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solarmorrigan · 11 months ago

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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they��re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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foldingfittedsheets · 6 months ago

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So I’m a little embarrassed to admit that when I thought my Switch was broken, my issue with force restarting it was that I mistook the home button for the power button. The advice people gave me should have worked.

When I realized today that the core should have its own button I was able to restart it and everything was fine.

To celebrate, please enjoy a non exhaustive list of other silly shit I’ve done:

When I first started driving a manual transmission car I learned how to drive stick from a single wretched session with my dad where he forced me to start on a hill with my emergency break before I had basic shifting down (I ended up starting the car in third gear on an incline which is an achievement that no one should ever do), and one drive in a parking lot with my buddy Dustin.

Consequently I believed that I must always keep my foot on the clutch when the car wasn’t in gear because no one thought to tell me that neutral counted as a gear.

I drove like that for years, clutch pressed in at every red light. The only reason I ever learned better was my clunker needed a jump and after my coworker had his car hooked up to mine he invited me to stand with him while we waited.

I very hesitantly lifted my foot off the clutch and when it didn’t stall I felt so goddamn silly. Years. I hadn't realized for years that I could be in neutral without the clutch down for years.

More recently I’ve been listening to podcasts in my car. I thought that if I hit the next track button it would skip to the whole next episode and dutifully sat through all the ads.

Then one day I was turning and hit the skip ahead button and realized it only did 30 seconds, not a whole episode. I immediately felt so silly and ridiculous for not realizing sooner that I could fast forward the ads without missing the whole episode.

Finally, the silliest way I've ever injured myself was so stupid that everyone immediately assumed I was lying. I was crawling down the bed toward my beloved in a negative sexual way. Cannot stress enough, there was nothing sexy in this scenario. I'm pretty sure I was pretending to be a cat screaming about licking my own anus. I went to plant my hand on the footboard, I overshot and went somersaulting off the bed, landing flat on my back.

The next day I tried to go into work while moving like a possessed puppet, hunkered over and slinking along trying not to move any muscles because everything was a fiery pit of pain. The managers saw this and called me into the office. "What the hell happened to you? Can you actually work today?"

I opened my mouth to answer and my favorite assistant manager instantly interjected, "And don't lie!"

I stopped and realized that saying I could still work was in fact a lie and got sent home to recuperate. My coworkers were all completely convinced when they heard the story that I'd been up to the freakiest sex shit imaginable and not a single one believed I fell off my bed pretending to be a deranged cat.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #silly #story #injury #writing #were all ding dongs sometimes

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beefrobeefcal · 9 months ago

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the BEEF | #1: Joel Miller

Summary: no-outbreak AU, Joel has a headache and that headache wants his attention. [based on a prompt THOT up in collaboration with @strang3lov3]

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,833

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angry fools who want to play hide the sausage, angry joel, shovel violence against a truck, monster cock, age gap (joel is in his 50's, reader is younger), p in the v (unwrapped), rough dresser sex,

Author's Notes: welcome to the BEEF. Each P-boy has a thorn in their side that has to be dealt with. Thank you to @covetyou for inspiring the idea, and thank you @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3, @rebel-held & @bitchesuntitled for their brains and eyes.

and thank you to every friendo in the Bistro - it's all for you, babies.

Joel Miller was your street’s cranky asshole. No one dared throw a party or hold a garage sale without letting him know first. No one dared let their grass get over a certain length and the whole neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief when he would go out of a town and not see the kids scribble with chalk on the sidewalks in the summer. He never called the cops; no, instead he showed up and berated whoever was hosting an event or engaging in an activity he found offensive. And he was intimidating. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was built like a brick shithouse. You’d lived on the block for almost nine years, and in that time, Joel had gone from being a broad, sturdy single father to a single, empty nester who lived off HungryMan frozen meals. He was a big man with linebacker shoulders and a meaty chest stacked on top of a boulderous belly. His plaid button up shirts always looked like they were holding on for dear life to avoid his temper.

And you were utterly in love with him.

Before the most recent snowfall, you’d been in your room on your bed with the window open a crack to let in some fresh air. Right below your window was Joel’s front porch, and as soon as you heard his door fly open, you grabbed your vibrator and listened.

“Get off my lawn!”, you heard him bellow at who ever had dared to approach his house.

You smiled to yourself and turned on your purple silicon friend and shoved it in your underwear.

As Joel berated the hapless victim of his temper, you nudged yourself closer to the edge. As you did, you cared less about the volume of your cries and let your noises out at top volume. By the time you came, Joel was standing on his porch with his mouth agape, staring at your bedroom window and the offending party walked away with a look of disgust.

*****

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

You watched as your snow shovel slipped out of your hands and hit your Joel’s truck. The one with the vanity plate ‘SM 9000’ that you had no clue what it meant. You could only sit back and watch as it fell and gouged in the paint job on Joel’s 1989 Dodge Ram pickup, your panties grew damp as you heard his front door open and slam against his house.

You turned around, raising your hands, trying to look like you were de-escalating the situation. “Joel, I-“

“The fuck’re you think you’re doin’?!”, he bellowed, stomping towards you.

As he yelled and flew into a tantrum over your shovel’s sins, you couldn’t help the stupid, lovesick half grin blooming on your face.

“… and you ain’t got no respect for no one’s property and…”, he stopped, took a breath, and looked you over, face twisting in a confused rage as he tried to figure out why you were looking at him as if he were a can of tuna and you were a cat watching him being pulled open ever so gently.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!”, he yelled, stepping forward, trying to scare you to no avail. He huffed and stomped his foot, trying to snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

You sighed and tilted your head, loving the attention he was finally bestowing on you, not caring that your reaction was essentially dumping gasoline on a house fire.

“Fuckin’ disrespectful shit…”, he snarled as he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards his house.

“Joel? What’re you doing? Where we going?”, you asked with a big dumb grin on your face then wincing at the harsh grip he had on your elbow. Your boots slipped and skidded on the icy walkway and you tripped heading up the stairs.

“Fuckin’ clumsy dumbass…”, he grumbled, shoving you through his front door and slamming it behind you both.

You looked around his entry way, noting the ugly wallpaper and the stale cigarette smell lingering. You crinkled your nose, and he turned around, his frown deepening into a scowl.

“Boots off!”, he barked, harshly motioning to your feet.

You didn’t miss a beat and toed them off quickly, kicking them into the wall. His jaw clenched as he watched the dirty snow clumps slide slowly down, leaving wet patches on his yellow-turned-brown floral wallpaper.

His eyes snapped up to yours, expecting an apologetic look. Instead, he was met with…

“Why the fuck you lookin’ at me like a love sick puppy?”

Joel was enraged. You didn’t run away or beg for forgiveness. No. You stood in his entry way, kicking your boots and making a mess, looking like he was David Cassidy or Patrick Swayze. You smiled back softly and that was the last straw for him.

“WHAT IN THE FRESH HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

You could have cum right there. Joel Miller was yelling right in your face. You’d gotten off by listening to him lose his shit at anyone trying to fundraiser or collect donations who had dared knock on his door but having a front row seat to a live performance was better than you could have ever imagined.

Joel watched your lips part and your brows twitch as they furrowed and your head tilt back slightly. He heard your breath hitch between his furious growling breaths, and his eyes slid down your parka-clad frame and he swore he saw your thighs clench.

His eyes went wide as he realized the effect he was having on you.

“You fuckin’ dirty little shit…”

The whimper he received in response made his cock twitch in his WalMart Levi’s. He sucked in a harsh breath and swallowed hard. He hadn’t had a woman look at him like that since he went to the strip club with his brother for his bachelor party, and he knew she was looking for a hefty tip. But you – the only thing he could think of is that you were trying to find a way to get out of paying for the damage your shovel caused. There was no waythat you were actually interested in him in that way. No. No woman had wanted to fuck him since before his daughter, Sarah, had been in junior high. He was a fat old asshole and you… you weren’t.

“Joel…”

Your soft voice pulled him back and the frown he carried all but left his face, being replaced with eyebrows to his hairline and his mouth open in confusion and shock.

“Joel, I… I’m sorry about your truck.”

You grabbed the zipper to your parka and pulled down, opening it to reveal your great aunt’s knitted sweater with a loon on it. Joel’s widened eyes swept over you and his brows furrowed.

“The hell you up to?”, he croaked, trying to sound intimidating.

“It’s warm in here”, you respond, tossing your parka on to, but missing completely, the stair banister.

His mind was racing. You actually seemed to be coming on to him as you stepped closer in your mismatched socks. You looked up at him through your lashes while your hands slowly slid up your legging-clad thighs and up to the hem of your sweater. He watched as you pulled it over your head slowly, getting it stuck for a moment, revealing a worn out white t-shirt with a faded image of a marshmallow peep and the slogan ‘Holla At My Peeps!’. He took another step back and you tossed your sweater at him, and he stumbled back, falling onto his recliner.

“Jesus, woman!”, he hollered, ripping your sweater off his head just in time to see you standing above him.

“You know how hot you are?”, you asked, leaning forward over him.

He froze. He must be dead. Or asleep. Or maybe he slipped when he stormed out the door to yell at you and hit his head. Or maybe he was drunk. Maybe he took a NyQuil tablet instead of the Omega 3-6-9 fish oil pills.

“The hell is wrong with you?”, he sputtered out, looking at you wide-eyed.

You didn’t answer. You only leaned forward, nudging your nose against his and letting out a breathy giggle. He tried to speak again, but his words got lost in the high pitch grunt he let out when your knee came up and nestled in between his thighs, pushing against the considerable bulge that had developed.

His hand involuntarily gripped your wrist that was supported on his arm rest, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“I know exactly what you need, Joel Miller.”, you cooed, tongue jutting out and licking your teeth, trying to sound seductive. “You need a good fuck.”

His mouth hung open in shock. You grinned wildly and kissed the tip of his nose before nipping at his bottom lip and tugging it between your teeth.

Joel let out a groan and closed his eyes, the hand on your wrist moving to your t-shirt’s hem and slipped underneath it. You nudged your knee against his crotch again and kissed him, tasting no-name waffles and burnt coffee.

The kiss seemed to break something in Joel. This wasn’t a dream, or an antihistamine induced hallucination or a concussion - this was real. You, his hot, young, stupid neighbour was crawling onto his lap and shoving your tongue down his throat.

He grunted lowly and pushed you back, looking up at you with dark eyes. You tried moving forward again, but his hand held you back.

A whine emanated from your throat, and he shook his head. “I’m not fucking you-“

You scoffed and he shushed you.

“Oh, hush and lemme finish, you loony shit!”, he huffed. “I was sayin’ that I'm not gonna fuck you in this chair; it barely holds my weight and if you’re gonna be bouncin’ on me, this fuckin’ thing’ll screw the pooch.”

You shrugged your shoulders, irritated. “Okay, fine. Then where?”

“My bed, you nimrod!”, he snapped with a scowl, then grinned. “Got a nice mattress with good lumbar support.”

*****

You had followed Joel to his room and were pleasantly… let down. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the beige walls and the picture of a horse above his non-exciting bed were not what you had thought he would have. What surprised you was the essential oil diffuser plugged in on his bedside table, giving the air a fresh lavender smell.

The fact that the rest of his house looked like a rejected concept for an early nineties sitcom and his bedroom looked like a bed and breakfast that had no theme, for some reason, made you want him more. This man and his lack of consistency. You needed him in you now.

Grabbing his arm and turning him around, you pulled him into a desperate kiss; teeth and tongues, fighting for real estate in each other’s mouths.

“Get naked, sugar.”, he grunted as he broke the kiss with a lopsided grin. He unsnapped his shirt, revealing a grey, stained undershirt, its ribbing pulled tight and stretched over his belly while his mouth and surrounding patchy facial hair glistened with your saliva.

While he wasn’t being that polite, he wasn’t being mean. That was a problem. Even with how mundane he’d revealed himself to be, it wasn’t enough. The residual dampness that made your panties stick to your core was a result of him yelling at you out front, and that goodwill your pussy had shown was slowly drying up.

