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amaranthineghost · 1 month

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˗ˏˋ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ in the tumbleweeds ( lando norris. )

cowboy!lando norris x city girl!reader

your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. just when you begin to lose hope, a big truck pulls up in front of you and out hops two country boys to help you get your car up and running again

authors note: in honor of me going to the austin grand prix in october, here's cowboy lando (ft. cowboy oscar)

“NO, NO, NO,” YOU HAD WHINED as your car had slowed to stop. the tiny dial on the speedometer had slowed bounced its way down, and down, and down until it had hit zero. now here you were, in your mysteriously broken down car on the side of the road! not to mention, you were in the countryside, the middle of nowhere.

all you could do was groan as you twisted the keys out of ignition, after you had smacked the horn with your palm in frustration. you could already feel the heat seeping through the window as the air conditioning had given out—as well as the entire car.

a frown etched itself on your face, sighing as you used the parking brake—just in case as you would’ve just ended it if your car had begun rolling off after getting out to check. a huffed groan fell from your lips as you struggled with the stubborn brake, which hadn’t been used since you’d gotten the car.

swiping a hand across your forehead at the strain, you opened the driver’s side door to step out—not before checking the road to see that the way was clear of upcoming cars.

as soon as the door had cracked open, you could feel the blistering country heat beating down on your body. a soft whimper fell from your lips as the car door slammed shut behind you, raising an arm to cover the sun rays that hindered your sight.

you felt helpless as you turned to look at your car—you had no clue what you were doing! you were not a mechanic, and you were sure as hell not built for this type of heat. you pulled out the phone you had slipped into your back pocket, hand on your forehead as you fingered through your hair.

your jaw clenched at the no service signal, rendering the device completely useless. just your luck to be stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service. just you and your broken down car, a few items of belonging in the trunk for your road trip.

hopelessness and panic started to sink in as you bit your cheek to hold back the tears, a hand still on your head as the other went to your hip. you circled the car in ponder—you had no clue where you were. you had no clue where the nearest repair shop was—if there even was one in this barren land. you huffed as you looked at the desert surrounding you—an impeccable view you do admit—with tall mountains in the distance and sparse cacti—and to your surprise, a lone tumbleweed that danced its way across the asphalt road.

your eyes followed the dead bush as it blew, somewhat bewildered at the sight since you’d never seen such in person—only in western movies you’d watch in the comfort of your apartment in the city.

your gaze from the bundle of weeds was torn away when you heard an approaching car from further down the road—actually, you had heard the obscenely loud and blaring country music from the vehicle before the wheels of the car against the road. your brows furrowed on your face as you glanced with squinted eyes at the approaching truck. an uneasy feeling bubbled in your tummy and you felt your hair standing on end at the sight of the big, intimidating truck that was getting closer and closer.

you swallowed thickly as you watched the truck pull off the road right after where you stood in front of your—much smaller and noticeably cleaner—car that looked massively out of place in the dusty surroundings. the music that disrupted the silence was cut-off as the keys were ripped out of the ignition, now met with tranquility as the air around settled.

it wasn’t long after that two guys had opened their respective doors, stepping out of the tall, dirtied, scraped truck. their boots scuffed against the tiny pebbles that littered the asphalt as they slammed the doors shut once again.

you eyed the pair—but it was the driver who initially caught your eye. with dirtied cowboy boots, tight jeans that hugged his thighs and were speckled with dirt, a button-down shirt with a few too many undone—enough to show off his tanned and toned chest—a dusting of facial hair on his face, and curls peeking out from the cowboy hat that sat a little too low on his head, he walked his way over. alongside him, you assumed was his friend, who wore basically the same thing, except lacking the attempt to be a piece of eye candy.

you were a little stunned as they approached—i mean what if these incredibly attractive and muscled cowboys tried to kill you? it's not like you’d mind, they were hot enough to get away with it, but you just had to trust they wouldn’t—that they had the best intentions at heart.

you watched as the driver had taken the toothpick from between his teeth in between his index and middle fingers, his voice coming out gruffly with a heavy accent, “howdy, li’l lady,” he tapped his hat with a finger in greeting, seemingly too lazy to tip it off after a long days work, “wha’s wrong wit’ y’car?”

you watched his eyes dance between your face—and appearance—and back to your car, which appeared to be fine, but they had seen you standing on the side of the road.

you hummed, pursing your lips as you scratched the back of your head nervously while glancing back at your ride, “uh…” you stuttered slightly, letting out a breathless, nervous chuckle as you grimaced at your inability to get your words out, “it just stopped working.”

“well, tha’s no good,” he mumbled, a smirk on his face as he listened to your smooth voice, another nod to the fact you were not from around these parts, “mind if me and my buddy, oscar, here take a look, ma’am?”

he threw a thumb in his friend’s direction, who was much paler in comparison, an eye squinted because of the sun as he stood awkwardly with his arms crossed against his chest.

you breathed a sigh of relief, saving you the pain of having to ask for his help—making him go out of his way if he didn’t offer to begin with. you nod, “please, if it's not too much of a hassle for you-”

he waved his hand dismissively, “nonsense, ‘s no problem to help out a pretty girl such as yerself,” he ignored the eye roll from his buddy beside him, nodding his head in gesture to the front of your car, “pop the hood f’me, would ya?”

you nodded quickly with a hum in response to tell him you heard him as you quickly did just that. you opened the car door, another noise surpassing your lips at the heat that had already accumulated in the car. the fact it was humid was just the cherry on top to make you even more miserable. nonetheless, you shook your head and dismissed the heat. Instead, you had done what the country boy had asked—after oscar had leaned against your open passenger side window to tell you how because you had never needed to before.

a breathless thanks falling from your lips earned a small smile from him, tilting his head in acknowledgement as you once again stepped out from the car. you walked to the front of the car, hands on your hips and eyes squinted as you felt the sweat drip down your face.

you turned your body away from the sun, watching intently as lando had rolled up the sleeves of his button-up, revealing sweat-dirtied skin and veins from hard, strained work. you eyed his hands—already messy from the day's work they had done—and he had noticed, but he decided to not comment on it so soon.

part of you felt bad—they had probably just got done doing laborious tasks in the blistering, country heat and now you were making—they offered—them help you get your car up and running again.

you heard a hum fall from his lips as he settled his sleeves at his elbows, “le’s take a look ‘ere,” he mumbled to himself, taking the gloves that hung out of his back pocket and slipping them on to protect himself from the heated engine. a tinge of disappointment ran through your body at the fact he was covering up his hands, but there was plenty more of him to stare at—what?

you mentally shook your head—you just met the guy! he could probably—he did—see that you were checking him out head to toe. the way his biceps clearly filled out that button-up, the outline of his chest against the loose fitting torso of the fabric, the way the blue denim hugged his thighs just perfectly and fell loose below his knees, the bunched fabric at his elbows, the toothpick bitten between his teeth that slightly indented his bottom lip. you had to force yourself to peel your eyes away from the poor guy before you got lost in the way the sweat dripped down his neck.

his forearms leaned against the front of your car as he hunched over the engine, his gloved hands working through all the possible problems. every now and then, he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead to rid his face of the sweat.

you watched as his friend hovered beside him, offering enlightening suggestions to what could be wrong-

“aha!” his small celebration cut through the silence as your gaze once again settled on him, watching as he stood up, stretching an arm across his chest and his neck to the side briefly, “i see wha’s the problem.”

you looked to him with widened eyes, finding his gaze already on you as you swallowed nervously, “can it be fixed?” you asked, your voice sounding smaller than you would’ve liked—i mean the possibility of you getting out of here relied on the men in front of you.

“no, yeah, ‘ll be able to fix ‘er up in no time, but…” he shook his head, shutting the hood back as he leaned forward on his hands as they rested on the car, “ ‘ll hafta come back t’morrow, y’know.”

you nodded in sullen understanding—even though, no, you didn’t know—you sighed at the thought of sleeping in your hot, humid, broken car on the side of the road for the night, in the middle of nowhere.

oscar piped up, uncrossing his arms to lift his hands as he spoke, “actually, i might have a few tools-”

lando patted his hand against oscar’s chest, chuckling as he shook his head, “don't listen to ‘im ‘ere, he don’t know what he’s sayin’! must be the heat gettin’ to that empty head of ‘is! y’know wha tha’s like, yeah?”

you hum in confused agreement, your lips pulling into a straight line as you nod slowly, “uh, yeah… sure.”

he chuckles breathlessly, raising a hand towards you that says ‘see, you get it.’ “musta forgot we left them tools back at ‘r house!” he shakes his head as his empty chuckles die down, ignoring the glaring side eye from his friend, “now won't you give us a minute ‘ere, li’l lady.” he flashes a smile before grabbing a fist full of oscar’s shirt, hauling him off to the side of the road as they stand off in the dry, dusty dirt.

you watched as they seemed to get into very passionate conversation—and listen in. it's not like they were being quiet in the first place, you couldn't help but hear the words that left their mouths in hushed whispers—though most of it was in a thicker accent than when she spoke to them directly.

