#Wooden Beard Comb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shotmrmiller · 3 months ago

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Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

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artificial-transmutations · 1 year ago

Text

Country Boys

Walter glanced nervously at the car clock as the black company car hobbled over ill maintained roads. He didn't mean to be so obvious, but the younger man on the passenger seat picked up on it immediately.

"Are we going to be late?" asked the young man with the carefully styled black hair and the immaculate suite.

"Probably", answered Walter. He, too, was wearing a suit as he had done on every working day for the last twenty years. His suit tidy as well, of course, although not quite as much as the one the trainee was wearing. His slowly graying hair was combed and neat, but over the years he had stopped caring too much about looking perfect. He was good at his job, but the real secret to selling insurance policies wasn't to look like a suit model. It was all about charisma.

"That's not what worries me, though. If they live that far out, they deserve to wait for a few minutes. Besides, it's a pathetic deal, only a minor upsell regarding a small farmhouse. Barely worth driving out here if you asked me."

Walters tone left no doubt on what he thought about it.

Harry, the trainee next to him, looked at Walter quizzically.

"But Sir, isn't it company policy to value each of our customers the same, no matter how big the deal is?"

Walter shot a disapproving glance at Harry and snorted, almost laughing. "Oh, come on, Harry. I'm sure you know that's bullshit. You need to figure out who is important and who isn't. A small farmer in the middle of nowhere? Not important, won't pay much anyway. The CEO of a multinational company like the one we are meeting this afternoon? Very important, that's where the money is." Walter made a hand gesture as if to swat away Harry's naive suggestion. "The farm they live on? Oh, I don't think it's even worth 50 thousand. But don't worry, it's good practice to make the deal if the client wants it. Still, if we spend too much time out here, we will be late for our actually important appointment."

Harry looked unhappy with the explanation but before he could answer, Walter saw a signpost. "Ah, that's them. It should be just up ahead."

He turned his attention back to the road and stopped the car. They had arrived at the driveway of the farm they were supposed to visit.

Before leaving the car and following Walter, Harry quickly checked his reflection in the rear view mirror. This was going to be his first sale today and he needed to look sharp for it! He straightened his suit, checked his hair one last time and finally got out of the car.

The small farmhouse was a real dump. It had seen better days and the garden was overgrown. Walter gave the impression of a man who didn't like being here.

"I can't wait to get back to civilization" he muttered under his breath, while Harry passed him and knocked at the door.

"Sir! We are from Gastins, the insurance company, we..."

He was interrupted by the farmer opening the doors. The man was massive, hairy and dirty. Harry couldn't really tell if he was smiling because of the dense beard that adorned his face.

"... talked on the phone." Harry finished his sentence, a bit quieter.

The farmer took a long look at the both of them before giving a grunt, somewhere between permissive and disapproving and went back into the house, leaving the door open.

Harry looked to Walter in search for reassurance, but the older man just shrugged and mouthed an inaudible "your client".

Straightening his back, Harry put on a charming smile and followed the farmer inside.

The interior didn't look much better than the outside. The furniture was mostly wooden and worn, but sturdy and well made. The old wallpaper looked like it hadn't been changed for the last twenty years and it felt like it might start peeling off any moment.

"Sir, my name is Harry, and this is Walter. We are from the Gastin insurance company." Harry introduced himself properly. "We already talked on the phone, and I have the necessary documents with me to discuss the expansion of your current insurance policy. If I may?"

After a nod of the farmer, Harry sat down on the kitchen table and opened his laptop.

He quickly checked his browser history to find the email he had been working on the night before and began his sales pitch. "Your current insurance coverage covers everything that might befall your house and your belongings, which is excellent. However, we here at Gastin Insurance also offer additional insurance for houses that you can buy."

Harry was excellently prepared and navigated the farmer through the new contract, making sure to explain everything in great detail so the other man wouldn't be surprised by anything that might or might not happen.

The older, bearded man listened carefully but didn't speak a lot. From time to time, he had a surprisingly clever question that Harry had no problem answering. Even though Walter, who mostly sat and watched the trainee, glanced at his clock more than once, Harry had the feeling this was going to be a sure deal.

So, it came as a big surprise when finally, after a good two hours of presenting the new contract, the farmer crossed his arms in front of his muscular chest and shook his head. "Sorry, kid, but no."

Harry swallowed. This wasn't the reaction he expected, and it certainly wasn't what he wanted to hear. "That... comes as a bit of a surprise, Sir. Can you explain why?"

The older farmer sighed. "Your paperwork checks out and you're an honest kid, but all in all, you're just a city boy, not a real honest and down-to-earth man. I've made it my principle to never trust a city boy and I'm not gonna change that."

Walter stood up, clearly annoyed. "Why didn't you say so from the beginning? You could have saved us all a lot of time. Now, if you'll excuse us..."

He didn't get to finish, because Harry raised his hand and interrupted Walter. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, Sir, but I assure you, both of us are absolutely honest and grounded men. Please allow us to prove it to you."

Walter looked at Harry and pointed at his watch less than subtle. This time it was Harry who mouthed a "my client." to him, making Walter roll his eyes.

The farmer was clearly surprised by Harry's request and scratched his beard. "I suppose. Tell you what. If you manage to repair the fence outside, I'll sign your contract, 'cause you're clearly a man then."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, while Walter looked at him with a disbelieving stare. "We will get right to it!" asserted Harry and was already at the door.

Grimacing, Walter followed the trainee, and only once they were outside, out of earshot of the farmer, he angrily began to speak: "What the hell was that about? We certainly don't have time to repair a stupid fence! Just let it go, that guy isn't worth it."

Harry turned to Walter, his eyes burning with determination. "This is my client. I have to prove myself to him." He went to a nearby shed and opened the door, grabbing a toolbox.

Walter watched the trainee for a moment, shaking his head, but eventually followed.

"Do you even know how to repair a fence?" Walter asked while looking at the tools.

"No, but I will learn." Harry said simply while picking up a hammer. "*We* will learn" he corrected himself and gestured towards the toolbox.

Walter sighed again and shook his head but grabbed a wrench and got to work on the fence anyway.

Although the ground was wet and muddy, the sun was burning hot from the sky and quickly, both men were pretty sweaty. Of course, a fine suit wasn't the ideal piece of clothing for manual labor, so it was only a matter of time until there were several mud stains and a few holes in Harry's jacket. The area under his arms was wet from his sweat, and he was feeling uncomfortable in the suit, like it wasn't fitting him properly. He took his jacket and shirt off, while Walter stared at him.

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly insecure about his body.

Walter shook his head again, as if to clear it, before answering. "You know, I didn't expect that from you."

"Better than ruining it", Harry replied and added: "Perhaps you should take off yours, too."

Reluctantly, Walter agreed and soon, both men were working topless. Harry couldn't help but be somewhat impressed. He had guessed that Walter would be weak and probably would sport a beer belly under his shirt. However, the older man was actually pretty fit. In fact, the longer they worked, the more details Harry noticed that somehow didn't fit the Walter he was used to. His toned muscles, his flat stomach, the light tan. No, something wasn't right.

When Harry looked to Walter's face, he would find his suspicions verified: Something weird was going on! Harry had been certain Walter had had graying hairs - but the unkempt hair on top of the other man's head was anything but gray - it was dark and full.

"Say, how old are you again, Walter?" Harry asked. His own voice sounded funny, too. Deeper somehow.

"32" answered Walter immediately. "No, wait, that's wrong. I'm... 31?" The last part sounded like a question, but it fit his surprisingly masculine and handsome body. However, Harry was more focused on his own appearance right now. His body looked alien to him: It was way fitter, tanner and broader than he was used to - and it looked somewhat older than he was used to, too.

"Is anything wrong?" The smooth and dark voice of his coworker, sounding like dark honey was new and Harry looked at Walter again. Surprisingly youthful, with a sweaty and muddy body full of muscles and a mildly concerned face was what met his eye. There was no doubt, this was a long way from the former Walter. Still, Harry couldn't look away. The masculine body with the light coating of hair and the five o clock shadow had him captivated. But the gentle and friendly brown eyes sucked him in, and he could hardly look away. What was happening to him? To them both? Harry had been certain he was straight, but when he looked at the other man, he felt butterflies in his stomach, and he could feel his body reacting.

"Hehe. Is that for me?" Walt asked with a hint of amusement and pointed down. Following his finger, Harry noticed that he had a clearly visible boner that was stretching his brown work shorts, mirroring the similar bulge in Walt's pants. Didn't he wear suit pants just some minutes ago?

No, that didn't make sense. He had never worn a suit in his life, that was city boy attire. He was a country man and only put on practical clothing and sturdy boots. However, that wasn't very important. He smiled and brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes before grinning at Walt mischievously.

"I think it's time for a break."

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #straight to gay

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f10werfae · 10 months ago

Note

Can you give us an example of Henry giving the twins the stink eye and them running to their Momma and her defending them? I love this sweet little family and your writing.

“Iris off now please, that’s not a plaything” Henry sighed seeing his daughter playing around in his workshop.

“But it is dada, it’s a horsey, p-plus all your tools are gone” Iris replied back sassily rocking back and forth on the wooden horse she had asked her daddy to make her, she had him wrapped around her baby finger. “Iris, don’t answer back, now pop off back inside please and behave yourself” At the sound of her daddy’s harsh stern tone, her lips tightened and chin creased. “F-fine don’t want horsey anyway”

“Good cause bad girls don’t get horseys” As soon as she heard her daddy call her a bad girl she knew exactly what to do, she knew her daddy’s weakness. “M-momma” Iris cried out with tears at the corner of her eyes, running towards the living room she saw her brother Beau playing with Marly on the couch as Y/n combed his hair lovingly; their new sibling housed comfortable in her stomach.

When Y/n saw her teary baby her face immediately fell into a pout, “W-what’s wrong Iris baby” Y/n cooed opening her arms and letting her baby fall into her chest, kisses being peppered onto her head. “P-papa was bein’ a meanie and no say sorry” She said through hiccups, Y/n’s eyebrows furrowing as her eyes landed on her husband who walked in with one hand scuffing his beard.

“H-Hen? What d-do ya have to say for yourself?” Y/n scolded with a pout still playing on her lips, Iris hugging her momma’s neck as she gave Henry a face (all of a sudden her tears had stopped and baby Iris had a glorious smirk on her face)

“You little-“

“H-Hen stop it! She’s our b-baby and you were bein’ mean!”

“Baby bun she was playin’ about on the horse-“

“That’s what t-the horse is for no?” Y/n said fiercely, knowing she was going to win this argument, she won every argument. “You’re right baby i’m sorry, I’m sorry to my other baby too” Henry sighed bending over and plucking Iris into his arms before whispering into his daughter’s ear, “You smart little rat, i’ll get you for that”

“Sure you will papa!” She smiled wiggling out of his arms and running towards her playroom with Beau not long following her. “Do I gotta make it up to you too huh?” Henry whispered slotting himself beside Y/n on the sofa, his arm tucking her into his side; his other hand smoothing over her growing stomach. “I know how you can daddy”

#faesthoughts #lumberjack!henry cavill #fae henry thoughts #lumberjack!henry

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poisonsage808 · 2 years ago

Text

♡ Sword and Scissors ♡

Targaryen!Reader x Erryk Cargyll

You were lingering in the mouth of Aegon’s chambers rather than dare to step any further inside should his fickle temper decide to flare. A soft smile graced your lips in hopes it would charm him enough to succeed in your endeavors.

“Brother, I wondered if I might steal a portion of your night. I thought we’d both benefit greatly fr—“

“Just tell me what you want, I don’t understand you when you speak like mother.” Aegon slurs, stumbling like a new sailor who’s yet to earn their sea legs but somehow still strutting arrogantly.

