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breederking · 3 months ago

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J had been overdue for nearly two weeks. The physical discomfort had settled into an exhausting ache that hung on him constantly, making him feel like a balloon ready to pop. He could barely fit into his old work clothes anymore, so he'd resorted to an oversized flannel shirt and sweatpants. Every time he looked in the mirror, his reflection looked more and more like a caricature of pregnancy, his belly so large it seemed to defy the expectations of what his body could do. At 5'4", carrying twins felt like being a small boat in a storm.

Despite the daily aches and pains, J had been avoiding the reality of it. He'd been stubborn, insisting to himself that he could make it through one more shift at the local beer store. It wasn’t like he had a choice; money was tight, and he couldn’t bear the idea of missing work for something as silly as “labor.”

As the day wore on, J started to feel a pressure in his lower abdomen, sharp and pulsating, but he pushed it away. He had a task to do: stock the cooler with cases of beer. He winced slightly with each movement, but tried to hide it. His co-workers, mostly men who rarely ever spoke more than a few words to him, seemed to take more than a passing interest in his condition today. It wasn’t lost on him that the looks were longer than usual. His belly was enormous now, the sheer size of it an obvious point of curiosity, even if they were too polite—or too cowardly—to ask.

One customer, an older man with a graying beard, turned to his buddy with a chuckle and said loud enough for J to hear, “You sure that guy’s not having twins? Looks like he’s carrying a football team in there.”

J flushed, biting back his humiliation. His face twisted, a flash of frustration crossing his features. He wasn’t “that guy.” He was J. A man. And yet, here he was, with strangers looking at him like a freak.

“You look like you're about to pop,” another man chimed in, his voice laced with judgment. “Are you sure you're okay to be working?”

J forced a smile, too tired to engage but also too proud to admit how much pain he was in. "I'm fine," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady, but he was beginning to feel like he couldn’t keep up the facade much longer.

The discomfort became more pronounced as the hours wore on. His legs felt weak, his back ached like a constant hammer pounding away at his spine, and the pressure down low was unbearable. Every step, every bend, felt like he was on the verge of falling apart. But still, he told himself it wasn’t time.

It wasn’t time.

His manager, Ryan, had been watching him with a concerned eye from behind the counter, but J couldn’t bring himself to ask for help. Ryan was huge—muscular, intimidating even. They had worked together for over a year, but he was always a bit distant. Too big, too strong, too much of a man for J to feel comfortable with. Especially now, with the pregnancy making J feel like the most vulnerable he had ever felt.

"Hey, J, you okay?" Ryan asked, walking toward him with a raised eyebrow.

J clenched his teeth, forcing a half smile. "Yeah, I’m fine."

Ryan paused, his gaze flicking down to J's swollen belly. He frowned, clearly not buying it, but then the door chimed as another customer entered. The pressure in J’s abdomen felt unbearable now—like his body was going to split open.

“I’m fine,” J repeated more firmly, though the words sounded less convincing even to himself. He tried to shuffle to the back of the store, thinking if he could just sit for a minute, he’d feel better.

But as he turned the corner to the back room, the pressure suddenly became a full-on cramp, making his knees buckle. His water broke, an overwhelming gush that flooded through his pants and pooled around his feet. A gasp echoed through the store, followed by whispers, then a few snickers.

J froze. His heart raced, and his first instinct was to hide, to somehow disappear, but that wasn’t an option anymore. He could hear the customers muttering. He could feel the stares on him, judgment thick in the air.

“Oh my god, what’s happening to him?” someone said, a mixture of pity and disgust in their tone.

“I thought he was just fat, but looks like he's really about to pop…”

J clenched his fists, forcing back the overwhelming emotions that threatened to swallow him. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not in front of these people. But as a new wave of pressure built, it became undeniable. His body was pushing, and he couldn’t stop it.

He leaned against the counter, trying to steady himself, but it was useless. With a strangled cry, he felt the first contraction rip through him. His hands were shaking as he desperately tried to hold it together, but it was no use. He wasn’t in control anymore.

Ryan was still behind the counter, but he hadn’t noticed yet. He was talking to a customer, his back to J. The store was quiet except for the murmurs of the crowd, all watching. Some seemed amused, others disgusted, and no one made a move to help.

J could hear the hissing sound of his breath as he hunched forward, struggling against his body’s involuntary urges. His legs buckled, and he found himself falling to the ground.

And then, a strong hand gripped his shoulder. Ryan was there.

“J, you need to get up, now,” Ryan said, his voice no longer the detached manager’s tone but something else. Something more urgent. His voice softened as he crouched down beside J. “Listen to me. I know this is... this is intense, but you need to breathe. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.”

J couldn’t believe it. The pressure was unbearable, but Ryan’s voice cut through the pain. Ryan’s large, muscular arms pulled him into a sitting position, and for a moment, J felt something other than the overwhelming humiliation—he felt... cared for. But that thought was fleeting, because the next contraction hit him like a freight train, and his body was no longer his own.

Ryan’s hands moved expertly, pressing against J’s back and helping him breathe through the contractions. J clenched his fists, trying to focus, but the pain was blinding.

"J, it's okay. I got you," Ryan said firmly.

It was a blur after that. There was pressure, then relief, then a cry—a cry that wasn’t his own. The baby was here, finally. His first child was born on the cold tile of the sales floor.

But there was no time to process the relief before the pressure started again, sharper this time. His water broke a second time, and he could feel the second baby shifting lower, preparing to emerge.

Ryan stepped back for a moment, “I have to get an ambulance here,” he said. J watched him walk to the office and pick up the store’s phone. A customer, still watching him from the aisles, muttered something about being "grossed out." J couldn’t hear it over the roaring pressure in his body.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to be left alone. Not like this.

But he was. For the next ten minutes, he pushed. His body shook from exhaustion, his strength sapped from the first birth. The crowd grew, and he could hear the mutters and whispers, but they seemed distant, muffled somehow. His focus was solely on the baby, on getting it out.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Ryan returned. Without a word, he knelt down in front of J, who was barely holding himself up. Ryan didn’t hesitate. He moved swiftly, pushing J’s legs apart and guiding the baby’s head into the world.

This time, the birth felt less like a tragedy and more like an inevitable force that was simply happening to him. As Ryan held his legs back and helped, J felt a strange tenderness in the act. He was so vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of Ryan’s help, and yet, as the baby was delivered, he felt a deep, unspoken bond form between them.

The second baby was born.

---

A year later, J was pregnant again. Twins again. And as the days passed, the changes in his body were even more pronounced. He could feel the shift in the air around him—how people treated him differently now. There was still judgment, still discomfort, but now, there was also something else. There were whispers and sidelong glances that didn’t make him feel quite so alien.

He couldn’t deny it anymore. The twins growing inside him were the result of something deeper, something tender—something that had begun that day on the beer store’s floor. Ryan was the father.

And J had a feeling that, somehow, he wasn’t the only one who had changed in ways he hadn’t expected.

#ftm pregnancy #story #trans pregnancy

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misterjauthor · 2 years ago

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FULL-SERVICE MEN: BARBER

“HAVE a seat, bro.” The black man, built like a football player, gestured toward the cushioned bench against the wall. “I’m almost done with his haircut.”

Who’s this guy? Where’s Tony?

I closed the heavy glass door, which rang the bell above it, and went to take a seat.

The buzz-cut man resumed his work on a middle-aged white guy sitting in the shop’s only barber’s chair.

A small pole with red, white, and blue stripes spun on the upper left corner of the mirror.

Maybe Tony was sick and asked this guy to take care of his customers today.

At least the guy was hot. A welcomed change from seeing Tony’s fat ass whenever I come here.

The barber’s tight black wifebeater showed off his tattooed arms from shoulder to wrist. A thin gold necklace hung around his neck, contrasting his dark brown skin.

And, damn! The bulge in the front of his gray sweatpants was impressive.

While waiting my turn, I couldn’t help but stare at his crotch.

“Next.” the muscle-bound barber said.

I snapped out of my trance and got off the bench. “Oh, that’s me.”

“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” He shook the hair off the cape before going to the counter to process the other guy’s payment.

After sitting on the bulky barber’s chair, I looked at myself in the mirror and combed my fingers through my slick back hair.

At thirty-five, some gray has mixed with black. It stressed me out. But my wife loved it, especially the ones in my beard.

The bell on the door rang after the customer left.

“So, what can I do for you today?” The barber covered me with the black cape.

“A haircut and beard grooming. Look at this.” I opened my phone and showed him a picture. “That’s how Tony usually cuts my hair.”

“Are you a regular?” He started working on my hair.

“Yeah.” I sat still and looked at him in the mirror. “Where’s the fat bastard, anyway? Are you filling in for the day?”

“The shop’s mine now. He sold it to me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I haven’t been around for a while. That’s why I needed a haircut.”

“He wasn’t able to tell anyone because he needed to move to Seattle to take care of his sick father.” The barber offered his hand. “I’m Omar.”

I brought my hand out from under the cape and shook it. “Miguel.”

Omar resumed cutting my hair. “Is this just a regular haircut, or are you getting ready for a special occasion?”

“My wife and I are having dinner at Chef Dino’s. It’s our thirteenth wedding anniversary.”

“Fancy. Happy Anniversary, Bro. I hope my fiancee and I will last as long or longer.”

“Thanks, man. Have you two set a date?”

“Nothing definite yet. But we’re thinking most likely after the baby comes. She’s seven months pregnant.”

My phone vibrated inside my pocket.

I brought it out to see if it was my wife with last-minute instructions before I went home to get ready.

It was from Jason.

The preview of the message showed an eggplant and peach emoji.

My heart thumped inside my chest.

Before the straight barber saw, I put the phone back under the cape.

After our first encounter at the house, I had sex with the plumber multiple times. I would usually go to his place or sometimes to his office on the pretense of delivering plumbing supplies from my hardware store. His employees had no idea their boss fucked me from behind while bent over the desk.

The phone on the counter rang.

“Bro, I’ll be right back.”

“Go ahead, man.”

Omar walked away.

While he talked on the phone, I replied to Jason’s message: ‘I can’t. Dinner plans with my wife.’

‘Don’t you rather want to eat this?’

A picture of the dick I’ve been sucking for the past few weeks showed on the thread.

Shit!

My dick came alive inside my boxers.

I turned the phone over and looked toward Omar.

He lifted a finger and mouthed, “One sec.”

After giving him a thumbs up, I typed a reply: ‘I can’t. Anniversary.’

“Sorry about that, Bro.” Omar stood on my right, holding a beard clipper. “I don’t have a receptionist yet.”

I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “It’s okay, man. I know what it’s like when you’re understaffed.”

My phone vibrated again.

But I ignored it.

“You have your own business?”

“I own Chavez and Son.”

“That big hardware store near here?” He whistled.

While running the device through my beard, something soft and meaty pressed against my elbow.

My whole body tensed at the unexpected contact.

Blood rushed to my dick, tightening my pants.

Oh, my fucking god. Was that Omar’s dick?

The bulge in his sweatpants lifted off.

I relaxed and discreetly adjusted myself under the cape.

“Did you see the basketball game last night, Bro?” He asked.

Pretending nothing happened, I said, “It’s fucking crazy, man. I lost a bet with one of my buddies.”

Omar went to my left while talking about the awesome plays last night.

I grunted and nodded to whatever he said, distracted by the phantom pressure of his dick on my elbow.

Stop overthinking it. He didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an accident. “Are you okay?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at him holding the beard trimmer. “Yeah, sorry. I just remembered something.”

“Don’t worry, Bro. All I need to do is shave the edges, then you can go home and get ready for your dinner with the missus.” He reclined the chair, making it almost horizontal, and went to the mirror.

I held onto the armrest in silence.

Omar returned with a small can of shaving cream and stood next to the chair, squeezing some on his fat fingers.

His massive bulge was inches from my face. An outline of his dick showed on the sweatpants.

Heat spread throughout my entire body, making my arousal more intense.

Good thing the cape hid my crotch, or he would have seen the teepee under it.

As he leaned over, his dick pressed on my arm and stayed there while applying the cream to my cheeks and neck.

My heart pumped faster, sending more blood into my raging dick.

I wanted to grab the straight barber’s meat and massage it. But instead, pushed my arms into his dick without making it too obvious.

Jolts of electricity traveled all over my body as more of the black man’s fat sausage touched my skin.

Closing my eyes, I gripped the chair tight and savored the feel of it, wishing it stayed on me longer.

Omar stepped away, taking his dick with him.

No! Don’t go.

I sagged on the chair and squeezed my hard-on under the cape while he couldn’t see.

He picked up a straight razor from the mirror, leaned over me, and started shaving the edges of my beard.

While trying to stay completely still, I avoided looking at his stubbled face.

The beefy black man moved closer to shave the other side of my neck, pressing his bulge against the back of my hand.

I gasped, and my whole body stiffened.

Oh, god.

“Are you okay?” He made eye contact before checking my neck. “It doesn’t look like I nicked you.”

“No, I’m okay. I was just surprised. That’s all.”

His dick stayed pressing on me as Omar resumed.

Sledgehammers pounded inside my chest.

My dick twitched, and precum leaked out, soaking my boxers.

Was he doing it on purpose? Does he want me to…? If I’m wrong, I’ll have to find a new barber when I leave the hospital.

Oh, fuck it! I’m doing it.

Slowly, I rubbed the back of my fingers against the meaty bulge.

Omar kept working, unfazed by my actions.

I continued but with more pressure.

“Miguel, if you tease the snake, it might get angry.”

Without moving my hand off his dick, I looked up at him.

My heart pumped a million times a minute.

“Can you handle the snake when it’s angry?”

“Y-yes.”

A smirk showed on his face. “Just let me finish this.”

I nodded.

Omar wiped off the excess foam with a towel when he finished.

My erection pushed against my pants like it would burst out like an alien from a movie.

He returned the chair to its upright position and removed the cape from me.

“What if customers come in?” I asked.

“Easy.” Omar went to lock the door.

While waiting in silence, I vibrated with excitement.

After pulling the blinds down, the muscular black man stood next to the chair.

I grabbed and massaged the sizeable bulge through the sweatpants.

He cocked his chin at the massive tent on my crotch. “Looks like someone wanted to make my snake angry this whole time.”

“You’re the one who’s been pressing his dick into me.”

“It’s because I knew you were a fag the moment you came in. And you’ve been staring at my crotch while waiting for your turn.”

“How did you…?

“The shop is full of mirrors. You think I wouldn’t notice the fag who keeps looking at my dick?”

Fuck! Am I that obvious when checking guys out? I need to be more careful.