“what are you sayin’?!”

“what am i sayin’? what are you sayin’?” he shakes his head with a scoff, throwing a hand back in gesture towards the car, “y’know we can fix the damn car with the tools back in ‘r truck!”

“c’mon, osc, jus’ humor me this once!”

“yer bein’ an idiot, off yer rocker or sumthin’” he shakes his head with his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother as his boot taps against the ground, “yer hopeless.”

lando ignored the last comments from oscar as he walked back towards where you stood as he peeled the gloves from his hands, shoving them into his back pocket once again. he stood before you with his thumbs through his belt loops, looking down at you as he spoke.

he sniffled quietly, his nose scrunching, “we’ll give ya a ride to the next town over, missy,” he nodded his head once, his index finger swiping away the sweat over his top lip.

but before you can respond—tell them that it’s okay, you can sleep in the car—he makes a disapproving noise as he looks towards the sun. your gaze follows his, furrowing your brows as you don't seem to notice what he does.

he shakes his head, inhaling through his teeth, “actually, ‘s gettin’ dark out, darlin’,” he said slowly, gauging your thoughts by the way you react, “next town’s probably quieting down right about now.”

“oh,” you say simply, “well, that's alright, i can just sleep in my car, i guess.”

he dismisses your suggestion, “no need for that, missy. we can set you up at ‘r place?” he offers, an eyebrow raised at the suggestion, sensing the hesitation in your expression and body language.

you shook your head rapidly—they had already took the time to even look at the problem with your car, but now taking up space in their house? you felt like you were being greedy now.

“no, i don’t want to intrude!” you try to decline politely, waving your hands dismissively in front of you, “besides you’ve already helped plenty by even offering to fix my car.”

he chuckles, shaking his head in return, his curls bouncing slightly, “ ‘s no biggie. take yer in ‘r truck,” he nods towards the scuffed up vehicle behind him, “set ya up in ‘r guest room all nice and cozy, have yer car fixed before you even wake up. how’s tha’ sound, darlin’?”

you bite your lip as he looks at you, brow still raised in the question of ‘will you come with us?’ and how can you refuse the nice country boys, with their funny accents and silly words, who just want to get you on your way?

you nod reluctantly—it's not like you didn’t want to go with them, but you still felt like you were being a bit of a leech, “yeah, okay, if it's not too much of a hassle-”

“atta girl!” he smacks a hand down on your shoulder, almost too eagerly as he guides your path towards the passenger side of his beat-up truck. you tense under his hand, glancing back at the car with a frown.

“well, hold on now, lando,” oscar calls out, shaking his head as he mutters something about the eagerness of the man, “she might need to get a few of ‘er things from ‘er car! practically kidnappin’ her with how fast yer tryin’ to stuff her inside!”

lando tsk’s his tongue, pointing a finger in agreement at oscar’s words, “ah, suppose yer right,” he reluctantly drops your hand from your shoulder to let you back to your car.

you awkwardly shuffle your way to the trunk of your car, acutely aware of their heavy gazes—especially as they studied you.yYou knew they knew you weren’t from around here, that you were not used to being in the weeds as they were and it heated up your cheeks to be so out of place and awkward next to them.

you quickly fill your hands with a small blanket and a change of clothes for the next day before shutting the trunk again, locking the car behind you as you walk back to lando’s side. his hand goes to the small of your back as he convinces you to ride shotgun next to him.

oscar opens his mouth to protest, his hand raised as he’s about to speak when lando feverishly waved his hand next to his neck—cut it out, osc! he could practically hear in his thoughts.

after he had gotten you settled into his car, he handed you his keys to give it a start—it's okay, climb over the center console and put yer foot on the brake to get ‘er started! don't want ya to burn up now!

once again, he grabbed a fist of oscar’s shirt as he tugged him to the side again, glancing back towards the truck as you settled in the seat after starting the car.

“mate, i know what yer doin’,” he spoke in an exasperated tone of disapproval as he too gazed back at the truck.

lando sighed, clambering a hand on his shoulder and massaging the muscle—weirdly enough for oscar to shrug it off with a grimace look of disgust. lando rolls his eyes, his hand falling back down to his side as he huffs out a sigh, “look, i told you-”

“i get it, she’s a pretty thing, but ‘s unnecessary,” he tells him, raising his brows with his head tilted down, “you should’ve jus’ fixed ‘er car and sent ‘er on ‘er way.”

he sniffles, swiping the back of his dirty hand across his nose, “if you don’t want ‘er back at the house, i understand, osc…”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that i don’t want ‘er in ‘r house, i mean she seems like a nice girl, but-” he cuts himself off, pursing his lips as he closes with eyes with a big sigh before looking at lando seriously, “listen, i just don’t want you takin’ advantage of ‘er.”

“y’know me, osc, and you know i won’t.”

“yeah, but that was before i saw you lay yer eyes on her, and saw them bug out of yer damn head.”

“shut up.” he grumbled, rolling his eyes with the shake of his head as he walked back around to the driver’s side door, watching poor oscar who was forced into the backseat of the car because of you—the pretty little thing in their front passenger seat.

the drive back was awkward to say the least. silence hung in the air, the only sound was the heavy hum of the car and the scrape of the tires on the asphalt. you tried to keep your eyes forward, ignoring the man beside you who drove with a single hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. whenever you’d glanced over, you could see the paled skin of his knuckles from his hard grasp on the wheel.

you had to forcibly peel your eyes away from the sight of his hands—his dusty sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, which exposed the smeared dirt across his tanned skin from his outside work. you couldn’t see, but a smirk etched its way onto his lips, his thumb swiping across his lips as if to wipe it away before you or oscar would notice.

the truck jostled to the side a bit as the road changed to rough gravel, hearing the crunch under the weight of the car. the house—that you assumed belonged to the two guys—came into view.

your eyes scanned the land—plenty of trees surrounded the property with a few animals here and there, a red barn further back near the edge of the forest, and the house itself.

you didn't know what to expect when the thought of their house had first crossed your mind—but it hadn’t been too far from what you were seeing. the house looked quaint—a single story with a wrap-around patio, another vehicle parked up outside a good distance away from a red, wood dog house that had a water bowl next to it.

as lando pulled up to the house, parked up next to the other car, he killed the engine before getting out. you swiftly followed by unbuckling your seatbelt as you reached for the door handle, but you were beaten to it by the poor backseat dweller.

you gave him a soft smile—which he returned—muttering a ‘thanks’ as you took the hand he offered as he guided you down from the tall truck. he gave you a nod, dropping your hand as he shut the door behind you before looking over at lando, whose jaw was noticeably clenched. all oscar did was roll his eyes and begin to show you around the property, inviting you into their cozy country home.

lando quickly found himself by your side, gently taking your belongings from your arms with a friendly smile as he interrupted oscar, “ill get you set up in ‘r guest room,” he offered, taking great care in holding your precious belongings, “osc, why don't you go show ‘er them barn cats in the meantime.”

he watched the way your eyes lit up, failing to realize that the smile on his face grew bigger at your reaction—he enjoyed the way the tension slowly filtered from your stance at the thought of seeing some cute cats.

the air had begun to cool now, they had finally finished naming off all the little critters that lived on their property and were now taking you back to their main house for a bite to eat before hitting the hay. you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for your tummy grumbling for nearly ten minutes.

you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for the smell of a nice, home cooked meal that made your mouth water and your tummy growl even most incessantly. it was by far the best meal you had ever eaten in your life, and you started to relax and loosen up a bit more in their presence.

so now you were all sitting around on the couches, one was worn leather and the other some frayed corduroy fabric with several different patches sewn onto it. oscar had his head leaned against the backrest of the leather couch, his cowboy hat over his face and arms over his chest that moved with every soft inhale and exhale. in one of his hands, tucked in his elbow was a green, half drunk beer bottle that was still cold as the condensation dripped down the side.

lando, on the other hand, had taken his spot in the old recliner, a beer also in hand as he sipped causally, eyes glued to the old tv—it still had antennas and you were perplexed on how it still worked. still, you watched whatever old movie lando had claimed was the best movie that had ever existed—it was older than you.

it was late in the evening, the sound of cicadas and other loud insects chirping away as the sun had finally fallen from the sky, painting the sky a dark black with speckled stars. you were confused at first as to why lando had ushered you out onto the porch so late at night, but once you glanced up to the nice sky, it had all made sense.

a view like this was never available to you in the city, but here and now, it was. away from all the light pollution and tall buildings of the city, you stood under the porch, leaning against the white railing in awe at the unfiltered night sky.

lando had smiled at your mumbles, countless words of how pretty, gorgeous and striking the view was, how lucky he was to be able to see this from where they stood. you shook your head in disbelief, “‘s so pretty,” you had mumbled breathlessly, turning your head to find that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

he leaned next to you, a beer still in hand—no doubt it wasn’t his first of the night. your arms barely grazed each other, the fabric of his long sleeve against your bare arm sent tingles over your body.

