#I hooked up an old hard drive

[stiwfssr]

[shotmrmiller]

Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: Wrong Number

Bruce prides himself in keeping all of his networks secured. If he didn't make it himself, he had the funds and connections to get him the best working on his systems.

He had backup plans in case the systems were ever hacked, of course, but he had yet to encounter a cyber attack that wasn't beaten away by his firewalls or his team.

Babs and Tim were far more feral when booting out unwanted guests. The level of protection was also transferred to his other systems that weren't Batman-related, just to make sure the connection between Bruce and Batman was never made.

That's why he never really checks his personal phone's caller ID, not the one he gave out as Brucie Wayne, but the one Bruce used for his real life without any masks- civilian or vigilante. The only ones who had the number- and the access- were his children and Alfred.

Not even the Justice League- those who were aware of his identity- knew of this number.

Bruce is in the middle of typing up a report for the next Wayne Board meeting when his personal phone rings. He figures it's Dick giving him a call to update him on his drive home or maybe Jason, as his son was planning on going to college.

"Go for Papa Bruce," He says, knowing his kids hate his phone greeting and doing it deliberately to spite them.

There is a long pause where he can't help but smirk thinking his child is either rolling their eyes or cringing too hard to properly speak. Eventually, a voice cracks over the speaker.

"Hello. I'm selling cookies to raise money for my own star. Would like to buy a box from me?" says a boy, not one he has taken in. The voice is young maybe not even double digits yet. Bruce is alarmed.

"Who are you?! How did you get this number?" He demands, yanking his phone to his face and seeing, with a chill, a phone number out of state.

His system had been compromised. By a child. By accident.

"My name is Danny!" The boy chirps. "I sell cookies. Like the Girl Scouts, but I'm a boy, and I don't scout."

"That's rather fantastic, lad. What kind of cookies are you selling?" Bruce asks to keep the boy on the line while sending an email blast to the others. It's a string of numbers that are code for compromise so they all know to close any communication channel until it's safe to get back on.

"Chocolate chip. Mint Slim. Oatmeal and peanut butter. I made them myself!"

Right. Bruce hooks up his phone, tracing the call. The signal bounces off the call, swinging up to a salute and falling back down to earth. In seconds he has the boy's location. It pings in a small town right outside of Star City.

He sends Barry a private message. His friend is already on the way to the location. He'll get the boy in a few seconds.

"How much for a box of chocolate chips? Those are my favorite." Bruce tells the boy, voice whimsical as his Brucie persona demands.

In an unsure tone, the boy pauses, then whispers, "I don't know. No one ever let me get this far."

"How about twenty for a box of dozen? I'll buy five boxes for each of my kids that live at him," Bruce tells him, and the boy gasps.

"That could buy me one whole night in a hotel!"

Bruce's insides freeze. What did he mean-

"Hey! No! Let go!" Danny suddenly screams. Bruce's heart launches- he hates it when kids get hurt, especially those that sound like Danny- until Barry's voice comes over the speaker.

"I got him, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for alerting the Justice League Hotline." That's code for This is not a threat to you Batman and Bruce allows himself to relax just a little.

"Narc!" The boy shouts, outraged, before the call drops. Barry is likely taking over the situation, which means Bruce can leave it in his capable hands.

After reassuring his kids that he is fine and that they are all safe, he suits up and meets the Flash in the Watch Tower. There, he learns that Danny is only seven years old and has been living on the streets for a while.

The boy had been surviving by baking some cookies to sell on the side of the street- where did he bake them? The boy would not say- until he got the bright idea to try to sell through phone calls like he had seen on TV.

He punched in random numbers at the community center phone and gave his pitch about a star, thinking people would be more willing to buy from him if he had an excellent reason.

Barry had left him with CPS, but he looked devastated about that. It turned out that Danny was a meta and had likely been kicked out of his home once it was found out based on what he said of his parents.

Bruce felt he should assure Barry that Danny was fine and look into his placement to help settle his more sensitive teammate's nerves.

He was unhappy that Danny was not in a good placement; there were far too many reports from a concerned neighbor to make him think it was a safe place. Given the fact that placement had a lot of meta kids that "fell through the cracks," Bruce worried he had just stumbled across a trafficking ring.

He would sick Barry and Jason on them. Just to ensure they wouldn't see the light of day again.

Still, that did not fix his mistake with Danny, the little cookie seller.

Bruce hacked into the system to move Danny. He thought about where he would move the young child but ultimately had him in Wayne Manor.

Just until he could confirm that he would be safe. He certainly didn't think about the adorable little boy who called him with his heart in his hand and got sent to a terrible place for three weeks because of Bruce.

Danny arrived at Wayne Manor with a happy little bounce and a chipper outlook on life than Bruce was expecting. "If it isn't Mr. Narc!"

God, he going to adopt the boy, isn't he?

(Danny has been thrown into a different universe, aged down to a child. He survived by overshadowing people into letting him spend the night baking cookies.

He was thrown into a somewhat typical home, but the nosy neighbor down the street took far too much notice of his overshadowing, and now he was being moved again.

Maybe he can terrorize Mr. Narc now instead? )

[woso-dreamzzz]

Ruin

Alexia Putellas x Pre-Teen!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Pre-Teen!Reader

Summary: Your guardians fight for custody

You had dealt with lawyers before.

You had dealt with case workers before.

Nearly your whole life in the system meant you were familiar with both.

Seeing them never got easier as you sit outside the meeting room, hunched over as you stare at the phone battery that's rapidly depleting.

You'd plugged it in to charge last night but it hadn't.

The wire's been faulty for a while now, one of those chargers that you have to move to the right angle to make sure it works.

You suppose it must have moved in the night.

You can just about hear the low murmur of conversations if you strain your ears but you don't.

You don't want to hear what they're saying.

"Drink? Food?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

You turn away from your case worker, angling your body as far away as you can get without falling off your seat.

She'd been responsible for you for eleven years, right back to when you were a baby and your first set of parents had their rights terminated. You thought last year would be the last you would see of her.

"I'm fine," You insist.

"It's okay not to be."

"I know that. It still doesn't change the fact that I'm fine."

You both know you're lying.

She knows you well enough to not bring it up again, merely offering you a few of the hard boiled sweets from the reception desk.

"They won't decide anything without your input, you know."

"They're adults," You say dismissively," That's all they ever do."

"You're twelve now. Your wishes are taken into account."

"Only if it goes to court. Only in front of a judge. If they sign an agreement here and now, they don't have to talk to me about it."

Your caseworker looks like she wants to say something but a bang of a table has her stopping.

Jenni's voice in the meeting room is raised and Alexia's rises to meet it.

The fractures in the relationship were already there by the time you arrived. Small at first but steadily growing bigger and bigger.

You hadn't known it at the time but you know it now.

You had been adopted to salvage their relationship.

It's what a lot of people did. Have a child in the hope that it would bring the relationship together again.

It had worked, for a short while but the cracks hadn't healed. They'd simply been painted over for a little while. All it had taken was a little rock of the foundations, a little change in the norm.

They always came back and soon Alexia and Jenni were arguing where they thought you couldn't hear them and driving separately to practice.

Now, Jenni was moving to Mexico and the tender hooks they were on were failing.

You were hanging on a cliff and they were too busy arguing to notice your grip slipping, ready to plummet into the abyss below.

"You're not taking my daughter from me!"

You stand, unwilling to hear anymore.

"I'm going to the toilet."

It's a single stall, a door lock that you use as soon as you're inside.

You sit on the toilet lid, willing your shaking hands to stop as you clench them into fists. Your fingernails dig into the soft flesh until you're almost certain you've broken skin.

You hate this.

You hate the lawyers and their cool indifference towards you.

You hate your caseworker and her faux sympathy.

You hate Alexia and Jenni for putting you in this situation in the first place. You hate them for thinking a child would salvage an already broken relationship. You hate that they've made you their daughter. You hate that they've tied themselves into you in a way that you can't get away from.

Your phone dies, the music from your earphones cutting out instantly and you sigh, tugging them out of your ears and wrapping them around your phone.

They're an old pair, still wired and plugged in.

Jenni and Alexia have showered you in presents since the moment the adoption went through. You had a pair of Bluetooth ones but you've never used them, not since the presents stopped coming from them together and started coming separately.

They were always one upping each other.

If Alexia bought you Airpods, Jenni bought you a pair of Beats.

If Alexia bought you a Switch, Jenni bought you an XBox.

You blow out all your air noisily, the shuffling at the door alerting you to the fact that your caseworker is outside.

You flush the toilet to keep up appearances, washing your hands and stubbornly not looking in the mirror.

"They should be finishing up," She tells you and you glower.

"For now."

They're not finished up in the slightest and you slump in your seat.

There's no music to distract you from their raised voices, tension and anger building between them.

"And what about her training?! You'd take her away from all that? To what? Gallivant around in Mexico?!"

That's Alexia now, you'd recognise her anger anywhere.

You imagine she's standing now, palms flat on the desk as she gets as close to Jenni as possible. Her lawyer, a straight laced man in a fancy suit and a disinclination to children, probably sits back in his seat, arms spread in a 'how could you tear Alexia away from her child?' pose at the other lawyer.

"Mexico has pools, Alexia! They know how to swim! She can train there!"

That's Jenni.

She's still as angry as earlier, bubbling and boiling inside of her. She's probably standing up too, finger pointing towards Alexia in a brutal jab. Her lawyer pretends he likes kids, pretends to greet you warmly and act like her actually gives a shit about your feelings.

He doesn't and he doesn't even do a good job of pretending.

He's more condescending than anything, talking to you like you're five and don't understand why your guardians are fighting.

"And you'd have her make new friends? Put her in a new swimming club? Her life is here!"

"No, Alexia, your life is here!"

You've never felt more weightless than you were in the pool, just floating around on your back as the water laps at your skin.

You're the fastest swimmer in the region for your age group. Especially in long distance.

Your coaches say you have the stamina.

You think it's because you want to be in the water for as long as possible.

It comes easy to you, mindless, repetitive.

You like to do things you're good at.

The door swings open, slamming against the wall and you sigh.

The yelling has stopped.

Neither Alexia nor Jenni want to make a scene in public.

The meeting room is a free-for-all but outside they can pretend to be civil. Everyone will pretend they didn't hear them at each other's throats a few moments ago.

You stand, plugging in your earphones even though your phone is dead.

You've found that neither of them want to talk to you if you've got your earphones in.

"Say goodbye to your mother, y/n," Alexia says, already strolling over to wait for you by the door.

Your eyes linger on her before they flick to Jenni.

You shove your hands into your pocket and mutter," Bye."

She's still looking at Alexia too, eyes narrowed in anger before they softens a fraction as she turns to you.

Her hand rests on your shoulder, thumb rubbing ever so slightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? You've got that competition."

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll be cheering."

You manage a weak smile.

Alexia and Jenni will be on opposite ends of the room, pretending that the other doesn't exist.

"I love you," Jenni says and you sigh.

"Yeah."

Alexia is waiting by the door, impatiently, foot tapping. When you join her, she starts off again, down the stairs and to the car parked up front.

"Not sitting in the front with me?" She tries to tease as you slip into the seat behind her but you're in no mood," I'll let you choose the music."

You hold up your dead phone, earphones in and her small smile turns into a frown.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure."

"So..." Alexia drums her fingers on the steering wheel," That competition tomorrow...You excited?"

You stare out the window. "I guess."

You're in no mood to talk, clearly, so Alexia settles on looking back at you through the rear view mirror periodically.

"Don't worry," She tells you," This will all get sorted out soon."

You wish it hadn't happened in the first place.

You with you had never met them.

[pixiesholloworld]

✘The tow truck driver?!✘

synopsis : Incoming text from - Toji 🛻 “i wasnt gonna tell you, but you’re fucking hot. but im honestly a hoe and only want one thing.. 🍆💦”

cw: daddy kink, fingering, head (giving/reciving), brat taming?, f!reader

the check engine light has been on for the past month, but you’ve repeatedly ignored it. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? well, your consistent neglect of the light has landed you in this situation. 

stranded on the shoulder of the highway waiting for some shady tow truck driver to come to your rescue, he was your cheapest option, and when you saw his old beat up truck speeding towards you, you quickly understood why. he came to a stop as he approached, rolling down his passenger window to get a good look at you. 

“you [✿]?”, the brown rust corroded the hood of his car, causing flakes to peel off with the wind. you can’t even imagine what the truck could’ve looked like in it's glory, it was hard to believe years of neglect left the truck in this state— it's almost like he bought it this way. “yeah,” you answered, “are you toji?”

“what’s it look like?” you search the truck to see the faded out: ‘Toji’s Towing’. “oh”

“ya waitin’ for an invite?”

you open the car door to see crumbled-up wrappers from obscure burger joints and empty beer cans—the rubbish, let alone the smell of *sniff* *sniff*… man contorted your face. toji must’ve taken notice of this because it made him chuckle. “excuse the mess, sweetheart,” his raspy voice curling over his words, “you don’t mind, do ya?”

“not at all,” you awkwardly smile. you felt kind of bad for him, honestly. he hooked his crane up to the front of your car and, before pulling off, lit a cigarette. his shoulders were broad and his arms looked strong and heavy, he didn’t have an AC in his car, either that or it didn’t work, so the hot summer air blew in both of your faces 

his black locks stayed all but too far from his face, allowing you to get a glimpse of the scar that marks his lip, his emerald eyes focusing on the road ahead. 

you felt weird for staring at him after a while and didn’t want him to notice, so you averted your gaze to the road, watching the cars pass by you two. you wondered though, how could a hunk like him get in this position. 

“so, you grew up’round here?” He asks

“a little ways from here, i stay with my mom in a duplex”

“nice, where ya comin’ from?”

“my job, i work as a barista at the mall”

“s’ bit far for work don’t you think”

you smile at how easily he set himself up, “you drive a tow truck”

you turn towards him to see a smirk creeping up on his face, he blows out smoke and holds his cigarette out

“fair,” he pulls another drag before putting it out in what you can only assume to be a homemade ashtray, “you got anyone that can look at this for ya at home?” he says gesturing towards your car

“mm no, i was gonna take it to the shop”

he clicks his teeth and sneers, “those punks don’t know the first thing about cars”

“where do you think i should go then?”

he glances over at you before returning his attention to the road, “i’ll look at it for ya”

—

after that convo the rest of the drive was silent, though you both exchanged stolen glances here and there. you tried to tell yourself it was nothing to overthink, though the stirs in your stomach were telling you otherwise. it was hard to act like having an older man’s attention wasn’t somewhat enticing 

when he finally got to your house, he backed your car into the driveway. you couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of relief. though it was nice talking to him, you couldn’t wait to get out of that dump of a tow truck. it made you consider taking those AAA charges next time 

he steps out of the truck and walks around to let you out. when you see his full body for the first time, you’re a bit taken aback. sure he looked ok in the truck, but he looked even better out of it. he had a tall muscular build, and he had to be around 6 feet. how was his truck hiding so much height from your eyes? You shook any remaining amazement from your face and stepped out, hurrying past him to try and avert your gaze

“so what happened anyways, what’s wrong with it?” he immediately walks past you to your car and starts inspecting it

“the engine light was on but.. i thought it would just go away on its own..” you reluctantly admit

“silly girl,” the rasp in his voice making your heart jump, “you should’ve taken this’t the shop when you first saw it” he struts over to you and lays his hand out, you look at his hand and then back up to his captivating eyes, “the keys?” he says.

“oh, yeah, right, right” you hand him the keys, and he turns the car on, popping the hood. you watch as his clothes cling to him, his long, black hair hanging over his face as he inspects different parts of your engine. you notice as he reaches into the engine, his tanned hands become stained with a black substance. it’s kinda hot. when you actually get a good look at him at this angle… he isn’t a bad-looking guy, he’s a little ruff around the edges, sure, but you like that about him

“i might have’ta take this to my shop, really gotta get under there n’figure out what’s going on”

you could name something else you wanted him to get under too, but you quickly shoved that thought in your back pocket, “how much is that gonna be” 

“usually i charge a pretty penny but for you,” he says while wiping his hands on a dirty rag that was stuffed in his pocket, “i’ll do it for free”

“really? oh my god thank you so much”

“s’no problem doll, i should probably get going before it gets too dark though”

you can feel your heart pounding from anticipation not quite wanting him to leave yet

“y-yeah sure, but um… wouldn’t you like to eat first?”

he closes your car hood and smirks

“whatcha cookin?”

—

you turn the keys to your house before inviting him in, he winks at you and makes himself comfortable at the kitchen's island. you walk past him and pull out lukewarm potatoes, you can feel him stare at you as you walk back and forth between the different drawers and potatoes. you tried to focus on what you were doing and tried to think of other things, but your mind would always wonder back to the idea of him bending you over and fucking the living daylights out of you 

you try to sneak a glance at toji but it doesn't work he's still staring just as intensely as before and snickers at your futile attempt to look without him knowing. "somethin' you wanna say, sweetheart?" he asks, words laced with lust

'yeah, i want you to fuck my brains out' some request that is huh? instead, you ask something more appropriate, "could you come peel the potatoes?" so there you two are side by side peeling potatoes, weakly fighting the urge to ask if he's feeling the same way you're feeling. your thoughts suddenly come to a halt though when you realize he's old enough to be married, even so when you peep at his hand, you see no ring, but he's definitely old enough to be somebody's dad.. who are you kidding, you love DILFs 

you go on and on internally struggling on if it would be morally correct to fuck a stranger—a tow truck driver—until he makes the first move for you, his hand slithering along your back to grab your hip, "where's your bathroom at? 've gotta drain the snake" 

"yeah its uh, right around the corner over there"

"thanks doll" he whispers into your ear before squeezing your hip and moving so close past you that you can feel his bulge before he slips away. you were at a loss for words. like actually your mind had went blank, what were you even supposed to do with that?

let him come back to your sprawled out naked body on the kitchen floor? but on second thought you had an even better idea, he clearly wanted you to feel that he was hard cause he feels that you're too scary to make a move. something he didn't know though is that you loved to play the long game and you could tease him all night if you had to

when he comes back, he sees you trying to reach the very top of your cabinet. you can hear his heavy foot steps stop right behind you before he rests a hand on your hips and pulls you close to his warm pelvis. "need help?" he asks. you look up at this tall, buffed up man, and he looks right back down at you

"could you hand me the paper towels up there?"

he hands them to you, but not before pressing himself against you, letting his hard-on poke between your cheeks. you could feel your heart skipping a million miles per minute, your cunt wildly throbbing between your legs, a tiny whimper escaping your lips when he backs away, leaving the paper towels in front of you

defeated, you walk back to the potatoes. how could you tease him back? oh, the bottom cabinet! you quickly plop down, and before he could notice you tug at the bottom of his jumpsuit pants, he looks down and is obviously flustered. you sat on your knees, looking at him with such ardor in your eyes "i need to get another bowl" you say while pointing towards the cabinet, a sneaky smile spreading across your face. "hm?" he says while bending down to your level, "I let you slide the first time, but I think you're forgetting somethin'"

confusion filled your face trying to figure out what it was you could've been missing until he grabs your face pulling you a bit closer to him

"where's your manners at girl?"

oh he was good at this

"what happens if i don't use 'em?"