“It’s a good thing you came in. With my fiancee pregnant, I need someone who can take care of my dick. You want to do it for me?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

“What are you waiting for?” Omar put both hands on his hips, showing off the muscular tattooed arms.

I shoved my hand inside his sweatpants and stroked him through his underwear.

“Look at you,” the straight barber scoffed. “Pretending to be straight by getting ready to celebrate your wedding anniversary with your wife. But right now, your hand is inside another man’s pants, holding his cock.”

“It’s a big cock, man. It’s not even hard yet.”

“You like big cocks?”

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“How about big black cocks?”

“Even better.” I inserted my fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down until they dropped to his ankle.

The shape of a meaty dick pointing down pushed the front of his white briefs.

I resumed stroking him through the cotton.

“Go ahead, fag. Show me how much you want it.”

I pulled the elastic and hooked it under his low-hanging balls.

A full bush of pubes surrounded the black, cut dick.

Using underhand, I wrapped my fingers around the fat shaft and jacked him off.

Omar pushed his briefs halfway down his thighs. “Yeah, that’s it. Make my dick hard.”

I leaned over the side of the chair, took his dick into my mouth, and started bobbing.

He gasped and gripped the hair behind my head.

While holding onto his thighs, I sucked the barber’s dick harder.

His dick grew between my lips.

“Motherfucker! Your mouth feels so good.” He pulled his wifebeater up and hooked it on his neck, revealing more tattoos on his ripped torso.

I produced more spit to make the blowjob wetter and smoother.

“You’re fucking talented. Better than my fiancee or any bitch I’ve been with. Have you sucked a lot of cocks before?”

“Let’s just say this is not the first cock I’ve sucked.” I resumed sucking while sliding a hand up and down his abs, feeling the contours of the solid muscles in my palm.

Omar’s hard dick filled my mouth.

“Where were you the past couple of months? I could’ve used this amazing mouth when I needed it.”

I held onto the base and stroked the spit-slicked shaft. “If I knew you would let me, I would have visited sooner, man.”

He put his dick back in my mouth. “Don’t worry. You can make up for it by coming here whenever I tell you. Do you want that?”

“Mm-hm,” I mumbled with his dick in my mouth.

“Whenever I don’t have a customer, come over and service me. I may even make you when I have customers so you can service them, too.”

Fuck!

I moaned at the thought of being passed around by different strangers.

Omar chuckled, “Someone likes the idea. Let’s see if I can make that happen.”

As I continued sucking, I jacked the bottom half for added stimulation.

“Fuck, I miss getting good blowjobs like this.”

I took him out of my mouth and slid my lips on the side of the shaft, from base to head.

“Get back on that dick.” He gripped my hair and made me suck him again. “Take it all.”

Adjusting my mouth, I tried to take more.

With his hand behind my head, he pulled me into his crotch, burying his meat deeper.

The head hit the back of my throat, activating my gag reflex.

But instead of pulling away, I took more until it went down my esophagus.

A hand touched my neck. “Damn! I can feel my dick stretching your throat.”

While the big black cock plugged my airway, I looked up at him.

“Such a talented cocksucker.” Omar petted my head. “From now on, I’ll feed you my dick every chance.”

I pulled away to catch my breath and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

He pushed his briefs down to the ankles, stepped out of his sweatpants and shoes, and stood in front of the chair. His big black cock pointed up at an angle like a flag pole on the side of a building.

I wrapped my hand around it and stroked it.

Precum collected at the tip.

“Look at what you did to my cock, you fag. It’s leaking.” Omar swiped the clear liquid with a finger and shoved it between my lips.

I sucked the sticky man-juice off his fat finger.

He pulled it out and pointed to his meat. “Clean that up.”

Leaning forward, I sucked his leaking dick into my mouth.

More of the salty nectar burst inside my mouth.

“Fuck!” Omar leaned against the mirror’s counter.

I held the dick at the base and swirled my tongue around the head.

He gripped the counter tighter.

As my tongue ran the sides of the shaft, I slid my hand up his muscular torso until it reached his nipples.

“Yes, play with them.”

After taking the dick back in my mouth, I rubbed the erect nubs between my fingers.

Omar thrust his hips, burying his dick in my throat with each bob. “This mouth is the best. I wonder if the other end feels good, too. Do you get fucked?”

“Mm-hm.”

He pulled out. A long rope of spit stretched from his dick to my mouth. “Take your clothes off. I’m gonna fuck that pussy.”

I got off the chair and removed my clothes.

Omar turned me around, facing the mirror, and bent me at the waist.

I grabbed the counter and looked at him in the mirror. “Do you have lube?”

“We can use this.” He grabbed the bottle of beard oil in front of me.

“That would be better than nothing.”

After putting some on his fat finger, he pressed it against my hole and pushed in, stretching me open.

I shut my eyes at the intrusion.

The digit started slowly moving in and out. “I’ve never fucked a man’s pussy before. Can you take my big black cock, fag?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Just loosen me up first.”

Another finger went in.

“I bet I’m not the first black man you’ve had.”

“No.”

“You’re such a fucking slut for cock.”

Once he had three fingers fucking me, he pulled out and put some beard oil on his dick.

I looked at him behind my shoulder. “Please, put that big black cock inside me, man.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna stuff your pussy good.” Omar slapped my ass cheek and pushed the head through my hole.

“Fuck! That’s a big cock.” I gripped the counter.

His dick stretched my anal ring with each inch.

“You’re so fucking tight!”

“Tighter than your fiancee’s?” I asked.

“Tighter than any bitch I fucked.” He put one hand on my hip and pushed his length further in.

“Loosen it up with that big black cock. Wreck it until I walk funny while taking my wife to dinner later.”

Omar growled and started fucking slowly.

I wrapped my fingers around my dick and stroked myself to match his pace. “Yes, keep going. Fuck my pussy, man.”

“Look at you.” He grabbed onto my shoulder and fucked into me faster. “Trying to fool people you’re straight and macho, but what you really are is a faggot who wants real men to use your pussy. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Say it. I want to hear you say what you really are.”

“I’m a faggot who wants real men to use my pussy.”

Omar fucked me harder and faster until his dick bottomed out inside me. He would pull until only the head remained and slam the whole thing into me in one go.

I braced myself on the counter.

The slapping of flesh, mixed with my whimpers and his grunts, filled the barbershop.

He pulled out. “Get up on the chair and stick that ass out.”

I climbed up and knelt, facing the backrest, arching my back to present my gaping hole to the straight barber.

“You have the best pussy ever.” Omar stabbed his big black cock back inside me and started fucking again. “I can’t believe I’ve never had it before.”

“It’s yours now, man. Fuck it anytime you want. You can use me as your cumdump even after your fiancee gives birth.”

The chair shook with each thrust.

I grabbed on to keep myself from falling over.

At this angle, his dick rubbed against my prostate.

“Oh, shit! Keep fucking me right there.”

Omar bent forward, pressing his chest against my back, and grabbed my shoulder while pounding me from behind.

“Please, you’re getting me close.”

“Did you let Tony fuck your pussy like this, too? Admit it. The fat bastard has been fucking your ass for a long time.”

“No, he never fucked me.”

“I bet you wished he did,” he whispered in my ear.

“Oh, god, yes. I fantasized about him pinning me down with his massive body, helpless while getting fucked. Shit, I’m cumming!”

My dick exploded, shooting cum on the leather backrest and the seat until nothing more came out.

“Fuck, I’m gonna shoot, too.” He shoved every inch of his black cock inside me.

“Breed me, man. Make me go to my anniversary dinner with your load inside me. Mark me as yours.”

“Ah! Here it comes.” Omar let go, injecting his creamy load inside me with each slam of his hips. “Take it all.”

After draining his balls into me, he stopped thrusting but kept it inside me.

“That was fucking intense,” he said.

Our sweaty bodies pressed together while we caught our breaths.

Once we recovered, Omar pulled out and gave me the towel he used to wipe the shaving cream off my face.

I cleaned my jizz off the chair with it.

After putting our clothes back on, I paid him and walked toward the door. I need to go home and get ready for my anniversary dinner.

“Hey, Miguel.”

I looked behind me after grabbing the handle.

“If you need my services again, you know where to find me.” Omar grabbed his crotch and winked.

Miguel’s encounters will continue…

Previous Episode | Next Episode

---

Check out my other stories available on Amazon and Smashwords.

I truly appreciate the support. It inspires me to continue writing.

If you enjoy my stories, please let me know. Or at least Reblog it.

Mister J

#gayerotica #gaysmut #misterjstories #misterjfree

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bestshirtcanbuy · 1 year ago

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#sweatpants #streetstyle #mensfashion #clothes #streetwear #tshirt #sports #jeans #clothing #sweater #pants #hoodie #tshirts #clothingbrand #shorts #leggings #celanamurah #celanajeans #sweatermurah #sportswear #sweatshirt

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ohcanadashop · 2 years ago

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Sweatshirts Should Be Owned By Everyone || OhCanadaShop

A long-sleeved pullover garment made of thick, typically cotton fabric is referred to as a cool sweatshirt. The majority of the time, cool sweatshirts are worn casually, making them less formal than some sweaters. There may or may not be a hood on cool hoodies. Although more formal media still uses the word "hooded Cool sweatshirt," the term "hoodie" is now frequently used to refer to a Cool sweatshirt with a hood.

if I had to live my entire existence wearing just one piece of clothing. I think it's safe to assume that I'd go with sweatpants. I say this because. I've compiled a list of the top reasons why I believe everyone should have at least one set of sweatshirts, sweatpants shorts, fleece shorts, or whatever name you prefer to give them.

The continuous chafing and itching that the Alabama Crimson Tide football team's wool uniforms caused in 1920 got quarterback Benjamin Russell Jr. to collaborate with his father, a manufacturer, to develop a superior solution. At the period, Russell Manufacturing Company produced knit shirts and underwear for women and kids.

Knowing how long-lasting and comfortable cotton is, they modified a ladies' union suit top to make a new practice jersey out of the thick cotton that was made throughout the factory. These oversized, collarless pullovers, which were created from women's underwear and used as men's football uniforms, would later become a classic Cool sweatshirt. Russell later established the Russell Athletic Company, a new division of his factory that was exclusively dedicated to the manufacturing of Cool sweatshirts.

When American colleges started printing their names on the Cool sweatshirt in the 1960s, the sweatshirt's potential as a portable advertising tool became clear. University names on Cool sweatshirts became the go-to casual attire for showing school loyalty among both students and parents. Along with the T-shirt, the Cool hoodie offered a simple and efficient means of mass information distribution. Sweatshirts with cool slogans were an inevitable result of the 1970s T-shirt craze. Recognizing the relative ease of customization and the potency of clever graphics mixed with catchphrases, Cool sweatshirts evolved into a platform for both the wearer and the creator to express their unique personalities.

Sweatpants can be worn for exercise or for casual attire. It makes sense to wear sweatpants while working out. They are ideal for working out because the majority are made of airy materials like Cool sweatshirt fleece or french terry. With this stretchy material, you can get low like Lil Jon and rule leg day. Additionally, it aids in evaporation, which keeps your body fresh. So start working hard and working up perspiration. I suggest wearing black perspiration shorts if you perspire a lot. They conceal perspiration stains better than grey does.

The fact that sweat shorts are comfy is the main reason I wear them. Sweat shorts are typically constructed from Cool sweatshirt fabric. Typically, cotton and polyester are blended to create this cloth, making it soft and flexible. Fleece is a soft material that feels amazing against your legs. Sweat shorts are a necessity for both men and women due to the elastic waist and open fit. If you've never worn sweatpants, let me explain. Please. Give yourself a break.

The Softest Material Cheapest Comfy Canadian Hoodies for Sale. You can save more money by buying more because our prices are affordable. Every amount is acceptable. We have a wide selection of clothes from reputable makers. Deliveries are complimentary for purchases over $80 CAD. Buy at this time!

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Email: [email protected]

Visit Our Website- https://www.ohcanadashop.com/

#Comfy Canadian Hoodies for Sale

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evo9xsportswear · 4 years ago

Link

#Custom Made Football Sweatpants #Evo9x

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fandomfluffandfuck · 3 years ago

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Stucky Masterlist P.3

Started: 1/2/22

Updated: 7/27/23

Part 2

Puppy Steve In Rut

Daddy Steve & His Sex Acts For Every Mood

Steve Accidentally Buying Lingerie That Looks Like The Winter Soldier's Combat Uniform

Extended Thoughts On Steve In Lingerie & Feeling Feminine

Cautiondonotmicrowaveme's HC on Bucky & His Teeny Tiny Swimsuit

Buckitty & Puppy Steve In The 40s ft. @/possibleplatypus

Steve Gets His Crack Waxed "For Bucky"

Big Sub Steve's Cleavage Does Big Damage

Big Sub Steve Mattress Humping w/ a Gif Example

Alpha Male On The Outside, Whiny, Subby Mess On The Inside

More CEO Steve & Escort Bucky

Blushy Steve At A BDSM Munch

Twice The Lingerie, Twice The Trouble

CEO Steve Blowing $$$ On Lingerie

Big-Sub!Steve Being Bratty & Cockwarming

Sugar-daddy!Steve & Stripper!Bucky + CEO!Steve & Escort!Bucky

Bucky's Birthday Gift

Omegaverse Chastity Belt Play

Captain America!Steve & Modern-Silver!Bucky

Omega Bucky's Thick Thighs

Steve's Itty Bitty Waist

Subby Top Bucky Being Worn Out

CEO Steve's 1st Time In Panties

Bucky In A Crop Top P.2

Playboy Bunny Steve

Can Steve Get Hoarse?

Lavender Steve's Fruity Photoshoot

Steve's Post-Serum Libido Meta

@/maddiewritesstucky inspired thick cheerleader!Bucky & quarterback!Steve

"Coming In Hot" Sneak Peak

Bucky's Self Image Feels, Trying To Feel Better

Roofer!Steve And Customer!Bucky AU

More Roofer And Customer

Bucky & Steve Playing House As Kids

Buckitty After His Heat

More Bunny Steve

Werewolf Steve On A Leash

Bucky & Steve's Favorite Foods

Okay But What If Not One Sub But Two!?

Big, Buff Omega Steve w/ A Primal Kink

My Various Bottom (and Sub) Steve Fic Ideas

Sub Steve Gooning

Steve Coming Home From A Mission

Daddy Has To Go When Bucky Is Still Coming Down From Subspace

Sub Steve & Sub Bucky w/ Two John's

Was Bucky Sexually Abused By HYDRA? How Does That Effect His Relationship w/ BDSM?