The small, wooden chest in your hands is held up for him to see, “Mother wants me to practice.”

“What does that have to do with me?” He looks at you like you’re a gnat he’s about to swat away, dying for you to leave.

“You haven’t allowed anyone to touch your hair in months, I thought—“

“Did you? Not hard enough, apparently. You have two other siblings to bother, go ask one of them.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and clutch the box tightly, “I cut Helaena’s hair yesterday… Aemond’s the day before.”

Aegon sighs exasperatedly and calls for the guard loudly. There’s a single breath of silence before the sound of metal clicks and Ser Erryk stands directly in the doorway.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Send someone to bring me more wine then you’re dismissed to go with my sister. Let her hack at your mane instead. Perhaps after we’ll be able to tell the difference between you and your brother.”

The box might’ve been opened but the scissors remained inside and on your desk. Same with the ivory comb, the bracelets and rings that usually decorated your hands. Running through light brown locks with ease were your bare fingers, nails scraping against the man’s scalp before separating his hair into sections. From your lips hummed a tune you seemed to know when he was around. It was only for him to hear.

“You’re uncomfortable.” You comment, bringing your fingers to the ends of his hair a final time leaving a completed braid in the wake, “Would you like to leave?”

“No, princess, I apologize.”

“You’ve done nothing to warrant an apology, Ser Erryk.”

“I’ve interrupted your creative process,” His lips quirk briefly as you round the chair to stand before him. The purest adoration flashes across his blue eyes and suddenly his smile is contagious, though yours lingers longer. Looking up at you the way he did brings a warmth to your cheeks. That wasn’t new though, Ser Erryk was usually responsible for that with you… amongst other things.

“Consider it welcomed. I have no intention of bringing scissors anywhere near your head.”

“The prince said to cut my hair.”

You hummed and brushed a loose strand behind his ear, “I like your hair.”

“My beard then.” Ser Erryk’s voice drops to a hush with the faintest of smirks.

“I like your beard.” You whisper pointedly, ghosting your fingertips along his jaw until you reach his chin. When your index ran over the pulse on his neck you felt it quicken. Just as you felt the man swallow hard on nothing when your eyes dropped to his lips.

“Princess—“

“You know my name, Ser Erryk. Please use it.” A request and a gentle one at that.

And he does. It’s rare but when he does, he always sings your name softly like he’s afraid someone would hear. There’s a tenderness in Erryk’s voice that tugs your lips into a smile. Your hand retreats yet is gently stolen from the air by his own.

“It would look suspicious if I left the same way I arrived.” He says with a soft smile, bringing your knuckles to his lips afterwards.

You giggle softly, “If you think Aegon will remember, you have much more faith in him than I thought.” You step in the gap of Erryk’s knees, resting your spare hand on his armored shoulder, “Still tense.”

“Apologies,” he says again, this time with a cheeky grin.

“I don’t want your apologies, I want you to be comfortable with me.” You say so sinfully yet earnestly.

“Perhaps tell me so when you’re standing elsewhere.”

Torturously slow, to give Erryk the opportunity to deny your advance, you bend your knees and finally perch yourself on his thigh.

“Now I’m sitting. Are you comfortable?”

Seven save him, no.

His arm still comes to secure you in place. If you move back you’ll fall and if you move forward you’ll— You can’t move forward. He won’t let you. His hand doesn’t tremble on your waist, it's greedy and reveling in the texture of your dress while his mind wonders if the skin underneath is just as soft. Your hand is soft. Your lips look soft but he tears his blue eyes up from them when the thought arises. While Erryk was embarrassed to be caught looking, you were elated. There’s a smile now that wrinkles your eyes in pure delight and a gentle blush that warms your cheeks.

Gods be good. He should take his leave now.

“Princess,” Erryk’s words are lost while he looks directly into a sea of violet.

“Ser Erryk.”

His heart flutters when his name falls from those pretty, soft lips but it always does when he hears you say it.

The hands held together tightly slowly, agonizingly slowly, find new homes on the other. Erryk’s rests on your elbow while you reach to place yours on his scruffy cheek. It could have been you, it could have been him or perhaps even both. One way or the other lips gently met and refused to part. The sweetness turns to hunger in an instant. The stolen glances, fleeting touches, hushed whispers and bursts of giggles between you were suddenly not enough.

Not for the knight, nor the princess.

#x reader #game of thrones imagine #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #poiboidrabbles #imagine #game of thrones #writeblr #house of the dragon

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bluesest · 2 months ago

Note

Did you hear nortovirus is going around? Sure would be a shame if you went out for a big night and drank lots of alcohol and ate lots of greasy food only to get home with a turbulent tummy and spend the night massaging it while running back and forth from the loo

A Virus

Greg is a young college student who loves to party and lives with his 3 roommates: Jake a cheerful jock, Drake who is relaxed even in the most stressful situations and Otto a nerdy blonde with a good heart.

Like a typical American university, young university students are anything but "Adults", they loved parties, they used them to free themselves from the stress of the constant homework and exams that make them suffer so much, they are just looking for an excuse to have fun, and what better excuse than the end of a semester?

The holidays are here, the survivors of the final exam are already celebrating, the popular soccer boy announces a big party in the huge home of his elderly parents and Greg feeling a great dopamine thanks to almost failing the semester decided that this is a great opportunity to release it.

A day before the big party, Greg was shaving his face, he didn't want to go looking like a tramp, he might even have a chance to get a partner, but his fantasy was destroyed when someone knocked on the door, it was Drake:

*Knock* *Knock*

Drake: "Greg, are you going to be done soon?"

Greg: "I'm just starting to shave, and it's going to take a while."

Drake: "I just need to use it, it's urgent"

Greg: "Well, there's nothing I haven't seen from you anyway."

Greg opens the bathroom door making way for a sweaty Drake who smiles at him in gratitude, Greg turned back to the sink mirror and went on with his business until a rumble scared him:

*PFTFTFTFTFTTFFFTFT*

Greg turned his gaze and saw Drake naked sitting on the toilet.

Greg: "What the?!"

Drake: "I really wanted to shit, I think I ate something rotten or something"

Greg: "I mean why do you shit in front of me?"

Drake: "You told me I could use the bathroom..."

Greg: "But I thought you were just going to pee and not and destroy this bathroom."

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *PRRRRRRRRRRR* *QHSSHQHHHSHQSHQSHSH*

Greg: "ughhh it really sucks, what did you eat?"

Drake: "It's not that big of a deal, calm down"

*PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*

Greg: "Forget it, I'll leave you here alone with your pestilence."

Drake: "Before you go, could you pass me the toilet paper that's on the shelf? I wouldn't want to get out of the bathroom with my ass literally shit."

Greg: "As you wish..."

Greg opened the doors to the small wooden shelf above the mirror, inside were his classmates' brushes, combs, deodorants, and most importantly: three full rolls of toilet paper. With disgust and repulsion he extended his hand with the paper towards the already tired Drake who by a mistake his hand reached far from the target and touched Greg's fingers directly, he said nothing and fled from that place locking Drake only with his pestilences.

Greg went to the couch where Jake and Otto were watching TV.

Jake: "Wow what happened to your face dude? Do you try a new beard style or what?"

Greg: "I was waxing when Drake came in out of nowhere and had a bout of diarrhea in front of me"

Otto: "With diarrhea you're right, I think it's the 4th time Drake has had a bowel movement all day, but I'm not so sure if it's diarrhea or not, something doesn't add up..."

Jake: "Do you really count how many times someone goes to the bathroom in this apartment? You're disgusting..."

Otto: "Don't say that! I noticed it because my room is close to the bathroom and I hear them flushing the toilet, it's a noise that's hard to ignore."

Greg: "Anyway, I'm not going to let this ruin my day and tomorrow, I'm ready to go to the best party of the semester to date and the smells won't stop me from enjoying it."

Jake: "I'll go too, I hear there's going to be alcohol and wholesale food, and even a DJ"

Otto: "I... I'd rather stay and keep an eye on Drake."

Jake: "You're saying that because this week you're going to clean the bathroom and you don't want Drake to destroy it."

Greg: "Well it's decided, tomorrow from 7 p.m. until dawn."

The day flew by, in the next time seemed eternal, but when it came to dressing in his best clothes, time simply became an excellent sprinter. It was time for the party and both colleagues left the apartment and walked to the host's home, it was very close and it was only a 15-minute walk where they both shared jokes in bad taste that no one else would find funny except them.

Finally they arrived at the huge house where the university students were already celebrating, and some even drunk, opened the door and were greeted by a young woman who kindly greeted them and invited them to drink the alcohol that was on a large table next to the snacks.

Jake: "College parties are the best! I'm going to see if there's any pretty women around here and make good friends, you know what I mean."

Greg: "You've never conquered a woman, I don't have faith in you"

Jake: "Oh come on! What are you going to do?"

Greg: "I tend to enjoy the holidays better when I'm drunk, and maybe I'll try those treats, they're begging me to let them into my stomach."

Jake: "Ughh however you want, call me when you want to leave"

Greg: "I'll never want to leave!"

The two companions separated and went about their business, Greg started with a whiskey that apparently was branded: "Heavens, how much money do the owners of this place have... wait a minute! Are those super spicy chips?!" Greg rushed to the snacks, they were really delicious and the best thing was that there were large portions and to digest the food he kept drinking beer and wine this time.

2 hours passed and Greg was talking to his friends when he received a message on his phone, it was from Otto: "Greg! I have something important to tell you about Drake!" he was going to answer until a loud voice caught his attention, between shouts he saw a large crowd screaming and in the distance he saw the host and Jake holding a large bottle of beer. The girl who welcomed them advertised the contest of "To the Bottom" which needs no description.

At this point Jake was drunk, even more so than Greg and with a "A Drink" they started the competition where Jake was no match for the party soul that was the footballer who used to participate in this type of contest just to get attention and keep his position as a popular boy.

Jake fell to the ground and the crowd began to approach the winner in a careless and abrupt manner, so many pushes and elbows that Greg received caused a sharp pain in his stomach:

*GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

Greg put his hand on his stomach and began massaging it, a foolproof technique his brother taught him to control cramping, but it didn't work, it just soothed the pain and didn't stop it.

An hour passed and Jake pulled himself together and walked over to Greg.

Jake: "Hey! *hipp* are you enjoying the party as much as I do?"

Greg: "No, I'm dizzy and my stomach hurts..."

Jake: "HA! You're probably drunk! See if you want that pain to go away, just throw up in one of the bathrooms in this fucking *hipp* mansion."

Greg: "yes... Maybe... Hey, where are the bathrooms?"

Jake: "What do I know, I don't shit in someone else's house... HAHAHAHAH"

Greg: "You were always a bad drunk, whatever"

Greg ended the conversation and started looking for a bathroom to follow his friend's advice, he was quite embarrassed to ask anyone from that place, they were going to think he was going to shit and stink in the bathroom, although the idea of vomiting was no better.

*GRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

"Maybe there's a bathroom up the stairs... oh this is going to hurt"

He slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor of the home, unlike on the ground floor there were not as many people, but they did show more overt affection towards their partners. After searching for 10 minutes he finally found a bathroom and before opening the door a tall man came out and said, "I really overdid food... It's all yours bro." Greg, being part of 4 college roommates, already knew what that phrase meant, but he didn't care in the slightest and went into the bathroom locking the door.

The smell of the bathroom was fresh and fresh out of the oven, you could feel the constipation of that guy, with disgust Greg knelt in front of the toilet waiting for the signal from his body to throw away everything that was wrong in his system, but... Something was wrong.