“sure is,” he whispered back, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he glanced appreciatively over the features of your face before tilting his beer bottle towards you. all you did was smile, feeling the heat rush to your face at his incentive—that you were his best view. you hesitantly took the bottle in your hand, swooshing around the liquid before taking a sip.

he chuckled as your face contorted in a grimace, taking the bottle back from you as he watched your reaction with deep enjoyment, “not a fan, eh?” he teased before taking a sip himself.

“definitely not,” you cough out once you managed to get it swallowed, smacking your lips as you still feel the taste on your tongue, “never had been before.”

his brows raised at your admission, “is that so?” he hums, nodding as he looks back over the property, “so what do ya drink?”

you hum, taking a moment to consider before listing off a few fruity cocktails that you had tried during your club outings. you watched the look of confusion come over his face, the sight making you giggle.

“wha’the hell is tha?” he questions, his voice raised an octave.

all you can do is shake your head and laugh as you nudge his shoulder, promising him, “i’ll have to take you to the city someday.”

“yeah, sure ya will.”

instead of responding, you just rolled your eyes and fixed your gaze back at the awe-striking view. you stood contently for a long time before lando had to force you inside to finally get some rest after a long day, muttering promises that your car would be fixed before first light tomorrow.

cock-a-doodle-do!

when the sound reached your ears, you slipped in consciousness, confusion and disbelief as you sat up in the wood-framed bed. you groaned, your shoulders hunched and hair heavily disheveled. you would’ve slept longer if it were for the rooster that had loudly crowed at the crack of dawn. you had hardly believed that it was something that roosters actually do—you were a bit naive.

you rolled back in bed, shoving a pillow over your head to block out the sounds of incessant crowing until you had fallen back into a light sleep—stupid chicken.

and when you awoke again a couple hours later with a knock to the guest room door, you stirred. again you sat up, groaned at the forceful waking, but this time you stayed up as you called out for whoever knocked to come in.

the door creaked open, and there was oscar, a smile on his slightly sunburned face, as per usual, talking about how there’s some food left over that you can heat up. though, not all the words make it to your sleep-fogged brain so you just hum and nod, adjusting to the bright sun slipping through the curtains.

you sighed when you realized that by now, your car was probably fixed, that this was the last yummy meal cooked by these nice—and strangely attractive—country boys. surprisingly, you felt your heart ache at the thought of leaving. they had been so nice to you, inviting you into their home with nothing, but care and generosity.

but of course, leaving had come all too soon as you were driven back to where your car had broken down—oscar suffering in the backseat after being forced once again to sit back there. being lead to your car with small talk as it sunk in that the pretty little lady who’s car they fixed was now going on her way.

they stood either side of your car, oscar on the passenger side and lando on the driver's side. you had the door propped open, starting the car with a smile on your face, but it quickly turned sad.

as you closed the car door, you rolled down the window to look up at lando as he stood closer, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looked down at you. you held out an arm to which he leaned over, allowing you to wrap in around him, his arm snaking around your back. he lightly patted it after a few moments, relishing in the affection before inevitably pulling away.

“thank you again, mr.—” you paused, realizing you hadn’t gotten as acquainted to learn their full names, suddenly feeling a bit red in the face as you blanked.

all lando did was smirk as he leaned against your car door, arm over the window as he bent down to eye level with you. his other hand snaked its way up to the hat that sat atop his head. he revealed the dark curls beneath as he lifted it from his head, situating it on yours the best he could—it wasn’t as secure of a fit on your head compared to his. “norris,” he finished the sentence for you, now holding out his hand for you to shake—which you do—“lando norris. it was nice to meeting ya, darlin’, see ya around.”

—

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attapullman · 6 months

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So Hold Me Close and Say Three Words | bungalow!Robert "Bob" Floyd

PART OF THE BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN UNIVERSE

Summary: There's only one thing that can get your boyfriend's mind off the horrible popcorn ceiling.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ as always, cockwarming, pet name Honey, title is from McFly's "All About You"

A Note From Mo: Welcome to bungalow!Bob! A dash of acts of service, a sprinkle of a condescension kink, and a whole lot of extremely loving boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend Bob is my biggest indulgence so no one look at me, I'm fragile.

He’s been planted in the big easy chair all morning, staring up at the last project on his list before the kitchen, and sighing. Dragging long fingers through wild hair as his eyes take in the wide expanse of the living room.

His arch nemesis: the popcorn ceiling.

The little dipples and spikes of joint compound taunt him daily. A major contrast to the rest of the bungalow, all smooth ceilings with stunning walnut beams - one major selling point of the property. And while the previous owner did a great job with the addition bringing in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the backyard, he was off his rocker for choosing popcorn ceilings.

Bob hasn’t hate anyone more than the previous owner. Well, maybe the neighbor across the street who stops by a little too much.

Before he moved in, Bob barely noticed any features of the sweet green bungalow you owned. The majority of his time here was spent in the bedroom between your thighs. But the switch flipped that first weekend after he moved his shoebox apartment in. Lounging on the sectional, girl on his chest, book in hand, and one look up at the world’s ugliest ceiling.

He had to fix it. You deserve your dream house and it was his mission to give it to you.

The line between his brows is adorable as he mutters something rude at the drywall.

“Bobby, babe, it’s just a ceiling.”

Those wide cornflower blue eyes blink at you, as if noticing for the first time you’re also sitting in the sun-drenched living room enjoying your coffee.

“It’s an ugly ceiling.”

You can’t help but giggle at the disgust in his tone. “It’s not that bad, I don’t notice.”

Your sweet boyfriend just rolls his eyes and leans back, side-eyeing the offending design choice.

Peering over the edge of your mug, you admire the way the mid-morning sunlight streams through his hair, highlighting it copper. His sweats hang low on his hips, underwear forgotten, black shirt slightly too small with how much he’s filled out with all the manual labor fixing up the house.

While not the main reason you asked him to move in, pajama Robert Floyd is a high perk of the situation.

The scowl on his face isn’t quite as endearing. Your heart hurts knowing how frustrated he is by the ceiling. He loves you. He loves this house. It’s too much pressure on him wanting to make it perfect.

Ever since he permanently parked his truck in the driveway, Bobby’s been nothing but generous. He sees the charm and coziness of the bungalow, but also the repairs and fixes you’re too busy for. His entire leave was spent weeding the backyard, and your skin still heats remembering his muscles bulging after carrying the pile of boxes from the garage to the attic.

While you won’t satiate your boyfriend by allowing him to drop cloth the living room and scrape every dimple of drywall off the ceiling today, you do have a better idea for getting Bob’s mind off his dreaded enemy.

His eyes widen as you stand up, admiring the way your body stretches in your cozy waffle knit robe before heading through to the kitchen. Listens to you fiddle with dishes before passing him again to the bedroom. Too far away to hear, he sinks back into the leather armchair, allowing his body to meld to the material while frustration sits low in his gut.

The birds at the feeder chirp away before you return. Toes against hardwood catch his attention, and Bob’s head turns toward the hallway, mouth dropping open.

You’re walking toward him in just his threadbare Naval academy shirt. The shirt you put on the first time you stayed the night. The shirt you were wearing when he last came home from deployment and you shyly asked him to move in. His favorite shirt.

“H-honey…” It’s an unfinished sentence as he takes in how the sunlight illuminates you from behind, baring the silhouette of your figure inside his shirt.

A smile dances on your lips as you come closer, dropping something on the end table with a soft tink. A noise lost as you straddle Bobby’s thighs, his fingers racing to touch as much of you as quickly as possible. Groaning when he realizes that the shirt is all you have on, the soft flesh of your ass swallowed by his big hands.

