#guide for cleaning concrete floors

[954pressurecleaning]

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[amaranthinespirit]

new neighbor!simon riley whom you bring cookies to as a way to welcome him to the neighborhood, so naturally he has to pay you back, right?

you'd seen the moving trucks pull up at the little house next door, peering through the frilly curtains that frame your window, pulling back the blinds to peek through the cracks at who this new neighbor is.

you couldn't get much of a glimpse, though you saw the tall, looming stature dressed in a dark void for clothes, and a mask over his head that made your tummy writhe with unease.

nonetheless, you turned to your kitchen and decided you'd make a housewarming gift. it was the nice thing to do after all!

so with a warmed plate of fresh cookies in your palms, you tediously stepped down the stones from your little abode to the sidewalk between yours and his new house. your shoes padded along the concrete before approaching his door.

a tender fist knocked knuckles against the firm door, an innocent glint in your eyes as you patiently waited for the man to open the door.

simon wasn't expecting anyone, hell, he hadn't even told anyone he had moved. his ears perked at the shallow knock, his socked feet padding against the wooden floors before peeking in the little peephole.

last thing he was expecting was a sweet little thing such as yourself to be waiting for a brute like him to answer the door, but he didn't want to keep you waiting much longer now.

with a creak, the door opened and revealed his daunting figure that towered over you. you felt his shadow cover you as you look up to him, mumbling a few measly words welcoming him to the neighborhood.

his face, more like his eyes, were stoic, but you noticed a slight crinkle in his skin, the mask shifting ever so slightly as a gruff voice responded to your words, "thanks, luv', why don'ya c'mon in?" he offered.

because the least he could do is invite you in for a cuppa, sit down and chat while you shared the plate of cookies over the island in the kitchen, right?

it felt sinful, leading a little doll like doe into his house, the door slowly creaking shut with a slight push. nonetheless, a large hand splayed across your lower back to guide you to the empty kitchen, boxes scattered along the floors.

your hands gripped the edge of the island tightly, your knuckles turning white as you bite back soft mewls. simon was kneeled, a hand pressing down on your back to keep your stomach against the counter, face buried in your sopping cunt. its compensation, lovie!

he groaned, slick drooling down his chin, nose buried in your pussy. the warm of his breath caused goosebumps to rise along your skin, his other hand full of fatty flesh from your plush rear, pulling the muscle aside to allow himself access to your sweet, drooling pussy.

you were so sweet, just like heaven, how could he refuse! besides, you were dripping for him anyways.

his lips latched to your folds, slurping up your slick with lewd squelches, teeth grazing your clit with soft nips as his tongue pushed past your walls.

your spongy walls contorted around the pink muscle as he coated your pussy in saliva, mumbling almost incoherently, "fuck, s'sweet, luvie. tastier than the damn sweets."

your knees trembled, buckling because of the pleasure as your walls pulsed around his tongue. a convulsing pattern as the heat in your tummy built with rising anticipation of ecstasy. your hips squirmed under him, but his strong hands manhandled you to how he wanted.

come on, lovie, you'll learn he needs quite a few sweets after having been deprived of them so long.

he'll take care of you, wipe you clean with a damp washcloth and throw a warm, definitely too big shirt fresh from the dryer over your body and convince you to stay the night.

give him your key to get your stuff, lovie! but don't question how he managed to get a copy so quick.

[small-sinclair]

Possessed

Obsessed!Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

NSFW. 18+. No minors!!!!!!🔞

Tw: being eaten out, face fucking, nakedness, bottom/needy Bo, obsessed Bo, fluffy aftercare

I love obsessed Bo. He’s my favorite to write.

He practically stormed into the house at the end of the day. He wasn’t mad about his day or anything, he just needed you. He wanted your love in his heart and filling his mouth. Bo needs you in more ways he could say. Once he found you in the parlor, putting away some board games, all beats were off.

He tossed his hat to the floor and kicked off his boots. “Sweetheart,” he breathed desperately. His eyes had hearts and it swirled around like a storm. “I need you—no,” he pressed you against the pool table, practically cornering you, “want you. I wanted ya so bad it hurt today jus’ t’do work.” He kissed your neck then shoulder.

His eyes locked with yours, and he admired you the same way a stone carved admired a block. “Bo?” You whispered, kissing his cheek. “What gotten into you today?”

“You, cherie,” he breathed. “Always been you.”