"might need to train that pretty little mouth of yours"

"yeah? how're you gonna do that?"

he snickers at you, standing up while still holding your face in his big, calloused hand, "whatchu think?"

so there you are, taking every inch of his thick cock in your mouth as his hand holds the back of your head, making sure to push down when he wants to hear that slutty throat struggle to take all of him in 

“so this s’what all that staring was for?” he teases, “what a nasty girl, sucking on a stranger’s cock”

you hum contently, hands lightly grazing against his thighs as saliva collects at his base, slowly dripping onto your tiled floor

he groans while picking up the pace, “such a mess, you like the taste of it? hm? yeah you do”

you gag and hum against him, letting his angry tip bully the back of your throat. you just started, and you're already cock drunk, moaning and twisting your head around while you use your mouth to grip around his length tighter. 

he sucks air through his teeth, letting barely audible ‘fucks’ escape his breath while steadily rolling his hips into your mouth. you use your tongue to  dance around one of his throbbing veins, enjoying how it interrupts his rhythm, making him thrust faster and faster until a sudden mean pop snatches his hips away from your mouth 

he bends down to slip his tongue into your mouth, stealing the taste of his precum right from your mouth. you tongue him back a bit more eagerly, feeling around his teeth and the scar on his mouth until his lips depart 

“you’re so greedy” he teases, “didn’t your throat training teach you anything?”

“please, please kiss me toji” you didn’t think your pussy could take anymore teasing, you could feel how it beat against your squished thighs longing for his touch

he must’ve felt the same cause he stands you up on your feet and moves you on top of the island, snaking your pants off and pulling your slick cunt close to him in the process. “you gotta earn it, princess”, he taunts your clothed entrance with his tip before gracing you with one more kiss 

“put it in, please put it in” you couldn’t wait any longer and started slowly grinding yourself on the tip until, of course, a mean smack to your mound caused you to freeze. you look up at toji and see annoyance plastered on his face. you ooze at the seriousness on his face, waiting for him to say something 

“just for that, i’m not fuckin’ you”

“WHAT! no, please i’m sorry please toji im-“ he covers your mouth with one hand and moves the other towards your wet, sticky folds, collecting a bit of the slick before moving it around your pulsating clit.

he made deep circular motions on it, making you whine every time he hit the peak. your eyes rolled back, and you let him completely take over. your hips stuttering to his touch, he then moved closer, leaving kisses along your ear and down your neck, nipping at the skin 

though you didn’t know your muffled moans were making it hard for toji to stay focused on teasing you, the truth is he was about to cum earlier while you were on your knees. sitting so innocently while taking all of him in you, the way your pretty eyes would flutter at his praise or how you’d scrunch your nose when you pushed your head down more, not to mention that tongue trick you did earlier, instead of thinking about it, he decided to return the favor 

he moves down to your panties and moves them aside, covetously looking up at those same eyes that made his tip leak beads of precum. “that’s it baby, keep those pretty eyes on me,"  he starts slowly at first, his pointed tongue moving up your folds, slowly moving your legs further apart while keeping eye contact. the familiar feeling of haze started filling your mind as desperate moans echoed through your kitchen 

he groans into you, knowing the vibrations will probably make you cum faster, and he gently suckles on your wet bulb, listening to how sweetly you moan out his name. grabbing a fist full of his hair, you push him in deeper, chasing an end you didn't know toji wasn't going to let you reach just yet. 

he stops sucking and instead sticks one finger inside your drenched cunt, moving it ever so slowly while he moves a pointed tongue in swirls on your clit his finger eventually picks up the pace, so he slips two in, then three. he had a merciless tempo, curing his fingers around your g-spot just to hear those pretty little moans 

"m'gonna cum toji~" you'd whine out, but he'd rapidly shake his head against your sopping wet clit and slap your mound, telling you to wait. to say you were drowning in pleasure would be an understatement. you felt hot all over, and with every thrust, you were sure you were going to break. eventually your moans became cries for a release. he turned you into a dripping wet mess, and he loved every bit of it until, of course, you said the magic words 

"please let me cum daddy— fuck!~"

he lifts his head up almost instantly though he's still drilling his fingers through your pussy, "say that again?"

"please let me cum" you whimper, you don't know how much longer you can hold back

"nah girl, the other thing" he stands up, towering over you even as you're seating on the counter. his fingers pump into you slower but deeper, taunting your g-spot

"daddy" you whisper, he brings his other hand to your face and brings you in for a sloppy kiss loving how you moan into his mouth

"atta girl," he pulls his fingers out but the fullness is instantly replaced with his fat, rock hard cock. you felt him tear though you so easily, you desperately pull him in closer while looking at him through half lidded eyes. "look at you, so desperate for daddy's dick" he'd tease

"all fucked out n'still begging f'more" he pulled you in for another kiss and left his tongue slithering in your mouth while he pumped faster, holding you tightly as you struggled to keep up with his kisses. he moved a hand up to your face and held it in place as he tongued you, you felt a smile spread across his face as you struggled to keep it together until all you could do was wail into his mouth

his pace was harsh and unrelenting he fucked you like he was angry at you, punching your cervix with such vigor and gusto, you moaned louder practically screaming but all he did was move his mouth to your ear and whisper.

"that's it princess let it out, you're making sucha mess of yourself on me," you squeeze tighter at his words feeling your body go limp at the over stimulation, "you wanna cum on me?"

you shake your head yes almost instantaneously and he moves his head to look directly at you, moving his hand down to your clit, covering it in slick before rubbing it in circles. "go ahead," he coos, "cum on daddy's dick— sh-shit"

he keeps rolling his hips into you until you finally come to your shaky finish, leaving scratches on his skin as you try to grasp your way back into reality with toji following close behind, loudly groaning and pulling out before fisting himself over your stomach releasing thin milky shoots of cum

he holds you close to him and leaves kisses on your head before helping you off the counter, it was weird feeling the ground under you again the sudden rush of blood making your legs feel like jello

"so about your car,"

right, shit he was in here to eat FOOD and go home not fuck you

"ill probably be able to fix it by tomorrow, n'maybe come drop it back off," he says while slipping his jumpsuit back on, "unless you wanna come to mine instead”

"you'd love that wouldn't you"

"think your pussy would like it more" he teases, pulling you closer to him. he was gonna turn you on all over again until you heard the front door open

[petew21-blog]

Friends with benefits

Two long time friends Trent and Brett. A classic story. Met in kindergarten and have been friends since. Grew up together. Spent their holidays together. Graduated together. But then stopped seeing each other as often. Why? Because adult life ain't easy. Brett had to find a job while Trent got into college, graduated and on top of that became a fitness influencer. Brett started his Twitch account and became a gamer, which he had time for, cause how he was constantly doing a different job, depending on what he could find. But both of them always took some time off for a beer with their buddy.

This is Trent

Although he doesn't appear like that, he is a 24 year old male with young looks

On the other hand Brett is also young, but his looks are a bit more mature. Maybe it's because of all the hair

This is Brett

So hairy.

Normal guys, right? Well something was about to change very soon

Friday, August 2nd, 5 PM

Brett:"Hey, dude. Wanna grab a beer later tonight?"

Trent:"Yeah, sure. I am down. Is 8:30 ok? I gotta finish a video"

Brett:"Oh yeah, totally fine. See you then"

Friday, August 2nd, sports bar, 8:33 PM

At the bar Brett waits patiently, only his leg is slightly shaking. Trent comes in through the door. It's kinda funny, cause Trent used to be really insecure and not confident. Now he looks basically like a god. But still, he has this cute shy looking guy whose face doesnt match his body and the fact that he's 24. Brett was kinds jealous, most of the people that didn't know him always thought he was older because of his looks. Trent had the opposite problem. Always had to show ID whenever he went. Yet Brett was probably more jealous about his life in general. He finished school, took great care of his body, which now could help him hook up with anyone he would set his mind to.

Brett:"Hey, maaaan. How are you doing?"

Trent:"Heyyy. Yeah good. You know, single influencer life, haha"

Brett:"The ladies must be driving you crazy"

Trent:"If only it were just ladies. Haha. You should see the messages some of these gay dudes keep sending me. It's insane"

Brett:"You tell me. They always send random shits to my chats while playing. But it's mostly dumb kids."

Trent:"I think we should find you a date for tonight"

Brett:"Nahhh, fuck it. I'm not in the mood. I just wanna chat with my bro."

After a few beers

Brett:"Shut up, you did not!"

Trent:"I swear. She came on to me without a word."

Brett:"So what did you do?"

Trent:"You think I put up a fight? Haha"

Brett:"Maaaan. I want this stuff to happen to me to. That's so hot"

Trent:"Come with me to the gym then, I bet more chicks woukd be into you if you would gain some muscles"

Brett:"You calling me fat?"

Trent:"No, just saying that all that body hair would be good to match with a good body. You're just a walking gorilla right now"

Brett:"Oh shut up twink! Haha"

They finished their drinks, said their goodbyes and went home.

Brett felt amazing. He really needed to get a beer with his best friend. He came back home, sat behind his computer and searched Dark web. He already knew what he was looking for. He wanted to mess with Trent. Just a another one of his pranks. All he needed was Trent's personal item. He found the body swapping website. He read the rules and conditions and filled out his and Trents name. The only next step he had to follow was to go to sleep. And so he did. Only taking off his shirt in the process and collapsing on the bed. Not even brushing his teeth

Brett woke up feeling better than ever. He was used to have a hangover by now, but today he felt great. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the different sheets. He looked around. This is Trent's place.

Brett:"Trent?" he said, but he heard Trent's voice.

He turned around to get up

His body. He has a different body

Brett:"Holy shit. It worked" he said amused. He looked down at his now soft chest. He got up

Brett:"Oh wow. getting up is so different when you have these hard muscles"

He went to the nearest mirror. And there he was. Trent in his glory. Brett was so happy right now. His prank worked. He is now inside of his best friends body. And the pranks probably won't stop there. Now he can mess with him all he wants. But not now.

He looked from top to bottom how tall and slim his body was. "Almost no hair anywhere. Lucky guy"

He took Trent's phone and snapped a photo to send it to Trent in his body. He knew it would take a while for Trent to wake up so he proceeded in his exploration.

He felt his curly hair. "How come you don't even have widow's peak? So unfair" He traced his jawline, now with tiny baby hair that Brett wouldn't even call a beard. But his sight was now caught by those nice Calvin Klein's. He looked around as if there was someone in the room with him who would judge him. He pulled on the waistband

Brett:"Just as I thought. Also shaved" he grabbed his new dick, that was getting harder and harder by the second, when suddenly his phone received a notification. he let go of his dick

It was Trent. Brett:"Haha, this is gonna be good"

There was a photo of Brett's body, observing his hairy armpits in shock

Trent in Brett's body:"Hey. Got any idea why I am a gorilla now? And why that gorilla looks exactly like you?"

Brett:"Surpriseee. And fuck you"

Trent:"So this is your doing?"

Brett:"Yeah, I kinda wanted to prank you somehow for all the pranks and the gorilla jokes. Joke's on you ape man"

Trent:"Fuck you. So this is reversible?"

Brett:"Sure, man. No worries. We'll meet tonight at the bar again and chat how our day went?"

Trent:"I don't know how to feel about this, bro"

Brett:"Just try enjoying being another person"

Trent:"Do you realise there are some no go things including intimate stuff and hygiene?"

Brett:"Sure I do. I'm already holding your dick in YOUR hands right now"

Trent:"Dude! Not cool. I meant more stuff like shitting etc. But yeah, this too."

Brett:"I gotta say Trent. You have a very nice dick"

Trent:"I'll comment on your size when I find it in the bushes I guess. Have you never heard of trimming?"

Brett:"Keeping it natural, baby face"

Trent:"Fine, let's see each other tonight at 8, ok?"

Brett:"Enjoyyy" Hangs up

Trent:"Jesus, this guy. I hope he doesn't fuck up something or someone"

Starts observing himself. "I must say, It feels good to look like a mature man and not a teenager. All of this hair. And the moustache is hot too. I could never grow this thing"

Trent looked down and had a mischievous thought. "Well, Brett. Since you have already held my dick, I think it's time to step it up. Gonna see if you can last longer than I do" Trent said with a smile and whipped out his new hard hairy dick

Saturday August the 3rd, bar, 8:04 PM

Brett is sitting amused in the bar, eating chips on the table and drinking beer. Winking at the ladies looking at his direction.

A waitress came by his table:"Want another?"

Brett noticed his old incoming body:"Sure, and another one for my friend who just arrived. Thank you, sweetheart" he said as his flirtatious look almost seduced the local waitress

Trent:"You need to stop!"

Brett:"What? I was just flirting"

Trent:"Not that. Stop eating those chips. God knows how many calories you ate already"

Brett:"So you don't mind that I was flirting with her?"

Trent:"Nah, I don't care. I jerked off your dick for like the fifth time half an hour ago"

Brett:"What? You beast. I would have never expected that. Cool. You have a really good dick to jerk off too. I didn't expect to shoot so far tho. Made a bit of a mess"

A couple off bikers started eavesdropping to their conversation and turning heads

Trent:"You might want to quiet down, or we're gonna get beaten up for mistakenly speaking like gay guys"

Brett:"But you gotta admit that my body is not so bad, right? All the hair and everything. You like it"

Trent:"It's not bad, but I prefer being in my own body. I'm used to it."

Brett:"Ok, I'll pretend I didn't hear the part before about masturbation. But what do you say? We didn't even have enough time to see what the life is like in our new bodies. It's only been a day"

Trent:"And your point is?"

Brett:"Let's stay swapped for a while. We can swap back anytime we want. It's reversible. We know almost everything about each other, so pretending to be the other one will be easy. You'll just teach me your workout routine, I'll show you... what games to play and how to set up a livestream and we'll figure it out"

Trent:"Livestream? That's all you got?"

Brett:"Come on, man. We got nothing to loose"

Trent:"I don't know man. It's gonna be complicated. I agreed to leave for a few weeks to work at one of our gym branches in another city. And now you'll be the one that has to go. I think now is not the best time"

Brett:"So? I can update you about everything. We can chat all the time. We can call. And I got nothing to do. Actually, you might need to find some job for those few weeks. And there's never gonna be a better time then now. We're single, ready to mingle. So let's enjoy that month"

Trent:"You wanna stay swapped the whole tíme I'm gone?"

Brett:"Yeah, I'll be a fitness instructor/viral star and you'll ne enjoying my chill life"

Trent:"Chill life. Man, you won't even recognise your life when we'll swap back"

Brett:"So you agree?"

Trent:"Yeah, what the hell. I'll be a gorilla for a month"

Brett:"Deal. Now, let's see if you'll have a better game in finding a hookup then me"

Sunday, August 4th

Brett sends a text to Trent:"Why do I feel like my body still hasn't gone through puberty?"

Trent:"Piss off. Yours looks like it went trough yours several times."

Brett:"Nah, gotta be honest. I'm really enjoying this lean figure and hairless body"

Trent:"And my dick..."

Brett:"Haha, yeah and your dick. How are you doing in my body?"

Trent:"Feels pretty weird to be so hairy, but gotta admit it's a nice change. Like... feeling so manly"

Brett:"Yeah, but tip for that hairy stomach. Don't cum on it. It's really irritating to get cum from it"

Trent:"Never had the issue in my body, so yeah. Thanks for the tip"

Brett:"No problem. I had to try it out in yours haha"

Trent:"Doesn't this feel kinda gay to you? All the dick and jerk off talk. Appreciating each other's bodies"

Brett:"Nah. We're exploring, man. Who knows if we ever get that chance. Gotta enjoy it"

Wednesday August 7th

Trent:"How are you settling in?"

Brett:"Yeah. Pretty great. I just jerked off to some porn"

Trent:"Ew. I mean the appartement"

Brett:"Whooops. Sorry. Right. Yeah it's nice. Very clean. Very modern"

Trent:"It's yours only for a month so don't destroy anything there"

Brett:"It's kinda poetic right. New appartement, new body, new job"

Trent:"I don't see anything poetic about me playing games in front of a camera"

Brett;"Dude you have to. My fans are gonna wonder what happened to me"

Trent:"Fine. I'll log in tonight. By the way. Dude your feet smell so much when you work out."

Brett:"Work out? You took my body to the gym?

Trent:"Yeah. I had to show off these bushes somewhere, right?"

Brett:"Ahhh thanks man. Looking good"

Trent:"And I think oke girl was checking you... me out"

Brett:"If you can score than go for it. I'm actually late for a date. Or... how do you call it if you're just gonna have dinner and fuck?"

Trent:"Standard hook up man. Please be safe. Wear a condom. And watch our foe those carbs, man."

Brett:"Sure thing, bye"

Monday, August 12 th

Brett:"Dude do you like ever have to shave your face?"

Trent:"Sure I do. I just don't have to do it so often as you. Btw can I please shave off this moustache?"

Brett:"Absolutely not. You'll learn to love it and appreciate it. Just like I will your baby face"

Saturday, August 17th

Brett:"I have to admit I really love showing off your muscles man. I have been doing it constantly at every occassion. So many people turn their heads to take a peak"

Trent:"Yeah I get it. It helps with the confidence a bit"

Brett:"A bit? I feel like I can beat any fucker whk crosses me"

Trent:"Brett, please don't beat anyone in my body"

Brett:"Just kidding, man. How have you been"

Trent:"Well I tried being consistent with the gym. I think your body is doing pretty well"

Brett:"Daaaamn bro. I look good. You really do take care of my body really well"

Trent:"I was actually thinking I could offer this for money. Swapping with people, doing their routines and then swap back. But that's a talk for another time after we swap back"

Brett:"Yeha, sure. Cool idea. Anyway... how was the streaming?"

Trent:"I don't know, man. I think they are desperste for me to say your catchphrases, but they are so cringe."

Brett:"Nah, you have to do that. That's how you get into Tiktoks and become viral"

Trent:"Honestly. I can't wait to get back to my body and to my life back. So we will swap on September 2nd?

Brett:"Yeah. I suppose. Depends how the work will be etc. Anyway I gotta go man. Talk soon"

Trent to himself:"It feels like he's avoiding me with amswering more and more. Trent rubbed his hairy chest, recalling his sweet soft pecs that he missed.

Thursday, August 22nd

Trent:"Hey, man. How is it going?"

Friday, August 23rd

Trent:"Hey. I just wanna know if you're ok. I just wanna talk about the reversal."

Saturday:"please call me back as soon as possible"

Sunday, August 25th

Brett:"I'm ok"

Trent:"What the hell happened?"

Brett:"Nothing I just felt like I needed a break from phone and that stuff"

Trent:"Brett you didn't answer the phone for 4 days"

Brett:"Ok, I was avoiding you, cause I kinda fucked up and was afraid to tell you"

Trent:'What did you do? Is my body ok?"

Brett:"Yeah your body is unharmed. Nothing that bad. We just had a party in the appartement. Broke the TV and... I had unprotected sex with one girl. She didn't know if she was pregnant or not. So I was waiting. And congrats. You're not gonna be a dad"

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett:"I know. I'm so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise. I just got drunk once and it led to this. I'll be good now"

Trent:"Please, don't do anything anymore. I want to switch back"

Brett:"Nah man. We still gotta week to finish. You said until September 2nd."

Trent:"I didn't know you'd do something like this"

Brett:"Please Trent. I'm begging you. Just that one week"

Trent:"Fine. But don't do anything else!"

Sunday, September 1st

Brett:"Hey. Are you packed yet?"

Trent:"Hey. Not really. I planned on packing tommorow. You can come and help if you got time"

Brett:"Sure. I'll come by"

Monday, September 2nd

Trent arrives to the appartement. Brett is on the couch playing video games

The TV is new and there is a PlayStation on the table

Trent:"You didn't tell me you got back into gaming and that you bought all this."