Joel’s hands began to make quick work of his belt and stretch denim jeans, but he noticed you not moving to do the same.

His hand flapped at you in an urging motion, “Make with the no clothes. Can’t fuck you with them on.”

His eyes narrowed as he noted your lack of movement, and he paused. You began to see signs that Joel was getting mad, and your mind flipped through every situation you’d witnessed him lose his shit in. What was it that would set him off quick? You weren’t about to throw a block party in his room, nor were you a religious group knocking at his door early on a Saturday. Then it clicked.

A devious grin broke out slowly on your face as you sat on his Temperpedic mattress and crossed your arms.

“Make me.”

“You indignant little shit…”, he growled, clenching his fist.

A flutter in your lower belly. More.

“Come on. Make me.”

“You fuckin’ tease… Fuck you!” His eyes were filling with fire.

An almost painful need bloomed in your core. More!

“Fuck me yourself, coward.”

He sputtered and guffawed, eyes wide in rage.

“You fuckin’ shit! Bangin’ up my truck and actin’ like a needy Jezabel just to fuckin’ tease me like this!”

You could have cum right there, between the iron grip on your wrist and his loud belittling.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that erupted, and he snarled. He grabbed your hand and yanked you up off the bed. You truly thought his back was bad enough that the effort of getting you up alone would be too much, but he shoved you against his dresser, then slamming his weight into your back. You whined, feeling your pussy clenching on nothing.

“You’re such a shit!”, he grunted, grabbing your elasticized waistband, and yanking your leggings and panties down on one side while your hand went to the other; the two of you awkwardly working towards removing your barrier.

When they were low enough on your legs to step out of, you clumsily did so, then tried to turn around to help Joel. He wasn’t fast enough, swearing under his breath as your hands lifted his belly to access his strained button fly. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting like a dog on a window while a steak was being grilled just on the other side.

You pushed his jeans down around his hips and they pooled around his ankles. He kicked them off and bit down on the crux of your neck and shoulder as your hand cupped and felt up his hard cock.

Jesus. Oh fuck.

Joel was hung. Like unreasonably so. You’d had your fair share of men slamming their pork steeples into your wet cunt, but none of them could even hold a candle to the monstrosity that sat heavy and covered in satin in your hand. You planted your hand on his chest and pushed him back, needing to get a peek at what Joel was packing. You immediately looked down, seeing the Wile E. Coyote faux-satin boxers protruding out in an impressive, and frankly intimidating, bulge.

“Oh shit...”, you breathed out, contemplating on whether you truly needed to do any serious sitting for the next week, or if you could maybe just get away with laying down at work.

His hand snapped to your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye, and he gave you a dark smile, “Showed up to a gun fight with a knife, sugar?”

You didn’t have time to respond because Joel shoved his hand between your legs and harshly began rubbing your clit.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled back. Joel watched, an approving sneer on his face.

“’S fucked up … you like this?”

“uh…. Uh-huh…”

“You’re a lunatic…”

You smiled lazily. “You’re fingering a lunatic… w-what’s that say about you?”

He paused then huffed out, “That I’m fingering a lunatic, you moron.”

You let out a throaty laugh that bleeds into a moan as Joel shoves two thick fingers into your hole, slowly dragging them out before plunging them back in.

“You’re a sick little shit… you seducin’ and teasin’ an old man, an’gettin’ me all wound up… Neighbourhood headache… that’s you. Fuckin’ shit up and walkin’ away with a smile on her dumb face.”

“’M close… don’t…. don’t stop…”

His fingers kept the slow languid pace going as he leaned in and harshly whispered, “Unlike you, sugar, I don’t like to leave people disappointed.”

His eyes never left you, watching your every move. Every involuntary twitch and shudder, every flutter of your eyelids and breath leave your parted lips. He could feel it around his fingers and see it on your face that you were feeling everything intensely and now that he had you like this, he wasn’t going to let you go without making sure you weren’t going to pull this shit again.

Joel was many things, but a man who could let things go was not one of them. He was tired of hearing you cream and cry on whatever silicon thing you were shoving into yourself through your bedroom window as he lost his shit on someone; tired of seeing you make eyes at him while you sat in your front yard as he grumbled at a neighbour for the state of their lawn. He was still furious at you for once letting your hand - your soft, sweet, tender hand - linger on his when handing him his mail that was accidentally delivered to your home, forcing him to sit in his shitty recliner and try to finish with his calloused, rough, and hard hand. He never came.

You were going to pay for that. He’d promised himself that for almost five years and now here you were, on your way to being a muppet with how his hand played in your pussy. Joel’s time had come.

You came, moaning, on his hand as he watched, his fingers still moving in and out of you, and his thumb took up the task of tending to your twitching clit. Your face twisted and you cried out, trying to push his hand away.

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth and a moan seeped out. As you rode the wave, he yanked his hand out and grabbed your arm, throwing you onto the bed.

“Goddammit, you’re such a pretty shit.”, he grumbled, reaching for your ankle, and tugging your ass to the edge of the bed. You tried sitting up on your elbows, but he shoved you back down with his body weight.

His weight. Good god, he felt heavier and better than you ever thought he could as he pressed you down into the mattress.

But he got up off you, trying to wrangle your ankles and pull your exposed pussy to just the right spot to save his back from being strained. You tried sitting up again, wanting to have some sort of control over the situation, but Joel growled and grabbed your hips, and, in an impressive feat, flipped you onto your front all while grumbling about what a pain in the ass you were.

“Can’t even fuckin’ be considerate enough to stay put…”

You heard him spit then grunt, figuring he was priming that fucking meat wagon between his legs, and you let out an impatient huff.

“Knock that shit off!”, he snapped, flicking you on your ass cheek. “You just came, nimrod. You can fuckin’ wait!”

“Yeah… but I wanna cum again!”, you whined out with a smile, trying to not laugh at how irritated he was with you.

“I bet you do… but you’re on my time, and I am a patient man, sugar.”, he crooned lowly, snaking his hand up your back and to your hip. You squirmed a bit, but his hold kept you planted in place, and his other hand held his cock as he nudged it against your opening.

The smile on your face dropped as his huge member pushed in; your mouth opened, and out came a gasp followed by a choked moan.

“That’s it… Jesus Murphy… not even fuckin’ your throat and I got you to shut your mouth…”

Yes, you knew Joel was huge. But it was just an abstract concept up until that moment. Now that he was shoving his massive dick into you, you felt like the universe’s mysteries were now clearly laid out. You knew what religion was right, who shot JFK, how they made the moon landing look real…

Nothing in life would ever surprise you again because you were being split open by this grumpy, fat man. You were being ruined by Joel Miller.

He grunted as he pulled back and then slammed into you.

“Tight little snatch, sugar… takin’ me like a champ.”

You couldn’t respond. Your brain had melted and left your skull empty, and you were unable to do anything but breathe loudly and moan, “S’too big… too big…”

Joel snickered and grunted, snapping his hips and shoving himself deep. You wriggled and squirmed, simultaneously needing him stop and to fuck you harder. Your head began to feel faint, and your core squeezed him, forcing a groan out of him.

He began to snap his hips faster, panting and grunting like the fat kid in gym class being forced to run a mile. You whined and squirmed, trying to get your knees under your body to be able to push back against him, to get him deeper, but he grabbed your calf and bit your leg right above your sock with a growl then groaned, “Stay… stay put… don’t move… jus’lemme… lemme finish…”

You let out a yelp than melted into a moan, throwing yourself into another orgasm. Joel’s thrusts became hurried and more erratic. The high-pitched whine that ripped out of Joel sounded like a dog begging for table scraps as he shot his load into you.

He collapsed onto your back, both of you panting. After what felt like hours but in reality, was only about 30 seconds, Joel had gone quiet. You nudged him, hoping to god he didn’t die from a pussy-induced heart attack. He grunted and struggled to push himself up off you, then flopped on the bed next to you. You rolled over onto your back and looked at him. His cheeks were flushed, and his brows furrowed; his wispy salt and pepper hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed. He was still breathing heavily through his mouth. You smiled, feeling a fulfillment you hadn’t since you’d convinced your parents that it was your sister who broke the CD-ROM drive in the family computer even though it was really you. Cuddling into his, your fingers drew heart shapes in his sweat coated chest hair.

Now that he’d fucked you, you wanted to clear the air as it were, and make sure he wasn’t going to make you pay for any damage to his truck. “So…”

Joel grunted in response, one eye opening and looking at you.

“I was just wondering… what’s your licence plate mean?”

He sighed and closed his eye again. He said the meaning quietly and at first you weren’t sure you heard him right.

“What?”

His cheeks flushed a little harder and he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a huff.

“ShagMaster 9000.”

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idesofrevolution · 1 year ago

Text

Precursor

"Jesus, Danny I don't know what the fuck to do about it, okay? He just fuckin' got me out of no where." Click, clack. Click, clack. The tapping of his fingers on the mouse and keyboard were the only sounds echoing in the dark room aside from his shouts. "Well, I how the fuck should I know? I told you I wasn't good at this game! You're the one who kept begging me to play it, and it's bullshit dude!" For a game that was supposed to be this fun phenomenon, 'Precursor' was proving to be quite a bit lesser than Greg anticipated. Danny had begged him for weeks to join the game and do a couple of rounds with him, if only to get him hooked. For Greg, a video game was like Civilization or Cities Skylines... building something great with strategy and creativity. To him, this was a boring shoot 'em up that had a steep learning curve, and it was grating on his nerves. "Well, dude I told you I didn't know how to play this stupid game but you wouldn't take no for an answer!"

Another red screen and the words 'Exterminated' were sprawled across the screen. Greg slammed his fists down onto the desk, spilling his Red Bull all over his lap. He threw his head back in yet another defeat, his seventh in the span of an hour. Looking down at his phone, the late hour had all but caused him even further grief.

"You know what, dude? This game fucking sucks. I don't know why you wanted me to play with you." Danny, surely kicking ass on the battlefront from somewhere behind his screen in Oklahoma hundreds of miles away, was less than enthused. "Ya know what, fine. I will do the fucking noob lobby, okay? I swear to God, though, if this shit doesn't get fun in ten minutes I'm loggin' off." Greg disconnected from his online pal and reentered back into the main menu. He sighed, how the fuck could anyone without a trigger-happy index finger and a desire to think about their options for more than a split second find this game fun? To him, it was all reflexes and no brain power. Clicking through the main menu, he searched for the "Noob" lobby in the available servers. He scrolled for an agonizing ten seconds of full lobbies before he gave up.

"Man, fuck this." He was a single moment away from clicking that exit button before his elbow slipped on some of the Red Bull that had spilled onto the desktop. His wrist banged onto the keys, leaving a string of gibberish into the searchbar. He grabbed one of his clean socks from the floor and sopped up the syrupy water and tossed it behind him over his shoulder. Whatever. Turning back to his screen, to his utter astonishment, the search for 'pjdkluyoikms' had come up with a single hit: 3/9 players in the lobby. Greg looked down at his phone again, 3:30 in the morning grimaced back at him. He'd have to be up in 4 hours if he'd kept the job he quit a few days prior, but with unemployment looming over his head the hours didn't seem so important to him. The game was known for being a time void, sucking in every available minute it's players had to use.

"Fuck it." He clicked join, and waited as the lobby began to load. For a second, his monitor became severely pixelated, but quickly returned to normal. Before long, he was met with the game mode selection and a couple of voices chatting amongst the static. Bruiser, Scout, Sniper, Runner, Bomber... He didn't know how to use a single one of these characters and in the back of his mind, he wasn't keen on being embarrassed yet again for another hour of failures.

"Who's this?" One of the voices from the ether bellowed out from his headphones, and for whatever reason his skin flushed with goosebumps. "Yo, new guy, did you mean to come here? It's a private server."

"Ahh, shit. I'm sorry, my friend made me buy this game and I don't know what I'm doing. I'll find another, my bad!" Greg scampered to try and just choose a character so he could exit out of the menu, but a second voice gave him immediate pause. It was unlike the other players he'd met so far, in that he wasn't a complete dick right off the bat.