Bo pressed his lips against yours hungrily. His hands were too busy ripping your clothes off and letting it go the ground until you stood naked and bare in front of him. Before he could give you much of a chance to respond and protest, he feel to his knees and pulled your hips closer, spreading your legs out.

He was like a possessed man as his tongue pressed inside you, his heavy, blown out eyes softening. He felt as if he hadn’t ate in days as he lapped you up. His tongue swirled with every breath and moan you made. He melted as your hands pulled his hair slightly, earning a deep growl from the back off his throat. He pushes up on his knees, needing more of you in his mouth, more of your taste. There was a type of freedom that came with it, a type of comfort which he couldn’t quite name. Bo loves you, but the way your would moan his name and fight against him only to fail…something bloomed in his chest and through the cracks of his concrete heart.

“B-Bo!”

He held your hips down as his nose buried into your clint, taking deep breaths, as he retraced the letter again and again. Turns out, you got off on the letters ‘Q, R, S’, but he’ll never complain. He loved the sweet music pouring from your lips. You sounded like a siren from some story he read. If that’s the case, let him be the sailor, your harbor, and your home.

He drank you dry and ate you starved over and over again, never slowing for a second. He was obsessed with the noises you made. He was in love with the smell of your body and the taste on his tongue. As you trembled to his touch, he loved every bit of you. As your rocked your hips against his face, he only licked and sucked deeper. Every inch of him was screaming for him to hit that spot, but his hands held your legs and thighs tightly. The friction made it too tight as he felt himself grow more and more desperate for your touch and approval, but he didn’t touch himself. He wouldn’t do it until you command it. For now, he let your hips roll over his cheeks and face, letting you get lost, letting you use him as a tool and a vice at your disposal. He savored your body and taste as his tongue swirled.

When he felt you clenched around his tongue, he felt his eyes closing and roll as he drank every drop of your organism, pure ambrosia of the gods. He felt thankful, felt blessed, felt blissfully at peace.

He felt you grow limp above him, and he caught you in his arms in a moment. Your legs were shaking as he guided you to the couch and laid you on the sofa, setting up on pillow, and slid down to your thighs. He his hair was soaked and he looked like some type of beautiful mess. He kissed your lips gently, shivering at the mere touch.

He began licking you clean, kissing your skin numb as he whispered gentle praises of you, telling you everything he loved about you from your thighs to your stretch marks. His hands racked over the aching muscles as he kisses up your stomach. He let you unbutton his shirt so you could touch his chest and trace his scars lightly.

“More,” he whispers, unraveling. “Want more, darlin’. Please, let me have more?” He’s not one to beg, not one to say out loud what he wanted, so this was a rare moment. Bo shudders as your hand ghosts his cheek. “Been leavin’ ya alone in dis house for too long. Ain’t fair, cher, ‘at I can’t have ya in the shop. It ain’t fair I can’t have ya at all.” He lift your head up slightly and began to suck and kiss a part on your skin. Your gasps turned into him moaning his name.

“Please,” came from your lips, causing him to groan and bite down on your skin, deepening the color on your neck. “Beauregard, have me.”

His real name on your lips made his heart ache. His hands played with the mounds on your chest, rolling them with every breath he took of you. Bo kisses the bruise on your neck as your back arched to his touch.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” he says, capturing your lips. “Anything you desire,” he leaned close and kiss your beside ear, “will be yours.”

[theventsoflux]

Jock

College AU

Jock!gkJason Todd x Reader

MDNI

tags: use of profanity MDOM

You weren’t sure what you expected when Jason said, “We’ll go over Eliot at my place.” Maybe some cluttered bro-cave, empty shaker bottles, weights on the floor, maybe even a dusty bookshelf he never touched. What you stepped into was something else entirely. His flat was spotless. All clean lines and dark textures, the floor-to-ceiling windows let in golden afternoon light. Everything smelled like cedarwood, cigs, and something subtly expensive. The whole place had the kind of precision that made your pulse quicken.

Jason locked the door behind you with a soft click. He moved past you effortlessly, barefoot on polished concrete, his oversized back stretching the fabric of his t-shirt like it was clinging on for dear life. Not a tattoo in sight—just muscle, symmetry, and that controlled, almost military presence. He wore a rust-red overshirt, open over a fitted tank that left no question about the size of the man underneath. 6’5”, thick as hell, and everywhere in the room at once.