No matter what Greg tried, nothing worked, his body just wasn't going to vomit, he was about to give up when a sharp prick penetrated his stomach, it was painful enough to just ignore it and give up. Greg slowly began to insert a finger into his throat to force his body to vomit, but another pain stopped him from doing so and began to massage his stomach.

*BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

"oh what's wrong with me..."

*GRRGRGRGR* *GRRRRRR*

"I think I'm going to..."

*GRRRRR* *PFFFTFFT*

"SHIT!"

Out of nowhere and without warning his sphincter began to fill with foul-smelling magma, his anus sent a desperate warning signal for the body to allow him to expel what he has inside. This wasn't what Greg wanted to do, he wanted the bad stuff to come out of his mouth and not out of his anus in a violent way.

Quickly Greg started to undress from the hips down, his skinny jeans made this task really difficult, he did all this while begging that he didn't have an anal spill in his pants right at a big party.

"Come on, come on, come on"

Greg was able to take off his pants in time and with his big sweaty ass he sat on the warm porcelain of a fancy bathroom:

*SQHHSQHSHSHHSQHQSHSHQHQHHSQHSQ* *PRPRPRPRPRPRPRRRR* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *HSQHSHSHSHSHQSHHQSSSSS*

Involuntarily, Greg started with a loud fart to give way to a torrent of volcanic diarrhea, he tried to compress and close his anus to make as little noise as possible, but was cut short by another bad move of his stomach.

*PFTFTFTFTFTTFTFTFF* *BRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBR* *SKKRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHHHHHSSS* *PFTFTFTFTFTF* *PRRRRRR* *PFTFFTFFTFTF*

Compressed air came out of its sphincter as if it were a gas tank with a leak coming from a small hole in its structure, desperately releasing the gas to come out without having enough room for the air to exit in a calmer way. Greg tried unsuccessfully to hide his small moans of pain, but with each bout of diarrhea this task became impossible.

*QHSHQSHHSHQSHQSH* *SPLASH* *BRBRBRBRBRBRBBRBRBR* *GRGRGRGR* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *PLOP* *PLOP* *TRRRRTRTRTRTRTRT*

An anal turret invaded his nervous thoughts and embarrassed for doing something that he simply could not control, his anus and his entire digestive system got fed up and formed an anarchy against the authoritarian rule of the brain that with all its might tried to stop the rebellion and traffic in his rectum in order to preserve calm throughout his body and avoid more disasters.

*PFTFFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *PPRRRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *SQHSHHQSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH* *SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH* *PLOP*

After several wet farts Greg was finally able to regain some of his consciousness and digest everything that had happened: he had shit at a college party, and it wasn't just shit, he could swear it's the worst anal disaster he'd ever had in his entire life completely ruined.

Although his stomach was still rumbling, he decided to flee the scene of the crime and the party in general, even while sitting on the toilet he phoned Jake without any answer. Greg knew at that moment that he had to go get it, but without first cleaning his totally roasted butt, it was a difficult task because any pass of toilet paper he made felt like sandpaper was being sanded on his butt.

He started running from the second floor, down the stairs and desperately looked everywhere for his partner who was trying to claim a rematch against the host:

Greg: "Hey Jake, I'm really tired and I feel awful, let's get out of here."

Jake: "What? I was just having fun."

Greg: "You're already too drunk for this party, let's get away before you break something super expensive"

Jake: "ok hahahaha but you'll be the one driving this time"

Greg: "We come on foot and we leave on foot"

They both left the party unnoticed, Greg gnawed inside at the fact that he had to run away from the best party in existence just because his tummy decided to feel bad just that day while Jake was laughing and complaining all the way to the apartment.

*GRGGRGRGRGRGRGR*

Greg: "oh no..."

Jake: "You're weird Greg, why are you massaging your stomach like that? Do you want to vomit again? Hahahahah you're weird"

Greg: "We've got to pick up the pace"

Jake: "Relax, just throw up on that tree, no one will notice, and maybe those nutrients will come in handy for that tree."

Greg: "I'm not going to shit in a public place idiot"

Jake: "What did you say? What are you shitting on? HAHAHAHAHA you're just funny and a shit, shit, shit in that tree then HAHAHAHAHAHA"

Greg: "No- I didn't say I wanted to shit, you're deaf drunk shit!"

Jake: "Let's check if I'm really *hipp* deaf"

Without warning Jake lunged at a distracted Greg, with his two strong athletic arms he squeezed Greg's stomach tightly and:

*PFPTPPTTPPPPTFPPFPFFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTTF*

Jake: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

Greg: "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Jake: "That makes you *hipp* for being a liar HAHAHAHA"

Greg: "It's not funny! *GRGRGRGRG* and you only made it worse... I need to find a bathroom soon."

Jake: "But if you're in the bathroom right now bro"

Greg: "I don't have time for this!"

He began to run desperately straight to his apartment as he heard Jake's incomprehensible screams in the distance, every step he took made it to make a wetter and wetter fart make it out of poor Greg's tight, sweaty bubble ass: "I'm only 5 minutes away from the bathroom, I can hold out."

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF*

*PFTFPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTTTTT*

*PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

Before he got to the door he was already taking out the keys to the apartment, he entered and kept running in the direction of the bathroom ignoring Otto's greeting in the process and slammed the door slamming his.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

Otto went to open the door of the apartment and found a sweaty Jake about to faint:

Otto: "Did they try to rob them or because they're running?"

Jake: "None of that my adorable little nerd, Greg got and ran away from me to use the bathroom in the apartment."

Otto: "Hmmm that makes sense"

Jake: "I'll scold him so he knows he shouldn't abandon someone on the street at midnight hehehe"

Otto: "And then you say I spy on people when they're in the bathroom..."

Jake made his way to the bathroom door where he settled his ear and head.

*PFPPTFPTPPPTPFTPTPFTPT* *SQHHQSQHSHQSHSHSHSHQHS* *PLOP*

And in an explosive way, Jake opened the bathroom door that unfortunately Greg out of desperation did not lock the door. Jake's scream as he walked in scared Greg so much that it inevitably caused his stomach to loosen even more:

*SQHHSHSHSHSHSHHQHSHQS* *PRPRPPRPRPSPSPSPSPSPSPPSPPS* *TRTRTRTRTRTRRTRTRTRTTRTRTRTR* *PFTFTTFTFTFTFTFT*

Jake: "Wow you've got a waterfall in your anus!"

Greg: "Get out of here..."

*PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *SHSHSHSHSHHHHHHHH* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRT* *FFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTFFFTTTTT* *PRFRFFFFFFFPRPRPRPRPSSSSSSS*

Jake: "I won't, I drink a lot and I really have to pee, and I'm so scared I can't do it in the free bathroom that nature gives us."

Greg: "Why me?"

*GLONRRNHHRHR* *PFPLFPFLFPLFFPPFLFP* *PLLPLPLTPLTPLTPTLTLTLTLTLT* *FPTPFTPPTPTPTPTFFTP* *SHSHSSHSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH* *PRRRRRRRRR*

Jake: "Heavens, what did you eat? HAHAHAHA"

*GRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRGRRRRRR* *PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSSHHSHHS* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *BRBRBRBRBRBRBRR*

Jake: "I can't be here for a single minute, it's just that seriously ufffff the smell of shit here, it's disgusting, you're disgusting, I'll pee in the shower and I'm out of here"

Greg: "Rot."

Jake: "Look who's talking"

Jake started peeing in the shower, it was a big waterfall... but he couldn't overshadow the brown cascade coming out of Greg's battered anus.

*PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRL* *PPLPLLLLLLLLRRRRRR* *SHQSHHSQHSHSHQHSS* *PLOP* *PLOP* *KRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *SPLASHSHHSHSSH* *PFTTFTFTFFTTFFF*

Jake came out of the bathroom and 10 minutes later Greg did, he arrived tired and saw Otto sitting on the couch and Jake asleep between cushions:

Otto: "You look bad"

Greg: "I know, that walked into the bathroom with me and acted like nothing happened."

Otto: "So... Did you see my message?"

Greg: "Which one?"

Otto: "But- ugh, to sum it up for you, I did an exam on Drake and took samples of... you know what and I concluded that he has Norovirus."

Greg: "And does that mean?"

Otto: "It's a disease that is transmitted by having contact with feces or with infected people, and yesterday you said that Drake went in to shit in the bathroom while you were using it, so it means..."

Greg: "But I don't feel sick! I just ate a lot of fried foods and drank a lot at that party, that's it."

Otto: "Whatever you say..."

After the conversation, Greg decided that he had had enough fun for today so he went to his small room where he stripped completely naked to sleep, he could still feel small gurgles, but he didn't give them any importance "It's just stuck farts that's all", lying up straight he raised one of his legs to let out a big and powerful fart:

*PTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRFFTFTFTTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFT*

The acidic air again burned the walls of his anus that screamed for help, his gurgling became louder as a sign of protest and massaging his stomach another fart came out without warning:

*PFTFTTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *GRRRRRRRRR*

He was one smaller than the previous ones, his gurgling stopped for a few moments leaving his mind calm ready to have a good sleep session.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, his body flooded with sweat starting to ache as he was overcome by an unusual cold, he took his phone and saw the time: "Is it 4 AM, why did I wake up so early? I didn't even wake up at this time when I went to college... *GRGRGRGRRRRR* oh shit, I think I know why I woke up..."

With his eyes narrowed struggling to see in the deep darkness of the room he headed straight to the bathroom completely naked, it wasn't something to worry about, it was 4 AM, no one was awake at this time or at least it seemed that way.

*GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR*

"Okay, I'll release some gas to make you calm down a bit."

*PFTPPTPTPTFPPPPPTFPPTPTPFP* *RPRPRPRPRPRPRPPPPPPRPRPRR* *TRTRTRTRRT*

"Oh wow, I can feel it writhing in my gut, here it comes"

*FPTPPFPPTPT* *PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRRR* *PFTPPFPPTPPTPFTPT* *HSQHQSH*

"Oh shit did I just shit? I think it's a couple of drops, but it doesn't make it any better, I have to find the bathroom, but I can't see anything... here it is!"

Greg opened the door and his eyes were completely struck and blinded by the bright light of the place, when he regained his sight he saw Otto kneeling in front of the toilet with gloves and some clinical apparatus.

They were both staring at each other without saying a word, until Greg began to speak.

Greg: "What the are you doing in the bathroom at 4 AM?!"

Otto: "I um... cleaning it! I always clean it up in the early morning."

Greg: "I know you asshole, don't tell me you're collecting my shit to do your weird exams!"

Otto: "If you notice that you're naked, you know?"

Greg freaked out and grabbed a towel hung on the bathroom door, again the awkward silence returned:

Otto: "Well yes, I've seen some of your feces stain the toilet and I collected it, I want to show you that if you have norovirus"

Greg: "And the best way to show that is to collect shit at 4 AM?"

Otto: "Well, if you say it like that, it sounds pretty bad..."

Greg: "But that's literally what's happening! *GRGRRGRRRR* ohhhh... Hey, I need you to get out of the bathroom right now."

Otto: "Okay"

With Otto blocking the way to the toilet Greg finally had a chance to free his bowels, he took off the towel covering him and sat down on the now cold china:

*PFTPTPPTPPPTP* *SQHHSHQHSHSHSHQSQSHSS* *SKRKKRKKKRRRKRKRKRR* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *SHSHSHSHHHHHHHHHHH*

Greg: "Oh finally... [turns his head] what the fuck!? What are you still doing here, Otto?!"

Otto: "I came out of the bathroom"

Greg: "And what are you doing looking at me?!?"

Otto: "You didn't close the door"

Greg: "*PRPRPRPRPRPRPR* Then shut it down!"