"Nahh, it's cool! We could use a runner this round if you're down? We can take it easy, right boys?" His voice was smooth, chill, if not a bit high pitched in a tenor timbre. The guy could have a career in anime protagonist voice acting if he'd put his mind to it, Greg was quickly put at ease with just a single word.

"You think he can keep up?" the third voice, husky and deep questioned.

"We've played with worse, bro. Remember Clive before Mick got to him? We lost four rounds before Mick got it to stick! He won't fuck up, will ya new guy?" Greg nervously chuckled, knowing full well he'd be terrible in the beginning either way.

"Uhhhh, give me a round or two to get the hang of it... I'm sure I can do it. Nothing better to do anyway."

"That's the spirit! See? He's gonna be great. I'll get him up to snuff." A fall of silence came over the server, Greg shifted in his seat. "Alright, newbie. Just choose runner and I got your back. I used to main runner, so I can show you the ropes." Taking a deep breath, Greg clicked on the avatar for Runner, and hit accept. He entered the lobby, seeing the three players had already chosen their avatars. 1: lostdestiny (scout), 2: EdgeRunner (bruiser), 3: ironclad (bomber), and now 4: Greg (runner).

ironclad: I take it you're Greg, then?

Greg: What gave it away?

The three others chuckled, and the loadbar began to fill. Greg could feel the anxiety and anticipation grow within him. He was about to faceplant AGAIN, and in front of these strangers. At least it wouldn't be long until he'd be kicked anyway.

EdgeRunner: Aight, listen up man. I can't be a babysitter, but I'll be following you. Just do what I tell you to do and you'll be fine. You got this, man. Yeah?

Greg: Uh, yeah man. I'll do my best.

lostdestiny: Don't worry guys, he's gonna do his best.

EdgeRunner: Pipe down, will ya, Des? Fuck. Alright, here we go. Lay low and let them come out on their own.

The four of them were dumped onto the map, this one seemed to be some dirty Cyberpunk city in the rain. Sooner rather than later, it'd be a warzone. Greg sat gobsmacked, frozen in place as the others ran for cover.

ironclad: Yo, get to cover, they'll be here any fuckin' second!

Greg: Whuh.... What do I do, where do I go?

EdgeRunner: Turn to your left, there's a hidden door in the bodega. Hold shift and run. Go!

Greg did as he was told, holding down the shift bar and going toward the store on the corner of the street. He was unprepared for just how quickly he would get there, running straight into the wall to the left of the door. Runner indeed. Rounding the doorway, he snuck down the aisles, and up to the door. He burst in, plowing through stacked boxes and into the racks of the storeroom.

EdgeRunner: Aight, you can let go of the shift, bud.

lostdestiny: Fuck, we're so screwed. We lose out on this one it's on you Edge, and I'm not coughin' up a single coin.

EdgeRunner: Des, hit your fuckin' vape and keep your eyes peeled. I'll worry about the new kid. Greg, hang tight. Wait for me to give you a signal, then you run to the hotel down the street. Got it?

Greg chuckled to himself, he'd stumbled into quite the little gang. These guys were far from noobs, they were good if not professionals. From behind the closed door, he sat idly, waiting with bated breath for Edge to give him the unmentioned word. Over his headphones, he could hear the trio plotting as if they were soldiers planning their attack.

EdgeRunner: Iron, be position. They're gonna come barreling down that alley like a fuckin' stampede, so nuke 'em until I can get there. Des, they in sight yet?

lostdestiny: Just like you said, boss man. Comin' in hot.

EdgeRunner: Perfect. Greg. There's a glowing purple crate in the corner. Open it and pick up whatever is in it, and do it quick.

Greg fumbled over the keys, searching the dark room until he saw the glowing purple box hidden beneath a pile of trash. Clicking on it, the box opened, shucking all the garbage atop it onto the floor. Inside sat a strange green vial.

Greg: Its... It's a glass syringe? Glowing green stuff inside.

EdgeRunner: That's what you're looking for. Bag it and get ready to run.

Greg slipped it into his bag. The syringe showed up as 'upgrade' in the inventory, but no other information was provided. Usually, at least, there was some sort of witty description for the items in-game. Might be modded, he thought to himself, not that he would know anyway. He positioned himself by the door, holding his breath.

ironclad: Fireworks.

EdgeRunner: Now, Greg. Go!

His left pinky firmly planted on the shift key, Greg burst out of the door, through the store and into the street. Outside, a barrage of AI cop grunts were surrounding the building across the way. Pillars of smoke and fire erupted from bombs being dropped from the roof, a massive lug of muscle being the culprit with Ironclad's red tag hovering above him. From within the crowd, an explosion of grunts flew through the air, and dead in the center of the action was EdgeRunner, a maxxed out avatar oozing athleticism and strength with a nearly full level bar floating above him. Fuck, who were these guys?

EdgeRunner: Don't fuckin' freeze on us, Greg. Run!

Taking the hint, Greg bolted down the street, weaving past smoke bombs and gunfire until he made it to the hotel's revolving door, shattering the glass as he crashed through. Inside, three grunts stood behind the front desk, quickly pulling out absurdly massive guns.

Greg: Edge, there's guys in here, they got big ass motherfucking guns too.

EdgeRunner: Fuck, okay. Hold control, shift, and Y. Then run to the elevator. Do it before they peg ya!

Greg: Fuck!

EdgeRunner: Iron, toss a few into the hotel. Help the kid out.

ironclad: On it.

Greg could hear the whistling in the air of the incoming bombs flying toward the lobby. He held down the keys and ran toward the elevators as instructed. Though, as he did, waves of colors surrounded his avatar, deflecting the bullets as they flew before the explosions behind him came bursting in. As the elevator doors closed in front of him, he saw the XP points flowing into his bar from the dead grunts. The elevator began to climb.

EdgeRunner: Woooooooooo baby! That's what I call a bait n switch! Kid, you're a natural.

lostdestiny: Beginner's luck.

EdgeRunner: It's gonna be a second before that elevator gets to the top level. Regroup at the hotel, they'll be swarming him. Des, you're on the 99th floor, right?

lostdestiny: Best view in the city.

EdgeRunner: Keep watch, we'll be there in a second. New guy will be on your floor in a couple of minutes. Greg, let's do a one-on-one, yeah?

On the screen, a side window popped up in the bottom corner. Incoming call: EdgeRunner 1 on 1. Fuck, was this guy trying to video chat?

Greg: Uhhhh, I didn't know you could cam...

EdgeRunner: What, you ain't jackin' off are ya? C'mon lemme see.

Greg waited for a moment, nervous beyond words. Watch it be some 60 year old gaming in his mom's basement, was this really the kind of guy he'd want to game with anyway? The curiosity had only crept up since he stumbled into the server, it's not as if they were meeting in real life or anything. It's a screen. He nodded to himself, as if to give himself permission, and clicked on the accept button. In the corner box, EdgeRunner himself popped into focus.

Not what he expected whatsoever. He wasn't much older than Greg, maybe late twenties, early thirties. That was a relief. His room was shrouded in a blue hue, pairing nicely with his ID tag color in game. He was covered in ink from the forehead down, with white hair and a nice pair of pecs cropped just out of view. Again, far from what he expected to see.

"What's up, Greggo?" He smirked, as if studying Greg from behind his lens.

"Yeah... In an elevator. On my computer." Edge laughed, taking his eye contact away to refocus on his game.

"Playin' pretty fuckin' well so far. You sure you never played before now?" Greg found himself blushing a tad bit at this hunk of a man, alarmingly similar to the stud avatar he portrayed online. "Might have to keep you around if you keep up at this rate." The ping of the elevator reaching the 99th floor brought him right back into the world, as the doors opened to a tall, lanky guy with his back to him.

"Des, I presume?"

lostdestiny: Who the fuck else would it be? Mommie? Get to the loot at the end of the hall, fifth door on the right.

"Des isn't the sweetest fruit in the basket. Don't mind him. But get to the room as quick as you can, bud." Holding down the shift key yet again, though now as if it were second nature to him, he bolted down the hall, dodging the mines which littered the floor. "Yeah, don't be up in your feelings about it, but the upgrade is for you, kid. If I were you, I'd take it now while you can. Get you on our level quicker, if ya catch my drift." Greg didn't think twice. He opened the inventory, clicked on the vial, and hit use. His avatar quickly pulled out the syringe from off screen, jamming it into his wrist. The liquid quickly flowed into his avatar, but changes were slow. He arrived at the door, opening them to a boardroom overlooking the whole city, bathed in a purple hue.

Greg: What am I looking for exactly?

ironclad: You'll know it when you see it. Find it quick, they're coming up.

As Greg began to search through the shelves and drawers lining the walls, he was too preoccupied to notice the veins of black starting to flow from his fingertips up his limber arms. While he may have been too focused to see, Edge was watching eagerly in the bottom corner with a giant grin forming on his face. His little window closed, leaving Greg in his search.

lostdestiny: Incoming. Edge, would be a really fuckin' great time for you to pull some fuckshit about now!

Explosions rung out in the hallway, and an eruption of bullets soon followed. Greg felt the pressure bearing down on him, he felt heavier, as if the weight of the situation were sitting atop him like boulders. But hidden in the darkness of his room, the black veins crawled higher and higher, across his shoulders and back, creeping up the back of his neck, until he felt a pinch right at the base of his skull. Instant headrush.

The world got blurry in a mere second, his ears started to ring and his muscles began to pulse. Though, in that moment, he felt something else swelling within him: confidence. Control, Shift, C. The boardroom went blue, a glowing yellow aura radiated from behind one of the walls. Greg smiled, bolting to the wall. Alt, D, F7. The shelves shuddered, then slowly retracted into a dark void. The payload sat at the end of a long, dark hallway on a spotlit pedestal. Some crazy mechanical contraption, it seemed. Though he didn't know what it was, he knew inherently that this is what he was looking for. Just as Iron said.

Greg: Bingo.

EdgeRunner: Careful, newbie. Watch the walls.

A single step forward, and red lasers began to shoot left and right. An hour earlier, he'd be pissing himself on an 'exterminated' screen, raging to no one but himself. Though now, as he felt the energy coursing through his body, the corner of his lip shifted upward, his brows furrowed, and he leaned forward. Showtime.

Alt, Shift, F2, Q, L... the keys flew by beneath his fingers as he dodged, rolled, and lept past every sensor. The keyboard could barely keep up as his hands danced across it. It was an invigoration he'd never experienced before, an expertise he'd never felt, a self he'd never known. Every new trap before him was a piece of cake, avoiding them before they'd even triggered. In the span of fifteen seconds, he'd arrived at the pedestal. The Carpe Diem. A major upgrade, far above his current standing, but it would fetch a pretty price for the right punk. The massive implant somehow fit in his inventory, he was thankful he wasn't on a real job, lugging this around would have been a task in and of itself.

Greg: Payload in hand. Ready to get the fuck out of here.

EdgeRunner: Gonna be a messy exit, kid. You up for it?

Greg: Don't have to flirt that nasty with me, Edge. Treat me tender.

He spun around, leaping down the entire hallway in one go. Thank you Shift, T, S. The crew stood at the door to the boardroom, perhaps a hundred grunts firing everything they had not far behind. Greg looked at every corner, and realized quickly what Edge meant. He turned around, looking at the massive glass wall overlooking Sunset City. His massive feet tapped against the wooden floor beneath his desk, itching for the run he was about to embark upon, his body begging for the rush... his muscles aching for the wind on his skin. He smirked. No second thoughts, he burst through the window.

ironclad: Fuck kid! That's one way out I guess!

EdgeRunner: Bail, boys! Let's fly.

Freefalling, Greg felt the cool breeze of his plummet on the lids of his closed eyes. Soon, but not yet. He had a job to finish. Control, Shift, C. His fall became a sprint, every footfall landing softly on the glass below, looking 99 floors straight down to the pavement.

GreWind: WOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!