Doorbell Camera Footage Caught Makeouts

Winter Soldier Bucky & Nomad Steve (ft. Metal Arm Kink & Subby Steve)

Nomad Steve Meeting Bucky In Wakanda

No Nut November But 👏Stucky👏

Omegaverse Scent Kink

Bucky Making Steve Cum In His Suit

Reverse Sugar Daddy Au?

Steve's Manslut Workout Clothes

Thoughts About Steve's (Hairy) Tits

(Football AU) Bucky Sending Steve Dirty Pictures

Omorashi + Rope Bondage

Deep Throating + Steve's Pretty Lashes

Commander Rogers In Lingerie

Steve And Bucky Literally Have Cold Feet

More Cold Feet Thoughts

What If Bucky Stayed w/ Steve On The Shore?

Anon Provided Sculptor Steve

Steve's Love & Guilt

Wakandan Bucky And Nomad Steve Ruining Younger Steve

Big!Sub!Steve Sounding And Omorashi

WWII Bucky Giving Steve An Accidental Hand-Job

BIG Titty Bucky's Tank Tops

Nomad Steve Being Very Vocal & Very Much A Bottom

Pleading Anon Provided Naughty Sugar Baby Steve

Steve's Prewar Heart

Pleading Anon Provided Sub Steve Falling Into Subspace Slowly

Pleading Anon Provided Aphrodisiac Chocolate

Get Hit Or Get Dicked--A Big Sub Steve Dilemma

Pleading Anon Provided Pre-War Hickies

Blow Job Dialogue

Anon Provided Puppy Play ft. MUZZELS

Steve's Loose Sweatpants

Puppy Alpha Steve

HTTM Bucky & RSDR Steve + Spanking

Submissive Alpha Steve Being Punished

Inexperienced But Eager Bottom & Sub Steve

Well, It Ain't Gonna Fuck Itself

Touch Starved Massage

Steve Choking On WWII Bucky's Fingers

Puppy Alpha Steve Fisting Dom Omega Bucky

Bucky Painting Steve's Face Then Licking It Off

Wrecked Baby VS Composed Sir

Steve Gets Filled With Eggs

Anon Provided Omegaverse Beach Day

Sub Alpha Steve Getting Choked

But... What If... Pony Play?

Daddy Steve & Baby Bucky Collectively Losing It Over An Afternoon, Casual Blowjob

Bucky Hypnotizes Steve To Get Hard, Soft, & Cum On Command

How Did Bucky Get Steve Hypnotized?

Optometrist Medical Kink

@/sail-not-drift's additions to optometrist medical kink

More Omegaverse Beach Shenanigans

Part 4

#masterlist #fandomfluffandfuck #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes

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eyebeastposts · 3 years ago

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I posted 361 times in 2021

287 posts created (80%)

74 posts reblogged (20%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.3 posts.

I added 665 tags in 2021

#writing prompt - 95 posts

#eyebeast - 94 posts

#request - 94 posts

#exercise - 92 posts

#patreon - 88 posts

#female - 52 posts

#transformation - 50 posts

#tf - 50 posts

#wg - 25 posts

#poll - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 17 characters

#altar of eyebeast

My Top Posts in 2021

Patreon Prompt 24

Patreon

Prompt: A rather petite woman takes on a restaurant’s eating challenge, which is so tough the restaurant claims it’ll “make a man out of you.” She crushes the record, turning into a massive, bloated male in the process.

When the dainty woman named Hisaki entered the shop and declared her order, the staff took it as a joke. Shaking about her long black hair, she once again stated her intention to take on the legendary, Soba Stud Challenge. Taking her spot in the center of the restaurant, Hisaki watched the staff painstakingly load her table with 100 bowels of noodles. With half the staff already preparing to dispose of the challenger’s leftovers, the owner stepped out to ring a gong to begin the girl’s gauntlet.

Hisaki attacked the noodles like a rabid beast, not once touching her pair of chopsticks. One after another the bowls were emptied out and carelessly tossed to the ground. While most of the staff stood in awe of the sight before them, the owner sat in the corner, biting his nails. No one had managed to beat his challenge, using it as nothing more than a gimmick to bring in more customers. His soba wasn’t meant to be eaten in such large quantities, his heart skipping a beat as he watched the effects of his secret ingredient begin to affect Hisaki.

The young woman’s flat stomach bulged outwards to accommodate the immense amount of food. As her shirt rose higher up her swelling stomach, strands of unruly black hair crept around her deepening belly button and crept towards her chest and groin. Weight being layered onto her breasts increased their size, at the cost of taking their form to make them resemble a pair of dropping man pecs. Pausing to readjust her shirt with her plump fingers, she wiped stray drops of broth from the whiskers that dotted her upper lip and multiple chins. The chair supporting her massive weight creaked and groaned as she leaned her meaty rear to the side to scratch at the unsightly bulge in her overburdened sweatpants.

Picking up the final bowl, Hisaki brought it to his lips and sucked down the last of the broth. Letting the emptied bowl roll across the floor to join its fallen brethren, he lazily scratched at the hairs of his bloated belly. Opening his mouth wide, he let loose a loud belch that echoed through the restaurant. Turning towards the awestruck staff, he waved them over to request a dessert order to celebrate his hard earned victory.

7 notes • Posted 2021-04-02 04:40:40 GMT

Writing Prompt 386

Prompt: A cheerleader wants to date the star football player but can never seem to get his attention. With the help of a succubus she becomes his perfect match, leaving her shocked as she's transformed into an obese nerdy guy with gastrointestinal issues.

“And you’re sure about this?” the succubus asked, sliding her finger across the contract to illustrate her point.

“Of course,” Vanessa replied, flipping her luxurious blonde hair as she scribbled her name on the dotted line. “If Brent doesn’t want the banging body of the university’s hottest cheerleader, then so be it. I’ll become whatever he wants.”

The succubus smiled as she accepted the contract. “As you wish,” she said, pointing a finger at Vanessa and letting a spark of demonic energy hit her square in the chest.

Reeling from the warm sensation spreading through her, Vanessa watched her already voluptuous chest pack on with weight. Any elation she had at her growing cup-size was negated by the sight of her boobs losing their shapeliness as they became a pair of sagging pecs that ripped right through her top. Patches of unruly hair formed on her chest and spread down to cover bulbous belly and down to her nether region. Wriggling about her fattening rear and feeling her hair shrink up to a fourth of its original length, she felt something jostle about in her undergarments.

Vanessa’s discovery of the newly acquired penis and testicles brought out a husky, masculine gaps from his fattened, grease covered lips. Shivering as he realized what had happened to him, his visage became worsened by a bout of flatulence helping to rip apart his skirt to leave her standing on the field in only her underwear. Belching out a curse at the disappearance of the succubus, Vanessa was caught completely off guard as a pair of muscular hands reached out to grope his pecs.

“Hey there,” Brent said, nuzzling his face against Vanessa’s newly acquired peach fuzz. “Haven’t seen you around here before. How do you feel about Crusher Queen?”

“She is the greatest super hero developed by Iris Comics and deserved way more recognition from the UURRRP public when her standalone spin off came out,” Vanessa spouted, at a loss of where this wealth of nerdy info had come from.

“Finally, a guy with taste and good looks. What do you say we head back to my place for some beer and…other things?”

“Um, BWOOOORRRP sure,” Vanessa replied, a smile on his face as he waddled after Brent.

8 notes • Posted 2021-06-23 15:22:23 GMT

Writing Prompt 392

Prompt: A young woman makes a deal with a demon to receive immense riches. She's granted this wish, and is given immense wealth, but is also rendered a stinking, immobile blob as punishment for her greed.

Amidst the stacks of legal work and people dressed in their best suits were two obvious things that shouldn’t have existed in the court room. The first was a man with red skin, curved horns, and a black goatee that stood at the stand. The other was the immobile pile of two-ton fat taking up the space where the plaintiff stand would be. Wincing at the smell that permeated the woman once known as Gorgia Bennet, the jury had a hard time seeing her as anything other than a sphere of flesh that constantly spewed gas.

Walking past Gorgia with a clothes pin attached to his nose, Gorgia’s lawyer approached the demon with a contract in hand. “This is the contract you signed with my client, correct?”

“Yes,” the demon replied. “In exchange for making her the richest woman in the world, I gave her a body just as heavy as her greed.”

The demon’s smug smile faltered as the lawyer slammed the contract on the table. “That is where I and the rest of the court must disagree. Ever since gaining her riches, Ms. Bennet has funded hospitals, built orphanages, invested in medical research, and various other philanthropic activities. This is all while keeping her modest, one person apartment and appearing at many fundraiser events. In fact, she was in the middle of accepting an award for her work with the homeless when your curse decided to kick in. The building had to be evacuated once she crashed through 10 floors and filled the hotel with noxious fumes.”

Turning away from the silent demon, the lawyer approached the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, does that sound like the acts of a greedy woman to you?”

Upon watching the jurors in unison shake their heads, the demon rubbed his fingers against his temple. It was on that day that he was reminded why he and the other demons hated lawyers so much.

10 notes • Posted 2021-06-26 15:41:30 GMT

Halloween Prompt 72

Prompt: A fat bully steals candy from kids. She begins to gorge herself on her spoils before realizing she's turned into an immobile, living candy blob.

Another group of kids dressed in adorable costumes, another easy steal for Tana. Swiping the bags from their hands, she shot a nasty look at the one dressed as a witch. Far beyond looking over the moral implications of a college girl stealing from children, Tana shoved another handful of candy in her mouth. As she savored her stolen goods, she failed to see or hear the bolt of green energy that struck her on the back.

Over the next few successful candy thefts, Tana began to notice her belly bloating up. As her flesh continued to peek out of holes in her clothing, she saw a shimmering yellow color across her skin. Another handful of candy further expanded her flesh and made her realize her body had taken on the consistency of taffy. Having enough sense to stop before things got worse, she attempted to toss away the candy only for it to fly back into her open maw.

The candy from her various robberies acted on its own to further transform her body. Forced to guzzle down hundreds of pounds of sweets, Tana could only watch as she was transformed into a massive blob of banana flavored taffy. Left as an immobile sphere the size of a car, she wriggled about her sunken in limbs to see the young girl dressed as a witch return to claim her treats. Looking over the unmovable candy blob, the young witch let out a cackle, walking away despite the constant pleas of mercy from her victim.

11 notes • Posted 2021-10-26 16:05:09 GMT

Writing Prompt 396

Prompt: A young man walking through an empty park stumbles upon a strange statue of a naked voluptuous shortstack succubus that has the demon's spirit trap within. The human accidentally breaks the statue and becomes the succubus, leaving her free to waddle off in search for of some sexy time.

Sneaking past the gathering of priests outside of the park’s front gate, Aiden was determined to keep up his daily jogging route. Mere minutes into his run, he was stopped by the sight of an odd statue nestled against a tree. Approaching the two-foot statue, he couldn’t imagine how the park officials could allow such a demonic and promiscuous landmark to be installed. Glancing at some red writing along the statue’s base, he bent down to try and examine it.

A light bump of Aiden’s head against the statue was enough to send it toppling to the ground. The loud crash of stone shattering across the ground was accompanied with a series of maniacal giggling. Looking around for the source, Aiden paused at the sound of someone whispering in his ear. The female voice spoke of unrivalled pleasure and lust. All he needed to do was let her take over.

Softly nodding his head sent Aiden’s spiraling downwards to match the size of the statue he had just destroyed. In replacement for his height, he was gifted a pair of breasts and butt cheeks that looked like overfilled sandbags. Feeling up his assets with his elongated nails, Aiden’s reach gradually shifted towards his nether region. Feeling the edge of his newly formed labia, a few more flicks were enough to seal his fate.

Given complete control, the succubus accelerated her take over of Aiden’s body. Acquiring a shade of bright crimson skin to go with her spaded tail and curved horns, she let him experience his first orgasm as a woman as she rubbed against her vagina. Hitting her climax completed her hold over her newly acquired body. Not quite satisfied, the succubus began waddling towards the park exit. Whipping back her long black hair to rest against her dump truck of an ass, she tapped her fingers against her luscious breasts as she thought about the wealth of pent up libido she was about to unleash upon the world.

14 notes • Posted 2021-06-28 18:22:50 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

Text

C’est Toi (coffee shop au) • CHAPTER EIGHT, wc: 4.9k

previous chapter | let’s chat | C’est Toi Index

Tuesday - January 29, 2019 - 07:11

There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t go away––it hasn’t gone away since I left my sketchbook at the coffee shop. I have this feeling of anticipation looming about in my stomach. But I don’t even know what I’m anticipating. Am I preparing myself for disappointment in case he doesn’t text me? Am I preparing myself for a text?

I hate waiting. And I hate not knowing what’s to come.

___

I haven't been to Brightside in five days. I kept to my promise that I would see Shawn later.

After I rushed back to my flat after the disastrous end of our conversation, I hurriedly knocked on Ella’s door and didn’t stop until she let me in. I told her I left my sketchbook, she hugged me tight, and told me that I couldn’t go back until he texted me. But then I told her that he called me a customer.

Her smile faltered, but she was back to her enthusiastic self and promised me that he would text.

But five days later, as I laid on my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, I had yet to receive any text.

I heard a knock on my door and yelled out a non-excited come in, and Ella’s head popped around the door with a sympathetic smile.

“Still nothing?”

With a sigh, I closed my eyes, feeling even more embarrassed than the day I asked for his name, “Nothing.”

I heard a small squeak of the door being opened, and then a soft click of the door when it was shut. I didn’t need to have my eyes open to know that Ella walked further into my room. I heard the wheels of my rolling chair slid across the floor and then felt Ella’s hand on my arm.

“Give it a little more time, I’m sure he’s just––”

I snapped my eyes open and turned my head to look at her, “It’s been five days. If he hasn’t texted me now, he won’t ever text me.”

Ella offered me a sympathetic smile, “At least you can say you tried.”

But that’s the thing, I thought to myself, I didn’t try enough. How was he even supposed to know that I left my sketchbook there for him to find so that he could text me? It was ludicrous for me to even think that this plan would be somewhat successful.

“Maybe someone else picked it up?” Her voice was high as she offered a weak excuse for my silent phone.

I let out another deep sigh, “That would be even worse,” I sat up in bed and rubbed the heel of my palm over my right eye, “That would mean all of my drawings are lost and my brother gave me that sketchbook––”

“I’m sure it’s still at Brightside,” Ella tried to sound confident, but we both knew it was a lost cause, “Give it a few more days, if he doesn’t text you, then you can just live your life…You are in London after all.” She winked.