Otto: "Come to think of it, you exhibit the same behavior and symptoms as Drake, but you can't be sure."

*QSHQHSHSHSHQHSHQSHQSHQHHSQHSQHSQS* *PFFTTFTFTFTFTTF* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTTTT* *BRRUBUBLBBUBRRRPPRPRP* *PSSSHHHHHHHHH* *GRRRRRRRRRRR*

Greg: "Just go!"

Otto: "Okay with this... hey it really sucks, yuck"

Greg: "Why?!?!"

*RRRRRRPGPRPGGR* *PPPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*

Otto: "I'd say you're worse off than Drake, I'll leave you alone"

The nerd closed the door of the small bathroom as he headed to his room to sleep, it was finally the moment in which Greg had achieved the privacy he deserves and without shame freed the gates of hell:

*QHSHSQBSHSBHQHQQSHHQNSHQSHSHSHSH* *FPPTPFTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTFPFPFFFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *PSPSPSPSPSPSSSS* *RPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPR* *TRTRTRTRTRTRBBLBLLLSLSLSLSSSSSSSSSS* *PLOP* *PLOP* *FFFFFTTTTTTTTT* *BLRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PRSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*

"oh finally... ughhhhh *GRGGRGRGR*"

*PRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRPRRR* *TLUC* *TLUC* *TLUC* *PFTFTFTFTFTF* *PTFFFT*

"Oh shit"

*SQHSHQHSHQHSHSHQSHQSHSQ* *PTPTPTPTPTPT* *PFTFTFTFTFTF* *QSHHSHQSSQH* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PFTFTFTTFTFTFTFTF* *TRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *PLOP* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTF*

"ohhhhhhh"

*PFFFTTFTFFTFT* *PLOP*

"I think I'm done...*PFFFTT*"

Greg relaxed his mind and body, both tired from the great marathon of flowing diarrhea, took toilet paper, folded it and began to wipe the sweat from his forehead thinking about the atrocities that had happened in less than a day in a room as sacred as the bathroom.

He started to fold more paper and rubbed it on his ass rubbing it as slowly as possible but she still felt a lot of pain, which is normal after his anal lip expelled there literally washes for 10 minutes without stopping.

He got up from the throne, pulled the chain, and finally came out of the bombed-out bathroom. Before returning to his room he searched for signs of Otto around him without success, apparently stopped doing his strange things and went to sleep, something Greg would also do but not before farting a couple while trying to fall asleep.

*DIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG*

Greg woke up again sweaty and looked at his alarm alarm annoyed, apparently he had forgotten the fact that he was on vacation.

"It's 7 AM *GRRRRRR* I'm hungry..."

He went down to the kitchen of the apartment, opened the refrigerator and the only thing there was for breakfast was a carton of milk: "Well, cereal without cereal it will be" and in one sip he drank the entire carton of milk, burped and began to feel his stomach.

"Haaaa, and it didn't work! Otto and Jake were wrong which is a relief, and speaking of which... Where are they? Hmm, wait a minute..."

*PFTFTFTTFTFFTTFTFTFTFTTFTTTTTTTT*

"Nope, I was wrong"

Greg ran desperately from the kitchen to the bathroom, even on his way he took the opportunity to undress while running leaving the few clothes he was wearing on the floor, he arrived totally naked at the bathroom, opened the door and...

Drake: "Hey good morning Greg, is walking around the house naked the new fashion?"

Greg: "This must be a joke..."

Drake was in the bathroom shaving his legs with his trademark smile. Greg, hugging his stomach and bending his legs again and again, asked:

Greg: "Can you please get out of the bathroom?"

Drake: "Uh? I see, you have diarrhea, right?"

Greg: "I just need a few minutes alone"

Drake: "I would leave, but when I started shaving I felt something heavy in my stomach, and we both know what it is, I thought I could finish shaving before I sat on the toilet, but now I'm scared to stand up and have the poop come out of my ass automatically"

Greg: "aghhh, there's no time!"

Greg made his way into the cramped bathroom and reached the toilet and never mind that Drake was there, he just fully opened the shattered back doors:

*PFTPTPTPTPTPFTPTPTPTTTTT* *BRBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PSPSSSSSSPSGSSHSHSHSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH* *BRLLLRRRRRRRRRRRR* *PPPPFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT* *BLURRRRRRRRRRRR* *SHQSHSHSHSHSHSHQSSHQSSS* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFT*

Greg: "WOW I shouldn't have drunk milk, I shouldn't have defied the virus, and I shouldn't have defied fate"

Drake: "That explosion made me want to explode even more"

Greg: "Don't even try."

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *LRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR* *FFFFTTFTFTFFRTTTT* *BLRRRR* *PFFTT* *PLOP* *PFFFTTT* *QHSHSHSHSQHSSSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH*

Drake: "As you say, I'll get up and try to go to the shower... Another cramp, I don't think I can move, I'll have to sit on the toilet."

Greg: "Aren't you hearing that I'm occupying it?"

Drake: "oh come on, it'll be like last time, you've seen my ass and I've seen yours, it won't be any different, plus I'm telling you I really can't move, the only thing I can do is ploop down into the toilet"

Greg: "Of course not! You'll stain my legs!"

Drake: "That's what we have a shower for"

And regardless of Greg's complaints, Drake dropped his bare butt on top of Greg's legs letting the demons fall inside:

*PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTF* *TRRRRRRRRRRRF* *BLRRRRRRRRRRR* *SQHQSHQHSHSHSHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQHSQSHQHSHQSHQSHQS*

Greg: "Aggghhhhh yuck!"

Drake: "Calm down, we both need to help each other because we both have this inside of us... damned... virus... AAAHHHGG"

*QSHQSHQSHSHSHQSHSH* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTTFTFTFTF* *BLRRRRRRRR* *GRRRRRRRRR* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PLOP* *PFTFTFTFTFTFTFTFTTF* *SQHSQHQSHHQSHQHS*

Greg: "Well, you're right about that..."

*TRRTRTTRTRTRTRTRTRTRTR* *BLLRLRLRLRLRL* *GRRRRRR* *FRRRFRFRFR* *CRRCRCRCRC* *SQHSHQHSSHQHSHSHQS* *TFTFTFTFTPFTFTFTFTFT*

#diarrhea #farts #coprophilia #desesperation #Norovirus #Party #University

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blacklavishessentialsblog · 2 years ago

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The Ultimate Guide To Waves And Beards: How To Find The Best Pomade And Wooden Comb

It seems like everyone is jumping on the beard bandwagon these days. With so many products on the market claiming to be the best, it can be hard to know what works and doesn't. We've got you covered if you're looking for a tried-and-true way to style your waves and beards! In this guide, you'll learn how to choose the right Best pomade for waves and wooden comb for your beard styling needs. We'll also review recommendations for some of our favorite products that work best for creating perfect waves and keeping them in place all day long. So keep reading if you want to find out how to get the perfect look with minimal effort!

#Best pomade for waves #wooden beard comb

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qwimblenorrisstan · 2 months ago

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Stitching Us Together

Chapter 2: The Puzzle

Summary: Following the previous night’s bizarre events, and the consequences it had brought, the group of four is back at it again, this time with one more puzzle piece than before.

Word Count: ~ 3.9k

Warnings: allusions to death, violence, military things, bri getting policed and parented, sassy teenagers, awful school food, nothing terrible

A/N: help I love writing for this story so much I wrote 2k words in my study block, I think I’m finally getting the hang of accents + writing for multiple characters at the same time, so now I’m just going to try and slowly flesh things out and make sub-conflicts, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Junior was just praying to whatever gods that would listen that his dad didn’t find out.

And that Bri wouldn’t snitch.

He’d already had enough talks of “responsibility” and showing a “good example” for Josie and some of his younger relatives, even if they were worse behaved than him, and he hadn’t done anything that bad at their age.

“That oatmeal done something to you?”

His father’s ruddy voice, raspy from his previous years of smoking, interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up, finding his father wearing a black beanie, beard combed out, but he could still see the bits of sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes. Junior’s bowl of oatmeal for breakfast lay in front of him, almost untouched, other than a few little cat bites he’d taken.

“No, just…tired.”

His dad raised a brow, knowing it wasn’t like his son to be so distracted. He must’ve known the anxiety he saw in his brown eyes, because he let out a breath, sitting down in an old wooden chair that creaked under his weight. The bus would be coming by soon.

He really should finish the oatmeal.

“Doesn’t have anything to do with what Brianna was doin’ last night, does it?”

He tried not to look too guilty. Brianna wouldn’t have snitched on the rest of them being out there, but she hadn’t gotten into contact with anyone since being taken home by the police. Hadn’t responded to any of their calls or anything. Hadn’t even read all of the texts Isla had sent.

“What’d she do?”

Keep your head down.

Don’t avert your eyes.

He tried not to focus on how his hands were sweating around the spoon he held, digging into the oatmeal and shoving a bite into his mouth just to keep from saying something stupid or outright admitting it, which was hard under his father’s piercingly blue stare.

Junior didn’t think a minute had ever been longer, when eventually his father let out a little humph, adjusting his beanie, when his mum walked in just in time to save him from whatever his dad had been about to say.

“Now what’s going on in here, boys?”

Her eyes went to him, a brow expectantly raised, expecting an answer.

“Nothin’, mum.”

The sound of a heavy vehicle sighing outside reached his ears, and he got up, scraping what was left of his oatmeal out into the trash, pulling his backpack over his shoulder.

“Bye.”

He mumbled, his father giving him a firm look when he glanced back, only for Junior to board the bus faster than ever before, sitting down on one of the blue leathery seats.

The school was right up the street, but his parents always insisted he take the bus, for whatever reason, as if he’d get mugged while walking a mile or two down the road. Bri and Isla took the bus too, while Charlotte was usually at her dad’s restaurant in the mornings, being driven by her dad when she was in his custody. Her mom had her take the bus when she was over at her house.

However, Brianna wasn’t here today, and only Isla was, right across from Junior to his left. She quickly noticed him, shifting over to the right to lean in and whisper to him.

“Have you heard from her?”

He shook his head, not missing the anxiety in Isa’s tone.

“It’ll be fine, maybe she just overslept, you don’t know.”

He suggested, at this point just trying to keep the girl’s nervousness down. It was pretty obvious, from the way her leg was bouncing.

“But we still don’t know who that person was, and if she’s walking to school, what if they’re waiting or something? And she hasn’t answered any texts either or called me back. I mean, I know she’s dry, but she always-“

“Isla.”

She must’ve realized she was rambling, because she slumped into her seat with a sigh, and Junior put a hand on her shoulder. He made her look like an ant, and he just now realized that.

“Her dad probably took her phone, and jumping to conclusions about last night isn’t going to help anyone. We can talk to her once we get to school. You have second and third block with her, right?”

“Yeah..”

“Exactly, and Charlie’s with you almost the entire day, so am I, we’ll manage.”

She breathed out a sigh as the bus stopped, wheels beginning to slow as the large, old vehicle also sighed as if to match her, the small doors on the side opening as everyone began filing out.

Predictable as ever, Charlie was standing with a hand on her hip by the entrance of the school, scanning through the crowd for them, finding the two of them, and cocking her head to the side in silent question.

He shook his head once.

She pursed her lips but didn’t question it further as the three of them grouped up.

“About time.”

She said, giving both Junior and Isla a look.

“For the millionth time, we can’t control when the bus gets to our houses and drops us off, Garrick.”

Isla said, shooting Charlie a venomous look, before walking off into the crowd. Charlotte raised a brow, glancing over at Junior who stood there like a big lumbering oaf, everyone having to move around him.