Exhiliration. Excitement. Freedom. He was free. Coasting on the diagonal glass, he surfed down the building until he came painlessly onto the sidewalk below, followed not too far behind by Des landing in a bush, Iron on his face, and Edge on his own two feet. The quartet sped toward the four bikes parked along the street, making their swift getaway. As Wind wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning back in his chair, letting the ripe waft of pits beam from his arms. Incoming 1 on 1 from EdgeRunner. He of course had to reem in the accolades, smiling as he hit accept. Edge popped up in the corner of the screen, beaming from ear to ear.

"Now that's what the fuck I'm talkin' about! That upgrade did ya good, new kid." Wind smirked, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss to his studly boss man.

"You can show me your appreciation later, babe. Worked up a storm for ya." Wind flexed his arms, licking the sweat from his bicep and running his hand through his bright green hair.

"Heh, yeah, you're gonna fit in just fine. This'll fetch a nice penny from the middleman. Now, whaddya say, Greg? Ready for the real work?" Edge winked and his window closed.

EdgeRunner: Rendezvous at Checkpoint's. Your cuts will be waiting for you.

Stormwind: Aye, aye Captain.

lostdestiny: Shit, you two get a room already.

EdgeRunner: Nah, you're gonna sit and watch me fuck him raw and nasty, Des.

Stormwind: Won't be the last if you're nice, Des.

ironclad: I swear, if newbie is gonna be cumdump, I'm gonna be on whatever job he's on.

Stormwind: Plenty to go around, boys. Better be ready to clean this dick and worship these feet. They run real fast for y'all and they could use a tongue bath, won't even need any poppers. Freebase, baby.

EdgeRunner: See you at Checkpoint's, Wind. Welcome to the team.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #gay transformation #gamer transformation #punk transformation #punkification #criminal tf #male tf #gay tf #virtual transformation #cyber tf #badass transformation #musk

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genderkoolaid · 7 months ago

Note

hate to be that person but siwas rebrand is a deliberate thing to cover up the shit she put the children on her show through. aside from a kid with medical conditions being forced to continue practice even though she was bleeding from her belly button (she was told to just put a pad on her clothes to hide it and continue) she also ripped them off for a lot of money.

i wouldn't be surprised at all if it is deliberate. but that also doesn't really change my point. every single thing i've been recommended about this situation has been framed around her being Weird and Cringe. because people have been mocking his girl for her entire life & it just so happens that she has also done harmful shit which they can use to justify their obsession with mocking her. however genuine her feelings are wrt the new aesthetic, people are still more concerned with hating this girl they find annoying and weird instead of making a substantive criticism of her as an equal.

& i also think its important to point out that like. her mother seems to be the one dictating her business decisions? & i feel like its pretty easy to draw a line from her growing up on a famously heinous dance competition show to her acting heinous alongside her mom on her own show. this is not to say she's not responsible for her actions, but i also think its telling that she is the one who gets 100% of the blame while her mom isn't brought up?

like other child stars have also acted like assholes once they hit adulthood. with various motivations. and they aren't excused from their moral responsibility, but its also important to understand where they are coming from. i've seen people bring up that's she's perpetuating the cycle of abuse- which is true!- but like. has she even really had a chance to escape her own (potential, i dont want to put words to experiences i don't know about) abuse? why isn't more negative press directed at her mother, who set her up for this shit and is financially benefiting from it?

we can and should criticize former child stars but i think its vital we do so while understanding the kinds of vulnerable situations they can be in. & we should do so because we want them to grow as a person, not because we think they are Cringe and their harmful behavior is just a convenient excuse so we don't have to feel bad when we cyberbully them. i just don't see much compassion here, and i have never seen much genuine sympathy for jojo. if it is a coverup than all anyone is doing is helping them cover it up and being needlessly cruel.

#m.#ask box #jojo siwa #<- in case yall arent interested in this

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hockeyboysimagines · 24 days ago

Text

Love so sweet

Pairings: Arber Xhekaj x OC(Tabitha Hawkins)

Warnings: Sex, mentions of sex, angst, toxicity, language.

I know I said I wasn’t posting anything new but I have such bad writers block that this was all I could do💁🏼‍♀️ Hope you guys enjoy it🤍

“Well you can either come get your shit or I can light it on fire. Up to you.”

Arber was laughing on the other end of the phone “I’ll come get it later.”

“I’ll leave it on the porch.” She hit the red hang up button before he could answer and chucked her phone on the couch with a loud angry “UGH!”

This was their 100th breakup or something and it got worse and more difficult each time. She had this masochistic complex apparently that made her put herself through this over and over.

When things were good, they were great. When things were bad?

Yikes.

War was more peaceful.

She put the box on the porch and slammed the door, making her way angrily through the house.

She threw herself down on her bed, a bed they’d just been in the day before yesterday and closed her eyes. She could still smell his cologne on her sheets and she wondered how long it would take for it to fade. The breakups never lasted long enough for it to go away before he was back in it, and sometimes she wondered if it would be easier to stay broken up if she wasn’t reminded of him every night they weren’t together. The longest stretch of time, a week a half, hadn’t been enough to get rid of it even with two washes. She didn’t really want it to fade. It was the only thing that got her through the few days she spent without him.

As crazy as it sounded though, if she had known things would be this way with him she would still go home with him that first night every single time. She loved him, maybe too much, and she would sacrifice her peace if it meant she got to keep him. Not because she didn’t want anyone else to have him, but because she loved Arber more than anything and losing him would be like cutting her own heart out. Messy and painful.

She glanced over at her walls that were full of pictures of her and Arber and she felt hot tears prick at her eyes. Why they couldn’t be like they were in the pictures all the time was beyond her. It wasn’t fair. Things had been going so well lately she supposed she should have seen this coming. She’d heard down the line that Arber had been out at the bar flirting with some girl. It had made her so angry she called him, cursed him out and the blocked his phone number for several hours. When she’d calmed down enough to tell him to come get his things she hasn’t even let him explain himself before she ripped into him again. Whatever he had to say wouldn’t change how she was feeling. She hadn’t even asked him if it was true. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it and she was starting to believe it. It was hard, the position she was in with him. Guys before him were just guys. But Arber had an elevated status, especially here in Montreal. Everyone knew him, girls threw themselves at him, and while he never indulged them, it still filled her with anxiety and paranoia every time he went out with the guys and she didn’t go. But when she was there and it happened it enraged her to the point where she wanted to commit a crime. It was a no win situation for everyone but especially her. His teammates, who she knew loved her, assured her till they turned blue that he never even looked at girls and he hadn’t since they met. They told her she was being silly and that they would be truthful with her if he was. She believed them mostly, but it had gotten so bad at one point that Cole and Kirby had showed up at her house and say he’s down to talk with her.

“Tabitha.” Cole said leaning forward “I’m telling you whatever you heard is a lie. I swear on my mother.”

“Yeah I swear on his mother too.” Kirby said bumping her shoulder.

She laughed and wiped under her eyes as Cole continued with a small smile “Arber isn’t fucking any girls and if he was, you can be sure I’d tell you and then beat him up.”

“You’d beat him up PLEASE.” Kirby said rolling his eyes “We’d find someone to beat him up.”

It had made things better for a while but the rumors killed her. She spent more time crying over fake news than she didn’t and she tried to keep most of it to herself but it bubbled over a lot and Arber usually suffered for it. She knew that she was the problem most of the time but it was out of her control now. Arber loved her and she knew it, but she always felt she was on the brink of losing him. But when things were good, she almost forgot the bad. Being with Arber was a gift. He was so wonderful to her and made her feel like the prettiest girl in the world. She only wished that she believed it like he did.

She felt nauseous, mad, and mentally exhausted. Then, she remembered she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and the anxiety of the breakup was churning the acid in her stomach like a spoon in coffee, bubbling occasionally to remind her that it could turn into vomit at any minute.

But the idea of getting up and walking to the kitchen made her wanna cry so she stayed put, swallowing down the nausea and closing her eyes. Her weight sank down into her mattress the longer she was there and her stomach began to settle. She was so tired and her eyes slipped closed as she took deep even breaths.

Much better she thought to herself as she felt her nerves begin to die down and she fell back into normal Tabitha, sending Tabitha the raging bitch back to wherever she came from. What a relief. A heavy feeling came over her and she wondered for a second if she would fall asleep. Every time she had one her episodes she got so tired and hoped this time she’d actually fall asleep so she could miss him coming for his things all together.

No such luck of course.

She wasn’t sure how long she was laying there but she heard his truck pull up, and then the sound of a key in the lock so she got up. Was he kidding? She had clearly said his things were on the porch.

She came around the corner and found Arber in the doorway and frowned at him, arms across her chest. “What are you doing? I put your stuff on the porch.” It came out meaner than she meant for it to, and she winced at her own harshness. She was always mad until she saw him and then all her anger went out the window. More than anything she had hoped he would leave and not come in at all so she could be mad and cry in peace.

Of course he didn’t.

He rolled his eyes and tossed the her house key on the table “Returning this.”

Ouch

“Great. Thanks. Bye.” She snapped.

He chuckled “That’s all I get? Okay then. Here’s your stuff.” He pushed a box at her with his foot “I think I got it all. If anything’s missing just text me I guess.”

“Sure.” She said with a shrug knowing she would end up texting him because she was stupid.

The air in her house was awkward and heavy as they stared at each other before he cleared his throat “Well see you. I have somewhere to be.”

“What?”

“I’m going out with the guys.”

Her stomach tightened and she looked at him surprised. It wasn’t unlike Arber to say he was doing stuff with the guys and then not actually do anything. It also wasn’t unlike Arber to say he was doing stuff with the guys and then leave early. Both of those things usually coincided with a breakup, and filled Tabitha with anxiety. Though she’d accused him of it on more than one occasion without any real evidence, Arber wasn’t a cheater.

She cleared her throat “Oh? Already. Well I hope you have a good time…where?” She didn’t know why she even asked, because as this was a breakup, she shouldn’t have cared. But not knowing where he was going would fill her with anxiety for the rest of the night.

“Why do you care Tabitha?” He asked holding one hand out.

She shrugged “Just wondering-“

“You broke up with me remember? Why does it matter what I’m doing.” He was frowning at her, eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes didn’t show he was angry. He looked sad. She hated making him sad and she found herself doing it more often than not.

“It doesn’t. Can you just get out now.” She crossed her arms and motioned to the door with her chin. All the rage she’d swallowed down earlier was beginning to bubble back up and she wanted him to leave before she exploded. She hated yelling at him, and always felt like a psycho when it was over. He never called her that, but Tabitha hated the way he looked at her when she was flipping out.

“Absolutely. Don’t call me.” He said with a nod and a step towards the door.

“Ha. I don’t plan on ever calling you again. Enjoy single life.”

“You know I don’t get you.” He stopped and shook his head “You break up with me, tell me to get my stuff and then pick a fight with me.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you. I could care less what you do. Go ruin some other girls life.”

The minute the words left her she regretted them, covering her mouth, and felt even worse when she saw hurt cloud his face. Even though they were broken up, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. Especially when they were both hurting enough.

He nodded slowly “So I ruined your life yeah? Okay.” He braced a hand on the door handle and turned it.

“That’s not-Arber. That’s not what I meant to say I-“

“Save it. You’ve said enough for me.” He looked upset, not angry and turned away from her but she crossed the floor and stopped him, bracing a hand on the frame to block his way. Realistically he could have moved her arm with a finger and left but he stopped and that gave her hope. Maybe he didn’t want to leave. Or maybe he was going to turn to her and finally tell her he’d had enough of the fighting and wanted to end things for good. That would be her absolute worst nightmare come to life. She wasn’t even sure what she would do if that ever happened.

“I didn’t mean that.” She said looking up at him.

He looked at the wall above her head frowning “But you said it.” He said quietly before he looked down at her “Do you really feel like I ruined your life?”

“No of course I don’t I just said it cuz I was angry and I’m all mixed up and I don’t know why I get like this. I’m sorry I just-I’m just sorry.” She looked at her feet swiping at a tear that had spilled down her cheek and sniffled. She heard him sigh and then his arms wrapped around her.

“Don’t cry.” He rested his chin on the top of her head and they stood that way for a few moments “Hey please don’t cry.”