You swallowed.

Jason turned his head slightly, that sharp jaw catching the light. “People always think I’m one-dimensional. I read. I lift. I clean. I also remember you flinching when I quoted The Hollow Men last week.” He handed you a glass of water, fingers warm against the crystal. “Let’s not waste time. Couch. Eliot. Unless you’d rather get to the part where you find out just how true those campus rumors are.” Your heart skipped. He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

…

“Come on, baby, suck that dick,” Jason growled, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he caressed your cheek with his massive hand. His hand was huge, as big as your face, and you were struggling with just the head, his extra-long, beer-can-thick cock stretching your lips wide. He grunted as he thrust into your mouth, his hips rolling forward, burying himself in your throat. You choked and sputtered around him, your eyes watering, but he didn’t care. He kept thrusting, his hand tangled in your hair, guiding your head. Then he pulled out, his cock slick with your saliva. He stood up, his tall, muscular physique on full display, his ass and thunder thighs flexing as he moved.

“Ass up on the couch, bitch,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. He grabbed a condom, the big bold letters Custom Oversized emblazoned on the wrapper. He rolled it onto his cock, the snug fit making him groan. His fingers found your entrance, invading your space, and you moaned, your body arching into his touch. “God, baby, you sound so fucking sexy,” he purred, his hand smacking your ass hard enough to leave a mark. You whined, the sting sending sparks through your body. He lined up, positioning himself at your entrance.

“Stop resisting,” he commanded, his voice firm. He smacked your ass again, this time hard enough to leave a handprint. “I’m going to fuck you so good, bitch,” he growled, his cock nudging your entrance. You moaned as he pushed in, inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you wide. It took a while—he was just too big—but he didn’t care. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt inside you, his hips pressed tight against your ass.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy is crazy tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You came twice before he could even think about finishing in you, your body shaking and trembling around him. He pulled out, the wet sound of his cock leaving your pussy filling the room. He grabbed another condom, rolling it on quickly.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he growled, his eyes dark with lust. He flipped you over, hands roaming, body pressed to yours, and you were already rubbing your clit again, desperate and soaked, ready for more.

…

You were curled against one end of the massive sectional, Jason’s overshirt draped over your body. Your hair was mussed, your breathing still trying to catch up. He sat beside you with his arms stretched along the back of the couch, one thick thigh bouncing lazily, like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire existence.

His shirt was gone, revealing a torso that looked engineered in a lab—broad, powerful, not a single mark or tattoo to soften the impression. Just clean skin, hard lines, and that impossible presence. You watched the shadows dance over the ridges of his abs as he sipped water. Even now, post-everything, the outline in his sweats made your stomach flip.

“That thing should be registered as a weapon,” you mumbled, voice hoarse.

Jason smiled without looking at you. “Then you should’ve called for backup.” You gave a dazed laugh, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re not real.” He looked at you now, expression softer. “Still think I need to prove I know my poetry?” Jason leaned in slightly, brushing your knee with his massive hand. “Next time, bring Yeats.”

[blogport]

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on "Epoxy Shine," where we delve into the transformative power of epoxy flooring solutions. In today’s design-driven world, achieving a polished and durable floor is essential for both residential and commercial spaces. Epoxy coatings not only elevate the aesthetic appeal but also provide long-lasting protection against wear and tear. Whether you’re considering a modern upgrade for your home or a robust flooring solution for a bustling business, epoxy shines as a versatile choice that meets a variety of needs. In the following sections, we’ll explore innovative flooring solutions, focusing on the benefits of epoxy flake flooring, which combines functionality with style for a stunning finish that can withstand the test of time. 

Epoxy Shine

When it comes to achieving a brilliant and long-lasting finish, epoxy shine is the ideal solution for various flooring needs. Known for its incredible durability and aesthetic appeal, epoxy shine enhances the overall beauty of a space while providing a protective layer that withstands wear and tear.

The key to attaining that stunning epoxy shine lies in the application process. Proper surface preparation, quality materials, and skilled application techniques combine to create a glossy finish that can transform mundane concrete floors into vibrant, eye-catching surfaces. This shine doesn’t just elevate the design; it also reflects light, making spaces appear larger and more inviting.