“Who pissed in her cereal?”

She mumbled, grabbing Jr by the arm and dragging him off to their first block. He chuckled lightly.

“Language, Garrick.”

He said, imitating the manner that Isa had said ‘Garrick’, before shaking his head and muscle memory kicking in as he began walking through the school without Charlie dragging him.

“She’s just worried about Bri. You know how they are.”

“Thick as thieves, I know.”

She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Jr shrugged, strolling into their classroom as he set his bag down by his seat, which happened to be right to the left of Charlotte’s seat.

She took her bags out in an organized pile from biggest to smallest, laying out her pencil and highlighters for the day, as well as a color-coded notebook with stickers neatly placed on it. Junior simply grabbed a notebook out of his bag, hoping it was the right one, and snatched a pencil from Charlie’s pencil pouch.

She gasped, trying to grab it back, but too slowly.

“Don’t you dare. That’s one of my nice mechanicals.”

“It’s a pencil.”

“Give. It. Back.”

He grinned, dangling the pencil in front of her between his fingers, and snatching it away right when she tried to grab it.

This happened about three times, before she huffed, and snapped.

“John Price Jr, give it to me.”

His full name being said made him drop the pencil he’d claimed from shock, and he grumbled about something under his breath while Charlie picked it up, placed it back into her pencil pouch, and fished out a normal orange wooden pencil before placing it down onto his desk with a light ‘clack’.

“Thanks.”

He said dryly, and she gave a snake’s smile.

“You're welcome.”

She replied a shade too sweetly.

The first bell rang, meaning everyone had to get to their class within five minutes, and Junior watched as Isla walked in, still sulking, and promptly sat down next to Charlie.

“Where were you?”

Jr asked, brows raised as he saw her pull out her things from her cluttered bag, and push them onto her desk, not bothering to organize it at all. Messy and uncoordinated, but somehow making sense for her. That was definitely Isla.

“Getting the stick out of her ass, hopefully.”

Charlie muttered, casting a look at her, and Isa shot her a glare in return.

“I was emptying my bladder, Johnny-boy.”

Isla responded, slowly fading out of her bad mood as Jr cringed at the nickname. Johnny-boy was not something he wanted to be called. Anything other than junior or ‘little johN’ that some of his relatives affectionately called him. It always made him a bit irritated, now was no different.

”That’s lovely.”

He said dryly, and the bell rang not a moment later their first block beginning. Junior tried not to worry himself, but he hadn’t seen Brianna yet, not through his glances to the halls, trying to catch her walking by, or through his frequent checks to his phone when the teacher wasn’t looking. No word of her.

That was until the second block.

He walked in, backpack over his shoulder, glancing around the hallways, entering his classroom. The teacher wasn’t there, probably in the bathroom or getting some water, and most of the students in this class were clustered in small groups, talking about god knows what. He recognized some of them from brief conversations, but others were from different grade levels and whatnot.

Someone he did recognize, though, was the human version of an angry, wet cat sulking, when he saw a familiar blond braid, walking over and finding none other than Brianna Riley in all her scowling glory.

”Where have you been? We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for-”

”This can wait until lunch.”

She said, and Jr sighed, walking back to his seat. This particular teacher had caught onto the little friend group quickly and promptly separated all of you for her peace of mind. He didn’t blame her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed by it.

Fine.

It could wait until lunch.

After listening to her Spanish teacher drone on for nearly an hour, Charlotte decided that she wanted to never hear his somehow monotonous voice ever again in her life.

Something must’ve heard her mental prayers because her worries and thoughts were quickly interrupted by the bell ringing through the classroom. Girls started packing up, picking up their bags, while the boys shoved their things in their messy backpacks and began shoving people out of the way to get to lunch. Per usual.

She could put up with their overly strong colognes, their strong-smelling deodorant, and even the disgusting smells of sweat they would leave behind in classrooms or on the bus, but the thing she couldn’t stand was all the shoving and idiotic hyena laughing she heard in the hallways.

Slipping her notebook and pencil pouch neatly into her bag, she waited at the door of the classroom for when she could find a spot to slip through and leave, interweaving between the crowds and masses of people, the metallic clanging sound of the small lockers some chose to use filling the hallways.

She strode down the hallway, turning to the side so as not to bump into two girls standing around and blocking everyone for no reason, spraying their perfumes so many times that her nose burned when she smelled it and went to one of the side stairwells that led to the lunchroom.

The main stairwells were always clogged, so she’d learned to use the side ones in her freshman year after nearly being trampled.

It meant that she usually got there before everyone else, which she did today, getting in line and walking over to the table that the group of four usually took up, and sliding her lunchbox onto it. A perk of having a family that ran a restaurant was that she always got good lunch food, never having to eat whatever sloppy mess of barely-qualifiable food the cafeteria served for lunch.

The rest of her friends, however, were not so lucky.

Isla arrived first, waving from the lunch line, and going through it before sitting down and watching Charlotte unpack her daily sandwich with nothing short of pure jealousy.

Bri was next, Isa noticing her in the line, per usual (She always had an uncanny ability to spot people in crowds, probably because of her obsession with the Where’s Waldo games) and pointing her out. Junior was right behind her, the both of them arriving at the table at relatively the same time.

Had today been an A-Day and not a B-Day, they would’ve had nearly identical schedules, and been here at the same time. But it wasn’t.

”You wanna explain why ya haven’t been answering none o’ us?”

Isa asked, the frustration in her tone obvious despite the food shoved into her mouth. Charlie cringed at it. Junior’s big, brown eyes didn’t hide his worry at all, but he remained silent for now.

”’M dad took my phone and the walkie, said I’m on house arrest for a month.”

They let out a collective breath at that, and most definitely not in relief. Junior and Charlotte opened their mouths to speak at the same time, before catching each other’s eyes, and Jr gesturing for her to go first.

”What did the police do, I mean, do you have a fine or anything?”

She questioned, and Bri’s scowl deepened.

”Detention for a week straight, is all.”

Charlie heard Isla mumbling, and doing what she assumed to be cursing under her breath, but her accent was so thick when she was worked up that she could hardly even decipher it.

”I’m assuming that means you won’t be coming by for a while?”

She asked with a raised brow, feigning sarcasm despite the worry that tugged at her. They all usually met up after school at her grandparent’s restaurant, then Bri would walk them all home, other than Charlie, since she stayed with her dad until he was done working. Some nights she would take the bus to her mom’s house, though, sometimes only on weekends, sometimes only on weekdays. It depended on how the custody was worked out every month.

But the fact of the matter was, it would be strange not having her there for a week.

”Not for a month. That’s par’ of the house arrest, can’t go out at all.”

Even stranger not to have her there for a month.

”I know your dad can be strict, but a month? Seems a bit overkill.”

Junior said, shaking his head lightly, before taking a spoonful of cafeteria tray beans into his mouth. Isla remained oddly silent, but eventually spoke, her hand going to dig into her backpack.

”Well, on the bright side, look wha’ I brought.”

She said, pulling out the manila file folder that Isla had told both Charlie and Junior about last night, after the entire arrest. Charlotte didn’t remember every detail from her Scottish friend’s rambling but knew the gist of it. At least she hoped.

A deep sigh from Bri.

”Let’s see if it was worth it,”

She said, and Isla opened the file up, placing her open backpack on the table to hide the folder from anyone in view. After what had happened last night, she didn’t know who to trust anymore. Who could’ve been in that office with the folder, who could’ve led them out to the school and called the police?

”I was lookin’ through it last night, and it’s weird, just our dad’s name’s with little nicknames in the middle. Sort o’ like a dog tag.”

She said, opening it up, and surely enough there were different things on each page. The key part of it was the names listed on one of the pages, as well as other things that had been crossed through with a thick black marker, covered up. Charlie could’ve sworn she could still smell the Sharpie ink from it. Twisting the page to a proper angle for her to see, she took a good, long look at the page.

Cap. John Price

Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley

Sarg. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Sarg. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Everything else was either redacted or blotted out. All of them paused for a moment before Bri spoke.

”Your dad’s first name is actually Johnny?”

Isla looked confused for a moment, before taking one look at Brianna’s slightly judgmental and flabbergasted expression, and busted out laughing.

The tension in the air deflated quickly, as Jr joined in, and Charlie let out a few giggles herself. Brianna still looked quite confused by the time they were done, glaring at the piece of paper like it was the root of all evil.

”No, seriously, I thought it was John, and Johnny was just a nickname. You’re telling me that…”

She muttered, before sighing and shaking her head as if to shake off whatever had possessed her for a moment.

”Never mind.”

Jr picked up on the blonde’s subtle cues of embarrassment, and allowing himself a final little chuckle, he then refocused on the file at hand.

”Back on task, guys.”

”Right,”

Isla said, glancing back down at the piece of paper, skimming over it again, and lifting it to one of the buzzing cafeteria lights as if to try and see through the ink covering more than half of the words.

”So, what does this even mean?”

Isa asked, and Charlie took the paper from her hands, putting it back on the gray table.

”It means our dads have been keeping secrets from us.”

Brianna’s eyes narrowed, glancing at the paper again, then at the rest of them, eyes drifting over each of them quickly.

”Why go through all that effort? Never met a vet’ tha’ hides their background, unless they were on tha’ wrong side of a war.”

Junior and Charlie’s eyes met, briefly remembering the conversation they’d had in that alley before. It was risky to reveal it now, especially when Isla could hardly keep a secret from any of her family, but she felt odd hiding it.

“They were Special Forces,”

She said in a hushed tone, leaning in, her eyes glancing around for any eavesdroppers. Both Bri and Isa looked mildly surprised, Bri more angrily confused than anything.

“Wha’s that?”

Isla asked with a furrowed brow, and Charlie answered back.

“Dealin’ with terrorists, missing bombs, all that deal.”

“How do you know wha’ they were?”

Bri asked with narrowed eyes, all the while Jr silently watched, keeping his mouth conveniently full of food so he couldn’t be questioned like Charlotte.

“I..went through my dad’s computer a while back, got into some old locked files. There wasn’t a lot that wasn’t redacted, but it gave some of their mission reports.”

Bri and Isa shared a glance, the scot of the group’s nostrils flaring.

“And ya dinnae think te tell any o’ us, nay?”

Per usual, her accent got thicker the more worked up she was, leading to some mostly non-legible sentences that took Charlotte a few minutes to even mentally translate.

“I thought it would be better to let them come to us about it first, and I don’t want my dad to know I snooped through his computer and broke into some of his files.”

“Righ’, because the Garrick family name can’t be tarnished, can it?”

Bri said in a rough tone, Isa opened her mouth again, but one of the blonde’s hands lying on her arm that was on the table stopped her, making her settle down. Looking upset, rightfully so Charlie would admit, Isla then turned her attention to Jr.

“An’ what about you? You’re not mad?”

She questioned as if the obvious answer was yes. Charlotte knew the obvious answer was yes, she’d kept something important from them, even if only trying to keep things good, and if they’d known beforehand then things could’ve been different.

Junior looked like a deer in headlights.

He swallowed a spoonful of beans, glancing between the pair at one end of the table, and back at Charlie on his side, clearly weighing his options here.

“I think it was wrong to keep it from us,”

Isla opened her mouth to speak again, her fiery temper stoked higher, but Jr cut her off before she had the chance.

“But, I think she had the right intentions, and the only thing we can do is move forward.”

He finished. A sigh of relief from Charlotte, one of probable resignation from Isla, and a final sigh of reluctant agreement from Brianna.

“He’s right. Whoever set us up last night, they knew this,”

One of her fingers went to tap against the names on the file.

“And for wha’ever reason, they wanted us, or at least Isa, to know it too.”