She looked up as tears slipped over her waterline and trickled down her cheeks “I didn’t mean that.”

She didn’t mean that. Arber had made her life better from the minute he came into it. Though the fighting was hard, it was worth it to have him around. She hated that those words had come out of her mouth. Hurting Arbers feelings wasn’t easy and she remembered every single time she had. It left a lasting impression on her and she always said she would never do it again and yet here she was.

He looked down at her “I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

Her eyes bounced between his and his mouth several times before he couldn’t take it anymore and leaned in.

A tale as old as time with them.

Like a lit match on gasoline they stumbled back to her bedroom, and Arber one hand tossed her on the mattress, yanking his shirt over his head with the other one in one fluid movement. She pulled at her shirt and threw it across the room and it landed on the lampshade, engulfing the room in semi darkness. She sat up, pulling him towards her by the waistband of his jeans and sprung the button and the zipper off them. He stepped out and nodded for her to move up the bed so he could pull hers off. His rough and calloused fingers moved down the skin of her legs as he slid her jeans over her feet, leaving her in a pair of pink panties and a matching bra. Though Tabitha and Arber had a lot of sex, she always felt exposed in front of him. Like each time was the first time. She felt a redness come to her cheeks as he reached a hand forward and ghosted a finger down her neck before splaying his hand across her chest to push her backwards, moving over top of her.

“You know I love you right?” Arber said against her neck, tongue sliding over her skin.

“Yes.” She gasped out, nails digging into his skin.

“Good. Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

Tabitha relaxed under him eyes closing, as he reached down, pushing one leg wider, and bringing the other one up into an arch. He ran a hand gently down her face, before it traveled down and closed on her throat. Her whole body was shaking, goosebumps blooming across her skin, heart pounding out of her chest.

He gripped the skin of her legs tightly as he eased in agonizingly slow and bottomed out, letting out a long low noise before he pulled out again. Tabitha sucked in a breath and locked her back up, fingers gripping the sheets as he pushed back in more firmly, and locked her leg around his hip. His hand squeezed her neck gently as he moved finding a rhythm. Tabitha was overwhelmed for a minute, the high of the sex and the fight was almost too much. She closed her eyes as he leaned down to kiss her, lips moving slowly against hers and then down her neck.

“Look at me.” He said hand moving from her neck to her jaw and holding it in place.

Her right leg was bent at an uncomfortable angle and the sheet was bunched under her back painfully but he was giving it to her so good she wanted to scream out in pleasure, but because she was still mad at him she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She gripped the skin of his lower back and drug her nails across it hard. She heard him let out a hiss of pain and before she could even smile he bit down on her collarbone hard.

“Ow Arber!” She reached a hand up and slapped him, missing his cheek and hitting him in the jaw.

He smiled “You know what I like.” He he whispered as he let his head fall into her neck, hair tickling her skin. He moved his lips across her jaw to her mouth, tongue sweeping across her lower lip as he kissed her deeply, weight pressing down on top of her.

Damn him she thought as she felt tension build in her stomach. It would have been so much easier to stay mad at him if he was ugly or a bad fuck but he was neither and she couldn’t even think straight as she surged closer to her orgasm, sweat sheening across her stomach and chest. Arber tangled his fingers in her hair, and pushed deeper than he had before, his signature move and she felt that all too familiar feeling of falling off the ledge and closed her eyes. Pleasure washed over her in waves as she fell into euphoria underneath him. His body grew heavy on top of hers, and after a moment he pulled out slowly, and laid down next to her.

She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her.

She sat up, arms holding the sheet tightly across her chest. She had the beginnings of a hickey on her collarbone and her hair was a mess. She scooted away from him.

“You okay?” He asked awkwardly glancing at her.

She stared at him for another second and rolled away from him wordlessly. He hated this part. After sex for them when things were good was great. But when they were arguing it almost always meant she gave him the cold shoulder. He usually hung around for a while till she decided she wasn’t mad at him anymore.

Though sometimes that lasted for hours.

He laid there a second looking at her back and shook his head disappointed with himself for giving it up so easy. His mom had always said he was stubborn but with Tabitha he had no resolve. He just couldn’t say no to her, or stay away from her. Even though she had broken up with him this time, there had been other times where he ended it and he still found himself at her apartment or finding some way to get in contact with her. At this point in their relationship they were so entangle he wasn’t sure he could get away from her even if he wanted to.

Not that he did of course.

She drove him every way except up, but to be in her presence was to be completely intoxicated by her.

Tabitha had peaked his interest the second he saw her. Tall and willowy in build, long shiny hair, big white teeth, and an attitude that made Satan look like a house pet.

She’d picked him up in a bar with a big smile and a few hair flips and nearly a year later they were here. She was both the best and the worst woman he’d ever met.

There was two Tabitha’s and he felt pretty fortunate to know both of them. Under all the attitude, she could be real sweet when it was just them. There was no feeling quite like the one he got when she smiled at him, or reached for his hand, or pushed her face into his neck right before she fell asleep. Though she had the tendency to get under his skin, she didn’t really have any major flaws.

The worst part about her was her friends. They were awful, and they hated him, and truly they never gave him a chance to begin with. They decided after that first breakup that he was a sleazebag and there was nothing he could do to rehab his image no matter how hard he tried so he gave up. He avoided them like the plague, making sure to never be around when they were if he didn’t have to be. His friends were a little more forgiving thankfully. His teammates he sometimes thought would take her side over his if one of their breakups ever became permanent. His parents loved her even more than the team did, and she’d fit right into his life in Hamilton when she’d made the trip home with him last spring. She was blunt, funny and charming and magnetic enough to draw people in and make them wanna stay, him included. No one was perfect, but to him she came pretty close.

And as much stress as the back and forth the relationship brought to him, he couldn’t let her go. The idea of her with someone other than him made him wanna throw up and rage, so instead he put up with the fights and breakups. It sounded bad but it was all true. He really did love Tabitha. In fact he loved her too much, and he wanted to spend forever with her. He didn’t love fighting with her, but he would deal with it till he died if it meant she wasn’t with anyone else.

It felt a little selfish if he was honest. He wondered sometimes if someone else could make her happier than he could. Maybe he was the problem and it would be best to let her be with someone who could do for her what he obviously couldn’t. He’d even suggested it to her once and it had made her cry for nearly 10 minutes and he felt so bad he never suggested it again.

He reached a hand out and ran it through the hair behind her ear, wondering if she was really sleeping or faking so he’d leave her alone, when he heard his phone buzz twice.

Are you coming out?

He read Cole’s message and bit his lip thinking for a minute No probably not. Not feeling it. Going to stay in tonight.

Okay tell Tabitha I said hi haha

Fuck off.

He set his phone down right as she began to stir.

She half turned “I thought you said you were going out with the guys.” She looked relieved to find him still next to her in bed and rolled over to face him fully.

He shrugged and reached a hand out to run it down her shoulder “I was going to but…I figured I can just go out with them when we break up next week.”

She grinned and made a face “Ha ha.”

“Kidding. I’d prefer we not break up next week or anymore at all maybe? I’m getting tired of fighting with you like this.”

She nodded and reached a finger forward to trace the scar on his collarbone “Me too. Sorry.”

He shrugged “It’s okay.

It was silent for a few moments as she stared at him before she leaned her head down to peer at him “And you are sorry as well?”

He leaned back “Me? Sorry for what? You broke up with me, I returned your things, and now here we are.”

Tabitha sat up, eyebrows knitting together over her eyes and let out a breath “I broke up with you because of something you did. So yes you should be sorry.”

He frowned “What did I do? Whatever you heard from whoever you heard it from is a complete lie, like it usually is. Stop listening to other people.” He said annunciating each word with a small smack from one hand to another “I don’t understand why you can’t just ask me about something you hear instead of freaking out about stuff. I mean Jesus Christ Tabitha why are you trusting other people instead of me.”

“Because-“

“No I’ll tell you why.” He said cutting her off and sitting up “Because you let whatever insecurity this is eat you alive until you can’t take it anymore and you blow up on me for nothing.”

“So it’s all my fault?” She said pointing at herself.

“I didn’t say that. It’s me too, but this time I didn’t do anything. Let me ask you this. Do you really think that if I didn’t love you or didn’t want to be here that I would be? I could go out and pick some girl up right now and yet here I am. Fighting with you. Again.” He said throwing his hands up and shaking his head.

“Well since your so confident in your abilities then there’s the door.” She reached down and picked up his pants, shirt and boxers and heaved them at him, narrowly missing his head and yanked the blanket off him to wrap it around herself “Thanks for coming have a nice night. Out.” She pointed at the doorway.

“Whatever. Fuck this.” He pulled his clothing on and then shoes, slamming the door as he left. He got into his truck and gripped the wheel, resisting the urge to punch it and breathed several breaths through his nose.

This relationship was going to be the death of him.

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eleadore · 2 months ago

Note

top five scenes/lines/moments from drarry fic

rookie moves by peu_a_peu - not gonna lie, every single scene. but you put a gun to my head and make me pick just one, i'll pick two -

“You should’ve died, Draco,” Nott snarled. “If you had a shred of honor you’d have died.” “Well guess what, Theodore?” Malfoy said, with a horrible, mocking smile. “I don’t, and I lived.” Nott stared daggers into Malfoy. His hands went behind the armchair. Harry knew instantly: he was about to do something stupid. There was no time to do anything but give Malfoy a hard shove just as Nott cried, “Avada Kedavra!” A jet of green lightning cracked through the spot where Malfoy had just been standing, charging the air, hitting the wall with a terrible explosion. “What are you doing, Theodore?!” Malfoy wailed as he ducked for cover behind the couch. “We’re throwing AKs at ten in the morning?!”

jesus i've read it 800 times and i am as we speak gasping for air

McGonagall turned, and absorbed the other half of we. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said, quelling unsuccessfully what sounded like considerable shock. “Auror Malfoy,” Malfoy corrected her. “Professor.” “Well.” She blinked a number of times before speaking diplomatically. “I can’t say it’s the career I’d have predicted for you. But one’s former students do turn up in surprising fields.” Malfoy smiled the shit-eating smile of someone who couldn’t be given detention. Who was, in fact, medically calm. “It’s a calling.”

running on air by eleventy7 - you already know

Do you remember when we were eleven? Let's go back to that. I'll throw Remembralls into the sky and you can try to catch them. Sometimes I think you can just keep my wand. I think of all the Dark spells I performed, all the Unforgiveables I tried to cast with it. But then I remember when I was eleven years old, learning Lumos and casting mending charms, and it's hard to let go of that. So give me my wand, or give me a timeturner.

trouble, my old friend by tepre - the one with the fucking buttons

He says, “Tell me,” and Harry – running low on sleep, confused and aroused and altogether unfamiliar to this new world of desire – can’t quite keep himself in check. He wants, for a moment, simply wants, knows not what to do with it, where to direct it, and the feeling bubbles like wild magic. He realises a fraction too late that no, not like, but magic – staring at the spot where Malfoy’s scar disappears below the high collar of his shirt. The stiff hem of the doublet, buttoned shut over his Adam’s apple. With a small sound, the top button of the doublet pops open. Then the second, the third. Malfoy sucks in a breath.

ain't no friend of mine by lettered - when harry's being a little bitch and dog!draco simply will not stand for it

Potter slammed open the door. For a moment he just stared down at Draco with that annoying face of his, with the insane hair, and the disfigured scar. Then he yanked the slobbery scarf out of Draco's mouth, and said, low and tight, "Leave me the fuck alone, why don't you; don't you see I don't bloody care; I don't want anyone near me; I DON'T WANT YOU; I NEVER WANTED YOU; GO AWAY!" And Draco all the sudden remembered why he'd joined the Inquisition Squad. Potter in fifth year had been exactly like this and it was really annoying.