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding like a whimper.

“Let’s get your mind off it,” She used her feet to push the chair away from the side of my bed and stood up, “A few of us are going to the park to play football.”

I quirked an eyebrow, “You play football?”

Ella nodded slowly, her face looked just as confused as mine, “When I was younger. I’m not fantastic but I can still try and have fun.”

“I––I’ll come watch,” I swung my feet over the bed as I started walking toward my closet to change out of my jeans, “The rules have always confused me, but I’ve heard enough of my dad and brother yelling at the T.V. that I have some knowledge of it.” I pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, “I didn’t think football was big here in England.”

Ella furrowed her eyebrows together, “Are you daft? Football is life or death here and––Oh,” She let out a small laugh before smirking, “Excuse me let me translate for you,” she cleared her throat and spoke with an American accent, “A few of us are going to the park to play soccer.”

Oh.

My arms went limp at my sides as I felt my face heat up in embarrassment, “That’s––Of course, soccer––Football––Makes sense, I used to play a bit––”

“Mick,” Ella cut off my rambling with a laugh and a shake of her head, “I’m gonna get changed, knock on my door when you’re done.”

I nodded as I watched her leave my room with an amused smile on her face. I smacked my hand on my forehead, still reeling in my embarrassment, because of course football is soccer. I wasn’t home anymore.

Quickly, I swapped the sweater I wore to class earlier for a long sleeved red t-shirt and jumped around as I wiggled out of my skinny jeans. Once my athletic shorts were up, and had my sneakers double knotted, I grabbed a little canvas bag to place my phone and keys in. Once I locked my door, I turned left and knocked on the door to the left of my room.

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” Ella shouted from the other side. True to her word, Ella walked out of the door in under a minute, dressed in a sweatshirt and leggings. She looked at me up and down before laughing, “Sure you won’t freeze?”

I nodded as I flipped my head forward, gathering my hair up to wrap an elastic band around it, “If we’re running around, I’ll be fine. Plus, my legs get too hot if I’m running and I have leggings on.”

Ella rolled her eyes, “You’re weird.” And then we were off to the elevator.

As we rode down, Ella informed me that football was being played at Hyde Park. We made light chatter as we made our way to the tube station, and by we, I mean Ella did most of the talking. I appreciated her effort in trying to get my mind off my lost sketchbook, but it was still the only thing I concentrated on as we went from Waterloo station, to Green Park, and then got off at our final destination of Hyde Park Corner.

Once we quickly made our way out of the tube station, we waited with a crowd of other people for the lights to change. And when the walk sign flashed for us, everyone hurriedly made their way across the street, because once the lights changed…London drivers were not shy in accelerating on the gas pedal.

We entered by the Queen Mother’s Gate and started walking along the pathway.

“This park is too big,” Ella grumbled as she typed furiously away on her phone, “Jack said that they found an open space but the whole stupid park is an open space.”

I kept up with her fast pace and turned my head to look at her, “Jack’s here?”

Ella nodded her head, “Said a few friends from his law course wanted to unwind after an impossible paper they had to write,” She looked at me with a smirk, “He specifically asked me to make sure you came along.”

I brought the sleeves of my shirt to cover my hands as I crossed my arms over my chest, “They probably needed another player.”

“Sure,” she bumped her shoulder against mine, “How is it that you’ve been in London for a month and have two boys after you? Meanwhile, I’ve been here for three years and haven’t had any luck.”

“You had the TA.”

“Don’t push it, America,” Ela glared at me.

I let out a sigh, facing forward, as my voice softened in agony, “And I don’t have two boys after me,” I sniffled from the cold air, “Shawn only sees me as a customer.”

Ella’s glare softened as he weakly smiled, “You’re more to him than that.”

I shook my head, “If you were there––”

“I have been there,” Ella interrupted me, “I’ve seen how he sneaks glances at you, how he spends more time talking to you than anyone else…Mick, he likes you too.”

I brushed off her comment, the familiar feeling of disappointment seeping into my heart, “Where’d they say they were?”

Ella glared at me, knowing exactly that I was purposefully changing the topic as she held up a finger, signaling me to wait. She unlocked her phone, gliding her finger on the screen a few times, before she brought the phone up to her ear, snapping at whoever was on the other end, “Where are you?”

She hummed a few times, before stopping in her tracks, “Well why didn’t you say you were closer to Marble Arch,” Ella huffed as she made a sharp right and started quickly walking across the grass, “We got off at Hyde Park Corner, you twat.” She sneered into her phone, “We’ll be there soon, start without us, it doesn’t matter.”

Not waiting to hear the other person on the end, Ella clicked her phone shut and let out an aggravated breath, “Jack is an idiot.”

“We’ll be there soon,” I tried to reassure her, but I was quieted from the glare she sent my way, “I’ll race you there.”

“We don’t even know where there is!” Ella yelled at me after I had already taken off in a sprint, “Mick!”

I held the canvas bag close to my side, while it was practically empty, I could still feel my keys and phone bounce against my hip. I slowed down a bit and turned my head over my shoulder, “Think of it as a warm up!”

I was a bit further away from Ella, but I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me as she started to pick up her pace in a slow jog. While she was right that we didn’t know exactly where they were, we would get there faster by running instead of briskly walking.

Ella caught up to me, and when we finally laid eyes upon a group of boys and girls kicking around a soccer ball, we both glanced at each other before taking off in a sprint. I said that we ended in a tie, but Ella never liked to lose, so she declared herself the champion.

As if he knew we made it, Jack looked over at us with a wide smile, he excused himself from his friends and jogged over to us.

“Glad you two could make––Ow.” Jack narrowed his eyes at Ella as he rubbed the spot on his arm where she punched him, “I would like to go one day without you hitting or kicking me.”

Ella mirrored his glare, “Why didn’t you tell us to take the tube to Marble Arch!”

“Slipped my mind.”

“Idiot,” Ella mumbled under her breath as she walked past him and to the group of people kicking around the ball. It looked like she recognized a few people as she struck up a conversation with them.

“Mick,” Jack’s smile faltered a little as he looked down at my legs, “Will you be cold?”

I shook my head and tightened my pony tail, “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced as we walked side-by-side back to the group, “I have sweatpants in my bag if you get cold.”

I smiled up at him, trying to ease the concern in his eyes, “Thanks.”

When we got to the circle, Jack introduced me and then we were split up into teams. As one of the team captains, Jack picked me first to be on his team. He subsequently left Ella off his team which caused her to sneer a ‘watch your back,’ at him as everyone got into their positions on the little makeshift field.

After an hour had passed of kicking the ball around, Ella trying to slide tackle Jack, and a few goals scored by each team, everyone decided to call it quits. Everyone talked and laughed as we made our way back over to our bags and Jack, always being prepared, offered water to both Ella and I.

“Are you girls headed back to Stamford?” Jack said as he screwed the lid back on his water bottle.

Ella finished swallowing before nodding, “Yeah we’re–––”

“I think I’m going to call my brother,” I interrupted her. They both looked at me with tilted heads. “It’s a nice day out,” I looked up at the sky, and while it was still overcast and cold out, the sun was trying to break through, “Figured I’d take a walk in the park and talk to him.”

“In shorts?” Jack asked. I nodded my head and was about to respond with how I wasn’t feeling that cold from the soccer game, but before I could say anything, he zipped open his backpack and threw a sweatshirt at me, “You’ll freeze if you don’t have another layer on.”

I smiled in appreciation, looking at the well worn King’s College sweatshirt with the University seal on it, “I’ll wash it before giving it back to you.” Jack waved me off as I slipped the oversized sweatshirt on my body, automatically feeling ten degrees warmer.

“Put the hood up to,” Jack laughed, “Your ears are looking red.”

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the hood up and overdramatically tightened the strings around my neck, which caused me to only see out of a teeny tiny hole, “Better?”

“See you later, Mick.” Both Jack and Ella laughed as they walked toward the exit of the park.

Once I was sure they were a good distance away, I pulled out my phone, opened WhatsApp and checked my messages.

Still no text.

With a sigh, I started walking back toward the Hyde Park Corner tube station, as I clicked my brother’s contact. Because while I did plan on talking to my brother, I also planned on making a little stop at a coffee shop before I headed back to the residence hall.

“Pip pip cheerio,” I rolled my eyes at the greeting I always got from William.

“People don’t talk like that here.”

William let out a boisterous laugh, “Oh, I know.” It was silent for a few minutes as I walked through the park, passing a few dogs who weren’t on leashes, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I said with a flat tone, “Just wanted to call.”

“How’re things going with that barista?”

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath, “Not great.”

“Golden girl having a bit of trouble?”

I glared at a tree in front of me, pretending that it was my brother, “What would you do if you liked a girl?”

William let out a sigh, and I heard him say distant hi on the other end of the phone, presumably walking past a few people he knew before continuing on, “Everything you’ve already told me pretty much points to him liking you.”

I was approaching the end of the park and walked out to stop right at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, as I switched my phone to the other hand, “So why hasn’t he done anything?”

“You could always ask him out,” William said as if it was the easiest thing, “I know you said things didn’t go over too smoothly when you asked for his name, but maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move.”

The light changed as I walked with the crowd to cross the street, “Then he’ll be waiting for forever.”

“Mick,” he dragged out the lone vowel in my name, “You had a boyfriend last year, it’s not like you’re inept to talking to boys.”

I stopped at the entrance of the tube station and leaned against the railing, “I know but he’s––Everything is just––I don’t know how to act around him.”

William laughed loudly, “Oh, you got it bad.”

“Shut up,” I let out a single laugh as I scuffed my sneakers on the sidewalk, “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon.”

“I want more updates on this Canadian barista that just so happens to live in London!” William said in a singsong voice that made me laugh, “I still find that weird.”

“I love you, William,” I said with an eye roll.

“Love you too, Golden girl.”

And with that, I ended the call. I quickly pulled up my tube map direction app and typed in Hyde Park Corner and Temple. Twenty-one minutes, I sighed, better than nothing. Making sure I knew what platform I needed to get on, I walked down the stairs, tapped my oyster card and started my journey to Brightside.

I’ve been on the tube for longer than twenty-one minutes, but the anxiety I felt about still not having my sketchbook, and not knowing who I was going to run into at the counter…It felt like the longest ride ever.

When the train car approached Temple, I almost considered staying on until the next stop and not getting off. I almost didn’t want to go back to Brightside and face even more embarrassment. I think I’ve had enough embarrassment there to last five lifetimes.

But I wanted my sketchbook back.

I cared about my sketchbook more than I cared about Shawn thinking of me as a customer.

Walking down the sidewalk, I almost didn’t feel the cold air on my legs because I was too consumed with my anxiety as the familiar door came into view. Breathe, I said to myself, in through your nose and out through your mouth…

I didn’t think twice before I curled my hand around the handle and yanked the door open.

Shawn was the only person behind the counter, and while I didn’t hear the chime of the bell, I knew he did because his head snapped up. His eyebrows were furrowed together for a few minutes before a full blown smile took over his features. I slipped the hood off my head and walked straight up to the counter.

“McLane!” Shawn said with just as much chipper in his voice as the last time I heard him call my name, “It’s been a while. Was starting to think you found another coffee shop.” He laughed as his hand went to pull a yellow cup from the stack.

I let out a weak laugh, “I––No. No other coffee shop,” Shawn smiled as I continued talking, “And actually…I’m not here for a coffee.”

His eyebrows raised in interest as I started my rambling, “I––I think I lost my sketchbook? I take it with me everywhere and I’ve retraced my steps but I can’t seem to find it anywhere––And I––This is the only place I haven’t checked. It’s black, on the small side, it has some drawings in it–––”

“Slow down,” Shawn laughed a little as he brought both hands in front of him, gesturing for me to slow my words, “What’d you say you lost?”

“My sketchbook,” I said matter of factly, “It’s small––pocket sized almost––and black. It has my name in it––”

I was too preoccupied with naming all the details of my sketchbook that I missed the shimmer of recollection in his eyes. I also missed how his smile slowly grew wider with every word I rambled. And even as I continued on rambling, he ducked below the counter, momentarily out of my sight, before he popped right back up with a black book.

My heart stopped.

“Is this it?”

He had my sketchbook.

“I––Yeah––Oh my god,” I released a breath of relief, “That’s it––I can’t––Oh my god.”

But he didn’t text me.

Shawn handed the sketchbook over to me and I snatched it from his hand, cradling it close to my chest, before I quickly opened it to make sure no damage was done to any of the sketches. I let out another sigh of relief when I saw everything intact.

“The drawings in there are good,” Shawn’s eyes were wide in astonishment, “You have insane talent.”

I picked my head up and squeaked out a pathetic, “What?”

My heart stopped again because he looked through my sketches. He opened up my sketchbook, and either he didn’t see the if lost note or he saw it and completely ignored it. But that thought only crossed my mind for a few seconds because the only thought ringing in my head as that he looked at my drawings.

If there’s one rule to live by, it’s to never look at someone’s sketchbook without their permission.

And sure, the whole point of Operation Sketchbook was for Shawn to look in my sketchbook, but he was only supposed to look at the if lost note. He wasn’t supposed to actually look at the drawings. Because––oh my god––I had a sketch of the bird tattoo on his hand in there.

“Niall and I got curious––It was around for a bit and so we just peeked in. And when we saw how amazing they were…” Shawn’s voice grew distant before looking back at me with amazement in his eyes, “McLane, your drawings are so good.”

Oh my god…Niall saw my sketch of Shawn’s hand.

“I well––They’re nothing special––” lie, “––I just––It’s fun and it’s relaxing––”

As if Shawn sensed my nervousness, he smiled and politely cut off my rambling, “If I had half the talent as you,” he rested his elbows down on the counter, and looked up at me with a small smile, “I would not be working in a coffee shop.”

I looked down for a moment and blushed. But when I looked back up into Shawn’s eyes, they were twinkling with pride as he was able to get a reaction out of me, “What would you do if you weren’t working here?”

Shawn let out a hum as he scrunched his eyebrows together, looking off into the distance, as he seriously considered his options.

“I think music production is cool,” he hesitantly answered, “I like all the audio engineering stuff, it’s probably what I would’ve studied in uni.”

I nodded my head, not having much of a clue about what he was talking about, but I noticed his eyes shined a little brighter when he brought up the topic.

“Have you thought about learning some stuff on the side?”

Shawn nodded his head, “I have some music software on my laptop and play around with it a bit, but it’s nothing serious,” Shawn shook his head and stood up tall, “I like working here anyway.”