Junior nodded, the gears in his head coming back to life, working out a plan, a solution to a problem.

“Do you think it’s possible they only meant for Isla to follow? I don’t see how they could’ve known she would walkie all of us.”

He suggested, his forearm now propped against the table, the back of his hand holding his chin up, utensils now discarded on the lunch tray that he’d forgotten about by now.

“Unless they’ve been watching for a while.”

Charlie suggested, and a collective shiver went through the group at that. The thought of someone watching them, stalking them for days, weeks, even months on end was nothing short of terrifying.

“I’m wonderin’ if our shadow-man called the cops, or someone outside all o’ this did.”

Isa said, stabbing at her food with renewed vigor, Bru nodding as if to support her point.

“Who would be up that late other than someone purposefully watching, anyway?”

Charlie asked, and Jr shrugged.

“Some people go out for a midnight cig, or stay up late watchin’ the game, you never know. We can’t just write off any civilians because we’re suspicious and paranoid.”

Jr offered to the conversation, another nod from everyone involved. Bri glanced over at Isa, then at Charlie.

“You said they were special forces?”

She asked, and Charlie nodded. A slight pause.

“Any other details you remember from those files?”

Charlie wracked her brain, thinking if anything she remembered from the lines of text she’d gotten out of breaking into her father’s locked computer files. It had been gibberish, mostly, just military lingo that she didn’t understand and a lot of numbers.

“Not really. Numbers, a few maps near Western Asia, military lingo. Nothing I understood.”

She said, and Bri nodded.

“Why? What’re you thinkin’?”

Jr then asked, and Isla watched carefully.

“You’re saying our dads killed terrorists and I’m assumin’ a whole lotta other crazy shit, so even if they’re retired, doesn’t mean any of their relatives are safe. Anyone lookin’ for some payback…”

Her voice trailed off at that, shaking her head. Junior’s first thoughts were of his little sister and mother, and the countless nieces and nephews he had, Charlotte’s mind going to her grandparents and family, and Isla’s mind shooting to her giant Scottish family.

“They wouldn’t. I’m sure you’re just overthinking’ it.”

Isa said, swallowing thickly. A shadow passed over Bri’s eyes as she spoke next, her eyes focusing on the paper, on her father’s name, more on the thick letters before her father’s name.

‘Lt.’

“You ever met my uncle, nephew, or my grandparents?”

She asked, and they exchanged glances before Junior dared to speak.

“No, I’ve…never heard of them before.”

Charlotte watched Bri’s knuckles go near white with her death grip around the cafeteria fork she held which looked all too close to snapping.

“Exactly.”

Tags:

@valscodblog

@seconds-over-first

#writers on tumblr #cod fanfic #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #Kyle garrick #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #Simon riley #cod fandom

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metalupyourazzzz · 8 months ago

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Siren // Orm Marius

Orm Marius & my OC, Cora

Description: Cora is a young girl living off the coast of Amnesty Bay, Maine. She's known Arthur for years after he saved her when she washed ashore. After years of being tangled with the League of Assassins, Arthur comes knocking on her door, Orm in tow. He comes with news: David Kane is intent on destroying the world, and he needs her help to stop him.

Set during Aquaman 2

Status: Ongoing

Rating: Mature(some blood and gore, maybe some smut)

Can also be found on Wattpad: metalupyourazzz

Chapter 1: Take it Off

Years ago

A beach outside of Maine

Arthur stood on the white sand, panting.

“Again.” Vulko commanded, hands laced behind his back, “You’ll never claim the throne if you do not have proper training.”

“This is bullshit,” Arthur cried out, “I just want to meet my mother, my brother. I just want to see Atlantis!”

He shifted his weight, twirling his trident gently, scraping the end in the sand.

“Patience, my young prince, everything good happens with time,” Vulko stated, pacing around, sand kicking up behind him.

Arthur began to speak, when the waves crashed, and something washed ashore.

Someone.

He ran over to the huddled lump and the first thing he saw was the bright green of her eyes. She wasn’t breathing, yet her gaze pierced through him like a knife.

“Vulko?” He whispered as the man stood grimly beside him.

She started coughing, salty water spewing from her mouth, and she rolled over. She had a large gash in her forehead, and she slowly stood to her feet.

“Where am I?” She asked hoarsely, blinking the salt from her eyelashes.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur cooed, “You’re safe.”

Today

09:00 hours

Amnesty Bay, Maine

Cora wasn’t sure what woke her up first, the sunlight peeking through the thin, filtered curtains or the loud knocking on the door. Grumbling slightly, she peeled back the heavy blankets on her bed, and sat up, rubbing her temples. She hoped it helped rid last night’s tequila before she answered the door. A soft yawn escaped her lips as she picked up her phone, groggily scrolling through the 16 missed calls and various texts, all from the same number.

“Arthur Curry, you’re the reason I drink,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled her long blue locks up into a ponytail, quickly combing her fingers through her unruly bangs.

Stepping out of bed, she grabbed the nearest shirt and threw it on, padding across the cold wooden floors to the door. Slowly opening it, she stood somewhat dumbfounded on who stood on the other side.

“Hey squirt!” The tall Hawaiian yelled, picking her up in a tight hug, spinning her before setting her down.

“Arthur, always good to see your face,” she said through a forced smile, his loud voice cutting knives into her head.

“The place looks good,” he remarked, doing a 360 around her dinky studio. He looked a lot different than she remembered. He was more muscular, his hair was longer and more blonde, and he had a ridiculous spandex suit on. His eyes weren’t their normal brown, they glowed a dark gold color, and he had rings and bracelets adorning his arms and fingers.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?” She asked, walking over to her kitchen, pouring a steaming cup of coffee, “Last time I saw you, you had less clothes, and you were less…all of that.”

She finished her sentence with a small motion to his attire and big smile, “You still with the JL?”

He shrugged her questions off, “We are here, because we need your help.”

“We?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur motioned to the door, and that’s when she noticed the other man standing there. He was shorter than Arthur, and from what she could tell, a lot different. He had no shirt on, tweed pants that hung low off his hips, and sandy hair that covered his face, alongside a rugged beard.

“Arthur why is Rob Zombie in my apartment?” She asked.

Arthur snorted, and she could’ve sworn she saw the other man roll his eyes.

“That’s my brother, Orm.” He whispered to her.

“Oh, the righteous douchebag that tried to kill humanity, gotcha.” She whispered back, before she turned to him, “C’mon sunshine let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Arthur if you haven’t forgotten we have better things to do.” The man said, “We have to meet my supplier.”

Cora raised her eyebrow, looking between the two. She shook her head, grabbing a chair and kitchen scissors, “Sit.”

Orm looked at her skeptically, “You’re surely not using those on me.”

“It’s either that or I shave you bald take your pick,” she snapped. He immediately sat down, and she draped a blanket over his chest.

“You still have suits here?” Arthur asked, thumbing through her record collection. He picked one up, and blew the dust off of it, setting it into the record player. Soon the hard melodies of ‘take it off’ by KISS started drifting through the room. The slow snipping of the scissors mixed with it as she worked on Orm’s unruly hair.

“Yeah, I’ve got supplies as well. The League brings me some every so often. I think it’s just an excuse for Talia to keep an eye on me.” She replied, letting out a small laugh. She gently pushed a lock of Orm’s hair out of his face as she worked on the front of his hair. His piercing blue eyes met hers, and she flicked her gaze back to what she was doing.

Soon enough, his hair was at a reasonable length, no longer covering his eyes. He was watching her as she moved, with a grim expression.

Filthy surface dweller, he thought to himself, touching me like I’m a peasant. Treating me like a peasant.

She moved quickly, shaving off his beard, leaving no trace of the torture of being locked in the Fisherman Kingdom. As she worked, she heard a small crash, and something tinkered across the floor, and Arthur picked it up.

“Cora?” Arthur asked, quietly. She looked over to see him holding a crown. One that brought her almost to tears. She dropped the scissors she was holding, and they skittered across the floor.

“A-Arthur, I can explain.”

She barely got her sentence out when he was standing in front of her. His once happy expression was turned to a grim one. His face contorted into an angry frown, as he put the crown almost against her. She trembled as she looked up into his eyes. The fire in them terrified her, it reminded her of the one wearing the crown. The day she never wanted to remember. The one that brought chills down her spine every second she thought of it.

“Cora.” Arthur whispered, voice shaking in anger, “Why the hell do you have my father’s crown?”

#orm marius #orm Marius Aquaman #aquaman #aquaman 2 #arthur curry #king orm #ocean master #league of assassins #oc #my oc stuff #my ocs #fantasy #atlantis #aquaman and the lost kingdom #aquamanthelostkingdom #the lost kingdom #orm marius x reader

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productsorganic · 1 year ago

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paristheonewhoreads · 10 months ago

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Cowboy and the Tigress

Chapter two ☁️🌷2.4k words

Warnings: none again? Very plot rich chapter. Easy going. Next chapter we’ll fr see how badass reader is now that you’ve seen how much of a softy she is for Ellie. And definitely one step closer to meeting big daddy Joel.🫣🤭🤭

Spring 2023, Boston QZ

The morning air is crisp and fresh. The dampness from last night adding its coldness to the chilly morning, sun trying to warm it all away.

Birds are chirping in trees nearby, their songs, carried by the soft mellow of spring’s breeze. It rattles the leaves in trees close by, nature's wind chime adding its own noise to the symphony.

It’s a melodic morning, to say the least. At least for some. For the lucky ones that have the time to appreciate it. To listen in awe as well as admire its beauty.

For you, however? Well, you’ve been up since before the sun had made its bright arrival. The darkness of night still not yet gone. You’d awoken to knocking on your door. You’re immediately privy to the fact that no good news ever arrives this early, but aren’t surprised. You get up by the third round of knocks, slightly starting to prick at your annoyance.

Getting out of bed, it’s colder than you expected. Your warm sheets doing their job of cocooning you in warmth.

Winter may have passed but it’s icy weather still lingers. It doesn’t help that you're dressed in a white cami top and some pink short shorts either.

You cross your room and take a peek into Ellie’s room, making sure she hasn’t been disrupted by whoever the hell is knocking at this hour. She’s fast asleep, snoring slightly even though she swears to you she isn’t possibly capable of such a thing.

You close her door to conceal the noises from her quiet haven. And trot your way through your dark apartment. Once you reach the door, you grab the gun you keep in the drawer of the bookshelf near the entrance, it isn’t big, but she sure packs a punch. You clock her silently before taking a peep through your peephole.

You recognize them as your friend, Hank. You ease up at this, and start to undo the series of locks you’ve installed on your door. You open it up a crack, the last of the locks being just a chain, and lean forward so that he can see just a sliver of you.

“Hank? What’s so important you have to come banging on my door for?” You demand

Hank is one of the only men you trust. One of the only people you trust period. And although you respect and appreciate the friendship you’ve both made over the years, you don’t exactly appreciate the late-night visit.

He’s always been someone you could trust with your secrets, your frustrations, and concerns. And you’ve also been that for him. He’s older than you, much older. Tall, built like a damn redwood. Ever since you’ve met him he’s always been strong, big broad shoulders, with built arms, and thunderous legs. He’s become accustomed to letting his hair grow longer than when you’d first made acquaintances, you’d teased him about how long hair would suit him more than that horrendous military bus cut he’d once had. And he’d apparently taken that to heart.

Now he sports his long salt and pepper, even though it’s mostly salt, hair. He’s got his mustache and beard trimmed and combed, his pride and joys really. For being 73 he’s not at all someone you’d dismiss immediately. He has the looks and the staggering height to be noticed in a room instantaneously. Wearing his Demi jacket and jeans, construction boots on too.