Your fingers smooth their way up his torso, gliding over the dark fabric until the long expanse of his neck pulses beneath your ministrations. Eventually curling into his hair, combing it back into place as he gazes at you earnestly. Within moments the two of you so deeply tangled it would take twice as long to separate.

Eyes filled with nothing but love, your lips quirk sweetly before pressing a kiss to his. Allowing it to linger before pulling away to explain. “I appreciate how much work you’re putting into the house, but I don’t want you to stress. Can I help you relax?”

In place of a response, he groans and pulls you tighter to him, relishing the feel of your skin.

“Is that a yes?” Your laugh fades as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. The sunlight highlighting him as you gaze lovingly into his oceanic eyes. The same color as the La Jolla print you bought last summer that he just hung up.

Bob is more than happy to spend the rest of the morning making out. Enjoying the soft warmth of you beneath his hands and the taste of your tongue. The morning sun setting the mood while the birds on the porch sing the soundtrack. It was perfect for him.

Well…perfect until you ran your thumb down the outline of his cock and breathed the most sinful words against his jaw.

“Actually, I was thinking I could keep your cock warm?”

His moan is more of a whine as he immediately swallows your tongue, so grateful for this Saturday morning surprise. Raises his hips as you drag his sweats down, releasing his slowly hardening cock into the space between you, already wet at the tip.

“Honey - ah, that feels s’good,” he interrupts himself as your hand wraps around him,”-but we should prep you. Don’t want to hurt you, honey bear.”

Your face splits into a gentle grin, so enamored by the way he takes care of you even when he’s hotly thrusting his hips into your fist. A grin that pops in surprise when his fingers trace along your folds, appreciating the arousal dripping over your thighs.

It’s so hot that you only wear his shirt without panties.

His rough thumb slips along your clit, working its way in soft circles. It’s a treat the way your nipples harden against his shirt, level with his eyes as your mouth falls open with sounds only for him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart stretched out on his cock.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, your half-lidded eyes finding his. You give him a sly smile as you lean forward to the end table. “Don’t need to, you got me nice and open last night, remember?”

As visions of pounding you face down in the bed only hours before run before his eyes, his mouth opens to protest. He’s fully aware of how big he is and how tight you are.

You press your finger to his lips as you raise what you’d grabbed in the bedroom. “A little of this and we’re good, promise.”

The lube bottle slips between your fingers, applying the slick substance along his shaft as you press soothing pecks along his temple.

“Can’t wait to be full of you, Bobby.” His fingers dig into your skin. Your dirty mouth will be the end of him. Especially with how your eyes burn into his while you raise up on your knees, lining up his obscenely shiny cock with your dripping slit.

“You sure you can take all of me, Honey?”

His gaze meets yours with that steely hint of condescension right as his tip breeches your folds, your pathetic nod spurring the beginning of your descent.

The popcorn ceiling is the last thing on his mind as your velvet insides take him in. The snug fit of you mixed with the heady scent of your sweat has him dizzy, wrapping his strong arms around you to maintain control. It’s hard to think straight when you take every inch of him so beautifully, the lube assisting your efforts.

“Almost there, so close,” Bob breathes against your lips, the hair of his pelvis beginning to brush against your clit. You’re at capacity and there’s still more. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, every time you think you’ve taken all of him, there’s always more.

Breath caught in your chest, his lips swallow your moan as you finally take him to the hilt, hips pressed fully together in their loving embrace. You’re so full, too full, deliciously full. His warm hand along your back soothes you, massaging while gritting himself against how good it feels.

You laugh through the consuming fullness. “This is supposed to be relaxing you, sorry.”

“Hon, never apologize for making me feel this good. This is exactly what I needed.”

Despite the tense way he’s holding his jaw, he looks content. Soft sapphire eyes shining with admiration, sandy hair swept off his forehead, a soft bead of perspiration trailing down his neck as he fights off the need to thrust. You cradle his jaw between your fingers, loving the way he keens beneath your touch. He’s out of a fairytale.

“I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Time stands still - the melody of the birds fading into the sun-drenched morning - as you bask in the feel of each other. Connected as one in the soft leather of his favorite chair. Soothing fingers trail up your back beneath his shirt, skimming the edges of your breasts, as your own trace the defined planes of his features.

“I just want your house to be perfect. You deserve perfect things.” He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, placing a delicate kiss as he feels your satin walls contract around him.

You whisper against his hair. “It’s our house.”

Actions replace words as his hands travel up your shirt, crossing over your back as he holds you to him, dragging his lips over each spot of skin available. Skin warmed by sun is covered in adoration.

You shift, the pulsing of his shaft dizzying, as the acts of his love pepper your cheeks, your jaw, your sensitive neck. You love him more than words could ever express.

Love you. Love you so, so much.

When your foreheads finally rest against each other, antsy with arousal and admiration, Bob finally can’t help himself. A soft thrust up into your dripping center, the most delicious treat. The desperate whimper you release against his cheek only spurs him on, shifting his hips back once more only to sink fully into the home of your body.

“I think I’m done with cockwarming,” you admit with a breathless smirk as his hips buck into yours once again.

Your horny boyfriend has never heard more beautiful words.

Strong hands grip your thighs as he pushes himself up to stand, your legs clenching around his lithe waist as your sense of gravity disappears. The shock instantly replaced by the growing hunger consuming you as he walks to the bedroom, still buried deep in you.

“Ugh, stop showing off. You know I think it’s so hot you can carry me mid-sex.”

Bob pauses in the hallway, leaning back to hold your gaze. “Maybe that’s why I keep doing it.”That cobalt steel back in place. “Now be a good girl and let me take you to bed.”

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

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Damn You Seresin // Jake Seresin

Summary: After a near fatal car accident sends Jake into a coma, you come to terms with the fact that saying goodbye was always going to be tough. No matter the situation.

Warnings: Character Death. Crush injuries. Car accident. Jake Seresin x female reader.

Word Count: 1.5k

Author Note: Day Thirteen of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Crushed. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Although Jake Seresin was a bit of a risk taker in the sky–he was, if anything, one of the safest drivers on planet earth. He never ran red lights or forgot to look at stop signs. He gave way, checked his blind spots, always drove the speed limit and never, ever drove without his seatbelt on.

He got his Ford F-150 serviced whenever it was due, he rotated his tiers and changed his oil. He took care of his truck and others on the road hoping that good karma would come back his way and keep him just as safe.

But it wasn't enough. You got the devastating call on Saturday night. You'd been up late working on your thesis for genetically enhanced proteins. The pros, the cons, the effects. It had been a long night, but any minute you were expecting Jake to pull up in the drive. You were expecting him to come through the front door smiling, ready to take you in his arms and carry you up the stairs. You were ready to hear all about Roosters antics and Fanboys latest obsessions. You were ready to fall asleep soundly in your fiance’s arms like you had done a hundred times before and would do a hundred times more if given the chance.

But Jake never came home. Although Jake Seresin was a careful driver, it just wasn't enough for the drunk driver who had come around the corner at one hundred miles an hour and smashed into his truck head on. Crushing him entirely.

“It would have been better if he died in the crash—“ You’d been at Jake's side ever since he’d been out of his many many surgeries. He was barely alive–but there was always hope. “He’d be just as dead, but you wouldn’t be feeling like this.”

The doctor who was speaking barely sounded audible, you couldn't focus on anything but the plethora of machines that were keeping Jake, your darling boy, alive. Just barely. It had been just a week and you missed him to a height that you never thought you could miss someone. He was right there, right in front of you, yet he was a world away. Gone.

“This way, he died in slow motion.”

“He’s not dead–” You hissed as you gripped your fiance's hand just a little tighter, trying to will him to wake up. Rooster all but let out a sob as he crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. Sure, you were Jake's Medical Proxy– but Bradley was your person. He knew you almost better than Jake did. He knew you knew that it was the end of the line–you just couldn't be the one to make that call.

“Y/n, just listen alright–you don't have to make a decision right now–but, just listen to what she has to say.” At Bradleys request, you listened to the doctor who spoke almost monotone. Rooster came to stand beside you with his hands on your shoulders comfortingly. He just wanted you to be alright, he always promised Hangman that if anything ever happened–he’d take care of you. Bradley always thought Jake would go out in a burning fire ball of Jet fuel, he never once thought he’d be taken by a drunk driver. There one minute…gone the next.