I nodded my head and looked around the shop, it was a bit empty for it being a Tuesday.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you without books,” Shawn’s voice brought me back to him after staring off into space.

I blinked a few times before tilting my head back slightly in laughter, “I just came from playing soccer with some friends.”

“Football,” Shawn corrected me just like Ella had, “And in shorts?”

His tone sounded just as concerned as Jack’s did when he first noticed my bare legs. Although, Shawn’s eyes seemed to linger on my legs longer than Jack’s did, before he looked up at me and chuckled, “It’s like five degrees outside.”

“It’s cold out, but I wouldn’t say it’s that cold out,” I rested my elbows on the counter as I continued to talk, “It felt more like the low forty’s.”

“Celsius,” Shawn corrected me with a laugh, “Five degrees celsius.”

Oh.

Shawn laughed again as I leaned on the counter in silence, even more embarrassed than before. He tried to act sly, but I noticed his hand reach out for a yellow cup.

“I don’t need a coffee,” I told him.

He shook his head, ignoring my words, “What tea do you like?”

“You really don’t––”

“You look like someone who likes English Breakfast,” Shawn ignored my words again as he walked down toward the espresso machine and opened up a box of tea. He took out a bag, plopped it in the cup, and pressed a button on the espresso machine that let out hot water.

Shawn peaked over into the cup, and once he was satisfied with how much water was in there, he pressed the button again and the water stopped. He set the cup down on the counter, as he shook his hand mumbling a hot hot, as he walked back over toward the register to grab another yellow cup, along with a coffee sleeve.

He placed the empty cup under the cup of boiling water, “It just needs to brew for five minutes,” I heard him say as I looked at the steam floating out from the cup, “And then you’ll have something to keep you warm.” He gave me a pointed look.

“Thank you,” I smiled in appreciation as I pulled out some money, “How much is the tea?”

Shawn let out a single laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest, “You’re not paying.”

I rolled my eyes and waved the money in front of his face, “Oh, come on––”

“It’s tea.” Shawn shook his head, “It barely cost anything.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds longer, neither of us wanting to back down. But I knew that even if I put the money in the cash register myself, Shawn would take it out and slip it in my bag. With a sigh, I stuffed the five note back in my wallet and dropped it in my bag.

“Thank you.”

Shawn nodded his head, “So…What kind of art do you like?”

My smile brightened at the mention of art and I saw Shawn’s eyes widen in admiration, “All of it. It’s so fun and always so creative––But I do find myself leaning more toward post-impressionism.”

Shawn slowly nodded his head, he looked about just as lost as I probably looked when he was talking about audio engineering.

“Van Gogh,” I gave him one of the most famous artists to come out of that art movement, “That kind of stuff––Landscapes, lots of color, bold brush strokes.”

“Ah,” he said in understanding, “Starry Night? That’s one of his right?”

I chuckled, “That’s him.”

And then an idea struck my mind.

I had seen advertisements in newspapers and down in the underground about a Van Gogh exhibit opening at the Tate Britain at the end of March. It was a while away, but if I brought it up to him…Maybe he’d want to go.

I felt like Ella with the amount of scheming going on in my mind.

I coughed into the crook of my elbow, “Yeah––Starry Night is cool––The Tate Britain is actually having an exhibit with his art,” I let out a fake sigh, “I’ve been trying to find someone to go with me but I––No one seems interested.”

Shawn’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth straight away, only for it to shut tight, as his head snapped toward the chime of the bell on top of the door. Three girls around our age walked forward, talking among themselves about what they were thinking about ordering.

I shouldn’t have found his facial expression funny, considering I really did think this time around he was going to ask to tag along, but the frustration on his face caused my chest to slightly shake with amusement. He closed his eyes tight, jaw locked, as he rubbed his fingers around his temples.

He let out the most aggravated sigh I’d ever heard, and I think he wanted me to hear how annoyed he was at the customers who just walked in through the door.

“I’ll be with you ladies in one second,” Shawn briefly turned his head to look at them, acknowledging their presence.

I offered him a close lipped smile, and he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Before you go,” he quickly said, taking the tea bag out of the cup, disposing it in the bin, before he disappeared under the counter. But he wasn’t gone for long. He popped right back up with oat milk, shaking the container, before opening it up to splash a little milk in it.

He securely placed a black lid on it and pushed it toward me, “I’m glad you didn’t find another coffee shop.”

His words were simple, and to any outsider, him being worried about me finding a different coffee shop to go to would sound pathetic. But I knew what he meant. I knew he wasn’t just referring to a coffee shop.

The tea was still very hot, even with two cups and a coffee sleeve, but I still picked it up and smiled at him, “See you tomorrow, Shawn?”

Shawn’s smile was wider than I’d ever seen it before and he nodded his head, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When I opened the door, I was met with a gust of cold air that had me ducking my head to shield myself from it stinging my cheeks. But the tea in my hand from Shawn was doing a much better job at providing me warmth than Jack’s sweatshirt.

I walked quickly back toward the Temple Underground station because I was also just starting to realize that maybe my legs weren’t cold because I couldn’t really feel my legs.

I hopped on the tube, switched stations at Embankment, and braced the cold air again as I walked out of Waterloo Station. I was almost back to my flat.

As I waited at the stoplight for the colors to change, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag. I switched the tea to my other hand so I could dig the hand closer to the bag around for it. I pulled it out, and saw that it was a text on WhatsApp from an unrecognizable number.

I scrunched my eyebrows together, and unlocked my phone, curious as to who messaged me.

But when my thumb clicked on the app and I went into the message, I felt my heart skyrocket up to my throat as I let out an audible gasp. Luckily, my grasp around the tea didn’t falter, but I still felt as if I could drop it at any moment.

Hi, McLane! It’s Shawn from Brightside ☕️ I got your number from your sketchbook…I hope that’s alright with you.

And then the light turned green.

A/N: So……How are we feeling about Jack? Operation sketchbook? It was ~semi-successful!! But successful, nonetheless! Things start to pick up from here soooo……Get ready for some fun!

Thank you! Thank you for all of your kind words!! They mean the absolute WORLD to me!🥺 I love you all so very much! As always, sending good vibes 💥

See ya next week with Chapter NINE!!! We’re almost getting to my favorite chapter 🤩

C’est Toi Tag List: @mendesficsxbombay, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks, @musicalkeys, @madatmendes, @im-salt-but-not-salty, @shawnmendez, @crossedties @lenamds

#Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Menes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes Writings #Shawn Mendes coffee shop au #Shawn Mendes AU #Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes x oc #wonder #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn mendes fics #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes blurbs #Shawn mendes story #ugh don't you just HATE tags #anyhoot #I hope you all enjoyed!!!

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hs-devote · 5 years ago

Text

7. H O U R G L A S S

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

Previous chapter :

“I'm close, H! I'm close.”

“Cum with me, baby. Cum with me.”

Y/N cried out when she releases, arching her back made her breast went up in the air. Harry moaned when he spurted his load inside her, filling up her warm cunt. Yet they were riding out their high together, Harry's length still hard and stiff inside her. He rested his forehead against her, giving her small peck on the swollen lips. Harry collapsed next to her, Y/N snuggled to him – hugging his body. They were silent for a moment, letting their lungs gasping for oxygen.

7. HOURGLASS

Her eyes fluttered open, looking at the empty side next to her. She sat up right away, averted her gaze around to find Harry. Y/N wrapped the comforter around her naked body before lowering her feet to the floor. She smiled seeing at small note latched on the nightstand.

I'm on the kitchen if you wake up and find this note. You can wear my shirt if you want to. I hung it in the closet. H x

She put down the paper. When she was about to go to his closet, she was shocked to see how messy his room was. The sheet was sprawled open, her panties were thrown away from the bed whilst her bra was nowhere to be found. The cushions was laying far in the corner. Were they that wild last night?

No, last night was nothing wild. They didn’t damage the bed nor the linen. She was pretty sure Harry could go wild anytime more than last night if he wanted. Her stomach growled from hunger, the sound made her laugh. She had to get out and meet Harry in the kitchen once she finished dress up.

Her legs were a bit sore when she walked, yet she brushed it off. This wasn't her first time wandering around his massive walk-in closet, she remembered the first time she was in there, her jaw hung open due to the large and luxurious his closet. That day, Harry asked her to get his tie. She got confused since there were so many drawers and wardrobes he had. Well, she would laugh if she remembered that.

Y/N instantly spotted his plain white shirt which was too big for her. Nonetheless, she still wore it. She liked it more than her own shirt since she didn't keep her baggy shirts here.

She did keep spare her clothes in Harry’s wardrobe. Of course, it was Harry idea. Y/N often spent her free time at Harry’s house, and most of them ended with her stayed a night or two. He thought that it would be better if his girlfriend kept some spare clothes.

Screw the bra. There were a few of them in the top drawer but I want freedom this morning.

Y/N didn’t want to snoop around, but seeing Harry's clothes hung neatly was such a sight for herself. Her nose smelt Harry's familiar perfume around the closet – made her want to stay a little bit longer.

Her boyfriend was such a neat freak. Harry arranged his clothes according to the brands, the purpose, and colour. He had two wardrobes dedicated to his favourite designer. Yves Saint Laurent and Gucci. He really loved those two brands, and had a good relationship with their designers. It wasn’t a surprise there was plenty of custom outfit from them that Y/N had never seen before.

Then, her eyes caught a shabby leather journal laid on top of his tie drawer, written an H 1994 in front of it with a picture a child embedded. That must be Harry.

Her curiosity about Harry's childhood pictures made her grabbed the journal. Y/N giggled over his photograph; little Harry was so cute with his brown hair. In the picture he wore a blue shirt underneath the cream coloured overalls, his smile was so big showing his bunny teeth. Sitting at the velvet chair, she opened the journal – hoping to find his childhood pictures. But all she found was writings. At first, she wanted to return it back, but the dates were written made her curious. All of them.

January 11th 2003 I didn't know where is my fault. They keep to hate me

January 15th 2003 Friends are horrible

This wasn’t a photo book. This was his childhood diary. She shouldn’t have opened Harry’s diary, surely it was a secret.

There was no way photo album is in a journal, you stupid girl! Her inner goddess scowled.

Her mind told her to return the journal to its previous place, but her inquisitiveness was too high. She gathered her determination before continuing to read.

February 1st 2003 My birthday and no one knows, except mum

February 9th 2003 Everyone hates me

March 12th 2013 Why he hates me and mum so much?

March 29th 2013 He hurt mum

April 3rd 2013 He hurt me

May 1st 2013 I don't like him

August 18th 2013 Football is nice

August 25th 2013 They love my football

September 1st 2013 Dale was awful. I was crying. Everyone was laughing. Mum was sad.

September 12th 2003 Who was the abusive one? Dale? Father?

September 13th 2003 He kicked me

September 14th 2003 He punched my tummy. It's hurts

September 20th 2003 Dale hit me everywhere. But why I couldn't feel it?

October 1st 2003 That feels nice

October 9th 2003 I can't feel my face

October 25th 2003 Poor little pigeon

November 6th 2003 He's stronger than ever

December 1st 2003 What happened?

Y/N closed the journal harshly, too many conclusions was spinning in her brain. The more she thinking about it, the more theories that emerge. Y/N couldn't just draw a conclusion, her brain urged her to ask Harry about that, but her heart holding it back. She didn’t want herself to fall deeper into his confide, she had to stop before curiosity killed her. With various questions raging inside her head, Y/N returned the journal to its original place and immediately went out to meet her boyfriend.

She could see Harry was cooking from the way he held a pan. His upper body bare due to lack of clothes, his fern tattoos visible due to sweatpants hanging low in his hips. Her eyes went down to his happy trail, reminded her of how good he pounded into her last night. Just imagined it made her shudder.

Y/N smiled of how focused he was when he made breakfast, forehead wrinkled while his tip tongue was sticking out. She was busy adoring him with her body leaned to the door frame. Felt like someone was watching him, Harry averted his gaze. He found his girlfriend watched him with a smile on her face, standing cutely in his shirt that way too baggy for her –exposing her delicate legs. Harry was sure she only wore underwear beneath since the shirt fell on her thighs and she was wearing no pants. Harry saw her semi hard nipples through the fabric. He shook his head instantly, if he glanced at it longer than intended, he might have Y/N as his breakfast.

“Good morning, love. I'm making pancake, should be ready in ten minutes. Do you want anything else?” He asked while flipping the pan.

“Pancake is good.” She hummed, walking towards him. “Be careful, we don't want the pancake to fall, do we?”

“Don't underestimate my ability, baby. Go take a seat, and sit there beautifully.”

Y/N shrugged, pulling a seat near her. A moment after, Harry turned off the stove and put the pancake on her plate. She gave him a quick thanks then laughing when she realised her pancake had a shape of a bear's head. She took a quick glance of Harry's plate, finding one with a shape of frog's head.

“What do you want to put on top of it? I have… berries, honey, maple syrup, powdered sugar, err... jam?” Harry asked with his head dug into his massive fridge.

“Berries will be fine.”

Harry pulled out his head with a bowl of berries and a maple syrup in each hand. His foot closed the fridge door. Y/N thanked him for the berries. She looked at Harry who was pouring maple syrup to his pancake and slice the banana on top of it.

“I didn't know you have this cute pancake mould.” She giggled, “This is too cute to eat! I can't even bear to cut it.”

“I found them when I was opening the top drawer. I forgot that I had it because I never used it.” He shrugged, cutting the pancakes. But, her shrieking made him jump and dropping the knife.

“What's wrong?” He asked while taking the knife, put it on the end and took a new one.

“You destroyed the frog's face!” Y/N gasped then laughing softly. Harry stunned in his seat, then looking at his frog pancake which has been split in two.

“Don't shock me like that, baby. Just eat them. I can make more if you want to keep it as a collection.” He laughed, scooping a piece into his mouth.

“This is delicious but I can't stop thinking about a bear head inside my mouth.” Y/N spoke while chewing her pancakes. Harry just shook his head over the silliness of his girlfriend.

They ate in silence, only the sound of the television and soft noises of cutlery clashing with plates were audible. Their attention was directed on the TV that was broadcasting the graphic of company shares in U.K. Y/N was stunned when she saw Machtig's stock chart that went quite far, almost balance with Erskine at the moment. Both of them are in the top five. She looked at Harry who seems unbothered.

“Polygram did that.” Is all he said, nothing more, like answering the look from Y/N. “It's common in the business world.” He added. Then her mind rolling to a few days back, when Harry told her something about Dale bullied him. And, his writings on that journal about him that made her sad.

“Harry, darling.”