“Sorry peaches, but I got something you’re probably not gonna be too happy about” he gruffs out before adding “and I could really use some of that coffee of yours.” Of course, it’s bad news. And of course, they send Hank to tell out of all others.

With a sigh, you close the door and slide the chain off before opening it back up and allowing Hank to step in. His steps are heavy and loud against your wooden floors. “Try to keep it down will ya? Kids still sleeping.” You mumble as you lock your door again and put your gun on the table.

“Course. She been doing okay? Heard she got into quite the showdown with another kid couple of weeks back.” he calls out from the dining table as you make your way into the kitchen to get water boiling for coffee.

You leave the kettle on as you begin to take out the ground beans. Along with sugar and a tea bag for yourself. “Yeah, she’s doing alright. Poor things been home all week since they suspended her. She’s growing tired of seeing these four walls every day with not much to do.” You know that if it were you you'd have probably gone crazy by now.

Pouring the boiling water into a mug you’ve preserved just for him you make his cup. Not too sweet but also not too bitter. Making your cup of tea, you head back with both mugs, handing him his as you take a seat across from him at the table. “Thanks, darlin’” he husks into the rum of the mug as he takes a sip. “Damn, that’s good.”

You hum in response, re-dipping your tea bag into the water so it thaws faster. “So? You said you had bad news. What happened now?” You ask

“Now I didn’t say it was ‘bad news’ I just said it was something you weren’t gonna be too pleased hearing.” Setting his cup down he leans forward a bit to try and keep his voice down. “There’s someone you know that’s been taking quite the hefty amount of supplies out of the trades he’s been running. Been selling them on his own too. Bastards grown a pair thinking he hasn’t been found out yet and bit too much he could chew. Last I heard he was supposed to be holding some guns for some suckers and ended up selling them. They’ve been looking for em since.”

At this your not surprised. Robert was known for being sneaky, that’s why you’d let him run your divisions down south. What does surprise you is that he’s been taking supplies from you. “That slimy fucker. Though he would’ve known better than to take from me,” you say lowly and take a sip of your own drink.

Sighing you ask “So what? They’ve found him and he’s asking for help or is he starting a catfight?”. Hank shakes his head “No, nobody knows where the assholes hiding, or at least most don’t. He’s staking out down south in one of the warehouses we’ve got down there. Found out this morning from a couple of guys that said they’d been working for him. Turns out he ain’t got no damn way of actually paying em. Been writing people empty checks.” He shrugs and continues to gulp down his coffee.

Nodding your head, “Well then we get our shit back. Show him who’s still boss around here.” You say getting up to wash your now empty cup.

Hank follows you to the sink upon hearing this. “Now hold on, I don’t want you going down there. FEDRA’s been real hot down there these past couple of months. I’ll take care of Robert. Just thought you should know before I head on over there.” He shrugs, leaning on the counter right next to you.

Your head snaps in his direction at this. “I can handle a backstabbing pig like him. Want to be there to see the fucker stumble over his own lies. And besides you have to watch that our next run doesn’t go wrong. It’s the first big trade with another QZ and I don’t want it to be a shit show.” grabbing his empty mug and washing that too.

Hank doesn’t say anything as he watches you dry the cup in your hands, evaluating your words. “You know I can do both. You ain’t got no need to get your hands dirty if you let me take care of it. Besides, kid needs you, trip down south is a couple of days tops.”

Jesus, Ellie what were you going to say to her? You’d only gotten back from a half a month-long trip a week ago. She’s no newcomer to being home alone, but it feels like recently you’ve been leaving her alone too long for your liking.

“You think she’d be mad at me if I tell her I gotta leave so soon again?” you mumble “I think you should definitely talk to her about it if it’s something you're willing to do. I’ll let you decide who goes to Robert, you're the boss. But just know that if you need me to go show that fucker who he’s messing with I’ll do it.” he places a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze and you a tight-lipped smile, before he’s making his way out.

“Thanks for letting me know, I’ll make sure to let you know my decision later today.” You thank him before he’s on his merry way.

You’re up for hours until the sun comes up, sitting in your armchair by the window till its warmth is seeping through the curtains. It’s only when you hear footsteps making their way down the hall that you’re snapped out of the thoughts running through your head.

“Someone’s up early.” You tease her with a grin, as you turn to see Ellie walking barefoot toward you, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she finds you sat. “Still on school time, I guess.” She shrugs making her way over to you. You open your arms, signaling for her to give you a hug, as she climbs onto the chair with you and settles into your lap.

You give a playful groan as she sits “The fact that you think I can still carry you is cute but pitiful. You know my old women back can’t handle it anymore.”. Wrapping your arms around her as she lays her head on you shoulder “your not even that old yet. You’ve still got a couple years of use in you.” She jokes, laughing at her own attempt at playing into yours

“Ha ha.” You retort. It’s silent for a few moments before you’re speaking up again, “I have some news for you. That I know you won’t like, but it’s work.” She picks her head up with a frown on her face, eyebrows furrowed, “God don’t tell me you need to go away again.” her response has you rethinking how you are going to phrase this as you pause for a minute.

Deciding to throw all caution to the wind you begin to explain, “It would just be for a couple of days, a week max. Some asshole down south has been taking his own share of equipment from trades. And I need to go settle it before he messes too much shit up.” You try to say nonchalantly, but Ellie’s up and out of your arms the second you say ‘a week’.

She starts shaking her head as you continue to explain “You just got back! And what about me? I can’t even go to school! I’ll be stuck here alone with Hank telling me stories about his military days. Did you know they used to pepper spray them on purpose as a test??” the last part she says has you laughing softly and getting up from the chair making your way to her and crushing her with a hug.

“I know it’s only been a while since I’m back. And I’m sorry I really am. But this guy is really getting on my last fucking nerve. And besides Hank's not that bad.” You try to sway the odds in your favor.

Ellie looks up at you “You gonna kick some ass?” this has you smiling wider “Hell yeah I am” you confirm. Satisfied with your answer she sighs, “And it’ll only be for a couple of days?” She lifts a brow.

You place your right hand over your heart, “Scouts honor” is all you say. She nods and shrugs “Then what the hell. You can bring me back some books to make up for it. Oh! And that sweet bread that old lady makes. That’s shits good.”

You nod, “Language Ellie. And yeah, I can do that.”

The rest of your day goes by uneventful. You talk to Hank to let him know that you’re going to deal with Robert and to keep an eye on Ellie while you’re gone. You’ve packed all you need into a backpack and are running over the rules with Ellie before leaving.

“No staying out past curfew. No more than one person over. No smoking my weed. AND please for the love of god, take it easy on Hank.” You’re both at the door with Ellie seeing you off.

“Yeah yeah I know. And beside I don’t even know where you stash your weed anymore.” She shrugs. “I’m not joking. You’re way to young to be getting high. It’ll stop your brain from growing if you’re on it at your age.”

She groans “Alright alright, no snooping looking for weed.” She pauses before asking “could I at least have a friend over?” She says giving you her best puppy eyes.

You let out a breath before contemplating it, deciding that if she’s going to be here alone, she should at least have someone beside 73 year old Hank to talk to. “Who did you have in mind?” You ask, to which Ellie smiles successfully “Riley. Duh.” She immediately answers.

“Uh huh, okay fine. She can come over, just make sure whoever’s taking care of her knows.” You make your way to the kitchen to make sure there’s enough food for everyone.

“There should be a lady that’ll drop by some groceries tomorrow at noon, her names Elizabeth. She’ll need you to let her in so she can drop em off but you’ll need to put em away okay?” Ellie nods “okay, I can do that.”

“Alright then that’s all. Don’t get into to much trouble while I’m gone.” You pull her in for a tight hug as you kiss the top of her head. She hugs back even tighter as she mushes her face into your upper belly. “I won’t.” She mumbles, you can hear a smidge of sadness in her voice.

You frown and pull back to make her look at you “I’ll be fine.” You reassure her as you brush some hair behind her ear. “Yeah I know. Just hurry and get back okay? And don’t forget my books or else I’ll actually be mad.” Her remark has you smiling in amusement. “Aye-Aye captain.” You salute as you both embrace one more time before heading out.

Next Chapter

Chapter two?? 😭🙈 Hope you all enjoyed that. Again apologies if my writing still isn’t as optimal as it could be. I have to get back into the flow of it again! 😅 Chester 3 is already under development so hopefully another update with in the week! Again I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading 😊💗💗

#joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #the last of us

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txemrn · 2 years ago

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Book: TRR/TRH (events actually occur in TRH Book 1)

Pairing: Liam x MC (Riley); Bertrand x Savannah

Word Count: ~2500

Warning: innuendos; a little language; fluffiness

A/N: I usually enjoy writing fairly angsty TRR material, but when I started gearing up for this past week's @kingliamappreciationweek, I decided I really wanted to write something new that wasn't so dramatic. So, I started thinking about how Liam is a history buff... and if y'all don't know this by now, I'm from Texas, and the thought of that tall glass of water knowing about my home state's history...whew... Give me a moment... This is pure silliness. It's a re-write of Bertrand's bachelor party/Savannah's bachelorette party, and it's just... silly. It does not follow canon very well. But, I hope you still enjoy it! Happy KLAW 2023, friends!

A/N 2: This is my submission for @choicesflashfics week 30! I will be using prompt 3: "That's how the story goes." It will be in bold.

A/N 3: These characters and some of the plot belong to our dear friends Pixelberry. This was not truly pre-read or beta'd. Please excuse my errors.

~👑~

"Alright, lil' ladies with the beautiful bride-to-be!" A burly bartender with a thick drawl and matching beard comes out from behind the counter, making his way to Savannah Walker's bachelorette party. Delivering a tray of golden caramel-colored shots, he piles each one high with decadent whipped cream. "Here ya go: six blow job shots."

Hana spews out her cocktail, covering her mouth with rosy cheeks.

"Mon dieu! Did–did he just say–"

"Like you don't know what that is, Kiara," Olivia snorts. "Drink up, poufiasse."

Savannah, Madeleine, and Riley cover their giggles, leaning into one another as they take their drinks.

"Wait," Hana holds up her hands as they prepare to toast their third round of shots. "Where's Penelope?"

"Oh, I'm here! I'm here!" She runs up, out of breath, her short hair and denim dress completely drenched.

"What on earth happened to you?" Riley starts grabbing napkins.

"I was checking in with my dog sitter, but the reception here is awful. Plus, it's raining like cats and dogs out—oooooo!" Penelope's eyes beam at the sight of the shots. "What are these?" She leans down to sniff before humming in approval.

"Blow jobs," Olivia smirks.

"Oh!" Penelope nods with curious fascination. "Leo said that about my lips one time–"

"He said what?" Madeleine raises an eyebrow.

"I know, I didn't understand what he meant either."

"No, that's not–nevermind."

"Hold up." Riley raises her hands to silence everyone before turning to Penelope. "Raining like cats and dogs?" She grimaces, glancing at Savannah. "I hope the guys are alright–"

"Gunther!"

The sudden boisterous voice of Drake Walker echoes through the dive bar, the doors swinging loudly, clapping up against the wooden walls. The large bartender turns, then brightens when he sees his old-time customer and friend coming into his establishment.

"Whiskers, is that you?"

The girls quietly glare at one another, mouthing the word 'whiskers.'

The two men grab each other's hands in a shake before pulling into a brotherly hug. Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell file in through the door, shaking droplets from their wet clothes.

"You guys!" Riley jumps up to greet her husband.

Savannah follows behind, wrapping her arms around Bertrand before brushing a kiss against his lips. "What are y'all doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Maxwell chuckles, throwing his thumb behind his shoulder.