“On Monday his heart ruptured and they repaired it but on Tuesday, his lungs collapsed. By Thursday his kidneys failed and the sepsis and infection took three more days to kill his brain.” It was hard to hear a timeline of the father of your unborn child’s medical conditions laid out so clearly—but you needed to hear it to clear the delusional fog that was keeping you from seeing the bigger picture.

“Okay, alright so we give his body time to rest and he’ll pull through, right?” The room was completely still besides the monitors beeping rhythmically. The doctor, Annabella Davis, just shook her head in response as Bradleys grip on your shoulders tightened.

“Y/n—if Jake had died in the car accident by the side of the road, if you had seen him zipped up in a bag and driven off, he would be every bit as gone as he is right now—but you would know it.” It was almost as hard to hear as the voice that echoed in your memory from that phone call. That call that changed your life forever. “And you can take some comfort in that. I didn’t know him like you did but I would imagine he would have wanted you to have that comfort.”

Jake was meant to live a long happy life– but here he was, crushed to death by some drunk driver in the car he took care of so that it would take care of him. None of it made any sense to you. Why him? Why you? Why would your child that you only found out about a week ago, grow up without a father, without a dad who loved them dearly and so tenderly. Jake would have been a great dad—he always said he was scared to be anything like his own, but sitting beside his body, broken and bruised, you wished he knew about the life the two of you had created.

“I love him so much.” But you didn't want him to suffer anymore than he already had. At this point you were just keeping him on life support for your own benefit. You didn't want to let go–until you looked around and took in all the machines that were keeping your fiance breathing. All the machines that were assisting him, pumping his blood, breathing for him. There was no brain activity. Jake Seresin was gone and had been since you first got to his side. He waited that long, just to see you one last time. To say goodbye. To forever remember your beautiful face.

“Bring me the papers—“ Now it was your turn to say goodbye, to let go. To start a life without Jake Seresin in it. Something you thought you'd never have to do. All because of a drunk driver. “He doesn't need to be in pain anymore.” The tears had begun and you weren't sure if they would ever stop. “Bring me the papers please, Doctor Davis.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~*

“Is that–everything?” You asked softly as you stepped towards Jake's hospital bed. The nurses had just finished taking Jake off all the machines that kept him alive. No pain relief, no support. He was just simply him. He looked so peaceful all things considered.

“Uh yes—yes that’s everything.” Doctor Davis confirmed as she pressed her lips into a fine line. “It's just a matter of time now.”

“Okay.” You sighed, taking a seat beside the love of your life for the final time. His hand was cold, unlike all the other times. He was fading.

“Damn you Seresin, damn you.” Bradley stayed off to the side. He didn’t want to leave you alone but he respected your sorrow enough to give you space. He just wanted to be there—again, just in case you needed him. He had promised Hangman he’d be there, for everything.

“This is why it took me three fucking years to tell you that I loved you and another three years before I moved in with you.” A small, barely audible chuckle crept through the tears and sadness in your voice as you watched the rise and fall of Jake's chest. He was breathing, but barely.

“You always thought I was scared of commitment. Scared to commit.” You were a wreck, but you knew that in Jake's final moments you wanted it to be your voice that carried his spirit away. You wanted to be the guiding light for his soul like he had been yours here on earth. “But no honey, no it was never that—it was because I was scared of this, I was scared of just how much I loved you.”

Bradley Bradshaw had never seen such a love burn as deep and true the way you and Jake Seresin loved one another. Sure he always thought his parent’s relationship was the peak of love. But then there was you and Hangman. And nothing could compare.

“I was scared of the feeling that I’d never be able to find happiness without you. That’s what I was so scared of Jake. I was scared of this.” In those few seconds where Jake's body completely stilled, you knew he was gone. Your husband was gone and you were all alone. Left to live a life without the one man you never wanted to live without. He was your best friend, your husband, your partner in crime, the father of your child.

And he was just gone. Without any reason to explain the fact that he was on his way home to you when he was hit, when he was taken from you. When you’d lost the love of your life.

“Oh my god, damn you.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #tw: car accident #tw: character death #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin #topgun fanfic

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

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Starrrrr, my babe! Congrats on your 100 followers, that is amazing! You are amazing! IT'S ALL SO AMAZING! Happy squirrel and fellow CCS here. My request---Bradley (because DUH, it's me!), and a fluffy “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” moment because I'm feral over the idea of this man speaking these words to me. <3

Meer, my darling! Here's the fluffy Bradley Bradshaw fic you requested! Enjoy! This "You’re beautiful, you know that right?" moment is brought to you by the 1966 Ford Bronco MT drove in his first TG:M scene! 🥰 😘

The Mechanic

Cars. You love them. You also hate that you love them as much as you do. You’d taken over your grandfather’s small auto repair shop three years ago when the stress was too much for his body. Since then, you’ve been finding grease in places grease definitely should not be while slowly building your reputation amongst the car collectors in the greater San Diego area. You’re half under a mint-green Chevrolet Bel Air when you hear a car roll up into the shop’s lot. The engine sounds pretty good and you can hear the faint strands of music pouring out of the cab before it stops. Whoever it is will talk to your Grandad first.

Despite his ailing bones, and his trust in your abilities, your Grandad had still wanted to be involved with the shop. So the two of you had compromised. You’d do the work while your Grandad ran the front of the house. That way he could still talk to your customers about their vehicles without stressing himself out by trying to move heavy car parts. And, your grandma had shared in secret a few weeks after the arrangement started, that it got him out of the house and out of her hair!

It helped too, that your Grandad still had all of his contacts in the collectible car community. They were a godsend when you were looking for rare parts. The Bel Air, for instance that you’re under? You’d needed to source and build the entire engine from scratch and restore the exterior. The beautiful car had been rusting away in an old barn for years before the owners unearthed it and decided it needed to be restored. It was finally nearly complete and the engine purred like a kitten now that you’ve gotten it all hooked up. You are completing your final checks on the undercarriage when you feel a knock against your work boot.

You roll out from under the truck to see your Grandad and what has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Hey, kiddo. This here is Bradley Bradshaw. He’s got a 1966 Ford Bronco which he’d like to get fully restored. Bradley, this is my granddaughter. She does the actual hard work around this place.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him. He’s wearing a garish Hawaiian print shirt over a white singlet, slim-fitting jeans and boots. He’s got a pair of aviators hanging from the neck and his arms are crossed against his chest, biceps bulging alluringly. He’s so clean that it has you reaching for the rag scrunched into your pocket so you can wipe as much grease from your hands as possible.

You proffer your slightly cleaner hand at him with a sigh, introducing yourself by name this time.

“It’s nice to meet you. A ‘66 Bronco?” You whistle through your teeth at the thought. “Do you have it here with you? I’d love to take a look under the hood first. Then we can discuss what you’d like restored and how.”

“Sure. I drove it here today.” His voice is smooth and a little raspy. If you weren’t covered in grease and other unmentionable vehicle fluids you’d have swooned into his arms.

“Great! Bring it to the lift to the right. And we’ll get her hooked and take a look.” You’re smiling your best customer service smile and trying your best to hide the way you’re drooling at the sight of his ass when your Grandad elbows you.

“Kiddo. Keep your eyes on the prize. He’s a good man. But only once you’ve fixed the car. You know the first rule.” His voice is gruff and chiding as he squeezes your fingers.

“Yeah, gramps, don’t get distracted by the clients.” Your voice in turn is dismayed and small at the admonishment.

Neither of you can calm your joy when he pulls the car up to the lift, though. It’s a gorgeous machine, cobalt blue paint glistening in the late afternoon sun.

“She’s beautiful, kiddo. Have fun!” Waving over his head, your grandfather retreats to the air conditioned office again.

“He’s right.” Your voice is reverent as you trace the sleek curves of the car. “Can I pop the hood, Bradshaw?”

At his nod, you prop the hood open, and take a look at the engine. It’s in way better repair than you would have expected. There are a few parts here and there which don’t look like originals, but on the whole, your auditory assessment from earlier holds up. This is a well taken care of car.

“Not bad, Bradshaw. Most of this engine is original?” You’re completely in mechanic mode as you grab a clipboard and start jotting down notes.

“Yeah, this car was my dad’s. He bought it before I was born and kept it in mint condition until he died. My mom took over at that point and then when I could drive, I did the same. Obviously she’s needed a couple of replacements and ‘66 Bronco parts in good condition are hard to find.” His face is soft and sad as he looks down at the engine. This car is important to him. You’re already resolved to track down as many parts as you can. And that’s what you and Bradley Bradshaw agree to; you’ll restore the Bronco and track down as many original parts as you can.