Harry smirked at the way Y/N called him with pet names. He knew very well that his lover wanted to ask something that possible worrying her, because that was starting to become her habit.

“Go on, love.”

“I remember the day when you told me that Dale Jespersen was bullying you when you were a child. Is that... is that true?” She asked softly, “I understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

Harry just stared at her, his face was flat with no emotion. She didn’t know if this is a good or bad sign. She cursed her foolishness deep inside her heart when Harry said nothing.

“Dale Jespersen was my school friend when we went to same primary school in Birmingham – before I moved to Manchester. I used to be the nerd one in my class.” He said, “I never really come play with them. Since one thing I knew that time was... I have to get good grades so my mum would be happy. Apparently, some kids think otherwise. He and his friends always said I was arrogant. Until one day, I thought it was never hurt to try... play with them. I began to open up, sparing my time to play football after school ended – before coming home, even though it just a quick play.”

Y/N silently heard Harry's explanation, want nothing than be a good listener. Harry paused for a while before continuing. His head, which had been looking down, slowly looked her up. His eyes became dull, seemed like he just told her something sad.

“It's okay if you don't want to go forward, darling. I don't have to know the whole story if you feel uncomfortable.” She said with concern. Her hand stretching out to rub his hand. But he just shook his head, ready to continue.

“I became an idol in the field because I could show them my skills in football. He didn't like his attention was taken by me. He made up a story that I beat my mum because according to him, he saw my mother was crying in our yard when he passed by. I confront him, and long story short, he made me his punching bag.”

Y/N gasped, her palm covering her mouth in disbelief. “You didn't do that, did you?”

Harry chuckled, “Who do you believe? Me or him?”

“Of course, i believe you, Harry. I just... didn't expect something like that.” She murmured, “But you're okay now, no grudges yeah?”

Harry leaned back, looking at her with a subtle smirk on his lips. Laughing silently at how clueless this girl in front of him. If only she knew.

Y/N didn't realise that the person who had been talking about Dale's cruelty, have different eyes to someone who made her breakfast this morning. Little did she know, every single word that came out from his mouth, the eyes getting darker than usual.

. . . .

Harry only could curl up, hugging his knees every time his back received a whipped from someone who should protect him. His mother was out, so clearly he couldn't ask anyone for help. He really wanted to cry, but he couldn't. If he cried, the whipped would get stronger.

“You fucking little bullshit!”

Deep inside his heart, he prayed his mother come home soon.

God listened to his prayer when he heard the front door being open. He immediately ran to his bedroom upstairs when the whipped stopped. Harry was breathing rapidly, he must quick search a safe spot in his room. Although he wasn't sure that would protect him well. He locked the door, moving his whatever in his room that he thought was heavy enough to hold the door.

He looked at himself in the mirror, slowly lifted up his shirt. He whimpered when he saw the scar on his back, still fresh and red. He blinked his eyes to let the tears rolling down his cheek. Harry wanted to tell his mother, but he didn't have any bravery.

How could a father do that to a nine year old child?

Harry didn't understand.

Sunday morning was supposedly being fun because you could have quality time with your family. Apparently not for Harry. He woke up when he heard her mother screaming, his feet quickly take him downstair to only find his father was grabbing his mother hair until her head tilted. She looked in pain, his knuckles grip tightly to her roots. Harry was frozen in the stairs, eyes widened to a sight in front of him.

Whatever would happen, he must help his mother.

Then, he ran and yelled. Kicking his father in the legs, made the older man stumbled a bit. Harry hurried to his mother, asking if she was okay, and hug her. But, the father didn't like it. He grabbed Harry's collar and dragging him to the floor. His breath choked up when he felt the father's hand circling around his neck, putting pressure in it.

Her mother was screaming in tears, watching her husband strangled her son. She tried to let go of him, but he shoved her back and slapped her head.

She must be able to protect her child, and herself. Ignoring the burning sensation on her face, she pulled her husband and took him out of the house.

“You fucking whore! Your little bastard must be taught a lesson!”

She crinkled her face when the scent of alcohol and cigarettes wafted from his mouth. “Get out! Don't come to me and my son again!”

The father looked at her and the small boy next to her in disgust. He spitted to the asphalt and went away. Harry was silent, but not with his mother. He could hear her sad cry. The only thing he could do now is; hug her. As he did now. Didn't care if they look pathetic in their front yard.

Two weeks was nice without his father. He didn't come home, and Harry prayed he wouldn't be. Until the nightmare paid them a visit as his father show up in their door, looking for his mother. The pathetic man was asking for some money to his wife. But of course she wouldn't give him. She was struggling enough to work and get a nice pay job, how the hell she gave him money from her hard work for free?

Everything went fast. Harry defended his mother, but end up his father beating him up in their yard. His mother was laying unconscious in the living room due to punched she got. Harry accepted every hit, every jab, every punch. He wanted to fight. But he didn't want his mother to be next his target if he did that. He could only surrender.

What could a small child like him do? He didn't know.

Every kick, every smack, every pain. He absorbed well. Until he only could feel anger, hate, hurt. No, he wouldn't let this pathetic old man beat him again. Not him. Not his mother. He smiled through the pain. No, he couldn't feel the pain. He didn't feel any pain. He felt numb. It was like a tickle to him. He rose, holding his father's hands.

How came?

He endured effortlessly. The last thing he remembers was, he gave the man in front of him – who was confused, a flat smile before pinning his father's hand to the opposite direction. A small crack made him screaming in pain, but made Harry smile in satisfied.

Harry felt strange, his father still tried to make his mother and his life miserable. Yes, he was abusive. But a few days back, he only threw things when he mad, didn't do anything physically. He should have be relieved a little, but his little head had some questions.

Harry didn't know why his mother did not leave him already. If they were hurt, why they should stay?

Once abusive, would still abusive.

His father was acting up again. Harry was in his room, doing his homework when his father broke down his door and rummaged the room – like was looking for something.

“Where is it?” Voice hoarse, hands opening every single drawer in the room.

“What are you looking for?” Harry asked.

“You should be keeping some money from Anne, right? Where?”

“I won't tell you. I need them to buy some books.”

Hearing what his son just said, it did something in him. He didn't like the answer. Then, he stomped to Harry, pulling his shirt. Harry was scared, his body trembled so badly.

“I need them more than you! Fuck that stupid books, I want the money!”

Harry shook his head, his mother was working her ass off to be able to provide what he needs. An education, for a better future. There was no way he would give up the money for his father's unnecessary wants. He cried in pain when his father hit his head, throwing him to the corner, and kick his legs. Over and over again.

In the blink of an eye, his father was shocked when he felt pain in his head. He looked at Harry in disbelief, his palm felt wet – and realise it was blood dripping from his back head. Harry in front of him was panting hard, his face was showing no emotion, with the hand gripping a brick. How come he had a brick in his bedroom?

Both of them heard a gasp from the door, finding Anne standing right there. Harry could see his father ran to her, and yelling about what he did to him.

“He hit my head with a brick! Your fucking son keep bricks in his room to attack me!”

Anne averted his gaze towards Harry, looking for evidence. “Is that true, Harry?” Her voice quivered. Harry shook his head, his expression was flat, no guilt at all. “No, I'm not holding anything in my hands. See?”

He stretched out his bare hand, no bricks were seen. His father yelled again, accused him of being a liar because he was sure that Harry hit him with bricks. Anne sighed and led her husband out. Leaving Harry alone. She didn't know who to believe. But clearly, Harry never lied to her.

Little did they know, Harry was laughing right after them both gone. His eyes glanced at the corner of his bed, where the brick was laid.

After that accident, his parents never talk about it. Either Anne did believe him, or his father really thought he was hallucinating. Harry really didn't care.

Christmas was only a few days. When other families worked together to decorate their house, it wasn't for Harry. His father's drunken face was somewhere they didn't know, only Harry and his mother were ecstatic about the eve. His favourite moment was when its snows in the morning and at night. If people sometimes complain about the thickness of the snow, Harry liked it instead. He liked that white – soft thing.

He ran outside when realising the snow was showering that morning, his thick clothes protected him from the cold weather outside. He sat on the snow in his yard, looking at the empty streets. Then, he saw a white pigeon sheltering under a tree from the snow. It was alone, without a friend. Harry barely recognised it if only he wasn't under a tree, its colour was almost like snow.

Without him knowing, his feet brought him close to it. He squatted in front of the pigeon, and strangely the bird was not afraid. It let itself be lifted by Harry, feeling the warmth from the hands of the human who was holding it.

“Why are you alone? Where's your family?” Harry hummed, stroking its feathers. “You must feel sad because you're alone.. in this cold morning.”

Harry kept stroking its feathers, patted the small head. “You're with no family, are you?”

Then, his hand stopped – but still holding the pigeon, as aware of something. He lifted the pigeon so its parallel with his eyes. “You better be with your other friends and family up there, not here. In here.. is cruel. Too cruel for small things like you.”

Harry didn't remember anything until his flustered face looking at the pigeon in horror. It was laying stiff with blood almost covering its small body. The blood staining the white feathers. He gasped when he found a bloody knife not far from his feet. Both of his hands also were covered by the pigeon's blood.

What did he do?

His heart was racing, hands trembling, tears were falling down to his face. He was so scared.

Harry could hear his mother screaming from his behind. He glanced back, saw his mother standing there with a shocked face, scared.. he couldn't even describe it. Then he saw the lifeless pigeon again in his hand. He did kill it.

. . . .

“See! Your fucking son is a murderer!”

Harry whimpered in the corner, his father was back and now having an argument with his mother. They didn't even have proper Christmas celebration since his father step his foot in the Christmas morning. He heard Anne confronted Harry about killing the poor pigeon. That was the worst morning for Harry, how could his mother bring it up in the Christmas morning!? They should gather around to open the presents instead of accusing him of something like... that.

“I was asking Harry, not you.”

“Now you believe me. Once, he hit me with brick. Second, he killed an animal. What's next? Burning this fucking house on fire?! This psychopath's little shit must be taken away before he harms others!”

Harry just shook his head, palms covering his ears. He didn't want to hear it.

No.

“How could you call your son a psychopath's?! He's just a child. He did know nothing!”

He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want his Christmas turned into a nightmare. He got up, running to his room, slamming the door and locked it. He cried and cried. He didn't know why he killed the pigeon. The last thing he remembered was.. patting its head.

Christmas walked so the new year eve could come closer. He didn't have anything to celebrate. After the Christmas incident, his mother was keeping a distance from him and talked to him as needed. It broke his heart. Every night before he went sleep, he always wondering.. why his mother didn't believe him. Why he did that. Why God always makes him sad.

It was the morning after the new year, last night he spent the count down with sitting on the roof. Waiting for fireworks to appear in the night sky even he didn't like the sound of it. It was better than the sound of silence.

He bet his father was out last night, probably went to a local bar and downing for alcoholic drinks there. He didn't care. Yet, then he heard screaming from the kitchen, he saw her mother try to shove away from his father.

“Give me that money, Anne! I need them!”

“No! I don't have any. Go away!”

“You fucking liar!” He saw his father hit his mother with cutting board to her head. Harry scared, really scared. Didn't what to do. But, the time he saw blood dripping to her face, he felt anger burned into him. He ran to them, taking the vegetable knife from the counter and stab his father's arm.

His father was screaming in agony, while his mother stared at him with utter shock – still gripping her bloody head. Harry was standing there with a knife in his hand, watching his father grimacing in pain. His mother could see the flat emotion in Harry's face. No scared look. No anger look. Nothing.

Harry was locked up in his room after that. He didn't know what his parents would do with their bloody wounds. He did care about his mother, but no with his father. He just sleeps, waiting for whatever would happen tomorrow.

It felt like he had only slept for a few hours when he woke up forcefully, he was dragged from his bed by someone.

Who else was if it wasn't his father?

Harry tried to run away, but he felt weak because he cried all night in his sleep.

Where was his mother?

He was forced into the car, both of his hands were tied together. His body was held by the safety belt in the back seat. His eyes were covered with cloth, so he didn't know where he was going.

He felt the car stopped after one hour drive, he thought. He heard the door opened, following by harsh tug of the cloth covering his eyes. His father untied his hand and pulled his out from the car.

Harry was looking around. There were lots of little kids here, but where it is?

He really wanted to run away, but he didn't dare because he didn't want his mother to get hit again because of him. His priority now was his mother safety.

“His name is Harry. I found him was crying in front of his parents grave. So I think it's best to take him here, so someone can take care of him.”

His head lifted up, looking at his father in disbelief. What did he mean?

“Of course. Did you relate to him?”

“No, I was asking him if he has a family. But he's alone himself.”

The lady who was speaking with his father, crouching down to his level. She seemed nice, smiling at him. But his smile faltered when he heard those words that crashing down his life.

“Hi, I'm Elis. We will take good care of you. Don't worry, Harry. You will get a new family in this orphanage.”

. . . .

“What are you planning for Christmas?”

Last night, Abbie called Y/N if she could get breakfast together this morning since both of them wasn't so busy at the moment. Of course Y/N glad to hear that, it had been a while since she met her friend. Now here they were, having meals in the little breakfast cafe near the Battersea Square. Harry drove her here since she was staying at his house for the weekend.

“I'll go home as well as Harry. We'll spend the time with our own family before heading to Sorrento for New Year together.” Y/N answered before taking a sip of her hot chocolate. It was an early day in December, and London weather was getting colder every day. So, she needed something to warm her body.

“Italy? How nice! But I prefer to go there in Summer, you know? Warm sun, warm air..” Abbie squealed.

“Harry was the one who had the idea. It was more than enough for me. I can't complain anything to him.” She shrugged, “How about you?”

Abbie just laughed, “My mum wanted to come here, so I guess I'll spend Christmas and New Year in here.”

The rest of the time they just walked about the time together when they were at school, playing back memories that memorable for them. The clock was ticking at past eleven when they decided to go. Besides, Y/N really didn't want to lave Harry for too long. Abbie offered her a ride since she would be passing Lots Road, so she would dropping Y/N off there.

When Y/N arrived at Harry's penthouse, Suzanne was in the kitchen. She bid a quick hello to her before heading to Harry's bedroom. She let out a small shriek when her eyes found Harry sprawled out in his bed just in his briefs, laid out like a starfish.

“What are you doing?” Y/N giggled, crawling to his side. Harry tilted his head towards her, “I was running while you were meeting Abbie, now I'm exhausted.”

“Why you don't take a shower?” She asked, her finger brushing off his baby hair on his forehead. She gasped when Harry flipped her body so she was on top him, hands gripping her bum.