"The campgrounds were rained out," Liam explains, combing his wife's hair behind her ear. "We thought we could stick it out as long as the creek didn't rise too high. But then," he shakes his head, chuckling, "the tents flooded. The truck almost got stuck in the mud."

"Our clothes and shoes are airing out back at the house," Bertrand states, watching his bride fix his wet hair.

"Wow," Olivia snickers, "so much for roughing it for your bachelor party, huh, Beaumont?"

"I beg your pardon," Bertrand stiffens in annoyance, "we almost died out there, duchess."

"It's water."

"Centimeters upon centimeters–"

"Imagine meters of it. Frozen–"

"Well," Riley interjects the budding feud, "I, for one, am happy you guys are out of the nasty weather." She holds her hand up to the bartender, "first round on the crown!"

"I like the sound of that," Maxwell chuckles.

"'First round on the crown'?" Liam whispers in his wife's ear, humored.

Riley scrunches up her nose, a mischievous grin crawling across her lips. "What can I say?" She giggles, slinking an arm around her husband’s waist. "I've been a queen for over a month, and I haven’t declared anything yet." She turns to her friends. "Let them drink booze!" She glances back at Liam, who's shaking his head at his tipsy wife. "What? I was channeling my inner Marie Antoinette."

"I… caught the reference," he narrows his eyes, gently placing a grip around Riley's neck. "I hope she’s not the inspiration of your own reign," he squeezes his fingers playfully, lowering his voice into a growl. "I'd hate for you to end up like her."

"You're not convincing me otherwise with your hand around my throat, my king." They knowingly snicker to one another, sharing a kiss.

"Okay, you newlyweds," Olivia snickers, rolling her eyes before turning to Drake. "So, um, Whiskers?"

He crosses his arms. "Yes…Red?" He collects a tray of glasses and a fifth of whiskey from Gunther to bring to the table.

"Curious minds want to know about this nickname."

"Awww, you’re thinking about me, Red?" She scoffs as he purposely bumps into her shoulder. "Maybe you'd rather a demonstration of why they call me Whiskers–"

"Drake Elmer!" Savannah scolds. "You're disgusting." She glances to the ladies. "Only Gunther calls him that, and the only reason he calls him that is because of Dad."

"Dad had a rule," Drake air quotes, "that I couldn't taste whiskey until I had whiskers." He nods towards the bartender, "Gunther there served me my first whiskey right after Dad's funeral–"

"Drakey!" The syrupy voice of Savannah's ex-boyfriend bellows from across the room. "And he brought his royal round up!" The broad-shouldered red-head gives a curt bow, removing his Stetson as he notices Liam, switching to a British accent. "Your majesty."

Liam nods cordially before casually turning towards Riley. "What is it with you Americans thinking everyone in Europe talks with that accent?" Riley giggles under her breath, pinching her husband teasingly.

"Bert!" Chuck opens up his arms, pulling the duke into a tight, bear hug. "How's our groom? Come down here to flex your trivia knowledge?"

"Trivia?" Maxwell questions.

A sudden jolt of excitement hits Drake, his eyes widening as he looks to Gunther. "Is that tonight?"

"You bet yer' asses, Whiskers. $250 cash prize and a bottle of Jack to share."

"Whatd'ya say, Drakey? For old time's sake?" Chuck holds out his hand. Without giving it much thought, Drake clasps Chuck's calloused hand, pulling him into a quick hug. The men begin to hoot and grunt, clapping as they turn to join the rest of Chuck's friends in the corner.

But then Chuck stops, spinning on his heel. He glares at Bertrand before fixing a charming smirk to his mouth. "Where are my manners? Bert, the team is full, or else I'd invite you to join–"

"That's–" Bertrand clears his throat, "--quite alright, I assure you–"

"I mean," Chuck motions to Liam and Maxwell, "unless y'all wanted to make your own team." He glances over his shoulder, “Gunther, what’s tonight’s theme?

"Texas history, fellas," Gunther announces. "Trivia about the greatest fucking country in the world. Texas."

"Ahh. See?" Chuck swings out his arms, shrugging. "That’s how the story goes. Y'all better sit this one out." With the deep clack of his cowboy boots, he adjusts his belt buckle before slowly strutting back to his seat.

Seeing the defeat in his face, Savannah runs a hand across Bertrand's chest before giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, hun," she softly croons, "that's not even your idea of fun anyway."

Bertrand grows rigid. "What do you mean? I like to have fun–"

"Of course, B, just… in other… ways–"

"I," he pulls away from his fiancée, pressing his finger into his chest, "am… the epitome of fun–"

"You're right, but–"

"I'm a crate full of apes!"

Riley looks over her shoulder to Liam, whispering, "Does he know that it's a barrel full of–?"

"Shhh," Liam softly hushes, "just let him go."

"You there!" Bertrand shouts to Gunther, causing everyone to freeze. "We would like to play."

"Uh, Bertrand? A word." Maxwell motions for his brother to join him as he stumbles over to Liam. "Are you crazy?" He whisper shouts. "These people already enjoy making fun of us. Why do you want to do this?"

"It's the principle of it all," Bertrand grows serious.

Maxwell sighs. "What do you think, Li?"

Liam looks up at Bertrand whose gaze is now attentive to Savannah. She laughs at something Kiara says, causing Bertrand's demeanor to slump a little more, as if each second with her reminds him he's not worthy of her.

Liam gets that.

"I think we should do it."

"See, Bertrand? Even Li–wait, what?" Maxwell's jaw drops. "You think this is a good idea?"

"It's just a game, right?" Liam winks handsomely. "Besides, I think Bertrand needs this."

"But Li… Texas trivia? Those guys reek of BBQ, football and leather."

“And we have survived how many secret coups attacks? Liam shrugs before patting the younger Beaumont on the back. "This could be fun."

—

Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell settle at a bar top table near four other teams, including Chuck and Drake's group. As Gunther passes out electronic buzzers, he explains the rules. Chuck rubs his hands together in cocky delight as Bertrand wipes his brow with small drink napkins.

"Alright! Is everybody ready?" Gunther announces over a karaoke machine microphone. "Let's begin. When is Texas Independence Day?"

Chuck buzzes in with a proud, sarcastic snicker. "March 2nd."

"Correct!"

"Ahh, snaps, you guys," Maxwell hangs his head in his hands. "This was a bad idea."

"It's only been one question," Liam encourages.

"And we're already losing!" Maxwell whines, covering his eyes.

"Next question. Before her independence, Texas was governed by how many different nations?"

Liam hits the buzzer, turning to an unsuspecting Bertrand. "Psst… how many forks are in the traditional Cordonian place setting?"

Bertrand scoffs. "Six!" He barks out loud before realizing everyone is silent, staring at him.

"Correct!"

"Huh?" Maxwell looks up, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Way to go, Bertrand!" Riley and Savannah cheer as the other ladies clap and whistle.

"Alright," Gunther starts, "next question…"

The trivia night continues, back and forth, question for question. The other teams at the bar had opportunities to answer, but overall, Chuck and Drake's team remained in the lead.

But not by much.

The men from Cordonia gave them quite a run for their money, thanks to Liam and his wealth of knowledge. But although Liam knows the majority of the answers, he is yet to speak for the team; rather, he turns to Bertrand each time after hitting the buzzer, prompting him with a different question that possesses the same answer.

"Okay, folks," the bartender announces, "this is the last question. If this team," Gunther points to Bertrand, Liam and Maxwell, "chimes in and gets it right, it will tie the game, sending us into sudden death." The bar fills with cheers, patrons shouting with excitement and pounding their fists on the tables. "Here we go. The Texas Revolution started in what year?"

There's a slight hesitation, but finally Liam turns to Bertrand and states, "The ending of the Bavarian Regency of Greece." Bertrand furrows his eyebrows, but Liam gives him a reassuring nod as he hits the buzzer.

He clears his throat. "1835?"

Everyone freezes, a hush falling over the bar in anxious anticipation.

"Folks? We've got ourselves a tied game!"

Bertrand exhales heavily, closing his eyes. Liam pats him on the back while Maxwell cheers, tugging on his brother's shoulder. The entire bar is in a fuss as Chuck and Drake stare confusingly at each other. Gunther gets back on the mic, and explains the sudden death round, which requires for each team to choose one member to represent them.

"You've got this, Li," Maxwell applauds, Bertrand smiling and nodding.

"I think… Bertrand should take this."

"Pardon my insolence, sir, but I do not find that to be a wise decision," Bertrand argues.

"I agree with my brother, Li," Maxwell nods, "you knew all those answers–"

"But Bertrand scored us those points," Liam counters, "he needs to put up a fight until the game is over. It's the principle, remember?"

Hearing Liam repeat his words, Bertrand grins, courage blooming in his chest. He looks to Savannah who is clapping, mouthing the words 'I'm so proud of you.'

"I'll do it."

Bertrand and Chuck step forward for the sudden death round, peering into each other's eyes. "Are we ready, gentlemen?" Gunther asks. Both men shake their heads yes, their gazes not leaving each other. "Let the best man win."

For a split second, Bertrand glances at his fiancée, and realizes he might not be the best man, but to her, he is. And no matter what, he's already won.

"Here's the question: made popular by an Alamo hero, this portable weapon that can kill and butcher game. Name the weapon–"

Chuck buzzes in. "The Swiss army knife." He smiles brightly, pulling out his own pocket blade and twirling it in victory.

Bertrand turns back to Liam and Maxwell, shaking his head. Maxwell mouths, 'that's okay! You did your best!' Bertand shakes his head more adamantly, but now he’s starting to grin.

"Actually," the bartender starts, "that’s incorrect, Chuck." Gunther turns towards Bertrand. "Do you have an answer, my foreign friend?"

Bertrand smirks. "You are referring to the Bowie knife."

A stillness hushes the crowd; Savannah and Riley anxiously wait, hands clasped with bated breath.

"That… is correct!"

The entire room erupts with shouts of praise and earth-shaking applause. Several men remove their ten-gallon hats to whoop in honor of the winner, the women of the bachelorette party squealing in glee.

Drake shakes Bertrand's hand before pulling him into an endearing hug. Liam and Maxwell both clap the duke on the back in congratulations. Savannah quickly cuts in, throwing her arms around her fiancé as her lips crash into his. Gunther comes over with the prize, and shakes Liam's hand. Maxwell snatches the bottle of Jack and the cash, and holds it over his head like a trophy. More shots and drinks are ordered, the night carrying on into a wild honky-tonk of a dance party.

Riley finds Liam, roping her arms around his neck as he secures his large hands to her waist.

"I'm so proud of you, partner," Riley attempts a drawl. Liam laughs, kissing her forehead as they begin to sway to the slow country beat. "Bertrand said that you actually never gave him any answers; you just… asked him questions that had the same answer"

Liam nods slowly, "Yep."

"Why?"

"Oh, my queen," he beams looking down at her, "it's the principle."

"The principle?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"A man wants to win a woman's heart."

"But Savannah loves him–"

"That's not the point," Liam counters. "A man wants to win her over… and over and over again. If I gave him the answers, that would've cheated him out of proving to her and to himself that he's worthy of her."

"Do you ever feel that way about me?" She croons.

A rosy hue swirls across Liam's cheeks. "More than you realize."

Riley presses a tender kiss to her husband’s chin before continuing their dance. "But… I gotta ask. When did you become so smart about Texas history?"

Liam chuckles. "I've been best friends with Drake Walker since I was 8 years old. We used to do our studies together, and… he was terrible at history."

"So?"

"So?" Liam stifles his toothy grin, licking his bottom lip. "Who do you think did his Texas history homework?"

"William Rys!"

~👑~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~👑~

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