It takes you upwards of a year to finish the project. You’ve never felt so connected to a vehicle or its history. It’s become normal for Bradley Bradshaw to pop into the shop on his days off and to just hang out by the Bronco chatting with you as you and your staff work away. It’s harder and harder for you to keep your Grandad’s first rule. But you’re not distracted. You’re falling head over heels for the gorgeous, sweet, bear of a man with such an attachment to an old truck.

Things boil to a fever pitch the day you finally fit in the final part of the car. Bradley Bradshaw has been on a ship for the better part of the past 3 months. Your chats about the Bronco have been taking place over video call and you’re not expecting to see him for two weeks. You’re just about to close the hood and start her up when you hear a voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

“That’s one beautiful car, doll.” You can feel the heat in your face at the endearment as you whip around. Sure enough, it’s Bradley Bradshaw clad in his khaki uniform.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Want to start her up?” Your smile is soft as you see the joy in his face as you toss him the keys. He’s grinning boyish and sweetly at you as he hefts his body into the front seat and turns the key. Your breath is bated as you hear the engine turn over before it finally catches. Your gasp of relief at the purring motor is shadowed only by the whoop of pure glee that pours from his mouth.

“Doll! You did it! My dad’s car! It’s perfect!” You’re smiling too when he bounces up to you and holds his hand out. You can sense an unbridled energy coursing through his veins at the thought of taking the car for a spin. But things are quiet between you as he settles the bill in the office and you go about freeing the car from your work area. It’s not until he’s pulled out into the parking lot that you hear his voice again.

“Hey, doll! Now that I’m no longer a client, I need to tell you something.” His eyes glimmer in the sunlight as he looks at you. “You’re beautiful, you know that right? Let me take you out to dinner?”

“I’m covered in grease right now, Bradshaw! If you think I’m beautiful now, let me know what you think when I’m all cleaned up!” Your voice is teasing as he winks at you.

“I’ll think you’re absolutely beautiful no matter what. The Bronco and I will pick you up on Friday at 6 pm. No grease included. Bye, doll!”

Your smile is giddy and disbelieving as you watch the most gorgeous car you've ever worked on and its owner drive off into the sunset. Friday night is going to be a lot of fun.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #100 follower celebration #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader

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cupcake-draws · 3 months

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Madcom oc ref sheet! Meet Vil, a mechanic from Nevada.

More details under the cut!

This is Vil!! He is a mechanic in universe, he runs a car dealership that is merged with vehicle repair services. He is a no questions asked kinda guy, he repairs whatever you bring him even at the dead of night. His shop is open 24/7 and payment can be negotiated. He accepts many, many kinds of payments and even lets people come back another day with it if needed. Money, food, favors, parts, protection, taking someone out, just suggest it and he will likely accept it as payment. He also hooks people up with cars, motors, trucks, etc if asked. Where is he getting them from? Who knows.

This all earned him a quiet, unspoken state-vise protection. Robbing him or trying to harm him is frowned upon and many gangs, cults and indaviduals will probably target whoever is stupid enough to get caught doing it. He had his fare share of fights and murder attempts, but he is not as frail as he may look, for one, he has a mild collection of guns. Ammunition is good payment after all and his favorite rude customer deterrent is a good shotgun blast to the abdomen. Works every time.

He has many scars across his body including but not limited to his head and chest. Head injuries and top surgery tend to leave a mark. His hands are very messed up from previous workplace mishaps.

His clothes are constantly dirty and messy. He takes special care of his goggles, eye protection is very important, but the rest of his wardrobe is full of various stains and messily fixed rips. Sewing is not his strong suit so whenever something rips he either puts a patch on it or sews it up with a random colored thread as best as he can.

He wears his purple overall and utility belt whenever he is working on something - which is most of the time. He has red fingerless gloves he forgets to wear half the time, boots or sneakers and a red cap. Red is his favorite color.

His full legal name is Villám McKing. He goes by Vil for short and usually uses he/him but pronouns don't really bother him. He is transmasc and unlabeled, more interested in tinkering with machines than trying to do more self exploration. Whatever will happen will happen. If he dies alone then that's okay, as long as he dies surrounded by his work.

Ask me more about him he is rotating in my brain slowly

#my art #digital art #madness combat #madness combat oc #artists on tumblr #art #madness combat original character #madcom oc #reference sheet #art beginner #beginner artist #madcom

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oshobodybuilders · 2 months

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Top Truck body builders Tamil Nadu, Osho Body Builders

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lovebillyhargrove · 1 year

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A follow up to this *billy's camaro fic*

Next day the boys are busy. Well, it's mostly Steve who's busy. While having breakfast Billy tries insisting on coming with him to the repair shop, because of course he needs to see for himself who they are entrusting his precious baby to, but Harrington tells him it's too risky to be seen in public just yet. It's a small town, you never know who you're going to run into when you turn the corner. It might be Tommy, it might be Max, it might be their high school Lit teacher or Billy's former manager from the Hawkins community pool. It might be literally anyone who Billy is still not quite ready to see. Or, who aren't ready themselves to bump into a supposedly dead teenager looking very much alive and walking around the town like it's the most natural thing. Harrington has already resurrected the car once. To be more exact, he's found the right people to do it, so. He's not new to this. Billy finally listens to the voice of reason and just grabs the medicine kit to treat a couple of wounds that still bother him. Steve calls the tow truck service, and in two hours he's standing near the repair shop watching the camaro being unloaded from the truck.

"Kid, you gotta stop doing whatever you're doing to that car." - Old Joe tells Steve, shaking his head in disbelief, and Harrington just throws up his hands like the situation which led up to this was out of his control. It actually was, so it's nobody's fault.

When Steve gets home, he hears sizzling sounds coming from the kitchen.

"You want a grilled cheese sandwich, Harrington? Found stuff in the fridge, making some."

Wow, that's kinda new. Nobody has cooked anything for Steve in a long, looong, no you don't understand, a really long time

"Yeah, if that's okay?"

"So how did it go?"

"Well, the old man was uh .. confused? I don't think he expected me to be back like that. He was also sad .. ? Cause they fixed it up so well. Looked brand new, just a few weeks ago."

"He'll just have to do it again. If he agreed. Did he?"

"Yeah, yeah, he did. He knows the car, knows what to do. It's not as bad as the last time."

"When are they gonna be done?"

"He said he would call me tonight, or tomorrow morning, tell me about the time they'll need."

"How much is it?"

"Well, he didn't tell me the exact price, because .. he still needs to look into it, so .."

Hargrove's looking at Steve intently

"Listen, I'll give you the money back. But obviously not right now."

"Yeah, I mean .. You don't have to give me back anything."

"I will, Steve."

"If you want to, okay. We can talk about it later, really. We have like .. so many things to figure out first."

Billy's putting a sandwich on a plate and sliding it to Harrington.

"Lunch."

"Oh wow. Thanks."

After lunch Steve goes upstairs and searches through his drawer for Dr. Owens' phone number.

When Owens hears Steve's name, he asks immediately

"Is it acting up again, Steve?"

"What? Oh, no. No, everything is okay here, just .. do you remember Billy? Billy Hargrove?"

"Of course. The guy who died in Starcourt?"

"Yes. Well .. what would you say if I told you that .. hypothetically, I had some information about him being alive?"

Steve's feeling kinda stupid. He's not completely sure they can trust Owens, but they really have no-one to turn to if they need help with documents. Billy Hargrove is officially dead. Even if they are talking about a fake ID, with a different name, Steve doesn't have connections like that. And it's not just an ID. Driving license, high school diploma, where are they supposed to get all the papers from??

Steve's afraid he's not good at this trying-not-to-get-too-involved-with-the-government stuff. Fucking spy shit. Outlaw level.

"I'd say, it makes sense, Steve."

"R .. really? Why?"

"Well, you don't know that but .. when the scene was cleared and all of you were sent home after what happened in Starcourt, Billy's body .. was gone. After the paramedics announced his death, I believe the body was just laying there unsupervised for .. really, not more than only a few minutes, but when my people came to pick it up, it wasn't there, on the Starcourt floor. We searched everywhere, but it just vanished into thin air."

"Oh my god. So .."

"So I am not even too much surprised to hear your news."

"Why didn't you say anything .. to Billy's family? Who did you bury in that grave??"

"Steve, he was dead. How could I have explained this to his family?? It was a closed casket. It was an empty casket."

Owens is silent for a second.