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by oknowkiss - the one where draco hands harry his business card

Harry reads the card again. Flips it over. Looks at Draco, watches him sip his tea. Notices one of his bra straps is showing. Reads the card a third time. Fails to make sense of anything at all. “Have you lost your goddamn fucking mind?” Harry snaps, throwing the card back at Draco. “What in the absolute shit is this?” “Did you read the card?” Draco asks. He tucks it back into his bra. “I feel like you’re asking questions that have all been answered by the card.”

bonus 1: if an injury is to be inflicted by shealwaysreads - when draco meets ron and hermione The Morning After

Draco’s smile threatened to bloom into genuine delight at the look on her face. He had dressed deliberately casually, forgoing his usual high-collared robes for a pair of charcoal grey trousers and a pale grey shirt; open at the collar to expose the mess Potter made of his neck and collarbones. She opened and shut her mouth twice, before Weasley broke the silence and stepped towards Draco, towing Granger along with him.

bonus 2: owl was well by fencer_x - when draco flies to the burrow bc he's "bored" and gets beat up by crookshanks

“Er,” Potter said, giving Draco a comfortable berth of several steps. “That was Crookshanks. Hermione’s cat. We’re gonna watch him while she and her folks are in Germany for the holiday to visit family in Dusseldorf.” He frowned to himself, brows knitting in confusion. “I thought he could see through Animagus transformations, though. I’m not sure why he’d attack—oh. Guess he recognised you.” Oh, indeed. Draco ran his fingers through his hair—he probably looked a fright now. “I suppose it’s going to hold a grudge against me for all nine of its lives, then.”

ask me top 5/10 anything

#i couldve done 800 of these but it is 9am on a monday #eleasnore #top five

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 months ago

Text

Gonna be real under the cut

As someone who has been bullied all of my schooltime because I was too awkward, too fat, because my dad left us, because of how my hair looked, because I was wearing the same pants for two days in a row, because I had respect for my teachers, because i never had a boyfriend, because i didn't drink....

I am so glad the internet wasn't around back then.

If shit like what is happening currently in this fandom would have been happened to me twenty years ago?

I don't want to imagine what I would have done to make it stop.

Bullies have always been the same.

Mirroring their insecurites on someone who thinks won't fight back (or in this day and age can't because you can't censor the internet and reporting will only get you so far)

If you are one of the people "confessing" on that certain blog

You are nothing more than a bully.

If you have a problem with someone and don't want to use the block button for whatever reason, you get into the inbox of the person you feel is "mistreating you" and ask them why. You don't go around sending hateful messages hiding behind the anonymity this website provides under the impression that it's "confessing".

If you genuinely feel offended that not everyone (of the so called big blogs) talks to you, that you're not instantly are getting the notes on the fics you post, that you don't have enough followers, that you dont feel welcome in a fandom....

Things like this can take years.

And it takes work. It takes constant writing. It takes constant making gifs. Constant making art.

And yeah sometimes people chose to not reblog other fics/content? So what? Big deal. No one has to!

Like it is some kind of obligation once you hit your made up big blog follower number to reblog every single content from anyone. wtf?

Of course things mutuals post get reblogged more often, because they are on our dashboards.

Personally I used to find new writers/fics by going into the Pedro tag. The tag that is now swamped with hatefull "confessions" so I just don't go looking anymore. You think this will get you the exposure you want to?

Maybe it will, but not in the way you have been dreaming of.

And you bet your ass we are gonna reblog our shit as often as we want to. . And if I want to reblog my own fic twenty times because i am proud of it? Not your problem. The unfollow and block button is there for a reason. USE IT.

Because, newsflash, these are our own fucking blogs and we can do whatever we want with it

Like you.

Who choses to bully people for the fucked up reasons your little brains think are valid.

But bullying is never okay and I hope one day you realize and care that you actually hurt people. Sometimes to a point where you can't be sorry anymore cause they're gone.

I guess what I wanna say with this post is grow up.

And don't even get me started on how people over the age of 30 are creepy for still being in fandom.

You do know what a hobby is, right?

The majority of the content you love so much would be gone if we all would be gone. Maybe keep that in mind the next time you get into some inbox to call people out you never have bothered to get to know in the first place.

#about so called confessing and bullying

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acewritesfics · 9 months ago

Text

Good Morning Kiss | Jay Halstead

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request: from @/runnning-outof-time

Prompt: “I would like my good morning kiss now.”

Warnings: None

Word Count: 880

Jay Halstead Masterlist

Jay sips his coffee watching Y/N, nodding along to everything she is saying about what needs to be done and what she needs to get before their dinner with Will and Natalie tonight. She always got a little flustered when they were having people over for dinner, even if the guests were his brother and fiancée.

“Sounds good, babe,” he agrees, putting his now empty cup in the sink and walks over to her. His arms wrap around her waist as he pulls her into him. “I would like my good morning kiss now.”

She blushes, feeling a little embarrassed about her fretting. Jay is always good at distracting her from it and not making her feel silly about it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leans in pressing a soft kiss to his lips, drawing it out a little longer than usual.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jay assures her rubbing her back after breaking the kiss. “I have to get to work but if you need me to pick anything up or do anything before tonight, text me, okay.”

“Okay,” she smiles and kisses him once more.

Letting her go he picks up his gun and badge, attaching them to his belt. After grabbing his coat, he kisses her cheek and makes his way to the front door.

“Be safe,” she calls out to him as he leaves.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Y/N cusses as she throws the burnt pan into the sink. She some how managed to burn the food she’d been cooking. Tonight’s dinner her and Jay were meant to be telling Will and Natalie some big news that they had received, them wanting the doctor couple to be the first to know.

Giving up she decides to call Jay. Picking up her phone, she goes to his number and hits the call button.

It takes a few rings before Jay answers. “Hey babe, is everything okay?”

“Not really. Are you almost finished at work?” she asks.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, becoming concerned. She could hear it in his voice.

“I burnt dinner,” she admits, feeling flustered. “I don’t know if it’s the baby brain or I’m just nervous, but dinner is no more.”

“Take a deep breath,” he tells her and pauses while she takes a few deep breathes calming herself down. “Now turn everything off, pour yourself a glass of water and go sit down and relax.”

“Is that an order detective?” she questions him, a slight teasing tone to her voice.

“It is,” he smiles. “And if you don’t do it, I’ll have to arrest you.”

Y/N chuckles a little but does as he says. Sitting down on the couch she holds her phone to her ear. “Happy, Detective Halstead?”

“Very Happy, Mrs. Halstead,” he answers. “Now don’t worry about dinner, okay? I’ll grab a couple pizzas and some sides on my way home. I’m sure Will and Nat will be okay with that.”

"Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Every single day.”

“I love you,” Y/N smiles.

“I love you too,” he says back.

“That took longer than I expected,” Jay says as he walks into his and Y/N’s apartment holding two pizzas and a bag of food. He places them on the table and greets his brother and soon to be sister-in-law who arrived around 15 minutes ago and then greets his wife who seems to be a little more relaxed than she was earlier. “Everything going okay?”

“It’s going great, I managed to get everything cleaned up before Will and Nat arrived,” she tells him.

“What did I say about relaxing?” he asks, kissing her forehead before moving around her to grab some paper plates. With Will’s help he gets the table set up for dinner.

Y/N sits down next to Jay and apologizes for not having a proper dinner. “I swear I was cooking a nice meal and somehow it almost went up in flames. How early into pregnancy can baby brain affect a woman?”

“Baby brain?” Will asks confused while Natalie looks between the married couple in surprise.

“Oh my… are you pregnant?” She asks excited

Y/N smiles, grinning ear to ear as she nods her head, yes. Jay was also smiling ear to ear, looking proud.

“No way! Congratulations!” Will says surprised and happy for his brother and sister-in-law. “I didn’t even know you two were trying.”

“We weren’t,” Jay chuckles. “It’s a happy coincidence.”

“If you two need anything, let us know. We’ll help in any way that we can,” Natalie tells them, making sure that they know they’ll be there for them in their journey to parenthood.

“Thank you,” Y/N smiles and turns to Jay who’s smiling back at her.

“I think dinner was a success,” Jay smiles at Y/N as she climbs into bed with him later that night.

“Despite it being a total failure in the beginning,” she sighs as she lays down.

“It all worked it,” Jay moves, leaning over her and looks down at her with nothing but the love he feels for her. “I would like my good night kiss now.”

Y/N chuckles and cups his face bringing him in for a soft kiss that quickly becomes heated.

#acewritesfics repost #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #chicago pd #chicago pd x reader

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slxtarchive · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … chris and you went on a fun date to the escape room but it wasn’t exactly what you expected

you had been waiting in the waiting room for an employee to help you and chris. you were excited about finally being able to do an escape room and hoped you were ‘locked in’ enough so that you were able to find your way out.

your hands were intertwined with chris’s as he caressed them with his thumb. “how excited are you baby?” he had a big smile on his face. you fiddled with his bracelet as your leg bounced in anticipation. “i’m gonna get out of this shit in like 5 minutes watch.”

you giggled at his confidence. “oh wow, my strong boyfriends going to save me!” you sarcastically squealed as you pulled him closer.

“mhm.” he murmured as he kissed your head. “m’gonna make sure we’re out of there quick!” he laughed against you. you both continued to joke around as you waited to be called in.

“for chris? room 3 is ready for you.” they spoke. chris smiled at you cheekily before grabbing your hand and leading you toward the room where the employee was heading. you both entered and awaited further instruction.

“hello! my name is ted and i’ll be helping you guys out today. just a few rules and info before beginning, nothing too crazy. no eating or drinking in here, we do have camera so nothing sketchy, im sure you guys don’t need to be told that. if you guys need any help, there’s a red button with a hand on it next to every door you enter and exit from.

go ahead and click that if you need assistance. double click if it’s an emergency, please don’t double click if it’s a question about the room or a clue you need.” you and chris nodded in understanding at the abundance of information that you were told. “any questions before i let you guys begin?”

chris looked at you before shaking his head. “no i think we’re good thank you.” he flashed a polite smile.

“alright guys perfect. well i hope you guys enjoy!” ted left quietly through the door we entered from. he then started speaking through a tiny speaker at the corner of the room. “one more thing, you’ll have a limited amount of time displayed on the clock located above every exit. once the time is over you’ll be guided to exit the rooms. remember, the smallest details matter! have fun.”

chris then looked at you. “okay this is great, let’s get started yeah baby?” you nodded and smiled as you noticed the excitement in his eyes. “i’ve played a game like this with matt so hopefully this isn’t any different.” he laughed.

time passed and everything was going well. you guys were finally in the last room. “here i’m going to check what’s in here.” you mentioned opening a closet door you had found. you walked inside looking around when all of a sudden the room went dark and a loud slam echoed. “fuck!” you yelped jumping back and hitting your back against the wall.

the room was dark. you couldn’t see a single thing the only thing lighting up the small closet was the light from the room you just came from, seeping through the bottom of the crack.

“c-chris?” you called out putting your arms out to see what was around you.

“baby? where’d you go?” his voice sounded like it was coming from the other side of the room.

“i…im sorry i tried to find a clue in this closet but i don’t know what happened… it just closed on me.” you spoke against the door. you’d didn’t like the dark. you never liked the dark. you felt your heart start to race as your eyes started to hallucinate different things. “chris please help me.” you felt your throat close up.

“i’m looking for something baby. the door locked. is there anything in there that can open it?” his voice was close now as you heard him pacing around the room.

you tried to slow your breathing. “i’m not sure i’m trying to… it’s really dark in here, chris.” you tried looking around again obviously not looking at anything.

“nothing over here baby. look, feel around. there might be some sort of lever or button? you gotta feel around, baby.” you didn’t like his idea one bit. it was worse because you couldn’t see what you were touching so your senses heightened. your chest tightened.

you blinked several times feeling tears well up in your eyes. “chris… chris i can’t…” you took a breath but got choked up. “i…i…” was all that came out of your mouth. you stuttered, unable to say what you had been feeling.

“baby? it’s okay, i’m right here. you’re safe. take a deep breath for me, please.” he knocked on the door. he hated not being able to touch you or help you feel better. he eagerly looked around the room for something to help you. there was nothing so there had to be a button inside the closet. “i know it’s hard baby, but the sooner you feel around the room the faster you’ll get out. there has to be something in there because there’s nothing over here.”

you nodded trying to hype yourself up. you wish you had a flashlight or something to help but the employees had taken your phones so you wouldn’t cheat or anything. you dropped to the floor starting at the bottom as you felt lightheaded. you felt over the carpet looking for anything to help. there was nothing until you felt a hard surface. you felt around and noticed it was a box of some sort. “i found a box in here. like a chest.” you informed chris.