Brett:"Yeha, I missed it. I thought to myself that you'd like it too. So I bought it. By the way. You should see how the fans dig it"

Trent:"Fans? You're live streaming in my body?"

Brett:"Yeah. The gamers are so into it when I'm flexing in the spare time. I even got a viral Tiktok already!"

Trent:"I think we should swap back, Brett. My life is out of your control now."

Brett:"I'm just using all the goods, man. You don't like my body anymore?"

Trent:"Stop changing the subject. I want to swap back"

Brett:"Ok... but on one condition"

Trent:"You want money?"

Brett;"Nah I want to have sex with my body. I want to have sex with you."

Trent:"You have lost your mind"

Brett:"Oh come on. Admit it, that you thought about it. Who gets the chance to fuck their body? To watch their body in the most animalistic moments from somebody else eyes?" Brett flexes his biceps to let Brett watch

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett stands up and goes towards Trent

Brett:"You know you want to kids thus face. To suck this hard dick" he says holding tightly his hardening bulge

Trent:"I... I do. I want to suck my dick"

Brett:"Atta boy"

They begin making out. The fast movements heading towards the bedroom could be described as chaotic, but for them it was a dance of passion. Brett was ripping his old clothes from his old body was all over his body, kissing his neck. Sucking each part of his skin

The kissed even more

Brett began to be more dominant. He gripped Trent's now receding hairline and pushed him down to suck his dick. Trent was choking. But did his best to swallow most of the shaft he now had. He had his dick in his mouth. He couldn't believe it. He is straight and he is sure of that. But this is absolutely different

Brett took his old body by the neck, choking him. "Say you love being in my body"

Trent:"Brett I can't breathe"

Brett:"Fine, let's do this the hard way"

He turned him around. Trent now on all fours. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready

Brett spit in his hand and spread it all over the head od his dick. Ready to penetrate his old hairy hole

Trent:"Brett wait... I... Ahhhhhhhh". Trent screamed in pain

Brett:"Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm just so horny. I love your body, Trent. I love every inch od it. Admit you like mine"

Trent:"Brett, please slow down"

Brett:"Naaah, you'll get used to it in a sex"

Trent:"Please, get lube or something"

Brett spit again to where his dick was penetrating Trent's ass. Brett:"Should do it"

Trent was still in pain, but now a new feeling was making him feel better. The pain was now... pleasant? He wanted to feel more. With every thrust from Brett. He felt like shitting himself and cumming at the same time

Brett:"Admit it. Admit you love being in my body" he sped up. Thrusting painfully.

Trent:"Yeah.... yes..."

Brett:"Louder"

Trent:"I do... I love your body. I love being you"

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm gonna cum. Turn around. I want to cum on your chest"

Trent turned around. He could feel cum leaking from his dick. And now he saw his old face like he never did before. Brett was so into it. His face was full of lust, rage and mischief.

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm cumming!"

The cum shot all over Trent. Not only on his chest, but also on his mouth and face

Trent watched in awe what just happened.

Brett:"Whew. That was a ride wasn't it? First gay sex. Am I right?"

Trent:"Brett... I?"

Brett:"Oh sorry. I have to catch my breath. You look so funny with my cum all over you. Haha. By the way. I'm glad you love your new body. You get to keep it"

Trent:"Brett, you said we would swap"

Brett:"Yeah I did. That's true. But after this little 'cum over your face' and 'dick in your ass' we made it permanent"

Trent watched in shock as his old body was still standing on top of him. Breathing rapidly and laughing.

Several months later

Hi my name is Brett. Welcome to my only fans channel. If you got any hairy request, hit me up

Brett in Trent's body:"Well this is just pathetic. Man, I knew you'd crumble. But this just seems you lost your mind"

Trent's massive colleague came next to him:"Hey, bro. What are you looking at?"

Brett:"Just looking how one of my friends threw away their life, kinda sad. But whatever. Their life, not mine"

Friend:"Hey, wanna grab a beer later this evening?"

Brett scanned his friend from top to bottom and smiled:"Sure thing. Be there at eight"

Brett thought about switching it up a little. That body would be amazing. But then he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. And flexed

Brett:"Nah. I'm Trent. And I'm keeping this body"

A request from messages (another one who waited for a LONG time, sorry guys) for @swappwas

Hope you like it :)

P.S. written late at night on a phone with a very irritating autocorrect, so please excuse the mistakes

[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter One - Olivia Ricciardo

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.6K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

Olivia Ricciardo came running out of daycare with a wide grin on her face. Her grandparents just wished her dad could have been there to see it as she ran into their arms. It wasn’t his fault; even once his little girl was born, he still had a job to do.

Daniel was there for half of the week at least. But for the rest of the week, his parents took care of her, feeding her, letting her sleep in the bedroom she had in their house, and transporting her to and from daycare. Every time her dad would leave, Olivia would scream and cry for at least a couple of hours. At least until her grandparents had her facetiming her father and Daniel could talk to his little girl.

This time, when Olivia came running out to her grandparents car, she immediately asked if she could call her daddy. “I wanna tell him about the new friend I made!” she said through a wide grin as she bounced in her seat.

As her grandma drove, her grandpa pulled out his phone, calling Daniel. He kept a hold of the phone until his son picked up. After saying hello to him, he passed the phone back to Olivia. “Hi daddy!” She called, but Daniel could hardly see her from how much she was moving the phone around.

“Hi, Livvy!” Daniel grinned at his daughter. He’d missed her so much this week. His short break the year before, before he had been placed in the AlphaTauri, he’d spent the entire time with Olivia. He’d only gone to the races on the weekends, and since Olivia only went to daycare on Tuesday to Friday, she went with him.

But now that Daniel was driving again, he left Olivia with his parents. He didn’t want to take her out of daycare to be at his races; that was how she socialized. And this was proof of that.

“Daddy, I made a new friend!” Olivia shouted.

Daniel couldn’t stop his grin from becoming wider at that. “That’s great news Livvy!” He shouted, telling the news to whoever was near him.  

Suddenly the phone moved away from her dad. Olivia watched as somebody else grabbed hold of the phone, holding it in front of his face. “Hi, Livia!” Said her Uncle Max as he held the phone up in front of his face. As usual, he wore his Redbull hat. This one had a number One on it. Olivia had several Redbull hats. She had several with her dad’s number and one of Max’s old ones, with the thirty-three on it. “Your dad tells me you made a new friend!”

“Yeah, uncle Max. His name is Milo and he shared his crayons with me so that I could do my colouring book.”

"That's great, Livia!" Max said.

He said his goodbyes and passed the phone back to Daniel, who was only too happy to be talking to his daughter again. "Maybe you could invite Milo round for a playdate when you're back from your mums house, Jelly Bean," he said and the smile dropped from Olivias face.

It was so secret who Olivias favourite parents was. Even though she rarely got to see him, she loved her dad more than anything. Daniel didn't know what happened at his ex's place in what made Olivia hate it so much, but he had no right to stop it.

If he tried, his ex could easily pull up the fact that Daniel was never there and his parents saw Olivia more than he did. If Olivia would tell him why she hated it, maybe he could do something that would stop her from having to spend every other week with her mother.

"But, daddy, I want to be there when you get home," Olivia said, wearing a pout.

Daniel hated seeing his little girl like that. He loved her more than anything and never wanted to see the smile drop from her face. His Olivia, he'd go to the ends of the earth for her.

The people surrounding him indicated that it was time to go, but Daniel kept smiling as he looked at the phone. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay, Jelly Bean?"

"Okay," she said and passed the phone back to her grandfather without saying goodbye.

Daniel smile turned sad as he looked at his father. "Make sure she has snuffles before she goes," he said sadly before saying goodbye to his parents. They knew what to do by now, they'd been sending her to her mother’s house for the last five years.

“What’re we having for dinner tonight, Livvy?” Her grandma asked as they pulled into the driveway.

The scowl dropped from Oliva’s face and she started bouncing in her seat, chanting ‘turkey dinosaurs!’ over and over again.

Turkey dinosaurs it was.

***

“Milo, honey, can you feed the cat please!” Y/N shouted, pulling the phone away from her ear as she turned back to the stove.

Milo came running down the stairs, already in his dinosaur pyjamas and dinosaur slippers. He ran to the front door, where the cat bowl was, and used the tiny, novelty shovel to scoop the cat food into the bowl. It was a little too much, but Poppy (the cat) wouldn’t mind.

“Wash your hands for dinner!” She shouted and placed the phone back between her shoulder and her ear.

“Mum, I don’t need your money,” she said as she plated up the Italian dish she had made. Well, it was spaghetti with carbonara, with turkey dinosaurs on the side to get Milo to eat it.

She heard her mother sigh down the phone. “Well, if you won’t take our money, your father and I are going to visit,” she said and hung up, without saying so much as a goodbye.

Placing her phone down, Y/N put the plates on the table and waited for Milo to come running in. He jumped into his chair and picked up his knives and fork. “I made a new friend today, momma!” Called Milo as he put down his knife and fork and picked up the turkey tyrannosaurus. He bit the head off and roared with the food still in his mouth, leading his mother to scold him.

“Tell me about your new friend, Mi,” she said as she ate her own dinner (like Milo, Y/N had a turkey dinosaur on her plate. It was the triceratops, Milo’s least favourite).

So, Milo told his mother all about his new friend, Olivia Ricciardo. He boasted about how he shared his pencils and Miss Green didn’t even have to ask him. Olivia sat beside him as they coloured, telling him all about her dad who drove race cars.

“Yeah, momma! Her dad is a famous race car driver! How cool is that?”

“Very cool, Milo,” Y/N answered as she picked up his plate to clear up. Of course, she didn’t believe that Milo’s new friend’s father was a famous race car driver. That was the sort of things kids said to impress each other. Just six months before Milo had told some boys that his father was a famous football player.

Milo stayed sat at the kitchen table, kicking his feet. “I can’t wait for daycare,” he said to himself as he knocked his fist against the table in time to the music.

Y/N couldn’t stop herself from grinning as Milo continued talking about daycare. It hadn’t had an easy time making friends, but now he had one and she couldn’t be happier.

As soon as she was finished with the washing up, Y/N ruffled his hair with her soapy hands. “Bedtime, little man,” she said, and Milo jumped out of his chair and ran up the stairs.

He ran into his bedroom and dove under the covers. He grabbed a hold of Rexy, his tyrannosaurus teddy bear, and Spike, his Stegosaurus teddy bear, and held them close. He watched as his mum walked in and pulled a book from his shelf. “How do we feel about the magician’s nephew?” She asked as she pulled the little book from the shelf.

“Yay, Narnia!” Milo called as Y/N sat on the end of the bed and cracked open the book. Just a few months ago Milo had been complaining about picture books, since one of the boys in his class had started reading actual books. So, Y/N was working with him so that he could read ordinary books on his own.

“Momma,” Milo began, interrupting her as she read. “Can Olivia come round for a playdate?”

Y/N placed a dinosaur bookmark between the pages. “Only if Olivia’s mummy and daddy say it’s okay,” she said as she put the book back and switched on his dinosaur night light.

“Olivia doesn’t like her mummy,” Milo replied as she turned on his side, still holding Spike and Rexy.

Y/N walked over and kissed the top of his head as she tucked him in. “Well, I’ll just have to speak to her daddy then, won’t I,” she said and stood up straight. “Goodnight, Munchkin,” she said as Milo turned towards the wall, his eyes shut.

“Goodnight, momma.”

Y/N walked out of the room, leaving the door open just a little. As she left Poppy the cat ran in and jumped on his bed (a dinosaur blanket, of course), curling up by his feet.

With Milo now asleep, Y/N went back downstairs. She sat at the kitchen table, pulled out her laptop and, like she did every night, began writing.

Taglist (OPEN): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye

[0mg-bird]

Sunrise~ Tyler Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: The curious case of the tornado wranglers, down to earth, girlfriend.

A/n: I just watched Twisters and am in love. Right now Sunrise by Ryan Bingham is my favorite song so here’s a little one shot inspired by it.

Warnings: Language, implied smut

Everyone’s called you crazy ever since you were born. The people in your small Texas town said you were the wild child, your parents had four boys and when their baby girl came around, she had a mean streak just like her brothers. Ten years old and standing in an empty corn field, looking at the thunder heads forming above you, hot and muggy air gusting against your skin, the crack of thunder didn’t scare you, you were utterly curious and amazed. You’ve known storms since you were a babe, you remember the shrill sound of the sirens going off and your mama screaming for you to come inside. Your family was in a panic, you remember your daddy letting the horses loose and the way the cattle ran. That funnel touched down and prayers were prayed, you watched from the bathroom window despite the way your mama dragged you away.

It was beautiful, so utterly terrifying in the distance, a force of straight power.

You were hooked.

Telling your parents you were going to the University of Arkansas to study meteorology was a good idea in theory until they told you becoming a weather girl was a sweet job.

You told them about storm chasing and your mama almost had a stroke.

But you’ve worried everyone your whole life, only you would choose something so crazy.

You met Tyler your sophomore year when you had the same class, your energetic personality hid the fact you were a nerdy kind of cowgirl. The two of you quickly became best friends, despite his cocky personality. You formed a dare devil connection, you were the call he made when he got a lead on something.

Graduation came and you said you were going back home, he hated that idea.

“Come with me.” He said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

It’s hard to say no to a man with puppy dog eyes.

Somewhere between gathering a crew up from all over the boons and adopting a one eyed dog you found stranded after a storm in Little Rock, the two of you fell so deep for each other, it hit harder than any storm you experienced.

Here you are now in Oklahoma, cutting through fields in Tyler’s red Ram truck. “Lilly, talk to me.” You call over the radio system on the dash, looking for what data the girl in the vehicle following has. In the backseat, Boone, the right hand man, is recording like always, talking to the followers.

“Welcome back guys, we’re currently back at it again in the Oklahoma plains. This beauty we’re going into is gaining speed, turning into something good. What are we thinking, Tex?”

You look to the camera and smile. “You know, I’d like to call this an easy F2 but the strong updraft we’re getting here could push this baby into the F3 category.”

Also from the back seat, Ben, the London journalist asks to explain what you just said.

The rain cap starts and muddies the earth, the truck drifts as Tyler maneuvers it greatly. You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward to get a better look at what you’re driving into.

“What are you thinking, darlin’?” Tyler asks, seeing the way you evaluate the area.

“Take a left, it ain’t gonna hit the tree line, see the way the wind shifted?” You instruct.

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, giving you one of his perfect grins before making a sharp left.

Ben makes a sort of strangled cry of fear as he gets tossed around in the back. You, completely nonchalant, chewing on a Red Vine, turn to look at the Brit.

“Ben, baby, how you feeling back there?” You ask, pointing something else out to Tyler.

“Oh I’m bloody great.” He lies before getting knocked into the door again. You laugh. “Man, I love this guy.” You declare, finding him so amusing. “Let’s keep him, Ty.”

He rolls his eyes at you, making you scoff. You look at the dog in your lap who’s wearing a tiny helmet with the words ‘Killa’ written across the front. “What you think, Rocky? You wanna keep Ben?”

The dog lays his head down and places his paw over his small snout.

“Rude. Ty, Rock used to agree to everything I say, now you’ve done gone and brain washed him. Poor fella.” You pout before yelping in surprise at the way Tyler drifts into a spot. He grips the radio, calling for the convoy to assume their positions.

“Sorry, I’m no expert but it looks like the twister is going to roll right over us.” Ben says as everyone buckles their harnesses.

“You’re exactly right Benny boy.” You say, opening the center console and placing Rocky inside his designated safety seat. “We need to be in its path so the data bugs we’ll launch have enough wind speed to reach the height needed. Put your harness on and you’ll be about as secure as a pistol in a PTA Mama’s purse.”

Ben looks to Boone in question. Boone just shrugs. “At some point you get used to all the odd shit she says.”

Tyler cranks the E brake, then looks at you with a smirk. “You wanna touch my joystick?” He ask, motioning to the control stick that has the button to activate the drills that will anchor the truck into the ground.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You scrunch your nose, pushing the button.

The truck is secured, you’re all buckled in tight, now you have to focus on when it’s the perfect time to launch the processors. Things are blowing against the windows, Tyler’s laughing and Boone is howling into the camera, showing the viewers what they see.

“Tell me when.” Tyler says, and as thick water drops pummel the windshield, you stay silent, waiting…watching.

“Now!” You shout and he presses the button that activates the hydraulic opening lid to the tub in the truck bed, the small bug sensors fly out and are carried up into the funnel that is passing over you.

“Breaker breaker, what are we seeing?” You call into the radio, Dexter in the caravan off in the clearing responds. “We got eyes, Tex. Data is coming in clear.”

You shoot your arms up in victory, this was the first time you were launching the 2.0 sensors. “There we go!” You look directly into the camera Boone is pointing at you. “You see that kids? I still got it.”

You watch the storm pass you, the funnel goes into the distance and the winds calm a bit as you unbuckle your harness. You’re pulling the pup from its safety and throwing open the door, running to the spot it just was.

“Whoo!” You hear Tyler whoop, and you throw that snapback hat of his you were wearing, adrenaline pumping through you. He sweeps you into his large arms, twirling you around. “Did you see that, baby? God, that was beautiful.” He laughs and you pull on the brim of his cowboy hat. “I sure did, let’s go get those bugs before we lose their signals, cowboy.”

Later as you set up camp in some cheap motel, Ben is approaching Lilly and Boone with questions.

“I need a story about the girl, uh Tex? Does she have a name?” He settles into one of the fold out chairs and motions to you sitting on the roof of the truck, looking up at the stars and listening to the music playing on the radio.

Lilly chuckles and then makes an adjustment to her drone. “She does, but she’d kill you if she found out you was using her government name in your fancy paper.”

Ben finds that interesting, he writes a few notes about a very mysterious persona you have. “How long has she been in this business? I tried to ask her some questions but she shushed me and told me she was ‘meditating to a Childers song’ and it was very important that she did this.”

Boone shakes his head. “She says confusing stuff to make people go away when she wants her peace.” He explains. “Tex is the original, her and T were the ones to assemble the squad of us, they taught me everything I know. She might be crazier than he is if I’m bein’ honest, always pushing the limits but every move she makes is calculated.”

Lilly agrees. “She’s my best friend, but has always been a curious case. She comes from Texas, hence the nickname and the accent that gets too thick when she’s drunk. Mama wanted her to be this Southern belle but she turned out to be a real wrangler. She’s the smartest person I know, but has a very relaxed way about her.”

“Who?” Dexter asks as he passes by.

“Tex.” They answer.

He shakes his head. “That girl’s a tree hugging loon.”

Ben quickly comes to know the dynamic of you and Tyler. There is no home but each other, you make the best of every situation because you are together. Two pairs of cowboy boots and wide eyes, that’s what you two are.

“I’d compare her to like…a coyote.” Lilly determines. “She’s the perfect balance of wisdom and foolishness, always willing to make light of situations. One time, we were tracking a desert storm in New Mexico and we were camping in our trucks, it was hot, all our leads were gone and we’re ready to turn back. The sunrise comes and it’s prettiest thing I ever seen, we wake up to just a color spill of orange and pink. We open our doors up and Tex is out there dancing in a sports bra and boxers.”