"Now .. The more important question is, if Billy is alive, is there a chance that he's still flayed? Is he dangerous?"

Steve's looking at Billy sitting across from him and he understands that Billy understands too. What they are talking about. Probably he can hear Owens voice.

"Look, Dr. Owens, I uh .. first of all, the key word here is hypothetically. Like .. I don't even know if he's alive or not. But if he was and he didn't present any .. danger to people, would there be any possibility to get his life back to normal somehow? I mean, paperwork?"

"Anything is possible, Steve. But we would have to run some tests first probably."

Billy's tensing

Steve actually doesn't think it was such a great idea to call Owens now. Fuck. "One of the good ones", my ass.

"Dr. Owens, listen. Hypothetically .. -

Hargrove's rolling his eyes at hearing the word for the third time now

- .. speaking, a guy who came back from the dead would be very traumatized, right? What if .. what if there was a way not to run any tests in a lab or something like that?"

"I hear you, Steve. I would still need to see him, even if it was only me. How does that sound?"

Steve's looking at Billy. Hargrove is shrugging his shoulders.

"How can I be sure that it's only going to be you, Dr. Owens?"

"Steve. You've already been through so much. We've been through certain things together as well. You might have noticed I do things differently than my other colleagues. Will and Jane, they are living a usual life in California, right? We let them go. I just need to make sure Billy is not a threat."

"I see."

"Let's make a deal. I'll make all the papers ready. We'll meet and talk, the three of us, in a public place. Or I can visit the place where, hypothetically, -

Steve's covering the receiver with one hand and whispering to Hargrove "Is he mocking me?" -

" .. Billy is staying. Just me. If I see that everything is alright, that'll do. Billy will get his identification, and he's free to go. Believe it or not, we also want this mess to finish, once and for all."

Steve is hesitant, but, really, what choice do they have?

Billy's nodding.

"Okay. Okay, Dr. Owens. When and where should we meet?"

They agree for Steve to call Owens again in a week and decide on the meeting place.

"Good bye, Dr. Owens."

Steve can see that Billy is not very happy with this conversation.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all."

"It's fine, Steve. What other options do I have anyway? I'm a dead man according to the system. I need the fucking papers. I can't get them without the fucking government."

"Yeah, yeah I know. But hey, I still think Owens is a good one."

"We'll see, Harrington. It's fine. Thanks for making that call."

Steve's still doubtful that it was a wise move, but he's honestly trying to help.

"What are you going to do for the rest of the day, Harrington?"

"Well I .. I need to call my mom? Check on her and kinda find out about their plans .. make sure they aren't gonna make a surprise visit here. And then, go grocery shopping. Can't take you with me, but uh .. tell me what you maybe need .. or want?"

"Steve, everything is fine, I don't need anything. I think I'm gonna go nap now. Do you wanna watch a movie later?"

"Sure. Sure, what do you have in mind?"

"What's new?"

They end up spending the afternoon and the evening cooking dinner together and watching "Back to the future" and re-watching "The Terminator" cause, apparently, they both like it, and Steve is enjoying it all so much, because he hasn't spent a day like that in a long, really long time. Also, he sort of has a suspicion Billy is enjoying himself as well, and it's not even awkward between them,

and this is strange, because if Steve recalls high school correctly, it was so strange, like Billy was out to get him and Steve was annoyed by it, and if you asked him about Hargrove he'd just say that he hated that loud Californian fuck, but in reality, and that's something he would've never told anyone, Steve sort of enjoyed his attention. Add in there those couple of times with those couple of dreams when he might've woken up with a situation in his underwear cause he ..

He really shouldn't think about it now.

Before going to bed Billy says to Steve

"Good night, man. Tomorrow we are closing that fucking portal." He's yawning and stretching and Steve still can't believe Hargrove's turned into some kind of a superhero.

***

In the early morning Old Joe calls and catches Steve on the doorstep leaving for work. He says everything is definitely not as bad as it was the previous time. They'll need two weeks, maybe two and a half, tops.

It's good news. Other good news is that Steve's parents are not planning on visiting their son for quite some time, and Steve was relieved to hear that yesterday.

Tonight they are having plans. Big plans. If he's honest with himself, Steve has been feeling so .. alive. Ever since this mess with the camaro started, and then with the hope that resident asshole Billy H. is somewhere out there, Steve's never felt lonely, or without a purpose, or like he was just wasting his life away.

***

They drive to the ruins of Starcourt after dark has set down. Billy is amazing. He throws his hand out and the air is charged with electricity, high voltage, skull and crossed bones, and

he does close the portal.

And even though he collapses on the ground right after it and Steve has to literally drag him to the beamer and inside the house to the couch again, Billy is still fucking gorgeous.

That night Steve dreams of the school basketball court and feels Hargrove's hot sweaty body pressing into his.

***

The next couple of weeks it's quiet. They get some kind of a routine going, and Steve would lie if he said he wasn't in a hurry to get home every evening. Robin's onto him and thinks he's got a girlfriend. Steve just surrounds himself with mystery and tells Robin that he can't go to the movies with her tonight, again, "Sorry Rob, some family business."

Everything is quiet and calm, and nothing really happens except their meeting with Owens. In a diner outside Hawkins, Billy's wearing a beanie and sunglasses on an absolutely sunless day, just like in spy movies, Steve's nervous, but everything goes well. Probably because they look like two teenage dumbasses "Just avoid using the word hypothetically, Steve." - "Shut up, Hargrove." and Owens understands no-one is flayed here anymore. Billy gets the whole shebang of brand new documents, and he's a free bird.

The camaro gets fixed, and when Steve brings her back, they celebrate. They are sitting in the car, shooting the shit, one of old Billy's tapes playing, and Billy smokes his first cigarette after July the 4th. He even gets through one bottle of beer and hugs Harrington before going to the guest room for the night "C'mere, man. Fucking thank you." His words are a bit slurry and eyes teary, and Steve melts into that brief hug although it's just a usual bro hug and he can't read too much into that, otherwise he won't be able to sleep tonight so he just says "See you in the morning, Billy" and watches Hargrove turn his broad back and close the door to the guest room. Billy's been gaining his weight back, and he just keeps looking better every day.

In the morning Steve's coming down to the smell of coffee in the kitchen. Billy's sitting at the table crunching on cereal. They exchange morning pleasantries and then Billy says

"Hey, Steve. I think I have to .. I have to go see my father."

To be continued

#billy's camaro #billy's camaro fic #harringrove #billy x steve #harringrove fic

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millenianthemums · 7 months

Note

What on earth were you doing that nearly got you mauled by a freakin chimpanzee!?

a few other people in the notes of that poll have also asked, haha. i did make a post explaining already but i might as well recap.

basically i was around 5 or so, and my parents hired this repair guy who just. Had a pet chimp. that went around to houses with him. it was a selling point of his service, i think. this was probably before pet chimps were known to be so horrible and dangerous? i assume? otherwise i wouldn’t think my parents would have wanted a chimp near their 5-year-old?

and i heard the repair guy telling my parents the chimp was out in the truck because he was “cranky” that day. but of course, me being obsessed with animals from birth, i was desperate to see the chimp and make bestest friends. so i ran out to the truck and climbed up to the window and the chimp was in there. it was grimacing, but i didn’t know chimp body language so i thought it was happy. it reached a hand out and i reached back for a handshake, and it grabbed me and tried to pull me into the truck. for the record i have NO memory of being grabbed. my memory cuts off right as the chimp reached out. my mom just told me LAST WEEK that it almost dragged me through the window.

#milleniasks #i should tag this with something people can find by searching in case others ask #chimp story

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ghostofaboy · 10 months

Text

Rock Bottom - Benny

Summary: Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of.

After settling into his new life Frankie gets a chance to catch up with Benny.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morale/Original Male Characters Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 1927 Chapter: 21/?

Warnings: Talk of sex and prostitution, mentions of PTSD, mentions of drug use

Note: This is a fic with gay and bi characters. Please make sure you read the tags/warnings. Header by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Part 20 / Part 1 / Masterpost

After a few weeks, Frankie had started to settle into his strange new routine. While working two jobs was tiring, it was certainly filling up his savings account, which he knew he’d need later down the road if he wanted to get joint custody of Sofia. And finally, he’d spoken to Will about the Vets Rehab program and was now officially on the waiting list. At the assessment appointment, he’d been told the waiting time was two months. Will, who had come with him, had cursed under his breath at Frankie’s side at that, but honestly, Frankie was grateful to have been accepted. Two months wasn’t too long, and considering the waiting lists for other programs, Frankie knew it could have been a hell of a lot longer.