“okay, perfect good job baby. doing so good. now can you open it?” he spoke through the cracks. you looked for the latch and thank god it wasn’t locked. you opened it and felt inside immediately touching a few things. one of them was a soft fabric, another was a folded paper, and then one that was extremely important was exactly what you wished for — a flashlight.

“oh thank god.” you whispered to yourself. you clicked it but it wouldn’t turn on. “god damn it come on.” you grew frustrated. you hit it a few times before it finally budged. “found a flashlight.” you grinned before looking around the room. it was like a costume closet filled with racks of clothes. you surveyed the room more before looking back in the box. you saw the paper which read a few sentences — a riddle.

❝ amidst the threads of many tales, where heroes and villains leave their trails, seek not a button, nor a latch, not something hidden to detach. behind the garb of many faces, lies a secret in these spaces. pull the thread, make it sever, and there you’ll find the hidden lever. ❞

you had read the riddle in confusion. “there’s a riddle on this paper i found.” you shined the flashlight on the parchment.

chris groaned. “shit i’m not good with that.. um read it aloud? maybe we can figure it out together.” you obliged and read it out loud. “oh fuck that…” he muttered.

you read it again to yourself. “behind the garb of many faces… garb. clothing. pull the thread? thread like to make clothes… okay. there you’ll find the hidden lever.” you looked around and locked eyes on the rack of clothing. “the costumes!” you yelped.

you quickly set the parchment in the box before parting the garments in the middle and saw a beautiful silver lever. you quickly pulled it unlatching something in the door. you then saw how light seeped into the closet.

you turned and saw chris had opened the door for you. “you did it baby!!” he smiled as you jumped into his arms.

“i did i did!” you jumped, feeling proud of yourself. you then turned to look behind chris. “chris the door! it’s open!” you pointed toward the exit.

he gave you a kiss on your lips. “my pretty girl did it.” he muttered against your lips. “i love you so much.”

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piratefishmama · 11 months ago

Text

I Wish | Part 2

Two sharp claps woke Eddie that following morning.

Followed by the whirring sound of some kind of motor, and then gradually, sunlight.

Sunlight travelled up his face until it hit his eyes directly, lighting up all the little veins behind his eyelids that nobody ever really wanted to see but no matter which way he shoved his head into the pillow, and he did try left and right…

He couldn’t dodge the sunlight.

“Wakey Wakey rockstar!” He was awake. Wide awake, sat up very straight very quickly and then everything felt very wrong when his world spun and— “awh shit Eddie, not again. Hold it! Don’t you dare, not until I—” chunks hit the floor about two seconds before a bucket would have been in place to catch it all. The shockingly red bucket held frozen in place where it’d failed to reach him. “Get there.”

Whoever that was sounded so disappointed.

Eddie had no idea why, but he felt like death. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and his head ached like he’d been hit by a brick wall, not him walking into one, no, one falling on him.

“Ngghhh” he groaned, before spitting what remained in his mouth out into the bucket, for what it was worth.

“What did you do last night, Eddie?” Eddie lifted his head up slowly, trying not to agitate his throbbing headache any more than it already was. With squinted eyes, he struggled to make out the person in front of him, but even when his focus returned, he couldn’t place exactly who the guy was, nor… where he was.

The room he was in was… large.

A huge open space with beige walls sparsely decorated by what looked like gaudy hotel art, he didn’t recognise the bedsheets either, softer than his usual ones, and when he finally found his eyes able to focus against the harsh direct light of the windows, with his hand shielding them a little, the large floor to ceiling windows of his room looked out across a city skyline.

“Who… who’re you?” That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Mystery guy didn’t look too impressed.

“Are you kidding me? Who—who am I? That’s how bad it is? You’re so fucked up you’ve forgotten me this time? I swear to god every fucking time Eddie. Every single goddamn time it’s like this and you just—I keep falling for it!!” Every pitchy hike of that voice had Eddie wincing back “What excuse will it be this time Eddie? It was just ‘one last time?’ Or what about your greatest hit ‘everyone else was doing it’, or maybe you’ll just wave it away like it doesn’t even matter? What did you even take?!” Eddie just wanted to hide, he wanted to hide under the mystery covers, away from this loud person who seemed to know him but…

Eddie was still drawing a blank.

The last thing he remembered, the last thing he clearly remembered, was being in the trailer after coming home from the faire, he remembered… he remembered—

“Where’s… where’s Stephan?” He remembered the Genie.

“Stephan? Who the fuck is Stephan? Are you—motherfucker are you cheating on me?! Who the FUCK is Stepha—” the bedroom door opened, cutting off the mystery mans tirade before Eddie could think too deeply about the idea of cheating on someone he didn’t even know, and like straight out of some kind of sit com, in walked the man himself.

All that was missing was an audience cheer track.

“I’m Stephan, Louie. Please get out.” ‘Louie’ straightened up, face seemingly set into a permanent scowl, he’d have probably been attractive if Eddie’s first encounter with him wasn’t that.

“Steve? Where the hell have you been?! You let him get like thi—”

“Get out Louie, or I remove you.” Arms crossed over broad chest, frame tall, broad, his attire less like it was in the trailer, now he wore a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks. Imposing despite its simplicity. “And make no mistake I will remove you.” He added, tone just as firm as his stance, Louie faltered, resolve quickly crumbling under that impressive presence.

“Fine, but I’m done with this. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t support him like this, so… please have my things sent to my apartment in Chicago. I’m finished.” And out he went, without even so much as a backwards glance to the deeply confused man still in bed, door slammed behind him leaving him alone with ‘Steve’.

“…Stephan?”

“Yeah, Eddie?”

“What the fuck is going on?” The outfit melted away, replaced with a glittering twinkle of a stereotypical magical effect, by the peasant garb he’d worn in the trailer. It was him.

He was real.

Stephan, or… Steve. Steve was easier, he was going to use Steve. Steve offered him his best attempt at an apologetic smile, before approaching to sit on the edge of the bed. “World fame, big shot. You’re lucky I didn’t dump you mid-way through one of your gigs, or worse, last night. Sorry but this was the uh… lesser of many evils. You’re currently in LA staying at a hotel midway through a press tour to advertise your new album, and that… was Louie. Your boyfriend of… three months now? Underwear model, definitely too young for you, I never approved but hey, who listens to the Genie? Nobody, because you’re all too ‘metal’ to listen to the Genie.”

That was… so much information at once. The room still felt like it was spinning, Louie had left the bucket on the floor next to the throw up. Eddie kind of wanted to throw up again. He couldn’t even process the ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Can… can I wish to feel better?” He was almost proud of himself for coming up with that one.

“Sure you can.”

“I wish I felt better.” A snap of Steve’s fingers, and all those aches, all those pains, the headache the nausea the spinning, it all just. Vanished. Kind of disorientating but, for less than a second, and he was fine. Clear as a whistle, never felt better than he did in that moment. “Holy shit…” Steve smiled. He was prettier than Louie when he smiled.

“You’re welcome. Listen Eddie… I’ve basically disguised myself as your bodyguard in this reality, I exist as a normal person in your life, your band know me, your friends know me, I will be there in all realities we walk through together in some way shape or form. But this one… this one is tricky.”

“Can I wish for the throw up to be gone cause it’s starting to smell.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wish the throw up was gone.” Another snap, both the vomit, and the bucket were gone “oooh bucket too, you overachiever” Steve snorted a little laugh, shaking his head, making his softly coifed bangs sway lightly. “Where were you when I needed to clean my room last month?”

“Please be serious, Eddie, only for a moment.” Eddie settled in the bed, hands in his lap, totally fixed on Steve. Then he noticed he had new tattoos on his hands and suddenly that was way more interesting. As were the tattoos up his arms, a whole sleeve, no. Both sleeves! He looked down at his chest, MORE tattoos, and— Steve grabbed the covers before he could lift them to check his lower half. “Eddie.” Oop. The tone was firm, not quite as intimidating as the one Steve had used on Louie, but… Eddie stilled.

“I’m listening big guy.”

“You wished for world fame, that your band were to become world famous. That does not happen in a blink of an eye, Eddie. Not even by magic. That happens with years of experience, of effort, it happens with dive bars, basement, and garage gigs, it happens with multiple awful record deals that limit and exploit you until you find something that works, it takes nearly breaking apart, it takes, and it takes, and it takes, but what it takes the most of… is time. Eddie. It takes time.” And wasn’t that sobering.

He looked at his hands again. Saw the weathered lines amidst the tattoos for the first time.

Steve didn’t stop him this time from looking beneath the covers, there were more tattoos, way more than he remembered having, but there were lines where lines shouldn’t be, scars where scars shouldn’t be, there were wrinkles in places he was too young to have wrinkles in. Weathered.

He looked weathered.

Steve could only be sympathetic about it, could only appear softened, like he knew this would be tough, but he couldn’t really do anything about it.

“…How much time, Steve?” His fingers gripped the covers tight, he could feel his heart in his throat, thumping away faster as anxiety skyrocketed. He was older. His wish was world fame he didn’t think about anything other than that. It wasn’t even supposed to work Steve was supposed to just be some crazy homeless person who walked in from the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be real.

“About thirty years?” Eddie pinched himself again on autopilot. It hurt. Silently, he threw his covers off of himself, and stood, the room didn’t spin like it had been earlier and nothing hurt like before, Steve’s magic working like a charm. Still silent, he crossed the room to the bathroom, turned on the light, and found himself looking at… a stranger.

No. It was still him. But he was struck with the thought of why someone like Louie, youthful and handsome as he’d been even in his anger, would want something like him? Wrinkled skin, bags under his eyes, his body slimmer than it ever ought to be and his hair… still long and badly maintained, but now peppered with streaks of grey. “What…” his voice croaked, his hand lifting to rub at the loose skin of his cheeks. Gaunt. Weathered. “What happened to me?”

“Addiction mainly.” Steve was there, behind him in the doorway, close but not touching. Never touching. He held a robe in his hand.

“I don’t do—”

“Mmm… you didn’t… not at first. You smoked but… drugs were more a business venture to you than a vice, right?” Absently, Eddie nodded. He’d dealt his fair share of weed, so what? How had he gone from dealer to— “one of those record labels that didn’t fit. You see… it’s easy to keep a band relevant and making money, when they’re always making headlines, good or bad, it doesnt matter, getting publicly trashed makes some people more money than it loses. Coupled with heartbreak, encouragement, and easy access… impulse control was never your strong suit, was it?” He spoke like he knew him. Maybe he did, Steve had said a genie knew its master, right? “World fame has its dark side. There’s no gain without some form of suffering, Eddie, especially when the gain is as gigantic as world fame.”

“Can—can I go back?”

“Of course you can, you need only wish it. However… I don’t think you should though. Not yet. This is jarring, seeing yourself like this, it’s incredibly jarring, however… you asked for world fame and haven’t even experienced it. Just a small downside. Why don’t you live the day, think of it as an opportunity to experience what this is like, maybe it’ll help you achieve some goals in your own time.” Eddie’s eyes returned to his own reflection, taking it in…

He kind of looked like Wayne. There were worse people he could look like in his older years, especially since people had always claimed he looked like his father. But no... he looked like Wayne. He took some comfort in that.

“…Will it be safe?” Steve regarded him with silence for a moment, just long enough for Eddie to understand. “Nothing’s ever totally safe, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But as your bodyguard I’ll be as close as I can at all times. You don’t need to ask if you can wish it either, if you want to go home, just wish it, and it’ll be done, alright?” Steve stepped forwards into Eddie’s space, and carefully draped the robe over his bare shoulders as Eddie nodded his acknowledgement and pulled the robe tighter around himself, Steve’s hands still there, a pleasantly warm and grounding weight on his shoulders. “Now you should shower, and get yourself dressed. You have a few things to do today so I’ll be waiting outside to take you to your first thing once you’re ready.”