Moreover, epoxy shine is not just about looks; it offers significant functional benefits too. The glossy surface is resistant to stains, chemicals, and moisture, making it an excellent choice for high-traffic areas such as garages, warehouses, and commercial spaces. Whether for aesthetic or practical purposes, ensuring your floors have that perfect epoxy shine can significantly enhance your property's value and appeal.

Floor Solutions

When it comes to choosing the right floor solutions, there are numerous options available that cater to various needs and preferences. Whether you are going for aesthetic appeal, durability, or maintenance ease, understanding the different types of flooring can significantly impact your choice.

One popular choice for many homeowners and businesses is epoxy flooring. This option provides a sleek and modern look while ensuring high durability and resistance to wear and tear. Epoxy shine not only enhances the floor's visual appeal but also makes it easier to clean and maintain over time.

Additionally, epoxy flake floors are gaining traction due to their unique aesthetic and customization options. They allow for a blend of colors and textures, giving homeowners the flexibility to create a more personalized look for their spaces. With such a wide array of flooring solutions, it's essential to consider factors like budget, usage, and design preferences before making a decision.

Flooring Solutions

When it comes to choosing the perfect flooring for your space, the options can be overwhelming. Flooring solutions are essential for both aesthetic and functional purposes, ensuring that your space not only looks great but also serves its intended function. From residential to commercial applications, the right flooring choice can make all the difference.

One popular choice in the realm of flooring solutions is epoxy flake floor systems. This type of flooring combines durability and design flexibility, making it a favorite among many homeowners and business owners. With a wide range of colors and patterns available, epoxy flake flooring can be customized to fit any space, providing a unique look that stands out.

For those seeking a brilliant shine, epoxy shine finishes can elevate your flooring game. These finishes not only provide a glossy look but also protect the flooring from wear and tear. Utilizing a performing solution like epoxy ensures that your floors can handle heavy foot traffic while maintaining their stunning appearance.

Epoxy Flake Floor

When it comes to durable and aesthetically pleasing flooring options, epoxy flake floors stand out as a superior choice. These floors are crafted using an epoxy resin mixed with decorative flakes, resulting in a unique finish that is both functional and visually appealing. The versatility of this flooring solution allows it to be used in various settings, from residential garages to commercial spaces.

The main advantage of epoxy flake floors is their resistance to impacts, chemicals, and stains, making them ideal for high-traffic areas. Their seamless nature prevents dirt and grime accumulation, offering a low-maintenance solution that is easy to clean. Furthermore, the aesthetic flexibility of the colored flakes lets homeowners and business owners customize their floors to match existing designs and personal preferences.

In addition to their durability and style, epoxy flake floors also contribute to improved safety. The texture of the flakes can enhance slip resistance, making them a practical choice for spaces where moisture is common. Whether you're looking to upgrade your garage or create a modern showroom, epoxy flake flooring provides an excellent combination of beauty, resilience, and safety.

[yrenesbrainrotss]

Hello!!

Can i request coral glasses x reader? (Gender neutral)

There arent a lot of fics for her, i would write one myself but i have requests to handle (writer aswell)

you dont have to do this request if u want to!!!

A/N: guysss i love her sm you don’t get it. At first I didn’t rlly pay any mind but now she’s growing on me. I hope I didn’t make her too ooc but I just think that she, as every other person, would defo be soft and romantic with their partner soooo with that said, enjoy a romantic dinner date with Coral 😋😋

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

You hoped you looked good,after all you can’t afford such nights every day, you have work to do. But now, you have made an exception,a small piece of your time reserved for a quiet night for you to enjoy, a night to enjoy with her.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, hands fidgety and sweaty trying to find something to keep themselves occupied with, a strand of your hair that you thought was out of place or the strap of your flowy red dress,with a slit beginning from your hip to your ankle or even your sparkling diamond necklace that glistened in the bright light reflecting through the hallway of the lavish hotel—you wanted to look perfect, perfect for her.

Your red heels clicked against the clean marble floors,making you aware of the silence and aware of the fact that it was pretty late, you hoped that she will like how your dressed, it’s not often that she has time for nights out, after all, her job was very demanding but also had a very good pay, you thought that nothing was wrong with it as long as she was happy—you just hoped it wasn’t so time consuming.

You straightened yourself in the elevator, closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm your nerves—“She’s your girlfriend for god’s sake! What are you nervous for?” your brain told you, but your body was acting as if you were in highschool, going on a date for the first time in your life,nervous as to not make any mistakes.