Boone leans back in his chair, laughing at the memory. “Man, we thought she finally lost it, that being with Tyler for so long finally made her go off the rails. T is standing there, watching her, asking what the hell she was doing and she claims she was doing a rain dance.” He says, making Ben chuckle to himself.

Lilly lights a cigarette and rolls her eyes. “She was out there shaking her ass.”

“You fucking joined her!” Boone argues, taking the cigarette from her.

“Well yeah, you don’t let your best friend dance alone. And what happened that day? The rain came and the biggest thunderheads I had ever seen blew in. The lightning was beautiful, Ben, you shoulda been there.”

New Mexico rain was a memory you thought of often, it just felt a little fresher. Blame it on the heat you were dying of or the thirsty land you stood on, but you stood out in it, getting soaked to the bone and then fell into Tyler’s arms.

Now, far away in Oklahoma, Tyler stands looking up at you soaking in the moonlight. “Come down from there.” He calls. You lean over the edge of the roof and look at him. “Why don’t you come up here?” You challenge.

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m tired, darlin’. Let me take you inside.”

You look back up at the stars, then slide from the top of the truck, making him reach out and catch you. “Alright, take me to bed you old man.”

He shakes his head at your comment. It’s hard to resist anymore, you just looked so gorgeous underneath the moonlight. He leans to kiss you, nothing too deep but still of passion because he loves tasting the sugar of your lips, you were always so sweet that it made his head cloudy.

Arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist, the two of you say goodnight to your friends and head to your motel room, Rocky trotting after you. The lock on the door is hard to budge open, the room has a sort of stale smell.

As Tyler is distracted by setting up a bed for the dog, you grab your things from your duffel. “Dibs in the bathroom.” You shout before making a run for it. Tyler groans and tries to beat you, but you stand in the doorway, sticking your tongue out at him. “You just gotta be faster.” You tease before shutting the door in his face.

The low bulb light casts a hazy orange glow to everything, you start the shower and find it to have weak water pressure. Your clothes make a pile on the floor and soon the air steams up.

Your muscles relax as you wash off, you let out a small groan at your fingers scrubbing your scalp. The sound of the shower curtain being pulled back and Tyler stepping in behind you makes you turn. “I haven’t even been in here that long.”

He shrugs, then moves to hog the water. “I got impatient.”

After being with someone for so long and sharing everything, nothing really fazes you. The crew jokes that you and Tyler could probably morph into one body at this point.

By the time the two of you are mostly rinsed off, he’s getting handsy. His fingers trace over your handful of tattoos, wet skin sliding across you in a feverish way. You lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him. “Ty…”

He looks down you was an innocent smile. “Oh come on, we’ve been traveling with people for too long. We get one night without Boone gagging when I kiss you.” He says, then leans his head down, nuzzling into your neck.

You bite your lip at the feeling, your arm coming up to run your hand through his hair. “Who’s in the room next to us? These walls are thin.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” He mumbles, hand slipping far past your navel, earning a loud gasp from you.

You lean your weight back against him, nodding feverishly as his fingers do wonders to an aching spot between your legs. “Okay, not having Boone around is really good.” You breathe.

He’s practically holding you up, his other arm is around you, holding you to his chest while he makes you fall apart.

It didn’t matter that the room hasn’t been updated since the 80’s or that the mattress groaned under the weight of the two of you or that Rocky runs and hides, the two of you were savoring this alone time because you didn’t know when the next time would be when you got it.

You’re laughing, making out and switching positions. The feel of his hand running past the valley of your breasts and giving your throat the lightest grip, it makes you feel on fire. The headboard’s getting knocked into the wall, you’re breathlessly whining and he’s loving every reaction you give him. By the time you’re gripping his shoulders so tight and his name is sounding broken as it cuts from your throat, he’s barely holding himself up.

The air conditioning makes an odd hum sound as you lay against him, skin on skin. You never understood how people could get bored of sex after being with someone for a while, having sex with Tyler Owens was hotter than west Texas in the Summer.

Well, the first time was a little awkward. Most people don’t establish they love each other before they sleep with each other, but you guys did. When you sat in his lap, lips slotted against his, you had to fight to push the idea out of your mind that you were grinding against your best friend. Everything was slow and every touch was unsure, after it ended you were scared that the relationship dynamic would never work if this was how sex was together.

You laugh now, thinking about it.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, fingers tracing the long horn skull that is tramp stamped on you.

“I’m just remembering the first time we had sex.” You shake with amusement. He groans. “You have to stop bringing that up.”

Pushing up from his chest, the blanket falls off of you. He watches in amazement as you swing your leg over his waist, your hands planted on his chest. “I think it’s cute, we were just babies.”

“Yeah, sometimes I miss the days where I didn’t know how insane you were.”

You glare, immediately going to move off of him before his grip yanks you back to your spot.

“I’m kidding, I always knew you were crazy.” He says.

“You love it.” You lean over him, and his hand comes to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “You know I do, darlin’.”

Falling asleep was easy, you could fall asleep anywhere, but in a bed with Tyler holding you to his chest, it had you dreaming in seconds. You wake before he does, slowly sliding away to get dressed. You stand at the balcony outside, a cup of coffee in your hand as you watch the sunrise. After a few moments of peace, the door behind you opens and out comes your lover boy.

“No rain dance this morning?” He asks, kissing the top of your head.

“There’s plenty of rain in Oklahoma, they don’t need me to shake my ass in the parking lot for it to come.” You state, leaning down to pick up Rocky who trailed out after Tyler.

The two- well, three of you, look out at the horizon line, the air is already getting hot.

“You ready?” He asks you, and you turn to kiss his jaw. “I’m always ready.”

[tropes-and-tales]

It's That Simple

Day 16:  Praise Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Light angst, kinda (Bob gets deflated); talk of panic attacks and self-doubt; smut (handjob); 18+ only.

Word Count:  5656

AN:  This was requested by an anon!

AN2: If you've been around a bit, you know the drill: this isn't edited or re-read or beta'ed.

It’s another terrible first date.

Bob struggles to even snag a first date.  He’s unassuming; he lacks the swagger and extroversion to stroll up to a woman and talk her up.  Most of his dates are obtained from other members of the Daggers—double dates, set-ups, stuff like that.

The latest one was set up by Fanboy, a friend of his sister.  Within moments of meeting his date, Bob knows it’ll be a mess:  she makes a face when she greets him at the door, and it goes downhill from there.

It ends when she gets a text.  An emergency, she tells him, and Bob is too smart and perceptive to buy the lie.  But he’s a gentleman, so he nods seriously and offers to drive her home or wherever she’s needed, which she declines.  He pays the bill of their abortive dinner, and he pretends not to notice how his date practically skips out of the restaurant and into the waiting car of a friend.

He should go home to lick his wounds.  Another failed date, another night alone.  He sees the stretch of his life in front of him and despairs that he’ll ever meet someone, and he should go home to sulk, but he goes to the Hard Deck instead.

He might as well break the news to Fanboy, at least, and maybe Nat can cheer him up with her usual sarcastic humor.

-----

The Hard Deck is as packed as always, and Bob—in his date clothes of dress pants and a button down shirt—stands out among the uniformed pilots and fellow wizzos.  He finds the Dagger Squad, confesses his failure to Fanboy, then settles into a stool near Nat and Rooster.

Nat puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze.  “I’m sorry, Bob,” she says.

“Her loss,” Rooster offers.

Bob shrugs.  It’s not anyone’s loss but his, but he offers them a weak smile that fools neither of them.

It’s Hangman who sidles up to Bob, and in an uncharacteristic moment of thoughtfulness, the cocky pilot offers to be his wingman—which makes Bob laugh, and it comes out laced with some bitterness.

“No offense, Bagman, but you’d be a terrible wingman,” Bob says.

“What?  Why?”

Bob lifts his hands in a helpless shrug.  “Because you’re….you.  And I’m not like you at all.”

“So?”

He scoffs in frustration at Bagman being so obtuse.  As if any woman would look at Bob if he walked up to them with Jake at his side.  It’d be like an Aston Martin rolling up alongside an old Honda Civic, and that’s the analogy he uses to make Jake understand.  But Jake shakes his head, clasps him on his shoulders and gives him a friendly shake.

“Nah, Baby on Board.  You got it all wrong.  You just need some confidence.”  Another teeth-rattling shake.  “Trust me, there’s a girl out there for you.  C’mon.”

Bob finds himself powerless to resist as Jake pushes him off of his stool, then shoves him gently in the direction of the crowded bar.

-----

The first pair that Jake sidles up to is a bust, but it’s not Bob’s fault:  Jake had hooked up with the one woman before, forgotten about it completely.  He’s moments from getting a drink tossed in his face when Bob tugs him away from the danger and they pull back, reevaluate.

The second pair is a bust too.  The first woman doesn’t even let Jake get the full sentence out before she’s wagging her ring finger in his face.

“Married,” she says, her words clipped.  “Move along, sailor.”

The third pair?  The third pair works out.  Jake hones in on one immediately, a blonde with big doe eyes, but the second one—you—rolls her eyes at him.

But when you turn to study Bob, you don’t roll your eyes.  You hold out a hand, introduce yourself, ask for his rank, then pat the empty chair beside you.

“Settle in, Lieutenant,” and your smile is easy.  “Let’s chat while we watch your friend strike out, huh?”

-----

It turns out you’re drunk, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

For one, you’ve fallen in with Bob Floyd, the most gentlemanly man a drunk, single girl could come across.  He’d never take advantage, and in fact, he’ll end up driving you home at the end of the night, getting you into your apartment.  He will take your shoes off of you, tuck you into your bed, and press a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen on you before he sees himself out.

For another thing, Bob Floyd has fallen in with you, the most fiercely sweet drunk that a down-on-himself man could come across.  You’re one of those loud cheerleader types when you drink; the kind of woman who chats up other women in the bathroom, who tells them they’re beautiful, that you love them.  With your friend and Jake otherwise engaged, Bob finds himself caught in the tractor beam of your charm.

“You look sad,” you tell him around the rim of your glass.  “Are you sad?”

You’re drunk and Bob is sad, and you’re staring at him with wide eyes that glitter in the low light of the bar, so he tells you.  He tells you about his terrible date, the latest in a string of terrible dates, that he’s been single for so long and he’s not entirely convinced he’ll ever meet someone, that he’s too scrawny, that his glasses are terrible (one date called them serial killer glasses), that he’s too reserved to ever catch the eye of a woman, too unremarkable looking, let alone—

“No!”  You cut him off by exclaiming it, a near-shout, and your hand finds his forearm and grips him there.  “You’re gorgeous, Bill!  Don’t even say you aren’t!”

He grins despite himself.  “It’s Bob.  But thanks.  I mean, it’s nice of you to say—”

“Bob.  Yes.  Sorry.  Bob, not Bill.  I say it because it’s true.”  You release your hold on his arm and sit back in your chair, your eyes narrowed now as you study him closer.  You’re quiet for a long beat, and Bob squirms under your attention, but then you tell him more and he swears he breaks out in a full-body blush.

“You’re gorgeous, really,” you tell him.  “It’s just that you have a sneakier handsomeness, you know?  Like, that one there—” You gesture broadly at Jake.  “—He’s, like, Ken-doll handsome.  Like, he catches your eye because it’s all symmetrical and stuff, and he’s fine, but symmetry can be boring and someone like you, it’s sneaky.  You have a nice face, and these nice blue eyes, and nice hair, and I bet people think about you after the fact like, ‘oh, that Bob guy, he’s not bad at all,’ and then even later it’s like, ‘oh, Bob, he’s pretty handsome.’  Because you’re that sneaky sort of handsome and that’s the worst damned kind.”

Bob isn’t entirely tracking what you mean, but he shakes his head at the unearned praise, and he can’t stop the smile that’s plastered on his face.  He probably looks like a dope.

“Why’s that the worst kind?” he asks.

“Because it’s deadly!”  You lean forward again, put your hand on his arm again.  “Sneaky-handsome guys are like a virus because by the time you realize they’ve infected you, it’s too late.”

Bob chuckles.  “I’m a virus?  Suddenly my night has gotten worse, somehow.”

“No, not at all.  It’s just…”  You trail off, polish off your drink.  You wave down Penny for another.  “It’s just that you sneaky-handsome types never understand the power you have.  Ken-doll over there knows he’s hot, and by the mere fact of him knowing he’s hot, he loses a considerable amount of hotness.  But you have no idea you’re handsome, and that makes you even hotter.”

“I think there’s a string of women in the San Diego area that would disagree with your assessment,” Bob replies.  “But I appreciate the compliment, nonetheless.”

“Oh, them.”  You flap a hand, a dismissive wave.  “There’s a lot of idiots in the world, Bob.  You can’t let a string of women in the San Diego area make you feel bad.”

“I guess I just need to find someone who isn’t an idiot.”

“Ah, well!”  You set your drink down and wave your hands in front of yourself in a ta-da sort of flourish.  “Cal Tech graduate, Bobby.  I work for NASA.”

He feels a warm flush at you calling him Bobby.  “You’re a rocket scientist?  Definitely not an idiot, then.”

“Astrobiologist, actually.  And only an idiot sometimes, but never when it comes to the sneaky-handsome men here at the Hard Deck.”

Bob shakes his head, a little embarrassed at how much he likes you, a drunk stranger, talking him up.  He tries to dial it back, afraid he’s going to fall in love before last call.

“You’re way too smart for me, then,” he tells you.

That makes you arch an eyebrow at him.  “You afraid of smart women, Bobby?”

“Not at all.  It’s just that smart, beautiful, and sweet?  Do you understand the power you have?”  He keeps his tone light, teasing, but he’s in over his head with this:  he’s definitely going to fall in love before last call.

Of course he is.  His question makes you laugh, a warm sound that knocks free the lump in his chest from his earlier failed date.  Your laughter makes him feel drunk even though he hasn’t touched a drop; he feels warm and light and big-headed at how kind you’ve been to him, how sweet, but your laughter is the sound that makes him fall in love with you.

-----

The two of you stay until last call.  Bagman and your friend disappear hours before then, and you shrug at Bob, say you called it all wrong, that you didn’t think Jake was your friend’s type.

Bob drives you home.  You’re unsteady on your feet, so he hovers near you, but you manage reasonably well until it’s time to unlock your door.  He watches you try it, then he reaches out and takes the keys from your hand.

It’s the first time he touches you.

He gets you inside.  He gets you to your bedroom, and you flop gracelessly across the mattress, and Bob immediately goes into caretaker mode.  He slides your shoes off of you, sets them in a neat row by your closet.  He makes his way to your kitchen, gets you a glass of water, then stops in the bathroom.  He rummages through your medicine cabinet—you use the same brand of toothpaste as he does, the same type of toothbrush, and Bob marvels at the strange intimacy of learning these things, the everyday things that not everyone is privy to about you.  He finds some ibuprofen and shakes two out, then takes them and the water back to you.

You’re already drifting off to sleep, and Bob has to cajole you into sitting up.  He gets you perched on the side of the bed and gives you the pills and water, which you take without complaints.  He takes the empty glass back from you, and then there’s a moment—

—you sit on the edge of your bed and Bob stands over you, and you look up at him with your bleary eyes and he sees fear.  You’re understanding what you’ve done, maybe:  you’ve invited a strange man back to your place and you’re drunk, and he could do anything, and Bob sees the flicker of uncertainty, the beginning of fear in your eyes.  It makes him feel sick because he’d never take advantage.  It makes him sick that the world, being what the world is, makes this fear lance through the whiskey fumes in your head.

He reaches down to the foot of your bed where there’s a blanket neatly folded.  He shakes it out, urges you to lie down, and when you do, he covers you up.

“Be sure to drink more water when you wake up,” he tells you softly. 

The nascent fear fades out of your expression, and it’s replaced by a loose, goofy grin.  You free a hand from under the blanket and give him a sloppy salute.  “Aye, aye, captain.”

Bob sees himself out but not before he’s struck with a bit of brave optimism.  He sees the little whiteboard by your refrigerator, and he writes out his name and his number.  He drives home and sends up a silent prayer that his sneaky-handsome virus has already infected you, charmed as he is by your earnestly drunken (albeit clunky) analogy from earlier in the evening.

He wakes up the next morning and feels less hopeful.  He queues up a playlist and sets out on his morning run, but his morning pessimism is misplaced:  you call him a mile into his run, and Bob stutters in his steps to hear your voice—a little rough, but sunny nonetheless.

“I’m looking for a guy named Bobby,” you tell him over the phone, and he can hear the smile in your voice.  “Lieutenant Blue Eyes.”

-----

The two of you make plans to meet up at the Hard Deck, but you don’t call it a date so Bob doesn’t either.  He’s in unfamiliar territory:  things have always been a date or not a date in the past, but he’s noticed that many of his Dagger teammates speak in looser terms—meeting up, hanging out—with potential partners.  He’s unsure how to handle it; if he seems too casual, you might miss his interest.  If he comes on too strong, he might scare you off.

He decides to just turn up in his uniform, as he usually does, and when he arrives at the Hard Deck, you are already there.  You’re perched in a bar stool and chatting to Penny, but when he strolls in, you see him.

You smile at him as he walks over to you, but then you shake your head in a mock-rueful way.

“Oh, no,” you say as you hop off of your stool.  You open your arms and Bob steps into them, and you hug him warmly like you’re old friends.  “I thought maybe it was just whiskey-goggles that night, but you really are cute.”

Bob chuckles.  He releases you, then takes the stool beside yours.  “Well, I’ve been downgraded.  You called me handsome that night,” he points out.

“Sneaky-handsome, actually.”

“There seems to be a whole spectrum here that I was never privy to.”

You wave down Penny who comes and takes your orders.  Once your drinks are in front of you—a hard cider for you, a shandy for Bob—you click your glass against his.

“Here’s to the sneaky-handsome men of the world,” you say.

Bob ducks his head and grins  “And to the rocket scientists,” he adds.

A date or not a date…the evening passes in a blink, and you leave Bob that night entirely sober after long conversations and a lot of easy laughter.  You pull him in for another hug before you part, and this hug lingers longer than the hug you gave him as a greeting.  When you pull away, though, you gaze at him with a somber expression.

“I wanted to thank you for the other night,” you tell him.  “For being a gentleman when you took me home.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean it.”  Your hands on his upper arms squeeze him a little firmer.  “You could have taken advantage, and you didn’t.  You’re a good one, Bob.”

He shakes his head, tries to wave you off, but you squeeze him again.  You don’t let him shrug off your thanks.  You don’t let him downplay his goodness.

“You are a good man, Bob,” you repeat, and you stare at him, like you’re daring him to disagree. 

Bob, who finds that you’re something of a force to be reckoned with, wouldn’t dare to disagree.

-----

He’s still not entirely clear if this is dating or not.  Neither of you actually says the word.  You text each other steadily, and you meet up sometimes at the Hard Deck, but your schedule isn’t great and Bob’s is even worse.  He worries that he’s missed his chance.  When he talks about it to the other Daggers, Hangman rolls his eyes and tells Bob he should have taken his shot earlier, that Bob is pretty much friend-zoned now, but Nat rolls her eyes at that and says he’s overthinking it.

Of course Bob overthinks it.  Bob overthinks everything.

He doesn’t know yet that you overthink everything too.  That you are going through your own pangs of regret, that you think you’ve missed your chance too, that your friends circle around you too and give you tough-love pep talks to build up your courage to take the lead on this burgeoning thing with Bob.

And ultimately, Bob’s hunch that you’re a force to be reckoned with is correct.  In the end, you take charge.