“I was waiting for you. Maybe we can take a shower together?” He wiggled his eyebrow. Y/N snuggled to him, smothering his neck with some kisses. “I already taking the shower. Now, take your ass to the shower. And wash the sticky sweats off your body.”

“Didn't you realise you get the sticky sweat from the way you plopped down on me, darling?”

Harry let out a humoured laugh when his girlfriend whined after she had just realised. He shoved her body away gently, and walking to his bathroom. “I will be happy to waiting for you under the shower.”

And after that, he vanished into the bathroom. Y/N then sat up, looking at her both arms that now wet from Harry's sweat. In fact, she didn't want to complain because his sweat smells good. And yeah, she should take another shower because how sticky her body from his sweat.

When she walked into the bathroom, Harry's naked figure clearly visible. Although the hot steam covered the glass wall, she could see Harry's standing under the shower with his back facing her. Y/N closed the door slowly, not making any noise. She stripped down her clothes until she's naked, and join him in the shower. The way her sneaking arms hugged his torso made Harry didn't flinch at all. Like he's already expecting it.

Y/N peppering kisses on his neck, shoulder, all around his back with her fingers rubbing his stomach. She gave him kitten licks to his earlobe before sucked it, made Harry whimpered. His hands pumping his length slowly. Y/N brushed her wet hair from her face, so it wouldn't block her eyes. She bit her boyfriend's shoulder to expect leaving marks on there. She loved to claim what she had.

Her hand went down to his V-line, before grabbing his length and help him to pump it while her other hand slid up and down his nipple in teasing way.

That's it. That's the last strike. Harry couldn't let her.

Y/N squealed when Harry flipped them both, pushing her body against the wall and grab her legs so they wrapped around him. She quickly put her hands around his neck. Luckily, her back was against the glass and Harry holding her bum, keeping her legs around his waist. If not, she could slip on the slippery tile. Both of them panting quickly, she could feel her hard nipple pressed onto his toned chest. Meanwhile, his length resting it limb between her thighs.

“Thought you would come, darling.” He whispered, booping her nose with his. “What was that behaviour?”

“I just want to help my boyfriend.” She shrugged, fingers curling his back hair. Since the shower was no longer right above their head, Y/N could see Harry clearly. His soaked wet face made her fantasy went wild. She gulped as Harry pressed down his length to her centre, rubbing his tip up and down.

“Do you feel that? This is what you've done, baby.” He mumbled in her ear, “Hard and ready, only for you.”

“Only for me?” Y/N asked for recognition, her fingertips digging to his shoulder. She looked down to find Harry's length was ready. Hard, erect on its glory. Harry nodded, licking her earlobe. “Only for my baby.”

She brought his head to her, so she could crashing her lips on his. It didn't take long for their tongues to wrestle with each other. The only sound they heard was their lips ravishing each other, even the sound of the shower only sounded faint to their ears. Their body was hot, burning in flame. The hot steam made everything getting more intense.

He ran his finger over her centre, only found her sticky wetness. Harry smirked, his ego was getting high.

“You're so wet, bet it taste sweet too.” He mumbled in her lips.

Harry detached his lips from her, so he could suck her nipple while the other one being rubbed and pinched by his finger. His grip was strong enough to keep her only in one his arm. Y/N felt her centre aching, shaking... need someone to take care of it. Her moan was Harry favourite sound in the world, nothing else. She whimpered, arching her back when Harry blew air to her hard and stiffened nipples – making her grip on his hair tightened.

Without her knowing, Harry pushed his index finger inside her centre. Rolling out slowly, yet slammed hard into her. His index fingers curled up inside of her, with his middle finger joined afterwards.

“Oh, Harry. Oh!”

Harry groaned, moving his fingers in and out faster. He smashed his lips again to her, to muffled her loud moan. He could feel his length getting harder than before. His girl was trembling under his touch. He kissed her cheek before pulled his fingers out. But, her pleasure still going strong.

“Harry..”

“Not finish, baby.”

She cried when Harry teased her, rubbing her entrance with his tip. Her legs shook terribly. She wanted him so bad.

“Harry, please... please I can't– ”

“Please what, baby?” He hummed on her neck, leaving marks on his favourite spots.

Every whimper, every moans...

Harry left his marks on her neck, throat, shoulder, chest, breast...

“Beg for me, and I'll give you what you want.”

“I need you, please. I need you inside of me, right now, baby.”

“Uh-huh, you forget something.” He shook his head, smirking.

“I need you to fuck me, ravish me, do whatever your heart desire.” She whined.

“Oh, fuck!”

Y/N choked when Harry slid in his length in only one move. Sometimes it surprised her; the way her body quickly adjusted to his size inside of her, he was huge and thick, it was never enough for her to feel him. Harry paused for a moment before moving his precious length.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He hissed, placing his forehead on her with hands gripping her bum.

“Move, H.”

Her words always being his command. It was what always Harry said to her.

He slowly rolled in and out, palms still gripping her bum. They both moaned wildly. Y/N clutched Harry's shoulder while he dropped his head to hers. She cried every time Harry was pulling out then slammed into her, pushed his length deeper as he could.

Y/N felt she was getting close, her full cunt trembled from the way Harry rolled his length. She squinted her eyes, breath panting wildly.

“I'm close, H. Oh my god.. Oh!”

“You wanna cum? Cum for me, baby. Cum on me, please.”

Harry still rocking wildly into her, meanwhile, the girl in front of him was shuddering. From the way Y/N arched her back, he knew she was about to come. In just a few seconds, he felt she came on him. He could feel her wetness smeared on his length.

“Harry...”

He groaned, hearing her soft yet exhausted voice whispering into his ear. His brows furrowed, mouth parting. He shut his eyes closed, feeling himself getting close. Y/N cried out of the how fast he rocked her, the way he slammed back and forth made her wanted to pass out anytime. Before Harry got the chance, he slid out of her on time – seeing his thick cum squirted from his tip all over her and him. Slowly, he lowered Y/N legs, quickly support her body because he knew how weak her legs were.

“Thank you, baby.” He smiled, kissing her cheek. “That was amazing.”

“It was.. better than the one we had in the bathtub.” She sighed, “My back was sore due to clashing down the bathtub tile.”

“So, looks like bathtub sex is the last on the list?” Harry just laughing, “C'mon, let's clean our body.”

“I can't even stand properly, H.” Y/N pouted, hand still on his shoulder. Harry looked down her trembling legs, “All right, just hold onto me.”

. .

Please excuse some errors.

50 notes · View notes

ecto-american · 5 years ago

Text

White and Nerdy

Holiday Truce Gift for @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy based on their request for Vlad’s slice of life outside of the Fentons.

On FFN and AO3

Summary: Contrary to belief, Vlad does have hobbies other than spinning in a fancy chair with his cat thinking of evil plots. For example, every Tuesday he dedicates the day to hanging out with his best friend as they both indulged in their crippling, long term addictions: World of Warcraft, with a pinch of Dungeons and Dragons.

Rating: K+

Warnings: Some cursing

Other Notes: Everybody is gay or trans, and you can't stop me.

Running a multi billion dollar empire was stressful, to say the very least. And of course, when you own those businesses, it was easy to work as much or as little as you pleased. Not that Vlad ever found himself taking off too much from work. No, no. He loved running his empire, the meetings and decisions. Whenever he took too much time off, the halfa found himself restless. Vlad craved a full schedule, and he needed things to look forward to.

Though of course, he wasn't all work and no play. There was one day of the week Vlad always, with the exception of business trips, took off or would take easy: Tuesdays. Tuesday was raid day.

And on that Tuesday morning, Vlad paid no mind as he could faintly hear the front door being unlocked and closed. His best friend, his actual best friend (NOT that fool Jack), had keys and was permitted to come over whenever he pleased.

Vlad continued his morning routine lazily, carefully shaving and grooming his beard to his preferred style. Brushed and styled his hair in it's normal ponytail, and he dressed himself. Any other day of the week, Vlad would be putting on his Italian brand name custom suits, always freshly pressed and ironed by a maid. But today was raid day, and so he instead was wearing sweatpants and an oversized Packers sweatshirt. He slipped on his football slippers, and he went downstairs to his computer room.

Not his office, which was expensively decorated with only the most fine and formal, shelves lined with important titles. His computer room, which was expensively decorated for a whole other reason. As he opened the door, he smiled at the shelves full of figurines of his favorite characters, accessories adorning the walls. He knew that most would have a stroke, since he never kept anything in the original box, despite having the entire collection of figurines, statues, busts, everything that would make the most dedicated fan drooling. That was simply stupid in Vlad's eyes, it was made to be admired and displayed, not kept in a box. If any were to break, he could simply buy another, no issue.

They lined shelves that were all over the brightly lit room, with cabinets below that held their boxes. While he didn't keep them in boxes, he of course, still kept them. There were also some books, mostly related to the lore but also game guides and manuals.

He admired his collection for a moment before turning his attention to the middle aged man getting comfortable in one of the three computer setups Vlad had, the far left one. All the setups were, of course, only the best and most advanced, with each desktop having three monitors and leather chairs. Each desk was a large U shaped one, set pressed to each other and near the back wall for the outlets.

"Hey, morning!" Edward Lancer greeted him warmly. Both men were morning people, clear by their chosen professions and schedules. Ed was in his own lounge wear, sweatpants with crocs and an old college t-shirt. "I brought McDonald's." He gestured to the bag that was left on Vlad's desk, alongside a cup of coffee clearly from Vlad's own kitchen.

Had it been any person other than Ed, Vlad would have been mortified over McDonald's. But even billionaires couldn't resist their breakfast, and it was only on Tuesday that he was able to privately indulge. Ed never judged.

"Thank you!" Vlad replied brightly. Ed had his own meal in front of him, sitting facing away from the keyboard as he took his time eating. Vlad joined him, sitting at his desk and doing the same, allowing them to talk face to face as they ate.

"Are you ready to fight the dragon later?" Ed questioned as he cut up his pancakes. "Since we're resting, I've been trying to figure out what spells I should prepare for the day to fight it." Vlad snorted, shaking his head.

"Knowing Harriet, she'll likely make the dragon a red herring that goes down with ease and dick us over with the actual boss that'll be invincible to half our party because it's immune the attacks that destroy the damn dragon," Vlad replied before taking a big sip of coffee. Burning hot, but delicious. Ed chuckled in amusement.

"She's always made it fair though," Ed replied. "Her boss battles are never unbeatable."

"Yeah, but she makes every campaign some Water Temple level meets 90s point and click mystery game difficulty and outrageous puzzle solving," Vlad grumbled.

"I like it, it's good critical thinking practice," Ed replied. "I've used some of her puzzles in the games I DM for the students. Really makes them think rather than just attacking everything. I swear, one of my students, Nathan, he just loves rolling to attack every NPC I make."

"Sounds like a ninny," Vlad said as he took a bite of his greasy fast food. The best part about the summer was Ed not having to teach. They could dedicate the whole day to hanging out. Of course, Ed took up a summer job, but he was able to secure Tuesdays off.

"A bit, but a good kid," Ed always spoke fondly of his students. "You should come in sometime for a game, it'd be fun."

"I think I might," Vlad agreed thoughtfully.

Of course, going to Casper High was always hit or miss. Daniel was there, and it was always nice to be able to check in on the little badger. But as mayor and a billionaire that funded several scholarships, it would be nice publicity to go and have some face time with kids. Many of his high school interns had graduated and left for college, and he was in the market for some new ones. Might be able to find some promising new future employees too. Hm, he'd have to see where he could fit a Casper High visit into his schedule when school began. Vlad would worry about that another time.

"How's their gay club?" Vlad questioned. "You guys just formed one, right?"

"It's got a steady group of kids who come in, very good kids. Many have supportive parents now," Ed explained. The teacher had paused, giving a small sigh. "It's a double edge sword for me. On one hand, I'm so grateful that so many of them can be who they are. But...I don't know. I hate that we never got to have that."

Vlad nodded understandingly. He poked at his breakfast, feeling hunger temporarily leave him as those depressive memories came back.

"I'll forever be thankful that Mother wanted to apologize and make amends before she died," Vlad spoke. "But I'm sorry she missed out on so much because of what I had to do to become happy. At least she passed away recognizing me as her son."

The last memories of his mother was depressing. Elderly and sick with cancer, even with all the money Vlad began to throw at her once she reached out to him after nearly twenty years of refusing to speak to him. Whether his sister wore her down, or it was deathbed regrets. It was an emotional two years, being able to see his mom again.

"Mine's in better shape than me, and they're still calling me by my old name," Ed complained. "I don't think it'll ever change. I try to keep a relationship, cause of the kids, but I don't know if it's even worth it anymore."

Silence hung in the air as they separately mourned for what it all cost them. Of course, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it to be happy, to be comfortable and finally as they should be, but it didn't make the cost any less harsh of a price to pay.

"Their generation will be better," Vlad said firmly. Ed nodded in agreement. "Please let me know if any of them need binders or anything of the sorts."

"I will. I've been thinking about starting a clothing drive for them," Ed explained. "I can probably get the school on board with it if we market it as for the lower income students too. Dressing how you want makes a big difference."

"You get the details sorted out, and I will absolutely financially back you," Vlad promised. Ed smiled.

"Thank you. I may start working on that to propose for this school year," Ed mused.

For the bumbling oaf that Jack was, Vlad had to admit that he was a very loving and caring man. A bit too caring, honestly, it was a bit of a flaw. He had immediately accepted Vlad, and later on his own son. It always warmed him to remember that Daniel had two parents that had immediately gotten him everything a young trans man could ever need. No hesitation, no questioning.

Ed took a final bite of his breakfast before humming happily. He wiped his hands as he pushed to toss his empty containers into the trash can.

"Enough being sad, let's raid," he suggested. Vlad hurriedly took his last two bites before nodding in agreement.

123456789

The raid was broken up with greasy Chinese takeout for lunch, brought to them by a staff. Another guilty pleasure Vlad rarely indulged in. Then, of course, it was a return to games before they changed into their normal attire, sitting down to a home cooked dinner by staff. By the time they were finishing up, their other guests had begun to arrive for the evening plans.

Vlad always hosted the game. It just always made the most sense. He had the most room in his house, nor the distractions of family. Not that he disliked Lance nor Ed's children, they were great, but there was nothing that ruined the immersion of dragon slaying quite like teenage dramatics. And he thought that playing with toddlers in the house was frustrating.