When the elevator signaled your arrival with a soft ding, you stepped out with confidence, however the familiar marble was replaced with concrete and the silence with soft whooshing of a summery breeze. The sky was clear, the moonlight served as your guide to a round dimly lit table, a figure sat across from an empty seat—you hoped she hadn’t waited for too long.

As you approached the table the dark figure rose from their seat and took long precise strides in your direction-and there was Coral with her raven like beauty as always.In the cold light of the moon she looked as ethereal as ever,her dark raven hair spilling over her bare shoulders,pale skin revealed by her black short puffy dress, with off shoulder straps and black velvet gloves that reached her elbows. Her glasses sparked, making it look as if she had diamonds instead of eyes. Coral’s long legs brought her in front of you, and her long dainty fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ears— she was beautiful, and you told her so.

She leaned in a gave you a shy gentle peck on your glossy lips and and whispered how you looked gorgeous as well before she took you by your hand to lead you where your private table was. You took a seat across from her and smiled sweetly at her bashfulness, she always was like that until she warmed up, but you didn’t mind, you thought it was endearing how much she cared about you.

“How was your day dear? How is that inauguration with the new door coming up?”

You talked a lot,you needed to catch up on the newest work gossip and projects, you told her some about some friend of yours that went to a party and lost her phone, but in the morning when she found it, she saw selfies of random people in her gallery—coral laughed, you loved when Coral did that, when she allowed herself to feel and to be free of worry. You rejoiced when your food arrived and shared bites to each other across the table. The expression she made when she got the first taste of your plate was one you’ll never forget,along with others that you love to tease her about..

After your food was finished she took your hand and intertwined her pale skinned hand with yours squeezing it, you squeezed back and continued to tell her about a café that your recently went to—you told her that you need to go there together sometime and she aggred. As the brunette listened intently to your beaming self, supporting her adoring face with the bridge of her palm you suddenly exclaimed wide eyed. You took your hand out from her grasp to search in your purse for something, Coral curiously lifted her head to see but you were careful to shield it from her gaze. You sat with your hands under the table and said “ You know, because of our jobs we see each other a bit less than usual.. I know it’s just that busy time of the year but I couldn’t help it.. I bought you something that you might like,to have a piece of me when we are apart for too long—a piece of us.”

You extended your hand to pass her a velvety royal blue box with a lace white bow carefully wrapped around it. She took it carefully from your palm and opened it. Inside, two carefully placed earrings were placed on a royal blue pillow—they weren’t just any earrings, she recognized those petals. In the middle of the drop shaped earrings surrounded by onyx were rose petals from your first date preserved in reisin, how could she not recognize those pink roses.”These are beautiful..thank you so much.. but I have something for you too..” She smiled proudly.

Coral also pulled out a much bigger red box, and slided it across the table, when you opened it a beautiful sapphire bracelet glistened in your direction,a bracelet that you wanted since forever. You gently touched the carefully made charm that had your name and then locked eyes with your lover. “Thank you Coral.. I-How.. how did you know I wanted this?” you inquired. The stunning woman in front of you just chuckled “What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t know what you wish for?”

You eventually stood side by side at the railing at the edge of the rooftop, with uou head on her shoulder sharing a cigarette and talking about the beautiful scenery in front of you. You admired the rushing cars and tall buildings as you puffed put the smoke from your lungs and then passed the cigarette to Coral. She took it and after an inhale, the tip of her shiny black nail trailed along the edge of your jaw and pulled you in her direction. She parted her lips and you did so as well, understanding what she was hinting at.

You inhaled the smoke from between her red lips and then firmly pressed them against hers, savoring the sweet taste of her cheery flavoured lipstick. She probbed your lower lip with her tongue and you allowed it to explore your wet mouth,thirsty for her after such a long time apart.

Coral presses her forehead to yours,flicking the cigarette to the side and grabbing your waist “Oh how I’ve missed you my favorite..” she whispers. You shudder and say that you missed her just as much, if not more than. She keeps you close to her side as you continue looking over the busy city, kissing the top of your head and resting her chin over it after.

You love her and she loves you, how could such a trivial thing as work keep you apart? To put it simply— it couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow herself to prioritize anything other than you. 💞💞

[vonlycsnn]

Hello! May I request a Von lycaon x Gn Reader who is blind but has a optimistic personality? One who uses to love the simple things in life like feeling the sun, taking walks and enjoying any meals

Thank you so much! ♡

Have a nice day •u<~☆

♡ — A RAY OF SUNSHINE

~ VON LYCAON X BLIND (GN) READER.