-----

You end up inviting him over for dinner on a night when your schedules align, and Bob overthinks that too. 

What if it’s a date-date, and he turns up too casual, with nothing in his hands—no wine, no flowers?  Or the opposite—what if he dresses up a little, brings you a mixed bouquet, and it’s just a casual friends-type thing?

Bob has no idea how he can manage the systems on a sophisticated plane because his brain grinds to a painful halt the moment he starts to contemplate this dinner at your place.  It’s Nat—it’s always Nat, with her no-nonsense lens into the mystique of her fellow women—who smacks some sense into him.

“Wear a nice shirt, shower beforehand, and take a bottle of wine,” she tells him.

“But what if—”

“It’s always polite to take a gift, Bob.”  She rolls her eyes, heaves a sigh.  “And it’s always polite to, you know.  Shower.  Show up fresh-smelling and neat.  Jesus Christ.  Just go.”

So Bob turns up at your apartment, a mid-tier bottle of wine in his sweaty hand.  Freshly showered, a daub of cologne behind his ears, and a nice blue button-down that brings out his eyes. 

And it’s a good thing he took Nat’s advice too, because you open the door in the sweetest sundress, and there’s music softly playing and the most heavenly smells wafting from your kitchen.  Bob realizes all at once that it’s a date-date after all, and his heart does an alarming little stutter in his chest, enough to stun him until you take his hand and gently pull him inside.

-----

Part of Bob’s issue with women is his inability to pick up on subtle, sometimes invisible cues.  He has always fallen in with the sort of women who play mind games, who play coy and say one thing while meaning another.  He always feels back on his heels; it feels like women speak a language he’s only slightly fluent in, so he’s always playing catch-up to translate what they mean.

But it’s refreshing with you, in this moment, because as you both sit down to the feast you’ve prepared, you just talk with him.  The two of you chat about your lives, you catch each other up since the last time you’ve talked, and Bob almost forgets to be nervous.

Almost.  A pair of tapered candles flicker between you and cast your lovely face in a golden glow, and low, bluesy music sets the soundtrack as you eat.  You sip at the wine he brought, and he eats your home-cooking, and Bob imagines an entire life like this…and he almost misses the way you keep swiping your palms along your thighs, like you’re nervous.

Almost.  He leans into his WSO work, studies you closely like you’re a dashboard of lights and alarms and switches.  He watches you a little closer, and he sees the way your throat bobs when you swallow a mouthful of wine, like you’re swallowing past a lump or going all dry-mouthed on him.  He sees the deep breaths you take, the way you press the back of your hand to your neck, like you’re flushed and trying to calm yourself.

“You’re nervous,” he blurts out when he realizes it for sure, and you pause in where you’re lifting the wine glass to your mouth and stare at him.

“I am.”  It’s that simple.  No mind games, no coy pretending. 

“It’s just me,” Bob says.

You smile at him, and it trembles a little at the corners.  He can feel the nerves in you now, and he reaches out a hand across the table, palm up.  He makes a grabby motion with it until your smile firms up and you lay your hand in his, and he grasps you lightly.

“It’s just me,” he repeats.

“And I like just-you,” you tell him.  “Like-like, I mean.  I wanted to tell you so tonight.”

His heart does that wicked little stutter in his chest, but he squeezes your hand.  “Sounds like you just told me then.”

“Guess so.”  You watch him, and your smile seems tremulous again, so Bob replies, “I like you too.”

It’s that simple.  After you each put yourself through your own overthinking hell, each suffering through your own sleepless nights and needless worrying about dumb things like friend zones, it comes down to a moment so simple that it’s stupid:  just the two of you holding hands as you confess your mutual feelings matter-of-factly.

-----

It feels too easy.  After months (years) of struggling to even land the occasional first date, suddenly Bob’s dream girl turns up just like that.  It feels too easy, and so Bob slips into his overthinking almost immediately.

It goes fine after dinner, when the two of you trade nervous kisses on your couch until the nerves burn off enough that your mouth slotted over his feels natural, that you move in concert with each other—your head tilting one way, his tilting the other, no longer bumping noses or knocking his glasses askew. 

It goes fine as you climb into his lap, the solid weight of you a welcome sensation because Bob’s head feels like it’s filled with helium, drunk and fizzy from the feel of your lips against his, your tongue against his own.

It goes fine when you climb off of him, shaky-legged like a newborn foal.  When you hold out your hand and take his to lead him back to your bedroom.

The moment he finds himself stripped down to his boxers and lying on your bed is the moment it falls apart.

It’s like every mean comment, every brush-off and ghosting, every roll of the eyes and beleaguered sigh and overheard commentary about him crowds into the room and leaves no space for this moment with you.  Bob thinks of all the feedback he’s ever gotten on dates—the serial killer eye glasses, the lack of muscles, the lack of game.  He tries to take a deep breath and finds he can barely pull in a lungful, and his throat feels like it’s closing on him—

And he can’t get hard.  His near-erection from making out on the couch deflates, and even though you are perched over him—you’ve shed your sundress, and you’re in the sexiest, sweetest lingerie set, powder pink, like the underside of a cloud at sunrise—he cannot coax himself back to attention.

The panic that floods him—he recognizes the feeling.  He’s felt it a million times.  He feels the hot, splotchy redness as it breaks out across his chest and neck, and his face flushes furiously bright, and you notice it all in real time.  The sultry, heavy-lidded look on your face disappears and is replaced by pure concern.

“Bob?  Bobby?  Are you…okay?”  You reach a hand out and cup his face, and your palm had felt warm earlier but now it feels cool….which proves how hot he’s flushed, how feverish his panic makes him feel.

“I’m sorry.  Shit, honey.  I’m…I gotta go.”  He tries to sit up but your mattress is soft and he flails a moment, and if Bob were just a bit younger he’d burst into tears at how sideways this has all gone so suddenly.  You served him up the perfect evening, you’re kneeling right beside him in the hottest fucking lingerie, and he’s been reduced to a stuttering, red-face idiot who can’t even get hard—

“Hey.”  You lay your hand on his bare chest, steady him.  “Hey, hey, hey.  Take a second.  Just breathe, Bobby.”

“I gotta—”

“Just relax.”  You press against his chest, tap your forefinger against his skin.  “Breathe for me, okay?  Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not.  Fuck, it’s not!”  He raises his voice, winces at how shrill he sounds, and the dam in him breaks.  Something in him dislodges, and it all spills out:  every mean, rotten thing he’s ever thought about himself.  Every bit of unfair criticism, every insult and slight and how his own insecurity has twisted it all into a crippling imposter syndrome.  How he only ever feels competent at his job but how he struggles with everything else, and now how he’s fucked it all up with you because he’s overthinking, always trapped in the own tangled maze of his mind, always waiting for the other shoe to drop because he’s not good enough, he can’t even get hard even with you looking like a dream—

“Hey.  Whoa.”  You remove your hand from his chest, but you scoot over to sit beside him, turned to face him, your expression very similar to the night he met you—the same easy smile, the same studious eyes.

“Nothing’s ruined.  You haven’t fucked anything up.  Take a breath.  Is this because of that bad first date you had the night we met?”

He nods.  “A little bit.”

“There’s been other bad first dates, I guess?”

Another nod.

“And now you’re worried this is just another bad first date?”

“Yeah.”  It comes out a croak, a roughness in his throat. 

“Hmm.”  You lean forward, press a soft kiss to his forehead.  “You wanna hear about my worst first date ever?”

“No, honey, it’s okay—”

“His name was Justin.”  Another soft kiss, this one to his temple.  “Good job, good looking.”  Another kiss, to the other temple, right at his hairline.  “Picked me up and gave me flowers, took me out to San Diego’s most exclusive restaurant that has a reservation list a mile long.”

Bob chuckles weakly.  “Sounds awful,” he says, wry.

You hum again, kiss his flushed cheek.  “He was charming at dinner.”  A kiss on his other cheek.  “Said all the right things.  Asked about my life and listened to my answers.”  The lightest of kisses on the tip of his nose, and it makes him smile despite himself. 

“Halfway through dessert, a woman comes up to our table.”  Bob feels the gentle press of your lips at the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to kiss you back, but you pull away. 

“It was Justin’s wife.”  A flurry of kisses now, to his chin, along his jawline, near his ear. 

“He was cheating,” Bob says.

“Nope.”  A kiss, this one lingering, under his jaw, on his neck.  “Turns out, this was a little game he and his wife play.  Some weird cheating, cuckolding fantasy.”  Your lips skate over his pulse point.  “He takes a girl out, his wife pretends to catch them, and then they go to a nearby hotel to fuck each other senseless.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right.”  You lift your head to gaze at him.  “Asshole left me with the bill for dinner too.  So Bobby….you’re not my worst first date.  You’re not even close.”

“Honey—”

“You have no idea how hard you’re gonna have to work to really, honestly fuck this up.”  You grin at him, and then you straddle his lap again, and he lays his hands on your hips and stares up at you.

“Because you’re, like, exactly the sort of man I’ve always been looking for.  You’re that sneaky-handsome sort, and you’re smart and sweet, and you took care of me that first night when I was too drunk to make good choices.”  You cup his face in your hands, and you stare at him hard, that sweet forcefulness on full display, like you dare him to disagree with you.

“It’s already a sure thing, Bobby.”  You lean forward, kiss him gently.  “There’s no pressure to do anything tonight.  Don’t even think about needing to do anything.  How about you just let me love on you, and you just relax, and if you can keep your secret wife from busting in and turning this into a cuckolding fantasy, we’ll end the night just fine, okay?”

That makes him laugh, and it breaks the spell of his terrible ruminating.  Bob laughs, and he slides his hands from your hips up to your waist to feel your soft skin.

“I didn’t even think of getting a secret wife before I came here,” he confesses.

“See?  It’s a sure thing, then.”  You lean forward again, whisper in his ear, your warm breath making him break out in goosebumps as you tell him to just relax and let you love on him.

-----

The antidote to Bob’s awful overthinking, as it turns out, is your care and praise.

As far as first dates go, this is the one where Bob learns something new about his own sexuality.  He learns, thanks to you, that he has a praise kink, because your hands and mouth and body on his feels amazing, but it’s your words that make him hard.

Loving on him means you touch him everywhere.  You kiss him everywhere.  You stroke him, press your soft lips to him, lick against parts of him until he feels like he’s on fire in a way that is completely different than his panic attack.  You kiss every inch of his face and neck.  You trail your mouth over his shoulders and collarbones, across every bit of his chest and belly, and you praise him whenever your mouth isn’t otherwise occupied.

Look at you, Bobby.  Hiding this body away under that uniform.

You praise his arms, the muscles of his chest and abs.  You praise his shoulders and back, the smattering of chest hair, the trail of hair that leads down and disappears under the waistband of his boxers, and you glance up at him, the question in your eyes as you toy with the elastic.

“Can I?” you ask, and Bob nods, swallows hard, and you go lower, you push his boxers down and his cock is there, hard from your honied words.

“Holy shit,” you blurt out.  “Bob, are you for real with this?”

It probably seems like a cliché, like the pretty girl in a movie who somehow never realized she was pretty, but Bob has never really considered his size.  He’s been around plenty of other penises through the course of his career, but he’s never exactly eyed up other men and measured himself against them.  The handful of women he’s slept with never said anything so he assumed he was average, but you praise him here too—you tell him he has a beautiful cock, and Bob blushes at the compliment.  He’d never call it beautiful, but when you wrap your palm around his shaft and grip him gently, he’d agree to any adjective you might offer, so long as you never let him go.

This feels too easy too, but the panic never claws at Bob’s throat again.  You’ve chosen him, you’ve made it a sure thing for him, and you’ve cut through his awkward moment of near-flight to get him to this:  your body stretched alongside his, your breasts pressed against his arm, your hand working against his cock while you whisper praise in his ear. 

And every time doubt starts to creep in—he should be touching you too, he should be making you feel good too—you hush him, you still his mouth by kissing him, and you tell him that he has all the time in the world for touching you, but he should let you take care of him now.

His orgasm creeps up in fits and starts, and it seems to ratchet closer with each bit of praise you lavish on him, more so than each movement of your hand working against his cock.

“I want you to come for me, Bobby,” you whisper against his neck.  You kiss his pulse point, a plush, open-mouth kiss that makes him shiver as you grip him tighter, work a faster rhythm with your hand.  “Come for me like a good boy.”

He wants to be good for you; he wants to do as you say.  Some not-so-small part of him craves your approval, and maybe the two of you will play around with that sort of dynamic in the future, but for now, he just wants to obey you.  He wants to do his part to salvage the night he thinks he almost ruined, so he breathes in time to your strokes, focuses on every sensation—the softness of your breasts pressed against him, your wet, hot mouth kissing him, the light scent of your perfume.  The tension in his belly is a coil, and it tightens and tightens until it snaps, and his hips stutter against your grasping hand.  He gasps out your name, warns you, and then a beat later, he comes.  He spills over your hand, thick ropes of cum coating your fingers and wrist, spilling over onto his belly.

“Just like that, baby.”  You kiss his panting mouth, and he feels the curve of your lips as you give a pleased smile.  “It’s that simple.”

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#382

“Oh, sorry to startle you there.  You must be Robby Anderson.  Coach Thomas said that I could use the Away Team locker room for the privacy in showering and cleaning up.  He also said that you might be lurking in here.  No, no.  You don’t have to leave or even cover up.  I have been in many locker rooms and around naked young men all my life.  You have nothing I haven’t seen before.  In fact, I’m about to take a shower.  Join me….

“I’m Doug Mason.  I’m a scouting for local high school football talent.  I’ve been watching a number of your school’s players in the heat.  I am really in need of this shower. 

“Damn these socks have my stinky foot sweat.  Hoo-wee!  They are nasty.  Wanna take a sniff?...  Sure you do.  Take them….  I said ‘Take them!’  Hold them up to your nose and inhale deeply….  You like that smell hunh?...  Of course you do.  You are tenting in your shorts.

“Take them off.  Let me see your pecker….  Look it’s just us.  And I already know you are a sperm burper.  Coach Thomas told me….  What?  You didn’t know he knew?  Well…

“Shorts!  Off!… 

“See that wasn’t hard.  Well, the decision wasn’t hard, but your tiny pecker sure as hell is.  No, don’t hide it.  I like the look of it.  It’s small, but so are you.  You are what?  5’3” and 120 pounds?...  Yeah, I’m pretty good at sizing men up.  I was off by only a few pounds.  That pecker is what four inches?  For a small guy like you, it’s perfect. 

“Now me, I got a foot on you, and I’m more than double your weight.  And as you can see by my bulge I my jock, I’m more than double your dick size.  Wanna see it?...  Of course you do.  Kneel in front of me.  Reach up and pull my jock down….  Slowly.

“Smell that?  That’s all-natural man sweat.  No. No. Not yet.  You’ll taste it in a bit.  I know you like the smell of men sweating.  But above all, I know you love to sniff ass.  Here’s mine. 

“Hairy, just the way you like it.  Reach up and pull my meaty cheeks apart.  Take a deep whiff.  Smells nasty hunh?  That’s what we are going to start with—you cleaning my shithole.

“But let’s do it where you normally clean Erich sweaty shithole, in the shower area.  Go.

“I’m really surprised that you haven’t asked me how I know so much about you.  I mean you are known to clean out rank shitholes and then take a pile driving in your cunt.  For a plain looking 18-year old senior in high school, that’s pretty amazing.  And you kept it quiet, even better.

“Lay wherever you normally do.  Get that tongue out, cause my ass is coming down to sit on your face….  It’s been a while since I played in a shower.  Stay still….  Oh man.  You are wasting no time; that tongue is going in deep.

“Coach Thomas doesn’t know that you are a world class pig under that meek, math nerd, submissive exterior.  I don’t know what it is about guys into math, but they are pretty much twisted as fuck. 

“Coach only knows that you hook up with quarterback Erich Schneider before and after each game, as part of some superstition thing that Erich has.  I talked with him... Erich.  You know he’s the reason why I’m out here.  Nobody else on the team is of the caliber that he is.

“I took him to lunch and I point blank asked him if he had a fag on the side.  He asked me how I found out.  I told him Coach Thomas.  He was panicked.  I said he’s known for a year or so, and that he’s not to worry as nobody has said anything.  His job is to make each player the best he can be.  And to do that he needs to know what a player is sticking in his stomach and what a player is sticking his dick into at all times.

“Get up.  Let’s get the shower going.  I want you to take this washcloth and wash me down.  Spend some time washing my cock.  I know you want to play with it.  But while you are doing that listen up.

“I’m a lot like your Coach.  If I’m going to offer a scholarship to a player, I need to know everything going on in that player’s life.  Having a faggot on the side can be a problem, but that depends on the faggot.  Having an ass eater faggot to improve one’s game performance is understandable.  Erich is ready to ditch you, but I have an idea.

“After talking with Coach Thomas, he says that you got into the university, but didn’t get in on scholarship.  He also said that your family can’t afford it, and yet make too much money for financial aid.  I’m going to make you an offer.

“As I said, I want Erich to come play for us.  If I can offer you as an incentive, he won’t be able to turn us down.  If you want to be one of our students, I can arrange to help you out.  But your primary purpose is to provide Erich whatever he needs: eat his ass before a game, fuck you after a win, or beat the fuck out of you after a loss.  Your holes are his to use as he sees fit.  You would still need to get a job to help support yourself.  And if anything should happen to break it off with you, the assistance I am offering would dry up in an instant.

“That’s option one.  Option two has all the same service to Erich, but you live with me and possibly one other fag on my ranch.  I live on six acres outside the county line about ten minutes from the main campus.  You would be servicing me as well.  I know you can take a face sitting.  I have seats made for that for you to lay under.  And you will take a mean fuck every day. 

“I love tiny fag boys like you.  Just look at my cock right now.  I am hard just thinking about it.  If the shower wasn’t going you would see my leak.  I wasn’t planning on fucking you, but you are too much for me not to.  Lather me up.

“If you live with me, I can arrange to get your schooling paid for.  I just need to whore you out to one of the administrators, actually two of them.  They can set it up so that all your tuition and fees are paid for.  You will need to get good grades.  I will control your study times as well.  You will be whored out to whoever I choose.  And I know a lot of men.  Someone with your size, cute looks, and demeanor will be in demand.  The fact that you are barely legal alone will have the men asking me.  And they will pay.

“Now reach behind you and lube up that cunt.  I need to take it for a ride.  If it’s not to my liking—kinda hard to believe—the second option is off the table.  At the end, when I pull my deflating cock out of your gaping cunt, you will let me know which option you want. 

“I can’t take it anymore.  Get on the floor, face down.  Don’t reach for your pecker.  In fact let me see your hands at all time.  There is only one dick that matters here, and it sure as fuck ain’t yours.

“I can fuck for hours, but this needs to be quick.  I need to get back to Erich and Coach Thomas.  You ready for some pile driving?  If not, I don’t care. 

“…Am I crushing you?  Aww.  Well you need to adapt to the cock in your cunt.  And this hole is definitely a cunt.  Men will use it for their pleasure.  Men will use you for their convenience.  That makes you a faggot.  Everyone else will think of you as gay, but you know that you are different.  You know that you need to be controlled and used by real men.

“Your cries echo in this shower, and it sounds like music.  I’m getting close.  Your guts are going to be flooded.  I’m gonna knock you up, knock you up real good.  Here it comes!  Here it comes baby!  Here it fucking cums. Here it cuuuuuuummmms!  Fuck yeah!  Uh, Uh!