The four sat in yet another room in Vlad's mansion that he had dedicated fully to the hobby. A large round table with Harriet Chin sitting furthest from them. A DM folder that separated her papers from there, just low enough that the halfa could see her smirking to herself as she reviewed her plans. Ed sat to her left, with an empty seat in between them. Another empty seat in between him and Vlad, and yet another separated Vlad from Lance Thunder.

Vlad honestly didn't really know the man that well yet. He was one of Harriet's coworkers that she had dragged into the summer game, as Vlad and Ed needed a third person in the party for this campaign. Their normal fourth and fifth friends, Joe and Frank, were spending the summer with their daughter and their newborn granddaughter. He already missed the pair terribly, especially Frank. Frank would often join in on their World of Warcraft adventures. But Lance was gay, and that made him okay enough for Vlad to accept him into their little queer circle with little complaint.

"I wouldn't get her a car unless she had good grades," Vlad gave his two cents into the conversation. Something about Lance's daughter wanting a car. Lance nodded.

"That's what I've been saying, but Alan keeps saying that if Star had her own car, she could begin driving herself to the library and to school to study, but I just don't buy that," Lance agreed. Vlad knew by now who those people were. Alan was Lance's husband, Star was Lance's daughter from his first marriage. Vlad had seen pictures of Star before. She was a spitting image of Lance. "She's more interested in being with her friends."

"And what does Rene think?" Ed questioned about the ex-wife's opinion. Lance shrugged.

"She doesn't think Star needs a car," Lance replied. "Public transportation isn't bad here, she can always borrow one of our cars, and lots of colleges won't let you have cars as a freshman anyway. So it'd be sitting in the driveway in a year or so for a year anyway."

"Star's going to be a junior, right?" Vlad questioned. Lance nodded. Vlad mentally went over his garage of cars. "When she's able to have a car on her college campus, I'll happily give her a good deal on one of my cars if she has good grades. I'll probably be retiring one of my cars by then. Of course, it's not going to be some beat up piece of junk." Lance's eyes widened.

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Lance smiled warmly at him.

"Vlad sold my oldest, Ophelia, a car about five years ago. Car still runs like it's new," Ed spoke up.

"Ophelia just began graduate school, didn't she?" Harriet questioned, finally speaking up. She had been nose deep in her campaign notes. Ed nodded.

"She got in at the University of Chicago, full ride," Ed beamed with pride, and Vlad was very proud too. Ophelia, his precious goddaughter, was like a niece to him. Very smart, quick-witted and the only one who could match Ed's passion for literature. Of course, Vlad provided her with that full ride scholarship, as he did with her younger siblings, and eventually he would do the same for Ed's remaining two when they got to that point. No niece or nephew of his was going to college with student debts. "George is set to graduate soon too, this is his last year. Before med school anyway."

Ahh, little Georgie. Vlad got to spend a lot of time with him. He was one of Vlad's interns at Axion Labs. A strong willed boy, good head on his shoulders. Sometimes a little too honest, but the world needed more people like that. Whenever the billionaire stopped by Axion Labs, he always paid a visit to his favorite intern. It was always those times he spent with Ed's children that Vlad regretted not having his own.

"So how's the cat, Vlad?" Harriet asked, giving a small smirk. She could always seem to sniff out his emotions. Damn journalists. They were a bit too observant. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"How's yours?" he asked back. She chuckled.

"Bandit's the happiest boy alive, I just got him a nice new cat tower," she replied. Vlad nodded.

"I just had a new cat house for Maggie built," Vlad told her. Of course, he was never going to admit to his friends, most of them knowing the ghost huntress, that he named his cat after a long term crush. "It's going to be installed in the next week or so. You should bring Bandit over then. Maggie loves him."

"Oh I might," Harriet hummed happily. "It's been a while since Bandit got to hang out with Maggie."

"Does anybody want a drink before we begin?" Vlad questioned.

"Can I have a glass of rosé wine?" Harriet questioned. The billionaire smirked.

"Of course," he replied. He glanced to Ed and Lance.

"Uh, just gimme a beer, you know what I like," Ed shrugged. Lance thought for a moment.

"I may just have some wine too," Lance spoke.

Vlad nodded, and he stood to go to the intercom on the wall. All of the rooms in his house had it for his staff. He pushed it, and he requested the drinks, alongside what he knew to be choice snacks.

Almost as soon as Vlad had sat down, a male staff member came with a tray. It was full of cheese and crackers, popcorn, chips and fondue. Another staff member came with drinks and glasses.

Vlad picked up a beer like Ed, cracking it open and taking a long drink. Of course, in any other company, he'd indulge in wine. Beer was not something one could normally drink at a formal business function, and so he always took advantage of the times he could freely have some.

They began. A small discussion, and as the billionaire expected, the dragon went down easy. Suspiciously easy. Harriet gave the group before her a mischievous grin just over her DM folder. Vlad didn't like this, or that look in her eye.

"So you guys defeated the dragon," the reporter replied slyly. "But there's no loot to collect on him. The dragon dissolves and melts away. Everybody roll for perception and add your stuff. Then tell me what you got."

Oh, he definitely did not like this a single bit. Vlad eyed her coldly as he picked up his dice. Ed and Lance did the same.

"Visual or hearing, I'm missing an eye so I'd have to roll disadvantage otherwise," Ed reminded her.

"Hearing!" Harriet chirped. He nodded.

"Uh, sixteen then," he replied.

"Ten," Lance said.

"Twenty-two," Vlad spoke.

"You hear nothing," Harriet told Lance, pointing to him. She moved her finger to Ed. "You hear a small noise, two voices. But they're a bit muffle, you can't quite make out the entire conversation. But you do hear some words. The general jist of the conversation you can make out is that these individuals have realized you killed the dragon and are here." Harriet pointed to Vlad. "You! However, you can hear everything. It's a rough voice of a masculine figure telling somebody to prepare for battle, somebody has killed their precious dragon. They're going to detect your thoughts to determine your next movements before making their next move."

"I cast detect magic," Vlad replied. Harriet's eyes sparkled.

"It failed," she announced gleefully. Vlad internally groaned, and he could see Ed looking confused. "So what will you guys do."

Lance scratched his temple as he stared at his character sheet. He was not just new to the group, but to the game itself. The weather man studied his sheet for a moment as he tried to think. He took a long sip of his wine before speaking.

"Well uh, I think my guy is just gonna look for the treasure, cause I didn't hear anything," Lance said slowly. "And I'm still really interested in the promised gold."

"I tell him to not, because we should be careful," Ed spoke up quickly. "Because of what I heard."

"You tell your party what you heard?" Harriet questioned. She had leaned back in her seat, a leg over the arm of the chair as she held her beverage. The lesbian lightly swirled her wine in her glass before taking a long drink.

"Yeah, I tell my party what I heard," Ed clarified.

"And I'll tell them what I heard," Vlad agreed. "Because I need these people alive to keep me alive. They're my meat shields." Harriet snickered.

"So the prince never mentioned anything but a dragon being in here," Ed said slowly. "It must be another adventuring party trying to get the treasure. Prince Yamum said he did send several people to collect the family amulet."

"I say we kill them," Vlad suggested. Ed looked at him in disapproval, and Vlad shrugged. "My character's selfish. He doesn't want to share the loot with this party, and he doesn't want to share the rewards for returning the amulet."

"I agree," Lance said slowly. "My guy doesn't want the competition."

"No, no!" Ed said sternly. "We are NOT killing him, he may have useful information for us or be able to help."

"There's two voices, so that's a five way split between treasure," Lance pointed out. Vlad glanced to see Harriet's reaction. She was grinning like a fool, with that distinctive sparkle in her eye. She was absolutely up to something, and she looked like a true super villain. Evil plots forming her mind. Vlad trusted her with nothing, and yet he admired this chaotic evil lesbian. Harriet was his villain goals.

"Harriet, I swear on your grave," Vlad began his threat, only to stop with a frown at Harriet's devilish giggle.

"The individual detects your negative and violent thoughts," she announced cheerfully. She finished off her glass, shifting to have both legs over the armrest, her back against the opposite one. "And they have deduced that you're a threat that needs to be taken care of. Congratulations, boys. You're encountering the real boss." Vlad scowled.

"I knew you were going to do this, you always pull some weird bait and switch thing!" Vlad complained. Harriet smirked. "Lemme guess. It's a, it's a, god what would be the worst thing to fight right now." Vlad racked his mind for a possible enemy. "A rakshasa? Probably with a shield guardian too."

Harriet's smirk only widened. And Vlad knew he was correct.

"Roll for initiative, bitch."

#my phics #phics #holiday truce 2019 #idiot cheesehead archenemy #vlad masters #mr. lancer #lance thunder #harriet chin

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joshslater · 6 years ago

Text

The Man

Let’s do hypno!

Sam was honestly happy the event was over. Sure, it was great to be acknowledged with this years young entrepreneur award, but he didn't like to be in a formal setting. It always made him self conscious, though he was pretty sure that was by design. He headed down from the conference floor of Sheraton, through the lobby out on the street, and had a light jog a block away to where his sporty bicycle was parked. He was, as always, wearing sweatshirt and sweatpants with the company logo, and a backpack. It was mentioned more than once in the award ceremony how he never lost an opportunity for advertisement and branding. Dashing through the city on his needlessly rugged off road bike made him reflect on just how far he'd come.

He couldn't remember anything about The Man. How he looked. How old he was. But he could clearly remember some of the phrases from the session. There could have been more than one, but how could he know?

He'd blink into existence and asked him "Do you know who I am?". "No", Sam had answered, truly having no clue. "Do you know where you are?" he followed. "No", although clearly sitting across the table from The Man in someones kitchen, he had no recollection of the place or how he got there. "And you have no idea who else lives here" he said and pointed at some clothes on a chair. "No", Sam answered again, surprisingly calm given the circumstances. He could only remember being on his way back home from school before appearing at this table.

"Good. Let's keep it that way. You've been a bad boy Sam, but perhaps it is best everyone forgets about that. But you should have some punishment, and some way of making sure it doesn't happen again." Sam didn't follow what he meant. Bad how?

"There are two main drivers for how to change behavior. On the negative side we have dislikes, fears and phobias. I can easily make you afraid of country music, make you think chocolate is disgusting or make underwear itch unbearably. But I much rather like the positive side. Where you love doing things. Those tends to stick much longer, because you can make a positive feedback loop. If I made you really like soccer, I might add wearing football socks all the time as an obsessive compulsive trait. Every time you put them on you'll get a shot of positive feeling, making it even more likely you'll do it again. 3, 2, 1, sleep."

Just a blink later Sam was standing in front of the front door of his house, as if nothing had happened. It was late and the walk from school that usually only took 15 minutes had taken several hours. He somehow knew that The Man, whoever he was, had done a lot of changes to him, but he couldn't remember any of them.

The first one was almost immediately apparent as he entered the house and sat down for dinner. "I was almost about to get worried", his mother had told him. But he wasn't hungry, and throughout the meal he had a nagging, discomforting feeling that he didn't know what the food was. He had excused himself, saying he wasn't feeling all that good, gone to his room and spent many hours reading up on carbs and fats and proteins and meal plans and macros.

Next morning was much better. Not knowing the day would end downhill, he had started happy, with a sense of accomplishment, and a bowl of oat meal porridge. One cup oats and two cups apple juice, microwaved. He had however problems concentrating on classes all throughout the day, and felt very picky on what to eat and not during lunch. Then PE. In all of school he had never liked PE. He was good enough of a student to at least make an effort, but he would jump on any opportunity to skip. But today it was amazing. It went better than it ever had before. He'd never felt so much energy, such a drive to perform. He couldn't do everything he wanted, but that was his body failing him, not his determination. He just needed to be faster, stronger, more flexible.

As he got dressed after, in the locker room, he realized that something had changed. A shift had happened in his brain. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that he could no longer wear clothes unless someone else had been sweating in them. The realization came to him fully formed as he started to get dressed after shower. How his skin started to crawl and itch. He recalled what The Man had said about getting people to do or not do things. This was one such thing he realized. This had been done to him.

In panic he grabbed his and Peters gym clothes, both lying next to each other on the bench, and stuffed them into his bag. Wondering how long he could stand before he had to strip out of all his clothes he rushed into the storage room, jammed the door with a broom and almost tore his clothes off, trying to get naked again as fast as possible.

Standing nude he was almost surprised to not see any rashes on his body. Intellectually he knew that it was just his mind playing games with him. Some irrational thought, planted in him, that he made real. But it was so very, very real to him. Still slightly panting he started to go through the last and found bin and putting on clothes. Someone else trunks and socks, T-shirt and sweatpants. He made sure to only pick common brands he could have bought himself at some point, to not be accused of theft. He skipped the last class for the day, saying he didn't feel well and walked home.

The next month was in turmoil for Sam. Perhaps it was stress with everything else going on, but he had troubles concentrating on anything. Food was a constant source of anxiety. He needed the right macros, the right amounts at the right time. He started to carry food with him, fruit and hard boiled eggs, to the surprise of his mother. His biggest problem however were the clothes. He started to hide dirty clothes in his room, so they wouldn't be accidentally washed. He had successfully made a few swaps with Peter's gym clothes, replacing his damp ones with ones he had previously stolen, worn and washed by his mother. The lost items bin long since raided for anything useful, he was running out of options. Tell a friend that he's a weirdo? Tell a parent? Not a chance.

The only time he wasn't stressed out by all of this was when he was actually participating in PE, or exercising himself in any other way. That's why he started to jog to school and run detours on his way back home. This was what set him on a path to a solution. He realized that to stay focused he needed to exercise more. That was the only way he wouldn’t completely flunk school. Ideally he would need multiple passes a day, but anything would be better than nothing. He'd never given gyms a second thought before, but not only did he turn up to the the nearest gym, fully intent to become a paying member. He managed to convince the owner to work the reception part time after school for free in exchange for membership. He still had his looks and charm.

Not only was the workout secured, but he had a source for clothes. Not just the lost and found either. With a bit of observational skill he could easily purchase the right items and swap them out when regulars were in the sauna. Tommy, a few years older but of similar build and size, and he practically shared a wardrobe of duplicate clothes two weeks later.

He’d come such a long way in just a few years. Winner of the young entrepreneur award and owner of three gyms in the city. While perhaps not a cash cow, his concept of gym clothes that they launder themselves had found a niche clientele. His impeccable technique, vast knowledge, and ability to translate that into real progress for his customers is what made him the most sought after PT in the entire area. Years of diligent workout without a single cheat day made him a walking billboard, which continued to pull in customers of any sex. Guess that’s the upside of being revolted by anything that would upset his macros. He still didn’t know if he’d gotten a revenge on The Man, or if everything had worked out as he planned.

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