieving the knot in my chest. "I have a bad habit of sabotaging myself,"

"I'm sorry for being an ass about it, I went the wrong way about it trumping my feelings over yours, you clearly have your reason and I should accept that," he pulled me into his side.

"I've shared more with you in the past 24 hours than I ever did with my old therapist," Auston chuckles but doesn't comment thankfully, just sitting with me.

"I should probably get home soon," I started a bit later when the temperature was too low for me.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Auston said sporadically, ignoring my comment on leaving.

"Nothing that I can think of," I racked my brain for anything.

"Then stay,"

"Sure, but can we go in? I'm cold,"

Letting someone in is seeming easier as the day goes by and Auston is only making it easier.

It scares me.

But it doesn't scare me how easy it is to eat junk food well watching dumb comedy's laughing our asses off on his couch, or how easy it was to fall asleep again in his arms for the third or fourth time since I met him.

But who’s counting anyways?

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #on the rocks

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grillpartsfactory-blog · 7 years ago

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junker-town · 7 years ago

Text

How Trae Young became the biggest thing in college basketball

There’s no fighting it. This is Trae Young’s year.

The defining storylines of the 2017-18 college basketball season were supposed to be set before the first games even tipped off.

How will the FBI probe into the sport affect the season?

Are Marvin Bagley, Michael Porter and DeAndre Ayton the next trio of super freshmen?

Can Sean Miller and Arizona finally get over the hump and into the Final Four?

Is Miles Bridges going to have a Blake Griffin-esque sophomore season?

What’s Grayson Allen going to do next?

We’re less than two months into the campaign and Trae Young has already pushed all those things to the back burner. The 6’2 freshman point guard who wasn’t even a top 20 player in the 2017 recruiting class has made the college basketball season his by putting up outrageous numbers and doing so in a new and dazzling manner.

Young currently leads the nation in both scoring (29.6 points per game) and assists (10.7 assists per game). The only player in the history of Division-I to lead the nation in both those categories at the end of a season was Dick Groat, who averaged 26.0 points and 7.6 assists per game at Duke during the 1951-52 season. With all due respect to Groat — who went on to be an eight-time MLB All-Star and the 1960 National League MVP — there were approximately 3,000 fewer Division-I basketball players in 1952 than there are today. If Young were able to pull of the feat in today’s climate of 351 co-existing D-I basketball programs, it would be nothing short of miraculous.

Young’s impact on the game has been so far-reaching this season that it’s become a common question at the press conferences of coaches who have seemingly no connection to the Sooner star. Kentucky’s John Calipari, who made Quade Green his class of 2017 point guard priority after Young had been unwilling to ink with UK during the early signing period, was asked about what might have been earlier this week.

“I knew he was good, which is why we recruited him so long,” Calipari said. “But I didn’t realize he’d be able to do what he’s doing. Basically 80 percent or 70 percent of their baskets, he either scores or assists. That’s a ridiculous number. So I’m happy for Trae. I hope we don’t ever have to play him.”

Calipari has built a living on getting the best freshmen in the country to come play for him and put team in front of self. That being the case, Young’s shoot first reputation during his AAU days might have been what convinced Calipari that re-focusing his attention on Green, a more traditional floor general, wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It also might be what finally pushed Young to Oklahoma, a program still trying to adjust to life without Buddy Hield. The post-Hield era allowed Lon Krueger to make a keepable promise to Young that if he became a Sooner, the offense would run entirely through him from day one of the season. That promise was kept, and the results have surpassed anyone’s wildest expectations.

In a somewhat ironic twist of fate, the one and done era has presented college basketball with a star power problem. Sure, we get to see future NBA superstars who would have otherwise skipped college entirely suit up in university duds for a few months every winter, and that’s cool. But right when the sports world learns the name of a standout freshman, who he plays for and what he does especially well, it’s time for him to move on and become a millionaire.

This is all fine for the young man, but for college basketball it presents an issue. A player becoming widely recognizable means he’s likely not long for the amateur game. And in the rare event that there is a widely recognizable player who hangs around the college game for multiple seasons, he now becomes saddled with the stigma of not being good enough. Otherwise why play the game for free?

In keeping with this modern phenomena, Young’s rapid ascension to the top of the college hoops stardom rankings has come hand-in-hand with questions about how his game might translate at the NBA level.

The easiest response to the hoard of Steph Curry comparisons that are now floating around everywhere is to say that they’re lazy and unfair. But isn’t this is the case with virtually every amateur to pro comparison? The whole point of the exercise is to frame a player’s skill set in a way that isn’t wholly accurate but easier to digest for the average sports mind. Young isn’t Curry, but watch any segment of any Oklahoma game and you see why the parallel continues to be drawn.

For starters, there’s the range. Like Curry did at Davidson and continues to do now with the Warriors, Young is capable of pulling and hitting from just about any spot inside midcourt. His lightning fast release makes it possible for him to get the shot off without a whole lot of space or lift.

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Young, like Curry, also has the atypical ability to wow spectators without possessing next level quickness or above average athleticism. “Shiftiness and an innate feel for the game” are rarely characteristics that draw in the average fan, but Young has made that the case in under two months as a college basketball player.

Here’s another comparison for the purpose of framing Young’s impact in an easy to digest manner: Forget pro potential, he’s the sport of basketball’s biggest must-see college performer since Jimmer Fredette was pulling up from 30 feet every other possession in 2010-11. Sure the time in between has produced more elite NBA talent and better college players, but there hasn’t been anyone who could make people turn away from a top 10 showdown in favor of watching a game featuring Northwestern State the way Fredette could and the way Young is.

The “legend of Trae Young,” a tale which spans a grand total of nine weeks, has become so overwhelming that it has reached a segment of the American sports world that typically doesn’t lend an eye to the college hoops world until after the Super Bowl. The college basketball writer who generally doesn’t field “tell me about” questions from friends until late February or early March has been bombarded with “tell me about this kid from Oklahoma questions” before the calendar even flipped. Young has become a fixture on ESPN scream at each other debate TV shows and national scream at each other debate radio shows.

The numbers and the highlights and the buzz are all staggering, but the most amazing part of Trae Young’s impact on college basketball has received virtually no attention.

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After crashing the Final Four in 2016, Oklahoma tumbled back to earth in a major way last season. The Sooners went just 11-20, won only five conference games, and finished next-to-last in the Big 12 regular season standings. While Young was a nice recruiting pull for Krueger, there wasn’t anything else on OU’s 2017-18 roster to indicate that this would be anything other than a bad team with a talented freshman who might put up major numbers because of his lack of a supporting cast. As a result, the team was picked to finish sixth in the 10-team Big 12.

Young’s outrageous numbers haven’t just elevated himself, they’ve elevated his entire team. Oklahoma currently finds itself with an 11-1 record, three wins over top 25 opponents, and as the No. 7 team in the Associated Press poll. All this being the case, there is a very real possibility that anyone who hasn’t experienced Young’s brilliance by the time March Madness rolls around will have multiple opportunities to watch the transcendent point guard do his thing on the sport’s biggest stage.

A tournament run feels like the only way Oklahoma’s season can end. After all, this is Trae Young’s year.

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