SUMMARY: You spend your usual morning with your lover, Lycaon. He can't help but appreciate how optimistic you are despite your disability.

cw/tw: none.

A/N: I love this idea so much! I tried to do as much research as i possibly could for this, so my sincere apologies if i got anything wrong. Thank you for the kind words and for the request, I hope you enjoy reading this!

Faint footsteps can be heard approaching your bedroom. Soon after, the door gently opened. It made a quiet but noticeable squeak. But you were too deep in your sleep to hear any of it. The footsteps walked across the room and stopped.

 

Clawed hands grabbed the curtains and drew them open, revealing the morning view outside. You were suddenly hit by the sensation of warmth on your bare skin. You whined in protest. Knowing exactly what that meant.

 

You opened your eyes to see the blurry environment around you, folding the pillow you were laying on as a way to tell your beloved butler that you didn't want to get up just yet.

 

You hear a chuckle from your left ear, the bed sheets folded as you felt someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Then you felt someone breathing close to your neck; you couldn't help but giggle at how it feels.

 

"It's time to wake up, dear." Lycaon whispered.

 

You adjusted your position to face him, trying your best find his face with your hands. He chuckled once more and guided your hands to his fluffy cheeks. Immediately after you moved your fingers to feel his fur, he smiled.

 

"Mm...enjoying yourself?" The thiren asked. You merely nodded as you were still too sleepy to say anything just yet. You felt something brush against your legs, assuming that it's Lycaon's tail wagging.

 

You kept running your fingers against his fur for what seemed like minutes until you felt arms behind your back, lifting you up from your land of peace. "Lycaon nooo..." You lazily protested.

 

"Come on now. I've made you breakfast, fresh and warm for you to enjoy." He explains as he approaches the dining room.

 

The dining table was neatly organized, and the floors were spotless—a perfect start to your day. Oh, if only you could appreciate the effort he has put into cleaning this area...

 

He carefully put you down and guided you to your seat. As soon as you sat down, you smelt a delicious scent in front of you. You couldn't help but smile big when you realized what it was.

 

"I've made your favorite; french toast with a few slices of bacon."

 

You heard utensils being grabbed by the thiren; a hand gently moved your head in his direction. All you could see was a blurry white figure in front of you, but nevertheless you smiled softly.

 

"Open your mouth, love."

 

You obliged, happily receiving the food he's feeding you. Once you tasted the sweetness of the French toast and the salty bacon, you felt like you were sent to heaven. Lycaon's cooking is always so good.

 

As he was feeding you, he begins to reminisce about the past. Back when the two of you were merely friends.

 

—

 

"Master, you mustn't walk too far."

 

You heard him warning you; all you gave him was a smile and a giggle. One step...two step...You walked forward. Shoes removed to feel the concrete floor beneath your foot, and the cold air touched your face gently...It was soothing.

 

"Don't worry, Lycaon. I'm just going to stay right here." You assured him. His mouth opened, clearly wanting to say something, but he didn't. He merely stood there, waiting for you to finish your moment.

 

"The rooftop of this building...it's my favorite. Open spaces like these in general are a delight to be in."

 

You closed your eyes, strengthening your other senses. Being blind is not easy by any means. You remember the day you cried your eyes out as a child over the fact that you couldn't recognize simple shapes and figures. 

 

Your parents did everything in their power to help you; of course you were grateful for their efforts. But they knew that someday they couldn't help you anymore; that's why they hired the best servant they know: Von Lycaon from Victoria Housekeeping Co.

 

Someone who could help you with everyday needs, someone who could keep you safe from the dangers of the outside world—you were truly thankful for all he has done.

 

Despite your early disappointments and everyday struggles, you learned to accept how you are and enjoy your life with the things you already had. You were born with this condition. You couldn't change anything, and that's okay, even if you wanted to enjoy life like the rest of the world.

 

The thiren stayed silent, admiring you from afar. You were always the cheerful type, but hearing you say such optimistic words despite the disability you were given with...it was inspiring.

 

Lycaon smiled, and he walked towards you. You felt a hand on your shoulder.

 

"Then I'll bring you here more frequently if you'd like." Lycaon suggested.