“Fuck.  Fag.  Your cunt is gold.  You may be a small fag, but your cunt is deep.  Mmmm.  I could lay here all day on top of you.  But I need to pull out, and you need to clean off my cock.

“Get on your knees.  No, you are not cleaning me up with soap.  Open your mouth and take me in.  Clean up services are required of all faggots I’m control over.  It’s a courtesy to the men who just gave their loads. 

“Don’t think about it.  Just do….  Atta boy.  Did you think any further about my offers?  You want to be Erich’s ass eater on campus?  Or you want to be one of my boys? 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.  I can see it in your eyes you want this life.  Good.  I’m going to transform you into one hell of a faggot cunt boy.

“You can tell your parents that you got a math scholarship, or whatever.  This starts next August.  That’s nine months away.  Until then, you will not pursue other men, at least ones I have not pre-approved of.  That does not apply to Erich, who you will never say no to. 

“You will report to Coach Thomas at the end of each school day.  You have gym as your last class.  That will make it easy.  He will provide any further instructions.  And he doesn’t require any pre-approval either.  Although I don’t think he will do anything; he doesn’t use current students.  He’ll watch out for you though.  I will guarantee, once you graduate in June, he will make a move on you.

“He and I have a long history together.  We both like the same type of fag boys, like you.  He and I belong to a group of men who like to share barely legal boys. 

“There’s a bunch of us meeting tomorrow night for hood night.  Everyone wears a hood, both faggots and men.  The only difference is the faggots are blindfolded.  I will take you there.  And you will be open to any man there.  They are not going to ask permission to use you.  But what will most likely happen is that you will be taken and used all night by one man to service his beercan dick.  That will be Coach Thomas.  Even with you hooded, he will still know it’s you, but if anything ever came out about it, he can plausibly deny that he didn’t know. 

“I can tell by how rock hard your pecker that you like the idea. 

“Erich doesn’t need to know anything about this network of men, including Coach Thomas.  I have yet to fully figure him out.  You will let me and Coach Thomas know if he does anything different.

“Your tongue bath on my dick feels so good.  But I need to get dressed.  Here take my socks.  They are yours.  When you are jacking off, I want you to inhale their rank smell.  I want you to think of me.  My jock is for another boy.  I’ll get you one of Coach Thomas’s jocks to enjoy as well.

“As of right now, you can jerk off as much as you want.  Use my socks or his jock to focus your thoughts and fantasies on us.  For the next nine months before you move in with me, you are going to spend a lot of time by yourself.  Jerking off and thinking of servicing us will keep you in the right head space.

“Oh look Erich is coming in….

“Erich!  I have some good news!  I have been authorized to offer you a full scholarship to come play with us, with your own private room in our dorm, and a stipend for meals.  That’s officially.  Unofficial, you were telling me that you are going to miss your ass eater here.  Well, he’s agreed to start the same time as you.  He’ll be staying with me.  I’ll make sure he will be available for you to use any time you need him throughout your time with us.  You could come by my place for privacy.  Or, if it’s close to game time, I have access to a private spot for you to use right by the field. 

“I told you that I could get him for you.  I’m quite known for getting the unspoken perks for my players.

“I know you have a ripe ass in need of some deep cleaning.  And you are right, the fag most definitely knows how to do it.  Thanks for letting me use him.  If I didn’t experience his talents, I would not have made him that offer.  I think this is a good situation for all.  I’ll be in touch later so we can celebrate over dinner.  Bring your family, your girlfriend, whoever you want.

“Fag, I will be in touch tomorrow about arranging that meeting.

“You two have fun.  I have to go talk to Coach Thomas about a coaching event he should attend tomorrow night.”

[freelancearsonist]

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile. 

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face. 

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality. 

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

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[luveline]

if you’re taking joel requests here’s one :3

touch-starved!joel who isn’t aware he’s touch starved but then extremely affectionate reader comes along and just always! touches! him! loving & intentional touches, casual touches—all of it drives him wild and he loves it!!

thank you!! I hope this is okay! Touch-starved Joel who wants you but doesn't know how to want you w/ mutual pining ♥︎ fem!reader 2k

Joel wishes you wouldn't work the same shifts as him. Wishes you didn't have to work any shifts at all, wishes you didn't know this life, but you do. He wishes you wouldn't pick all the high-paying, devastating jobs that he does, wishes you didn't insist on keeping him company. And above all, he wishes you wouldn't touch him, because he can't handle the way that he feels when you do. 

Sharing shifts turns to seeing one another outside of the old meat market by accident. In turn, that becomes purposeful. Before he really knows it, you're comfortable enough to come by his apartment and you'll wait there even when he isn't home just to see him. Precious hours of your life spent curled in on yourself at his door. 

Joel nudges your sleeping body with his shoe and then feels like the world's biggest asshole. He sighs, kneeling down despite his aching back, and shakes your shoulder. He notices how soft your jaw looks when you sleep and has to look away, lest he think about it too much now, and remember it later. You have this habit of chasing him into bed when you're not there. 

Your hand wakes before your eyes do, and you curl your fingers around his wrist, half on his sleeve and half on his skin. Where you connect hums with heat. 

"Why are you out here?" He changes his prerogative, feeling as though chastisement is more important. "You have no sense of danger, even now. Get up." 

He doesn't speak without fondness. You'd have to look hard to find it, but it's undoubtedly there.

His tone has you awake and alert quickly, your gaze on his face. "I do," you say croakily, letting him pull you into a standing position. 

"Then what are you doing out here?" 

"I can't call first… You look tired." 

"I am. I'm not staying up." He pulls his wrist from your lingering grasp. "Should've called."

"You act like you don't like me," you say without inflection, following him in through the door and closing it softly behind you. 

He drops his jacket over the back of the couch and scrubs his face with both hands. His back aches from standing and heaving all day, his arms tight with a cramping tension. 

If he were younger he'd turn around and wrap you up in his arms. He'd tell you what he really thinks of you, your head hooked in the crook of his arm, his free hand roaming lazily over your back. His pinky finger would run along the line of your jeans playfully, and maybe you'd laugh. You don't laugh as much as you should. 

"Are you hungry?" he asks. 

"No, Joel."

You'd lie even if you were. 

He moves into the kitchen, makes himself a small glass of water, and leans against the counter. He tries not to drink it like a total pig knowing you're watching, but he's dehydrated and cotton-mouthed. 

The window paints you in a weak light, like iced tea. You pick over his things and arrange yourself on the couch like a tired house cat, pulling your legs up and rubbing your cheek against the backrest. Shoulders to the arm, you're almost lying down. He could superimpose you into his sheets, imagining how you might look in bed, not naked or waiting or anything so salacious, just how you’d look getting ready to sleep. He wonders if you wear pyjamas, figures you likely sleep dressed as you are now in your shirt and jeans. Maybe you swap denim for sweatpants, maybe you don’t. Maybe you peel your shirt off, maybe your bra. He entertains a life where he gets to see it and finds it painful as wrapping his hand around a hot poker, because that life is alarmingly close to this one, if he were to take one small leap.

“Where were you today?” he asks.

He sees a flicker of humour flit across your face. He knows it as one of your tells — you'd thought about bending the truth.

"You don’t have to worry, I’m just… rundown. Felt sicker than usual, so I stayed home." 

It's automatic for him to give you a once over as he would with anybody who feels under the weather. You haven't been unlike yourself, you aren't sweating or irritable. You're fine. You’re more than fine.

You have a strange inability to look after yourself. He believes in positive (and negative) reinforcement. 

"Good girl," he says. 

You smile at your hands, picking at nails he knows are scrubbed raw and clean as he crosses the room to sit with you on the couch. You're quick to push your legs over his lap, your jeans riding up until the rarely-seen skin of your ankles peak out. 

"I had an incredible headache," you continue. "And I felt like the blood was rushing in my ears when I stood up but I wasn’t dizzy.”

You touch him and it's like all his agitation starts to numb itself. The weight of your legs has him forgetting his aching back and his sore arms. He stares at his closed fist by your foot, willing himself to touch you; all he wants to do is grab your leg, feel the dough and softness of it under his palm. You sit up a touch to brush a longer piece of hair sticking out behind his neck. 

He pretends you aren't moving at all. 

"Do you feel better now?" he asks. 

Your knuckle brushes under his jaw. He feels the short hairs of his beard catching. 

"I feel fine," you say. "How are you feeling?" 

He turns to face you head on. He’s not going to answer your question. You already know he won’t, but you've asked anyway. He isn’t sure what to do with that.

“You really do look tired,” you say softly, concern knitting your brows together. He thinks it’s your most devastating look yet. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Joel, I’ll go home. You can get some real rest.”

He almost says Hey, I don’t want you to leave yet, and you’re already standing up. You look more sorry than you should, believing that you're a burden on him when you aren’t — you're a lightness. You drain the levy, and he can’t see himself getting any rest at all if you leave. 

You’re saving him the awkwardness, climbing off of his couch and out of his lap to track down your shoes. “And, you know, you could shower,” you say, trying to infuse some life back into the room, “I know the cold water bites but we all gotta do it.”

He stands up too fast and feels an absence of noise. No blood rushing in his ears, no beating heart. He’s too tired, in every sense of the word, to ask for what he wants. He can’t ask you to stay. 

You lean down to hook your finger into the back of your sneaker and stop at his expression. You stand a little taller. Whatever vulnerability he sees in you now, your short black socks against the floor, your sweet-eyed, tentative smile, he suspects he’d find it doubled in the mirror. 

“Joel, I…”

He can’t ask you. 

But that doesn't mean you can't ask him. 

"Do you think I could stay, after all? To sleep. Just to sleep," you say. Your voice is quiet, like you're trying to spare yourself some dignity if you need to take it back. 

He thinks about it. You, in his bed. You, sleeping as you had been in his hallway, your lashes skimming the delicate skin under your eyes, your neck craned in. You, with your hands under your cheek, your sluggish breathing, your heart capering only a handful of inches from his. 

A beat. "You kick in your sleep?" he asks, cotton-mouth returned.

"No," you say. You laugh through it, making the word so thick it's almost sticky. Honey in sound. 

It solidifies what he's said yes to. He doesn't know how to sleep next to you. He barely knows how to talk to you, and doesn't try as he leads you into his bedroom. Thankfully, you spare him. He knows you aren't the most confident person on the planet, and that each bold move you make is for his benefit. He tries to be unflinching in return, kicking out of his shoes and throwing back the blankets to lie flat on the sheets. You settle in next to him with little ceremony.

You keep your legs hiked up at first, your heels digging into the mattress near his knees. You turn your face to his, and he turns his face to yours. He can see your every wrinkle and line this close. You must be seeing his. 

"You got lucky with the neighbour lottery, huh?" you say, not quite whispering. "It's silent." 

He doesn't want you to stop talking, but he can't help himself. "Almost," he says wryly.

You know him well enough to smile. "I guess you don't need the quiet," —you turn carefully onto your side, letting the weight of your knees rest on his thigh— "'cause you work all day every day." 

The opposite. The shit he sees on shift is enough to give anybody insomnia. 

"I'm the bad neighbour." 

"Oh, right, your radio." The back of your hand touches his arm. The slightest of touches but enough to make him realise how much he wants it. He can't remember the last time somebody touched him who wasn't you, not for years now. It's an amicable casualness he can't explain away. He wants it worse than a hydro.

"I might, uh, might cling a little, in my sleep. You can push me away, swears. Even if you gotta really fight me on it." You close your eyes, burrowing your face into one of his flat pillows. Your knuckles jump up his arm as you get comfortable. "Jus' shove me." 

He closes his eyes. The dark of his eyelids is usually a torment, but with you this close it lulls him quickly and without finesse. "I'm not gonna shove you," he says while he still can. 

He's on the precipice of sleep when your hand slides up his bicep. You feel along the soft ridging of his muscles until your fingers slot between his arm and his chest, and your nose is kissing his shoulder. It's as if the moonlight has heat and it's bearing down on him through the dirty windows as every stressed ligament, every tensed tissue in his sore body finally gives in to rest.

When he wakes, he's missed his morning shift start. You're clinging to him like you said you would, harder than he'd think possible considering your unconsciousness, with your lips pressed to his shoulder. He thinks it might leave a bruise. 

He dips his face toward yours until the tip of his nose nudges your forehead and goes back to sleep.

[doomwadz]

☆ADAM LANZA ICEBERG☆

*this is a informational post!!*

this is my first iceberg, if theres ANY non-accurate information please put it in my ask or comment!!

if theres a topic im unfamiliar with—or not alot of information on, i will put a “★” by the topic.

TIER 1

☆12.14.12

12.14.12 is the date of the Sandy Hook Elementary School Shooting in Newtown, Connecticut by the perpetrator Adam Lanza. Killing 27 people (including Adam). And wounding 2.

☆AUTISM DIAGNOSIS

Adam was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome at the age of 13, which would have been 2005.

☆SMIGGLES

Smiggles was one of Adam’s many usernames on the internet, he used it on a Columbine forum called Shocked Beyond Belief.

☆RYAN LANZA

Ryan Lanza is Adam’s older brother, born on 1988–he is currently 36 years old.

☆ALLEGED PEDOPHILIA

some people think Adam is a pdf file

☆28 VICTIMS

There were actually 27 victims in the shooting, but 28 (because Adam killed himself).

☆HARD DRIVE DESTROYED ★

also, this is just speculation; but alot of people thinks (majority of people) that Adam had cp on his smashed hard drive—?

 FORGOT TO MENTION: he did have gore! they also found porn (not cp.) but detectives never said anything else.

☆CULTURALPHILISTINE

This is known to be Adam’s youtube channel started on September 7th, 2011

but it got shut down in 2021.

☆GAYFORTIMK & QUEERFORKIMVEER

i think this was a time that Adam had a tumblr! These were his usernames. i have some screenshots and somebody’s folder made for his tumblr.

and if you try to look for these links…they dont work (they work in the http/hmtl sense) they are people

who reuploaded his tumblr on their accounts and got taken down.

TIER 2

☆BIG BOOK OF GRANNY

The Big Book of Granny refers to a book that Adam and a classmate did in 5th grade in Sandy Hook.

The book is basically violent (for a 9-10 year old) to make, and there is cannibalism in the book too.

FEW EXAMPLES:

☆VEGANISM

Adam is vegan, there are some posts talking about how he only ate organic food. which its probably 

not proven, he often spoke about not eating meat. There was a interview

with a woman and Adam Lanza, stating “He chose to be a vegan because people were 

‘needlessly cruel’ to animals. Also, a tumblr post (https://www.tumblr.com/introspectionissexy/708027966023663616) stating what Adam said on a video of his, stating

“The McDonalds corporation exploits animals. I’ve been a vegan since i was thirteen but its kind of…completely retarded to think that youre actually accomplishing anything by not…being a vegan doesnt mean that you do not harm animals, by living, by choosing life you are…its life is innately harmful, life is innately coercive to everyone else…”

heres a list of Adam’s diet before he died:

Edamame

Green beans

Lima beans

Tomatoes

Cherry tomatoes

Silk brand Soy Milk

Flax seed

Purified water (with a mix of salt)

Celery

Organic pasture butter

Organic cranberry-pomegranate juice

☆”I’LL BOMB YOU”

This saying refers to a post made by the Reddit user u/brubz89 with the title of the post being

“i grew up across the street from one of the most notorious mass school shooters” explaining

his move to Connecticut during the summer. As the title suggests, he was neighbours with Adam Lanza.

explaining when brubz89, his sister, and Adam.

☆ANARCHY RADIO CALL

On december 20th, 2011–Adam called into Anarchy Radio, the host being John Zerzan, Adam had called

in using the name ‘Greg’. Adam called in to tell a old story (at the time) about Travis the Chimp.

☆ROOM 8 SURVIVOR

This may refer to a 6-year old girl that was a sole survivor that played dead in the classroom,

found by the police. Once she got out she told her mom that “Mommy, im okay, but all my friends are dead.” and said Lanza was a “a angry man.”

(picture of Room 8)

☆MKULTRA ★

didnt Adam hack into some government stuff…and treated at Skull and Bones Yale? hmmm…

☆ANTINATALISM

Antinatalism is a philosophical belief that having children are uneithical.

This stems from a video that Adam made on September 7th, called

“My Antinatalism” talking about his dislike for ‘culture’. with Adam stating 

 “I consider culture to be delusional values which humans mindlessly coerce onto each other, spreading it like no differently than any other disease.”

☆RYAN’S ID

This refers to when the shooting ended (when Adam killed himself) when his body

was found, Adam had Ryan’s ID. So, media thought that Adam was Ryan, Ryan came out on Facebook that Adam wasn’t him.

☆SEXUALITY ★

idk…alotta people think hes gay—😟.

☆SHOCKED BEYOND BELIEF POSTS

This topic refers to Adam’s post as Smiggles (i love that name) on

Shock Beyond Belief forum. the date when he started using SBB was

on December 20th, 2009. On Wednesday December 30th, 2009 he

posted the infamous oatmeal berry chip-nut cookies recipe.

☆NANCY WORKED AT SHES ★

i think she volunteered at one point, but no she didnt work there—and i think this is a misconception by the media.

TIER 3

☆THE GHOST OF ADAM LANZA★

This refers to a thing that some people believed that they could hear a hum in the school after the shooting. The humming went away, so its just some stupid false claim that people made up

just to get a scare or a reaction out of people.

☆FINAL REPORT

the final report is the final report of Sandy Hook—which it isnt because many changes had accrued over time.

☆KAYNBRED

This refers to Adam Lanza’s Wikipedia account that he used to edit

on—he created his account on june 7th, 2009. his activity on this

account was August 6th, 2009 - February 4th, 2010.

heres a list of he edited on Kaynbred:

Collier Township Shooting (talk)

Dawson College Shooting

Westroads Mall Shooting

Luby’s Shooting

Wedgwood Baptist Church Shooting

Kip Kinkel

Sello Mall Shooting

Sunnyvale ESL Shooting

☆35 PAGE ESSAY

This refers to 35 page essay that Adam wrote for a collage application about pedophilia.

☆REGALSIN

RegalSin was a infamous user that used SydLexia and Shocked Beyond Belief (a forum that

Adam also used.) And he had the same beliefs as Adam about pedophilia. From some

sources it seems he (RegalSin) got banned from alot of forums at that time. Lanza (Smiggles) 

wrote on SBB 

“Say whatever you wish, but i know my love for RegalSin is real.”

“Gay marriage is legal in my state, i was just holding it out for RegalSin.”

☆BLARVINK

Blarvink is Adam’s first Wikipedia account, created on

February 4th, 2007. His activity on this account would be—through

April 11th, 2007 - March 1st, 2008.

heres a list of articles he edited on:

Blue Clues (talk)

Rant (talk)

Zygote

Ngorongoro Conservation Area

Fall of Saigon

1980 October Surprise theory

Newtown High School

Benjamin Pierce

Gas Constant

Alvin York

Underdog

James Baker

Spoom

Into the Wild

Darwin Awards

New Zealand

Barack Obama

☆MASS MURDER SPREADSHEET

This refers to Adam’s spreadsheet of mass murders/murders, there are four sheets; 

in total there are 395 mass murders on Adam’s sheet. (yes i spent 20 minutes counting that…)

☆ASTROLOGY BOOKS ★

Nancy Lanza owned astrology books

i dont know if Adam had a interest in them though.