Eddie was almost scared to ask. “Which is?”

“Breakfast of course, but then you’re taping a talk show so chop chop!”

Two quick claps in succession and Steve was off, headed for the door to give him some privacy as if he hadn’t just seen Eddie completely nude, ignoring the sharp, “A what?!” That followed from the bathroom as he exited the suite.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #IWishFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Genie!Steve #The Adventure begins!!

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wnobin · 11 months ago

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NO BUNNY BUT YOU! 🐰

petsitter! wonbin x fem! reader

series synopsis: your friends refuse to look after your bunnies, tokki and dokki, while you’re on an overseas programme for a week. luckily, winter knows the right person for the job.

series masterlist

part six: On my way!

wonbin slumped over on the couch, exhausted and breathing heavily as anton shoved his phone in his face. “park wonbin! how do you feel beating jung sungchan’s ass?” staring blankly at the younger male who had a wide grin on his face, he covered the camera with his hand. “get that camera out of my face or you’re next.” anton nervously giggled, backing away to review the footage with seunghan and sohee, who sat far away from wonbin, scared that wonbin would come after him next.

as dramatic as the fight sounded, it was barely even considered a fight. the only injury sustained was a small scratch to sungchan’s forearm. the only reason the fight was over was due to wonbin pulling a muscle while attempting to pull sungchan’s hair again. sungchan laid down on the floor, sweaty and chest rising up and down as he breathed, shotaro sitting next to him and brushing his bangs out of his face. “can’t believe you’re both fighting because of a girl.”

“woah woah woah, we didn’t fight because of y/n, we fought because sungchan’s a big mouth!”

“am not! i didn’t beat you up even after finding out about the flower pot incident! if anything, we’re even now.”

“he’s right. can the both of you be civil now?” eunseok hits the back of wonbin’s head, forcing the both of them to apologise to each other (reluctantly) like little kids. “what’re you gonna do now? are you gonna ask her out?”

wonbin let out a groan and rubbed his face remembering that you now knew that he was absolutely obsessed with you. “i don’t even know. what if she doesn’t feel the same? we haven’t even spent that much time together.”

“then spend time with her. didn’t you say she invited you to dinner?”

“yeah, but— hey, hands off, you greedy bitch.” wonbin caught sungchan trying to sneak a packet of chocolates from the bag of treats you gave to him, attempting to snatch the bag from him. “you beat me up. i deserve this.”

the rest of the guys went out to get dinner while wonbin stayed back in the dorm, tired out from the events of the day. he laid down in the comfort of his bed, head turning to stare at the paper bag of treats you got for him with a small heart drawn on the front of the bag. holding his phone up, he stared at your chat, unsure of what to say.

sorry about what happened, sungchan was just joking around. well he couldn’t send that because that would be lying. wonbin groaned in frustration, unsure of how to approach the topic or if he should even bring it up. there’s a chance you didn’t hear him at all. before he could retype his message for the nth time, his phone dropped on his face and he let out a soft ouch. picking up his phone, he froze, seeing your contact pop up on the screen as the phone rang. he must’ve accidentally pressed the call button when the phone hit his face.

fuck shit fuck how do i cancel this call??

“wonbin?” you picked up after 2 rings, as if you were expecting his call. “um, hey y/n…! sorry, i didn’t mean to call you,” wonbin internally facepalmed himself, embarrassed of the way his voice cracked. “oh… i see. i’ll just hang up then. goodnight!”

“no, stay! i mean, we can talk if you’re not busy doing anything now.”

“mm, okay. how was your day, bin?” your voice was soft and comforting, like music to his ears after such a long day of classes and fighting with sungchan. he told you all about his long lectures and how his professors kept picking him out to answer questions during every single one of his classes. you listened intently, giggling whenever wonbin’s voice would get higher when he was especially irritated by a situation. “it’s like they’re all out to get me. and for what? because i showed up late to the first day of lessons? it wasn’t even my fault, how was i supposed to know that classroom 73A and classroom 73 aren’t the same?! and that was months ago, they should get over it.” you couldn’t help but to burst out laughing, listening to wonbin whine like a kid. you told him about how your day wasn’t that good either, getting stopped during security check and getting your bag further inspected during the flight back. “they probably thought i was smuggling drugs or something but i just wanted to bring back snacks…” wonbin could hear your pout through the phone, a smile creeping onto his face.

“sounds like we both had a hard day. i think we definitely deserve a treat. so how about that dinner you promised me some time next week?”

“we’re on.”

taglist: @istphanie @snowyseungs @nyuoqi @myizhous @jhskluv @babigriin @revehosh @acidwon @fourthirtyone-am @bunni

#riize #riize fluff #riize imagines #riize x reader #park wonbin #riize smau #riize wonbin #riize wonbin x reader #wonbin fluff #wonbin imagines #wonbin smau #wonbin x reader #wonbin

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brossession-collection · 11 months ago

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Dad's Pits (Male Possession)

"Charlie! Get your fucking ass down here!"

Charlie's eyes shot open as he heard the muffled yells of his dad's piercing through his bedroom door. He flinched, pulling his hands out of his musky briefs and hitting his head on the bedframe.

"Fuck that hurt."

Charlie is a 23 year old washed out jock who just barely graduated from college. Exhausted from the years of studying and the lack of any job leads, he came back home tired and defeated. It didn't help that he was a kinky fucker, masturbating his days away to the smell of his ripe sweaty pits.

In fact, Charlie's main reason for playing club lacrosse in college was so that he could rummage through the open lockers and dirty laundry hampers, claiming any soiled jerseys to take a dirty sniff. He got caught once, with the strength coach's yellowed jockstrap over his face.

Dude got put on probation and his single dad found out immediately.

Charlie's dad, Jeff, although stern and strict, is a pretty loving dad through and through. He's a construction manager at one of the biggest firms in the city, leading huge projects and coming home day after day fatigued, pissy, and, most importantly, musky.

And today wasn't any different.

"You hear me!? You better not be whacking your d*ck!"

Charlie groaned as he got up, not bothering to slip anything on. He opened the door and yelled back, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm not dad! What do you need!?"

"How about you get your ass down here like I said and get some dinner on the table. Least you can do to help out around here"

Charlie tucked his boner into his briefs, put on some shorts and a loose tank top jersey, and trotted down the stairs regrettably. He made eye contact with Jeff, who was taking off his plaid button down, leaving behind a tight white tank top and belted wrangler jeans.

"There you are" Jeff said more softly than just a second ago. "Listen Charlie I don't wanna be yelling at ya. You're a grown ass adult and you're still living here. Could be proactive and help out around here more."

Charlie rubbed his eyes, yawned, then nodded, his bushy pits wafting out a dry musk that made his dad wince.

"Jesus christ boy. Go take a fucking shower. Don't know how you can handle yourself smelling like that. I can barely deal with my own stink right after work."

Charlie muttered a "well I can" under his breath as he rummaged through the fridge. He glanced at his dad who seemed to not notice.

"Speaking of, I'm gonna take a shower. Gotta get this fucking stench off me. Have dinner on the table when I get back alright?"

"Yeah yeah yeah. Will do daddio."

Charlie looked back as his dad jogged up the stairs, his tatted built arms swinging side to side with every step. While Charlie had more of an athletic lanky build, Jeff was a bit more bulky, carrying a muscular dad bod. They were the same height, and had similar characteristics, but his dad looked more mature with his bushy beard and uncontrollable chest hair. Charlie was jealous of those features. "I could be waaay more musky if I had dad's hairiness" he constantly thought.

Charlie felt an air of dizziness as he dropped some produce on the kitchen counter. He tried to steady himself, but for some reason couldn't keep his heavy eyelids open. "Shit... Must be the blue balls..." he slurred as he drunkenly stumbled to the dinner table. He slumped onto a chair and zonked out.

...

When Charlie came to, he felt strange. More airy, like he was floating. He felt cold, but for some reason couldn't feel his skin when he tried to grab it. He yelled when he looked down.

"The fuck is happening?"

"Why's my skin all green?"

Charlie poked and prodded at his translucent abs, which responded with a gooey jello-ey jiggle. "No fucking way man what the hell is this shit!?" he yelled.

Suddenly musky green gas started to emit from his armpits and ass, as if he was a walking stink cloud. Charlie curiously raised one of his arms up to take a sniff, only to smell one of the most rancid, ripe, and gloriously delicious stenches he's ever inhaled.

"Wheeeeewwww. Fuck... I smell so fucking BAD! I mean... GOOD". Charlie couldn't stop whiffing his own pits, hypnotized by the incredible musk that his ghostly form was now exuding.

Charlie looked around. He could see musky stink lines coming from objects all over the house, as if he had stink-o-vision. He strutted over to his dad's hung-up button down, which was apparently excessively musky.

"Damn... smells so goooood" he moaned as he brought his nose and hand up to the fabric. Suddenly, his fingers, then hand, then forearms got sucked into the fabric. With every finger twitch he tried to do, he watched as the shirt jostled around, as if he had partial control over it.

Charlie was chuckling, experimenting with his new powers for atleast 2 minutes straight before he heard a familiar voice call from up stairs.

"I'll be out in 15!" his dad yelled. Charlie heard the shower turn as his dad stomped around on the floor above, waiting for the water to heat up.

Charlie, looking down at his green ghostly body, grinned and thought of something mischievous to try. He got up and started tip-toeing up the stairs, the green stench still floating off his body.

He opened his dad's bedroom door and saw him turned around, taking off his socks. Jeff only cocked his head back, not yet noticing the new form his son had taken.

"You need something bud?" he said, before turning his head further and seeing the green apparition that his Charlie had become.

"Wh-what the hell? Y-you okay son?" Jeff's mouth was agape, unsure of how to react. He felt his nose crinkle as a more intense version of Charlie's ripe musk wafted into his nostrils unwelcomed.

"Don't know what happened daddio. Dozed off and woke up like this."

"Ch-Charlie! The fuck happened!? Go take a fucking shower son this ain't normal!"

Charlie flinched at that idea. "Why dad? I smell fucking great. And you do too..." He noticed the green stink lines emanating from his dad's pits, feet and below his waistband.

"The fuck are you talking about Charlie?" Jeff said, taking a step back as his jock son inched forward.

"Mind if I try something dad?" In a split second, Charlie pounced at Jeff, completely covering him in his green gas and slimey body.

Jeff struggled to breathe as he felt his nose and mouth getting caked in his son's ripe musk, forcibly pushing itself down his throat and up his nostrils. He lifted his arms up beyond his control as Charlie's gaseous slimey form started to ooze into his armpits.

Charlie could only laugh as he felt his ghostly body enter and take control of his dad through every single entrance he could find. Jeff didn't even notice his son slipping down his pants and pumping into his c*ck and sweaty asshole.

"CH-CHAR-guhhh" Jeff managed to moan out as the ectoplasmic form of his son's head gurgled down into his throat. At this point, Jeff could only see green in his vision.

"Gonna have so much fun stinking up your body dad!" Charlie yelled from inside Jeff's head.

The father and son, now sharing a body, stumbled to the ground, wet and slimey. Jeff let out a moan as he felt the last of the goo sink into his dirty asshole with a "POP". The man slumped over for a second before...

...

Jeff opened his eyes and cracked his neck with a smirk. He lifted up his arm and took a deep whiff of his day-old pit scent, unnatural green gas wafting out and musking the entire room.

"Mmmmmm smells even better with his nose" he cooed. He scratches at his pits then took a curious sniff before letting out an uncharacteristic moan of pleasure. "Fuck yeah that's the stuff."

Jeff got up and stuck a hand into his wranglers, rummaging around his fabric-covered balls and taint before rubbing the same hand all over his beard.

"Shiiit daaaad. You smell better than me!" Charlie chuckled with his dad's voice.

He walked up to the shower in his dad's en suite bathroom, reaching inside and turning off the water.

Once again, Charlie lifted up his dad's beefy arms and spoke:

Fin

#possession #hairy #jock #male body swap #bear #ghost #male possession #dad #stinky

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