After the initial flurry of sex during the first weekend, Tilly had only used his services once more since. He’d wanted a quick blow job before he left for a business meeting the following Saturday, and after covering Frankie’s face in come, that had been that. After that day, Frankie had spent the rest of the weekend and the one after taking stock of the garage and working on the cars. The only downside of the past few weeks was that things with Tyler had slowed somewhat after he had started his job with Tilly, but thankfully, they had not completely stalled.

This week had been going by slowly. The repair shop was practically empty, with only a few regular clients to keep them all busy. The unfortunate reality was that there wasn’t enough work for them all. So that morning, Malcolm had called a team meeting to ask for volunteers to go home for the rest of the week. Frankie had immediately put his hand up.

The way he figured it, he was going to be leaving the shop at the end of next week anyway and had no right to take money out of the pockets of any of the other guys. Plus, with his job at Tilly’s, he had more money than he’d had in years. As he gathered his things, he could hear the others still grumbling as Malcolm asked for one more volunteer before heading back to his truck.

It was only Wednesday, and Tilly wouldn’t be expecting him again until Saturday, which left Frankie with more free time than he’d had in almost a year. Sitting in his truck, he knew exactly who he wanted to see and, pulling out his phone, immediately started to text Tyler. After some thought, he composed what he thought sounded like a good enough message. To the point, sincere, and hopefully not too needy.

[Hey, I know things have been a little weird with us since I took the job with Tilly. I’m off for the rest of the week and was hoping to see you. Frankie x]

Pressing send, Frankie dropped the phone down onto the passenger seat next to him. Now what? Tyler might not even reply, might not want to see him, might not… Gripping the steering wheel, Frankie took a long, deep breath in. The last thing he needed to do right now was spiral.

His head was getting clearer, but he still wasn’t sleeping too well. His body was exhausted, and he often felt like he could sleep for days. But no matter how tired he was, Frankie found himself sleeping in bursts, interrupted by bouts of nausea and the increasingly frequent nightmare. Vivid, awful dreams of Tom covered in blood. In the dreams, sometimes Tom was alive, following them through the mountains with his head half gone. He was angry at them, screaming at Pope or Frankie about their failures. Other times, Tom was just the first to die, and Frankie would watch as each of his friends was taken from him by unseen enemies.

But the worst dreams were about something terrible happening to Sofia because of him. Frankie’s mind had managed to conjure up horrific scenario after horrific scenario, covering every possible way his tiny little girl could come to harm.

After a few minutes of focusing on his breathing, Frankie felt a little better. His phone sat silently on the seat next to him, with no reply yet from Tyler. Resisting the urge to pick it up, Frankie started his truck and set off. He didn’t really want to sit at home and stew, the thought of being alone right now didn’t seem like a good idea. Then again, just heading over to Tyler’s trailer also might not be well received. And as much as Frankie wanted to see him, he also knew he needed to give Tyler space.

After that initial weekend at Tilly’s, Tyler had come around to his place just as they had arranged, but the atmosphere was tense. Tyler had admitted his jealousy and discomfort, while acknowledging that he felt like a hypocrite because of it. In the end, they’d watched a movie before Tyler left for the night. Since then, they’d seen each other a handful of times. Each time was getting easier, edging closer to the normalcy they’d once had.

Stopping at a red light, Frankie ran over the options in his mind. Home would drive him stir-crazy and let him dwell on bad shit. Tyler’s wasn’t an option just yet. Then it hit him. Benny. He knew the gym Benny was training at and that he’d be there every day. With a destination in mind, Frankie felt his shoulders relax a little as he set off toward the gym.

Benny was based in a new gym converted from an old factory. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, a little shabby even. But as Frankie made his way through the front door, he was met with a clean and modern gym set-up. The young guy at the front desk looked up when Frankie approached.

“Hi.” He smiled, setting down his notepad. “You lookin’ to join?”

“I’m just looking for Ben Miller.” Frankie shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m an old friend and-”

“Wait.” The young guy’s smile grew. “Are you Catfish?”

“Yeah?” Frankie cocked his head, a little confused.

“Oh man!” The guy stood up and made his way around the desk. “Ben talks about you all the time! It’s so cool to meet you! Come on, I’ll take you through.”

Frankie couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he was led through to the main gym and to the back of the large workout area. Men glanced up as he passed, some frowning at his jeans and obvious lack of gym clothes. Frankie blushed as a fit, younger man shimmering with sweat winked at him. Finally, at the very back, Frankie could see a group of men standing and chatting next to a couple of punchbags. And there, in the middle, throwing his head back as he laughed, was Benny.

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. Even after all this time, even knowing that Benny would never be interested in him, Frankie couldn’t help admiring his friend. Benny was laughing and talking with his friends or trainers, topless in just a set of baggy shorts. Sweat clung to his toned body, making him glisten in the artificial light. Benny turned as head as Frankie approached and his smile grew.

“Fish!”

In a flash, Benny’s sweaty arms were wrapped around Frankie, his face buried in Frankie’s neck, and suddenly everything seemed right in the world. For a few moments, Frankie let Benny just hold him, before Benny eventually stepped away.

“What are you doing here, man!” Benny slapped his shoulder playfully. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Work’s slow, so I’ve got the day off.” Frankie smiled. “Thought I’d come and check up on you.”

“I’m almost done here.” Benny gestured to his trainer behind him. “You ok to wait, then we can go get some lunch?”

“Perfect.”

A couple of hours later, Frankie’s cheeks ached from smiling. It felt so good to spend time with Benny. It felt like old times. Benny told the same crappy jokes, and Frankie laughed at Benny’s terrible Spanish. It was like South America had never happened.

They ate lunch before heading back to Benny’s apartment and sat talking about Benny’s fighting. As the hours passed, Frankie could feel the tension leaving him. He needed this. He needed his old squad. He’d spent far too long in this new world created of his own mistakes, and this afternoon felt like a return to normalcy.

“So…” Benny licked his lips before taking a sip of his tea. “Work is slow?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nodded, blowing on his own drink to cool it. “Only a few regular jobs, not enough for all of us, so Malc asked for volunteers to take the week off.”

“And you volunteered?”

“Yeah.” Frankie cocked his head at Benny. “Why?”

“And you can afford to do that?” Benny was looking at him strangely over his steaming drink.

“Yeah, I can afford it.” Frankie frowned. This conversation had taken a strange turn and he wasn’t sure he liked the way Benny was looking at him. “What’s this about Ben?”

“Have you been working with that new friend? What was his name? Tyler? The streamer?” Benny took another sip. He was keeping his tone light, but Frankie knew this was an interrogation. Benny was digging.

“No.” Frankie answered honestly. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to do any video with Tyler. Pausing for a moment he weighed his options, before answered making sure to keep his tone equally as light. “I took a private mechanic job. I’m working it on the weekends until I finish my notice at Malc’s place. Ben…” Frankie set his drink down, leaning forward in his seat. “Ben, what is this about? Why does this feel like an interrogation?”

“I’m just worried that’s all.” Benny let out a long sigh. “You’ve only just got clean again and…”

“And?”

“And, a buddy of mine said he saw you a few weeks back.” Benny looked uncomfortable, his cheeks growing redder as he searched for the right words. “You were, um, it was at Cutler’s and… he said he saw…”

As Benny trailed off and Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn with shame. Cutler’s was a dive bar Gavin had taken him to a few times. He’d blow guys in the dimly lit parking lot and sometime get fucked around the back of the place. The last time was around five weeks ago and Frankie had sucked three cocks in the parking lot while Gavin chatted and sold coke.

“And your friend saw me blowing some guys?” Frankie let his head drop, peeking up at Benny from under the brim of his cap. “Is that what you were gonna say?”

“Yeah.” Benny slumped down in his chair, looking at Frankie with those goddam big sad eyes. “He said, fuck, he said that you had a pimp.”

“Fuck.” Frankie could feel his hands shaking as he reached up to take his cap off. Throwing the Standard Oil cap down onto his knee, Frankie heard himself speaking before his brain had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. But… that’s over now. I’m clean now, I swear. It’s… all that… I… I don’t have a pimp now.”

“Fuck Fish.” Benny looked heartbroken, and Frankie had to force himself not to bolt out the door. “Fuck. How did you… how did that start?”

“You really wanna know?” Frankie could feel the tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Tell me everything.”

#frankie morales #frankie 'catfish' morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x male character #frankie morales x original male character(s)#rock bottom fic

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