☆149 PHOTOS OF ADAM

This refers to 149 photos of Adam. (Alot of the photos you see

are his college ID and his picture with tech-club. There was some pictures

that were missing that made 142 pictures open, but a user found them.

mostly there pictures of when Adam was a kid.

examples:

(yipppppe!!)

☆CRYINGHAMSTER★

This refers to a user on tumblr by the name of Cryinghampster who would post

Adam Lanza related things.

there account isn’t available anymore.

☆THE SHELTERED STORM

This topic refers to a book/story by the author Matthew Nolan. you can find were to read it on the Internet Archive. the description reads:

“The true story of the man-made disaster that struck the village of Sandy Hook, Connecticut on December 14th, 2012.”

for me, it seems like a pretty good read from what others say, so give it a try.

TIER 4

☆FUCKCOMMENTS

This part refers to Adam’s second Youtube account called “fuckcomments”

His persona seems different on this one—a little more joke/troll-ish. (?)

here are some:

yes, its little different than his more intellectual/philosophical style of writing.

☆SANDY HOOK LIGHTHOUSE

i think this refers to a website/blog that has information on the Sandy Hook shooting.

☆TEST SHOT ★

Adam drove to Sandy Hook Elementary School and Adam fired his gun at a car at the front entrance parking lot.

He just wanted to make sure if his gun was working.

☆ANOREXIA INDUCED BRAIN DAMAGE

In Adam’s final months he did have anorexia-nervosa, even if you looked

at his diet list, he did not eat that much—(he most likely ate

frozen edamame because it has less calories.)

heres the list of calories (he probably) ate in a day:

Edamame — 130 calories (if frozen) if cooked is 189 cal.

Green beans — 31 calories

Lima beans — 13 calories

Tomatoes — 22 cal.

Cherry tomatoes — 25 cal.

silk brand soy milk (or just average soy milk) — SLIK BRAND (110 cal.)

Flax seed — 55 cal.

purified water (w/ salt) — 0 cal.

Celery — 15 cal.

Orangic Pasture Butter — 100 cal.

Orangic Cranberry-pomegranate juice — 130 cal.

In total the amount of calories he was eating was 631 cal. which at his

height and for a guy isnt good and make you seriously ill and have muscle loss.

for 6ft you should be eating around 2,200-3,000 calories for a guy.

so, autopsy reports show that he did in fact, have brain damage from anorexia.

*i am NOT a medical expert…so take this with a grain of salt and this might be wrong but imma leave it alone.*

☆DAFT HANDS

this part refers to on u/brubz89 story about being Adam’s neighbour. a user by the name u/NotMyMainCuzReasons said this: 

Actually there was a post on Reddit saying that Adam referenced Daft Punk - Harder, Faster, Better, Stronger.

and Daft Hands played that song.

also, a classmate of Adam’s reported that he used to watch this with Adam and

ever since, could not watch it.

☆LYME DISEASE

Some might say that Adam may have a undiagnosed Lyme Disease, which some sources bring up good points. Lyme Disease can be causer by Deer Ticks, which they live in woods. Adam’s house is near the woods. Also, lyme can also cause psychological/neurological affects. Many—like Adam has, panic attacks, major depression, anorexia-nervosa, and OCD.

Adam actually did have Lyme disease and some people said he had a goitre but it wasnt noticeable in pictures.

☆3 MONTH ISOLATION

before the shooting, Adam hadn’t left his room in 3 months in…isolation. Not even talking to anyone expect for people online.

☆NANCY HAD MAUCHUSEN SYDROME BY PROXY ★

(A theory) That Nancy has Mauchausen Sydrome by proxy because she would occasionally tell people that she was sick even though she wasnt. And Nancy did nothing about Adam because she had some “gratification” for it.

☆YOUTUBE BOOKMARKS ★

this refers to ALL of Adam’s youtube catalog (basically his videos.)

TIER 5

☆PSYCHOSIS

(speculation) theres many sources that say Adam might have psychosis (which may be very possible not just because he shot up a school.) there was personal messages

that Adam has sent on (it said Shocked Beyond Belief because of Smiggles) 

heres a part that i found interesting that i do think he did

have psychosis: 

“i dont have a persistent sense of fear that you described, but around once every couple months when i gotten arbitrarily fatigued and its around 12:00 - 5:00 in the morning, i have images of distorted faces flashing through my mind. They’re similar sort of similar to the ones towards the end of Terror House, at about 75:00. When i first saw the scene, i mentally flinched for a moment because of its similarity to what i imagined in the past.” - October 23rd, 2010.

and heres a few sentences what i find interesting aswell: 

“Getting back to the subject of paranoia—those images were the worst ‘hallucinations’ i had experienced until a couple of weeks ago late one night when i was getting very tired. The incident was so surreal that i only remember a small amount of the details. Basically, i began to ‘see’ many different things. Although i knew that none of it was actually real, it came as close to being real as it could for me without it being physically tangible. I heard screaming around me, and i had overwhelming sense that there was someone dead behind me. I kept seeing silhouettes flickering people everywhere. I felt like i had to cry. The entire ordeal persisted for about fifteen minutes and sort of faded away. Prior to it happening i never had that sort of delusional hysteria before. It was possibly the strangest thing ive experienced.” - October 23rd, 2010

Also, i would like to note—that Adam also did have depression, and also individuals who have major/severe depression or depression in general can experience psychosis or psychosis-like symptoms. Now this is not saying HE DOES in fact has psychosis, i just think this is a symptom…? but this could be a mix of different things.

☆CONGENTIAL ANALGESIA

This condition is a disorder where you cannot feel pain, and many sources say Adam may have this condition. A Psychologist, Elizabeth Laugeson said that 

“People with Asperger's can be overly sensitive to things like touch, noise and pain, or sometimes under-sensitive,”

Also, a friend of Adam’s said he didnt feel any pain because he used to burn himself.

☆PETER LANZA DEAD IN HOBOKEN★

(this is just a theory)

okay, some sources say that (im going to assume safely) that there where some theories that Peter Lanza

was dead. But, this can be debunked by a picture of Ryan and Peter leaving the Hoboken NJ—police. (?)

☆A TRIAL OF ADAM LANZA

This refers to a book by Dan Howitt:

☆https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=n4hsEAAAQBAJ

☆WOW VIDEOS

This refers to a time when Adam actually played WoW, he never really gotten

to level 60. Also, he did have WoW video gameplay—saved on his computer but none were released. Little bit is known about his accounts on WoW or his time on WoW.

☆LANZA HOME SOLF FOR 1$

After the shooting, Ryan inherited Nancy’s house—the bank took control after Ryan agreed to sell it for $1. but there was pictures of the home being demolished.

☆MARY SHERLACH

Mary Sherlach was the school psychologist at Sandy Hook—she was one of the first people killed, while trying to rush kids to protection. Her death was while confronting Adam in the front hallway. She spent 18 years at Sandy Hook.

☆16 HOURS OF MURDER MUSIC

this refers to a playlist that Adam made under the “Knavesmig”

user.

which, the name other this playlist was “Mass Murder Music”

(correct me if im wrong :3)

☆NANCY LANZA: IN HER OWN WORDS

i think this used to be a article that (used to exist) explained Nancy’s life

through her emails that she sent to her friend (sorry if this is incorrect.)

☆CLUSTER A PERSONALITY DISORDER

i dont think he had this—i think this is just speculation (like FXS) but no records or when you search it up—doesnt say he has it on have any signs.

☆GRAPHIC GORE ON PC

i think this refers to a search warrant conducted on December 16th, 2012 in Nancy Lanza’s house.

but this search document shows it was searched on january 7th, 2013.

but, on exhibit #608 on page 17, it states that

“Three (3) photographs with images of what appears to be a deceased human covered with plastic and what appears to be blood.”

also, in the fuckcomments account he did mention liking gore websites, linking a gore website (its possibly redacted for…obvious reasons). but i dont know if thats connected in the same way.

☆SELF-HARMING THROUGH BURNING

This refers to a time before the before the shooting happened that Nancy told a friend that

Adam was burning himself with a lighter. Nancy later told the friend that he burning

himself in “the ankles or arms or something.”

The friend of Nancy later told “The New York Daily News” that:

“She confided over a drink, “he was getting worse.”

TIER 6

☆NOBADMEMES ★

not much known about this one, but i tried looking for the mentioned “nobadmemes” on the audio transcripts of Adam’s videos. But it is known that he did mention it. maybe im just blind…lol.

☆PAUL FOX

Paul Fox was Adam’s psychiatrist 

for five years before Adam shot up Sandy Hook. Paul Fox was 66 when he 

sexually assaulted a teenaged girl. He faced up towards 18 months in prison after pleading 

guilty to assaulting her.

☆RAPIDSHARE ACCOUNT

This was a account that Adam had, nothing known about it because his father (Peter) advised 

authorities to delete his account. Also, if your familiar with Adam, you may know

that he had a known playlist on Rapidshare that was named “16 Hours of Mass Murder Music”

Which it was possibly filled with music that was about different mass murders.

take this with a grain of salt…

☆KNAVESMIG

This was the last account that is known Adam had last used on Wikipedia.

His account was created on June 19th, 2012 and it was active through

June 19th, 2012 - June 20th, 2012.

He didnt really write or contribute to anything…but ill list it anyway.

List: 

Lord Gon (talk)

also! he had the last post of the discussion page, named “Hark.”

Which, ill leave some screenshots because i got way too happy when i found this!!

☆USED PISTOL IN SHOOTING

This refers to the guns that Adam used during the shooting. 

ill list what he used (+ pictures) and ill explain this topic afterwards.

List:

Bushmaster AR-15 Rifle.

Glock 10 mm.

Sig Sauer 9 mm.

But, i would like to clear things up that—Adam did use the Bushmaster through out the shooting.

He used one of his handguns to kill himself with, (most likely with a Glock 10 mm.)

Also, just to clarify he also had a Izhmash Saiga 12 in his Honda Civic.

☆ONLINE FRIEND PREDICTS MOTIVE★

this was a girl that got investigated by the FBI and she said something on the lines of “killing children to ‘free’ them” (i cant remember and i dont have source for this…but it does exist!)

☆EULAVISM

This is basically the belief that Adam “created” which, the term eulavism with -ism and value spelled

backwards. Adam used this term in this sentence which…he talks about his

most favourite thing! VALUE!

“So, instead of an Efilist, im more of a eulavist. Eh, i only oppose life because life is the source of value and its value that i really hate. And, well, i guess that just says it all: i have a vendetta against value.”

Also, Adam says this on his video called “Rambling vlogrant of a ruminative vagrant (part 2/2)”

made on September 8th, 2011.

☆NIGHT ELF

This refers to the a 2010 video of a man dressed in a elf costume, Adam showed a online friend this video and Adam and the friend used to joke about the elf coming out at night to their house.

☆FRAGILE X SYNDROME

alot of people speculated that Adam had this, which…the size of his head—y’know…kinda explains why he looked like the way he did.

☆SANDYHOOKED.NET

Sandy Hooked . net was a website that was explaining the Sandy Hook case and Adam Lanza.

and also talked about rumours of certain aspects.

☆JULY 18TH

This part refers to pictures that Adam took in his “suicide poses” which, i will share

screenshots and explain them.

this was taken on July 18th, 2010 at 6:01 pm. This was found on Adam’s computer with a 

filename “Kaynsu2” which i think Kayn refers to his name that Adam used on Wikipedia

during 2009 - 2010 (same time). It was in a folder named “fun”. He is using the Izhmash Saiga 12

that was later found in his car during the shooting.

this was also taken in July 18th, 2010 at 6:08 pm. This was also found on Adam’s computer

with the filename “kaynsu1” and was also in the same folder as “kaynsu2”.

TIER 7

☆STOLEN MAIL

A Youtube channel by the name “Miriam1” uploaded a video of a man driving up to 

36 Yogananda Street on on December 17th, 2012, stealing Lanza’s mail and opening it.

…lol.

☆DDR GIRL★

Adam used to be known as DDR boy and a girl he used to play with—staff only known her as DDR girl.

☆FATHER JOHN J. CASTALDO

there was a blog that was talking about how Adam was SA’d by this catholic priest (?) and had multiple points why Adam didn’t really liked getting touched and certain things the way he did. (?)

☆ATF FORM 4473 ★

A form that is used if you want to purchase guns.

☆PEPPERMINT PARK

A creepy ass kids show that used to be on VHS tapes 1987 - 1988 and supposedly Adam liked this show…? (basically a bootleg sesame street.)

☆ARYANEMPIRES ★

This seems like a blog created by someone named “Joel” that uses Cryinghampster evidence for Adam Lanza, the blog seems skattered all over place (imo) so…idk. (was also a channel as well).

☆INTROARAL GUNSHOT

From Adam killing himself.

☆INMENDHAM

this refers to Gary Inmendham, i think his a philosophy content creator on Youtube. Adam mentioned him on his video called “Rambling Vlogrant of a ruminative vagrant (Part 2/2)” uploaded on Semptember 8th, 2011. Which he mention Efilism, which is a philosophical belief that Inmendham created.

Also, Adam supposedly liked watching Inmendham.

☆KIFFERSTUEBCHEN★

This refers to post on Reddit talking about they almost played with Adam, and they mentioned

that Adam had a KiFFERSTUEBCHEN account. And in German this means “gameserver.”

☆ADAM’S NEIGHBOUR

This refers to Adam’s neighbour ended up killing people as well.

TIER 8

☆FOOTAGE OF ADAM SHOOTING THROUGH FRONT WINDOW

this happens to be a rumour of footage of Adam shooting at the front window, though some people say that they saw it, but the front of the school cameras werent recording.

☆DIED IN HALLWAY

Dawn Hochsprung and Mary Sherlach died in the hallway, people thought it

was Adam, but Adam died in Room 10.

*btw the black part is his knees.*

☆9:46:54 ★

this refers to the time when the shooting ended. (which it actually ended at 9:40 am.)

but it could refer to the final shot.

☆THE HUM

The “hum” refers to a phenomenon that people consider “real” and it had reported cases that

some people could hear a persistent and invasive low-frequency humming—not not

everyone could hear it, and such cases where reported from the United Kingdom and United States.

Some people actually speculated it stopped when Sandy Hook happened, and teachers

reported cases of hearing it before the shooting—which again, this is proven false,

and a thing that some conspiracy theorist thought up…

☆GORE PHOTOGRAPHY

this happens to be a time when Adam was on his “queerforkimveer” account of Tumblr, and he uploaded

gore pictures of the corpses of perpetrators (such as Charles Whitman from 1966), after they killed themselves or got shot. Also, the post labels who is who and what guns they used in their attack.

☆MEDIAFIRE ACCOUNT

Newtown investigators found Adam’s Mediafire account—and the investigators claim

the content that was found on the account thought it was completely appropriate to delete

the account, Peter—signed a consent to assume online identity form to access rights

to the FBI and all data has been said to been erased. So, not that known about this

account—or even the name.

☆AE PAGE

this is kinda like the final report.

☆PRN CD★

it was found out that Adam did have porn in possession but detectives said that there was no illegal content.

(as we dont know.)

☆TRUE MOTIVE ★

i think this refers to a negative/narcissistic public presentation of his thoughts and beliefs.

☆MESSAGE WRITTEN IN NANCY’S BLOOD

this is a rumour that Adam wrote something in Nancy’s blood, but theres nothing that proves that.

congratulations! you made it at the end of iceberg! (ill link sources later…) thank you for

reading—this is my first iceberg, so sorry if my information is wrong. ill make more icebergs in the future. :)

★☆★☆

also credit goes to @kaynsui for the iceberg chart :3

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt Pt. 2 | John Price x Reader

Summary: After the initial incident that caused your meeting, Johnny sets you and Price up on a date at a little diner nearby.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: can’t say much w/o spoilers but random men, ghost being moody, Johnny being overly friendly, working in customer service…

A/N: idk what happened something possessed me when I made this, it was supposed to be fluff but then it exploded. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

Weeks had passed after the initial incident, and your life had quickly changed.

You’d broken up with your toxic boyfriend, now wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier, and why you hadn’t listened to all your friend's advice and thoughts on him. You’d moved out, blocked him on everything, and found a new apartment closer to your simple job as a barista. It was enough to keep the bills paid, for now. At least until you finally got out of college with your doctorate in nursing science.

Having been in college for nearly eight years now, and not living in the dorm (there were far too many incidents on campus for you to trust any sort of campus police, not to mention the generally shady system of coverups) made it a little bit harder.

Student loans were threatening to suffocate you, but for now, you would focus on one day to the next. All of this, the annoying days that drug on, or the hard times, would all be memories before you knew it, and it would be worth it. Or at least you hoped.

Today wasn’t one of those super slow-moving days where customers were ordering hyper-specific drinks or getting the suspiciously old lemon cakes, only to complain about how stale they were, as if you could do anything about it. No, today was relatively normal, customers minding their own business after ordering, coworkers having idle chatter.

“M’ taking my lunch break.”

You said to your close coworker, Laney. Her honey-brown eyes shifted over to you, and she nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t take too long, might miss some cute boys.”

She teased, knowing full well all of your opinions on relationships right now. You wanted to wait until you had a stable income and were out of school. She’d heard it only about a million times. You huffed a soft laugh, deft fingers untying the knot in your apron as you set it up on a hook, walking out to your car.

Lunch break was about 30 minutes, which was more than enough for you to drive to the nearest cheap restaurant and pick something up. Clicking your key button and heading towards where you heard the beep of your car, you opened the door, sliding into the worn leather. It wasn’t a new car, not by a long shot, but it was your old faithful, and it had served you well for nearly ten years in a row.

You started the car, muscle memory kicking in as you drove to that place right down the road from your work. It was past the chicken shop, a place you would refrain from visiting for a while after seeing some undercover cops staking out there one night.

You turned and pulled into the parking lot, glancing around before opening your door, only for the cold air to nip at your bare arms, when you decided to slip on the warm leathery jacket, with the fur on the inside. The one that the man, John, maybe, had given you. You’d lost the piece of paper with their numbers on it to the washing machine, but oh well. He didn’t look like the type to live around here, anyway, so it wasn’t like you were going to see him again.

Walking into the restaurant, you strode to the front, placing a quick little order and paying with your card, before choosing a small circular table in the corner to wait for your food. This place was usually quick. You idly scanned the guests. Two large men sitting together, chatting. An older woman and what was probably her husband seated with a younger man and woman. Maybe some sort of family double date? A nervous-looking teenager sitting alone, knee bouncing. An old, thin man seated at the far end, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Not unusual.

You pulled your phone out, idly scrolling through social media before your name was called, and you got up to go collect your food.

~

“You sure?”

“M’ tellin’ ya, it’s exactly what Gaz said she looked like.”

Simon glanced out at the girl his sergeant seemed so certain about. He wouldn’t lie, you did match the description pretty decently. Just as he opened his mouth to point anything out that fought against Johnny’s claim (just to spite him, obviously, not because he liked watching Soap get all frustrated and start rambling on for an hour on end), he noticed it.

“She’s wearin’ cap’s jacket.”

Johnny’s brows rose as he snuck another glance at you. You grabbed your tray of food, walking back to the small little corner where your bag was on the seat. You were wearing their captain’s jacket. The brown leather, the slight fuzz in the sides and insides, the buttoned pockets….he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Hell’s bells, been wonderin’ where that thing went.”

Simon only gave a little grunt in reply, eyes narrowed on you before he glanced back at his food. He didn’t want to seem a creep. He already knew he was intimidating enough to the normal civilian, and one of his “I-want-to-eat-your-firstborn-child” glares (named by Johnny and Kyle) probably wasn’t helping.

“Sounds like Price’s found ‘imself a pretty birdie.”

Johnny lit up at those words, a devilish grin lighting his features, one that Simon usually only saw before he demolished buildings or people with explosives. He was already dreading it before it came out of his mouth.

“We shoul’ set ‘em up on a date.”

“No.”

“Don’ tell me it wouldn’ be a good idea. Might keep him from giving us so many sprints at training, yeah? Ya know he’s been overworkin’ us lately…”

The slight pause Simon took was all Soap needed to continue spewing his disarming, convincing words that usually always worked on his Lieutenant. His lips further curled into a grin as he went on.

“He’s been so tense lately, jus’ let us do this for ‘im, help him relax some…”

“Fine. Get on wit’ it.”

Simon finally relented, suddenly finding his food very interesting to look at as Johnny got up, striding over to you with a confidence one could only expect from the Scotsman.

He glanced up, trying to subtly watch as his sergeant approached you. You were on a call with someone, the phone held up to your ear by your shoulder while you ate your fries, the main entree of your order already gone. When Johnny walked up, you immediately sized him up.

Paranoid. Simon didn’t blame you, living on this end of town. The only reason he and the guys stayed here was for the cheap flats they could get when on leave for a few months. Price had a little house more up South, but never visited it much, letting it gather some dust.

You took the phone from your ear, muttering something to whoever was on the other end, and hanging up. You raised a brow at Johnny, who in turn gestured to your jacket and struck up a conversation. Johnny was trying to look unthreatening, he could tell. Sitting down so he wasn’t standing over you. A small, easygoing smile. Trying to make you laugh, and succeeding a bit.

Five minutes in, and you were seeming more comfortable with him. He wrote something down on a napkin from your table with a pen in his pocket, handing it to you, giving a teasing wink which you snorted at, and walking back over to his and Simon’s table with a huge smile.

“Wha’ did you just do?”

Simon asked, suspiciously eying Soap.

“I set our cap’ up with a date.”

He beamed, and Simon only sighed, knowing that Price wouldn’t take it too well to be sent on a date with a girl he’d only just met a few weeks ago. A girl that hadn’t texted him since. But maybe, just maybe, it would go decently.

~

That had been one of the strangest encounters in your life.

A Scottish man introduces himself as a friend of Price’s, saying something about working together at their jobs and telling you he recognized the jacket you were wearing. So much for not ever seeing John Price again, considering his friend had just set the two of you up, and given you the man’s number too. All the while the gruff-looking man had sat at Johnny’s table, watching the interaction.

It had made you more than a little nervous, but nothing had gone bad. The Scotsman had been friendly, and even funny, but not pushing too far.

And now you had a date on Friday night.

When you got back to work, off of lunch break, Laney helped you into your apron, tying the knot for you like she always did.

“You’re late, what took so long?”

She knew you weren’t usually ever late. Always on time, punctual, even. You managed your time properly.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She grinned at that, nudging you with an elbow as you started taking orders.

“C’mon, spill it.”

And you did.

You began with the incident a few weeks ago, which she’d mostly already heard about, then told her all about the Scotsman and his friend, and finally the date on Friday. Right when you were about to finish the story, you felt your phone buzz, and you took it out to check it despite usually keeping it on Do Not Disturb. A text from an unknown number, but you knew who it was.

“Sorry for my muppets bothering you, they don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

You snorted in undignified laughter, replying while an older customer complained, mumbling something about ‘this generation and their phones’.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Johnny?”

“Yes, the one that barely talks in coherent English.”

“Aw, he was funny. I liked him.”

“Don’t go liking him too much. We apparently have a date on Friday.”

“I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

You finally silenced your phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you went back to work with a noticeable pep in your step and a warm, fuzzy smile you offered to customers.

Laney certainly noticed.

When your shift was over, ending quickly, she talked to you while walking out to the parking lot through the back exit.

“I can help you get ready for the date, if you want?”

She offered. You’d be stupid to deny, with the impeccable makeup and fashion sense that she had.

“Sure, I can swing by at 3. That’ll give you plenty of time.”

“You have any shifts the rest of the week?”

“Barely. Just little half-times I squeezed in between lecturers. Last year’s always the busiest.”

“See you Friday, then.”

You beamed at her, sliding into your car as she walked to your own.

“See you Friday.”

~

Some of the days passed in a blur, some dragged on slower than ever before.

Eventually, though, Friday rolled around, and you were sitting in your friend’s chair as she did your hair, your makeup light, but good. You were wearing a simple outfit, some clean jeans, and a cute brown sweater over your white shirt.

It was 4:30, and you had only thirty minutes to haul your ass out to the nice diner the both of you were meeting at for dinner.

“It’s fine, I need to go. Seriously.”

Laney gave you a look, but reluctantly started putting all her things away. You hugged her, mumbling thanks in her ear, before grabbing your purse that had all of your things in it and walking to the exit of her quaint home.

You drive to the diner, finding the parking lot to have the familiar old car you’d seen Price driving in the first place. You parked got out of the car, and walked into the diner, only for the server up front to inform you that you’d already been paid for, and she led you to a table where Price was seated.

He’d tried to dress nicely, you could tell. Beard combed and hair done, dressed in jeans and a comfortable-looking dress shirt. He gave you a small smile as you slid into the booth, and there was already a tray of crinkle-cut fries in the center.

“Hope you didn’ mind that I ordered, big fella like me needs a lotta food.”

He said with a chuckle, and you grinned.

“I don’t mind, trust me, my older brother devours food like no other.”

He smiled, a little bob of his head before his brow raised in mild curiosity.

“You got a brother?”

A nod.

“Yeah, name’s Gary. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im for it.”

“Me and the boys are just about brothers, wish they’d be quiet for once.”

You snorted at that, taking a sip of your water before the waitress came by and you ordered your meal. Price’s was the first to come out, he’d ordered a full English breakfast that the diner somehow served, despite it being around dinner time. Yours came out next, and you both idly chattered about your life, family, jobs (he was apparently military and off on leave right now, not that you minded), and whatnot.

When he was about more than halfway through his food, his phone began buzzing, and his face went serious as he held a small finger up to you with a slightly apologetic expression, taking the phone call.

He listened, and you simply continued eating your food, not minding. Everyone had to take important calls every now and then, sometimes it just wasn’t avoidable.

He gave a few gruff yes’ and no’s, before sighing as he replied for one last time into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

When he clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket, he gave an apologetic look.

“It’s an emergency, can’t stay. ‘M sorry.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Is everything alright?”

You asked, and he nodded, face set in what looked like a grim determination. He called a waitress over, paying the bill before you both got up. He gave you a light pat on the shoulder as you both walked out, right before you went to your car.

“We could do this again, if you’d like. With no interruptions.”

“I’d like that.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief at that.

“I’ll text you when I can.”

Before he began walking to his car, getting in. You walked to yours, opened up the driver’s side door, and slid in before you saw his jacket sitting on the passenger seat. Cursing to yourself, you grabbed it, having it in mind to go take it to him before he left.

Before you could move, though, a hand clasped over your mouth.

A cold prick of pain in the back of your neck. Liquid.

“Don’t scream.”

A voice warned as if you could make any noise at all with a hand over your mouth.

An overwhelming sense of heaviness overtook you, and your vision began swimming, before turning black as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What’re we getting ‘er for?”

“Bargaining chip.”

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@ashy-kit

@theoslove

@mayoforthewin

[ashwhowrites]

Yay! Your requests are open again!

Eddie + Reader are divorced, but parted on good terms. One day they are at a b-day of one of their mutual friends and get a little tipsy. They start talking and eventually hook up that night.

Reader finds out she is pregnant and decides to keep the baby with Eddie's full support. Throughout the pregnancy, they fall back in love.

<3 Thank you.

This is so cute. A happy ending!!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting <3

Oh, Baby

Falling in love young is always an unexpected journey. Y/N and Eddie felt unstoppable as they fell in love. Young teens that dove into something bigger than they thought they could handle. Fire and full of passion, speeding through too fast for either of them to see when it started to fall apart. They got married right after high school, hitched off to Vegas and she took his last name. Everyone thought they were crazy and dumb. But isn't the saying only fools go rushing in?

The start of their marriage was a fairytale. It was everything they dreamed of and knew they would prove everyone wrong. Because they knew they were meant to be and there was no one else they would ever be with. They fit perfectly together.

As hard as it was, they discovered people change as they grow up. And sometimes can't change together. Eddie and her wanted too many different things, which led them to realize they were meant to be together young, and not to grow old with.

They ended on good terms, both wishing the best for each other. They didn't keep much in contact, knowing it was easier to move on if they went their separate ways. They didn't have anything tying them together so they let go.

~~~

Steve decided to throw himself a huge birthday party for turning thirty. And since he was a friend of Eddie's and Y/N's they both knew there was a chance they'd run into each other.

Y/N may have gotten a new dress and tried extra hard with her makeup. She may have sprayed on Eddie's favorite perfume she used to wear during their marriage. She might have been eyeing the door, dying to see him again.

Eddie may have rolled up his sleeves in the way Y/N always liked. He may have dosed his neck in the cologne that made her legs weak. He might have tied up his hair in a lower bun, knowing his loose curls drove her insane. He might have smoked a cigarette on the way as he calmed his nerves.

Once he walked in, the magnetic connection between them yanked them together instantly. His eyes latched on her as she walked over to him. His nose inhaled her sweet perfume as she wrapped her arms around him. He bit his lip when he pulled away, no shame in checking her out.

She could smell the cologne on his skin, craving to taste him again. She blushed under his stare, the dress doing what she wanted. She couldn't help but check him out as well. She bit her lip as she noticed his thick arms underneath his tight button-up, his sleeves rolled so his tattoos showed. The fancy watch on his wrist and rings on his fingers. Yet, the only finger that remained empty was his ring finger.

"You look incredible." He complimented, his voice deep and raspy. It reminded her of his morning voice, how he'd roll over and whisper right against her ear.

"Thanks, Eds. You do too." Eddie felt like he got lost in her smile all over again.

"Eddie! You made it!" Steve cheered, dragging Eddie out of the room. His brown eyes looked back at her until she was out of his sight.

~~~

The last few people were starting to head out. Y/N had her feet in the pool as she sipped her drink. Steve was picking things up in the backyard, keeping a close eye on her.

"Sure you don't want me to bring you home?" He asked, but she shook off his offer.

"No, I think I'm good to drive." Steve accepted her answer and walked inside. He gave a small smile to Eddie as he passed him. Eddie had his hands in his pockets as he walked up to her. She smiled as he sat next to her, his back to the pool as he stretched out his legs. His shoulder rested against hers as he looked at her.

Neither knew how long they were out there, talking for hours. But they got the cue to leave once Steve was ready for bed.

Just like old times, she held his hand as they walked to his car. His hand was on her thigh as she hummed to the radio. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, but the smile on her face never left. The same feelings she felt on their first date were happening again.

"You still haven't fixed that front step!" Eddie laughed, following behind Y/N as she unlocked the front door. The same house they lived in together before Eddie moved out. Eddie remembered breaking that step when they moved in, carrying way too many boxes.

"It's our first memory in this house, I never want to fix it." She shrugged, taking off her shoes as he walked in behind her. He looked around, not much had changed. The pictures of them were taken off the walls, and replaced with their friends. All the things he took with him kept the place empty, he realized she never replaced his things with anything new.

"I kinda figured you'd make this place into your own," Eddie admitted, walking further into the small house. He didn't hear her behind him, and she didn't say a word.

She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, and poured two glasses. She let Eddie look around the house as she grabbed the glasses and headed to the couch.

After a second, Eddie joined her. Both filled up the silence with random conversations as they sipped glass after glass.

As time went on, she found herself and Eddie moving closer to closer. Then she felt his lips on hers, his hands eagerly touching her. She felt like he took all her breath away, his hands touching her the same way they used to. His kiss felt the same.

~~~

It's been a week since she and Eddie had sex. She felt relieved that he was still there when she woke up. It was awkward at first, neither knowing what to say or what the next step was.

But they were divorced, and they had to remind themselves of that.

She didn't plan on seeing Eddie much after that, just a little backslide but she's back on the path of moving forward.

That was until she found out she was pregnant. She knew it was Eddie's since she hadn't been with anyone lately. She was worried Eddie might not want to be brought back together again. But the excitement that was on his face washed all her worries away. He cheered and spun her around.

He always wanted a family and he always wanted it with her.

He didn't let her do a single thing alone. He went to every appointment, holding her hand as they stared at the screen. They went to every baby store, and he insisted on buying everything she wanted. Together they worked on the nursery at her house, Eddie painted the room and cleaned up the floors. She couldn't help but feel so much love for him as he worked to put the nursery together. His touch all around the room.

Some nights he stayed on the couch, the more she grew the more nervous he got leaving her alone. If there was ever an issue, no matter the time, he'd show up at her door.

She couldn't help but wish the divorce never happened, that Eddie was still hers. But in a way, she felt like they needed the divorce to grow on their own. And be better for each other.

"I still can't believe I did that!" Eddie groaned, Y/N laughed at his embarrassment, rubbing her stomach as she retold the story of when Eddie got drunk and met her parents for the first time.

They found themselves traveling down their memories every time they hung out. Digging up old feelings and showing them on their arms.

"Why are you laughing? You met Wayne right after you sucked me off!" Eddie said, laughing as she covered her face in horror.

"We were so crazy back then." Y/N sighed after their laughter died. Her hand was on her bump as she looked at him. "We were so in love and inseparable. What happened to us?"

Eddie looked over at her, his hand reaching to rub her stomach. His eyes were soft as he looked into her eyes.

"We grew up. I was nowhere near a good husband for you. I wanted to be, but we were too young to try to save a love like that. But there was never a day I didn't think about you." He admitted, dropping to his knees as he rested his chin on her bump.

She leaned down and rubbed his cheek, melting at his brown eyes.

"I always thought about you too. I know we were young and neither of us knew how to fight for each other, just against each other. But do you ever think about us if we did make it through? If we kept trying instead of giving up?"

"Sometimes," Eddie admitted, leaning into her touch. "But look where we are now. I think we needed to grow up on our own. Without the fear of disappointing each other. It helped us truly focus on just ourselves. And now? We are having a baby. Exactly where I always wanted to be with you." He kissed her stomach softly, resting his head against her as she played with his hair.

Before she could say something, she felt something. A harsh cramp in her stomach. She gasped and gripped Eddie's shoulders. His worried eyes looked at her as he felt something in her stomach.

"Was that?"

"Did he?"

Then another cramp, Y/N smiled when she realized their baby was kicking.

"Eddie! He's kicking!" She announced, Eddie quickly placed his hands on her stomach.

"Kick for daddy." He said, a smile on his face as he felt a hit against his palm.

Y/N felt tears in her eyes as she watched Eddie excitedly talk to the baby and wait for kicks. The excitement in his bright eyes and the love.

"I love you." She whispered, sniffling.

He looked up, hand on her stomach and the other hand on her cheek. He rubbed her tears away.

"I love you too."

Tags!

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[dadddybangtan]

booty call w/ txt (m)

pairing: txt x fem!reader

warnings: smut obvi, established relationship/fwb/just friends/situationship depending on the member

word count: 0.8k

a.n. excuse me while i try to cope with being in, yet another, situationship

yeonjun,,,

- the type to always hit you up in the middle of the night

- gives you a hard time the few times you hit him up

- “ugh ur so needy” he’ll text you as he’s grabbing the car keys

- you know he doesn’t live that far away and he’s a virgo so he’s always punctual

- when you greet him at the door, you want to kiss his irresistibly juicy lips

- but you can’t,, it’s too romantic

- no matter how many times you guys hook up, he can’t help but attack your neck the moment the door closes

- he’s hungry and horny

- he worships your body, hands begging to tear off your pajamas

- and the way his hands roam your body is simply divine

- no wonder you were needy

- he meets all of your needs

soobin,,,

- sends you the cutest yet cringiest hints ever

- “hey… i’m missing you..”

- you laugh at this, knowing exactly what it means when sent at 1am

- “oh yeah, what do you miss about me” you tease him

- “everything :(”

- “be more specific hon”

- you know exactly what he wants, what he needs from you, but you want to torture him a little bit

- you like playing hard to get

- “your body, your lips ur chst,”

- “hon are you typing with one hand again?”

- “pls com ovr & fck meee”

- that’s your boy, touching himself and begging for you

- “that’s all you had to say binnie. be there soon. don’t cum before i get there”

- you send this knowing you wouldn’t be there soon. you intend to be a little later than soon. just to torture him a little more

- just to see him that desperate when he opens the door for you

beomgyu,,,

- you’re masturbating to an old collection of videos beomgyu sent you

- you get off on his moans as he strokes his huge, veiny cock

- until you see he’s calling you

- “h-hello?”

- all you hear is moaning over the line. not as clean as the videos unfortunately, but still very audible through the phone static

- “my hands not doing the job, y/n”

- “yeah well neither is mine”

- “let me come over”

- you don’t wanna give in that easily, you didn’t wanna seem that horny, so you play a little game

- “right now? it’s almost three in the morning”

- “oh i’m sorry did you wanna reschedule your orgasm for tomorrow?”

- then you remember that beomgyu doesn’t play games

- he’s direct and ruthless

- “leave the door unlocked, yeah? and don’t have any panties on”

- and when he’s riled up, he doesn’t calm until he cums

- he somehow turns a ten minute drive into a five minute drive

- and the moment, he arrives you learn why he requested no panties when he’s on his knees eating you out

taehyun,,,

- you two have been platonic friends for years, college mates

- finals have been kicking his ass so he hasn’t reached recently

- until a random tuesday night

- he calls you and you answer immediately

- “hear me out”

- “no” you say playfully

- “can we just fuck.. real quick?”

- you’re silent. what can you say? he’s just a friend. you never saw him that way?

- or do you?

- you think about his muscular physique and how it would feel to ride him

- “like tonight?”

- “yeah, sorry if it’s weird i’m just really stressed with finals and everything”

- “ugh this is why they say men and women can’t be friends.”

- “we’d still be friends, you’re just helping me out… if you want to of course”

- you think on it a bit. would it be so bad?

- he’s always kept his word. your friendship wouldn’t be ruined with a little fucking around

- “what’re friends for?”

- it’s a little awkward when he arrives. but when he picks you up and eats you out against the wall, things happen quite naturally between you two

huening kai,,,

- you’re on the phone with your boyfriend of three months

- he’s telling you about his long recording schedule. his voice sounds tired and while it’s hard to hear him so overworked.. unfortunately, it also sounds really sexy

- “babe, you should sleep over, i’ll make you some tea” you say sweetly with ulterior motives

- “i would love to but my schedule starts really early tomorrow”

- “well the quicker you get here, the more time you can spend sleeping”

- he gives in and quickly starts his commute to your place

- you have tea ready as promised and he thanks you with a long, lingering hug

- your hands wander, dropping down his back, to his sides and then his hips

- his body turns you on so much, you can’t help but kiss him

- he teased your lips with his tongue and you start to feel his hard-on in his pants

- “i know you you didn’t invite me over just for tea”

- “you sounded tired from singing all day and i really did miss you”

- “you missed my dick too” he says, pressing his crotch against yours