 

You smiled big, nodding vigorously.

You couldn't be happier.

[kimakento]

LOVE CUES

synopsis: being stuck on the side of the road while it’s raining isn’t an ideal situation to be in, that is if you don’t get to meet a cute barista in the coffee shop across from you. ⌙ 1.5k

pairing: barista!asakura jo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

tags: coffee shop!au, jo’s teased throughout, he’s just really cute!, loserish!jo, [no warnings except language]

author’s note: this is for the loser jo truthers (aka me) heres my gift to lunes for the new years !

a driver’s license definitely would’ve come in handy right about now; but that thought still didn’t make you want to kill byun euijoo any less. what kind of person promises their friend a ride while caught in horrible rain but then backtracks when needed most?

clutching your handbag closer, you sighed while slinking back into the slightly-uncomfortable bench at the bus shelter you took cover under. there was no noise except for the sound of droplets padding against the concrete pavement aggressively — which you took as background noise — and the whirring of the occasional car passing by. a frown tugged at your lips as the cold and harsh december wind bit at your body.

curse you for only caring about a perfect outfit instead of bringing a winter coat.

you really needed to find somewhere to go. glancing around through the heavy rainfall, you spotted a quaint building, only one floor high; a cafe, you had read from the sign. it stood across the road, barely visible through the relentless droplets of rain. the lights of the coffee shop were on and there was a man — you figured by the tall stature — a mop in his hand while cleaning the floor.

surely, you could reach it without getting too wet, you thought to yourself. after collecting your things, you decided to beeline it to the coffee shop.

ignoring the raindrops falling against your skin, you only wrapped your arms around your torso in an attempt to combat the cold whilst crossing the wet street. when you stepped inside, the atmosphere was warm and cozy, almost like a hug. there was an apparent smell of coffee beans, water dripping from your clothes and grouping into small puddles onto the shining floor.

the tall man you’d spotted from earlier had his apron-tied back turned to you; headphones on and clearly swaying to whatever he was listening to. you could only watch as a puddle grew beneath your boots before being caught by surprise when he whirled towards you, his body jolting in shock.

crimson painted his cheeks when he registered your presence.

you spoke up. “so sorry for scaring you, it’s just that it was….” using your finger, you gestured to the rain. as you trailed off, you took in the sight of the worker. he was cute. so cute. and tall.

very much your type. oh, you were so doomed.

“you’re drenched! oh my gosh.” those were the only words that left his parted lips before disappearing through a door behind the counter.

“oh.” you let out a sigh in confusion, standing there awkwardly; probably akin to a wet cat.

but before you could glance around any more, the now-headphoneless man returned, with something — a towel, you believed — in hand.

a weak smile tugged at his pretty lips as he handed it to you. “here! sorry for making you wait long….” a hand went up to rub the nape of his neck in embarrassment. “please, sit down.” he said, guiding you to the table closest to the door and pulling a chair.

once you were seated, you wrapped the towel around your body tightly.

“thank you so much for the towel….” you trailed off, squinting your eyes to try and read the letters on the nametag pinned to his apron. “jo! i really needed it.”

at the sound of his name, jo averted his gaze to his shoes. a pretty girl saying his name aloud was too much for his heart. he was so hopeless.

“u-uh, of course..” he mumbled out.

seconds later, his eyes returned to yours curiously. “coffee or hot chocolate?”

“huh?” your teeth chattered as you spoke.

“you’re shivering. a hot drink is good for the cold, you know. it’s easy to get sick, especially in this weather.” his words came out slowly, but you could still feel the warmth in his tone.

why did this barista have to be so cute? the thought repeated in your mind.

“in that case, a hot chocolate would be ideal.” you replied back, equally soft. “how much is it?”

“oh no! i can’t let you pay. consider it on the house!” jo smiled, to which you thought was the most adorable thing ever.

“really? i can’t even begin to thank you, you’re so kind.”

“just trying to help.” he tried to reply nonchalantly.

but that was a lie; he thought you were so pretty. the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. jo was anything but nonchalant around pretty girls.

the towel had helped relieve the uncomfortable feeling of damp clothes sticking to your bare skin, you were beginning to feel warmer now. your gaze followed the barista as he returned to the counter.

“one hot chocolate coming up.” he said before working the machines.

you scrolled on your phone while you waited, replying to the copious amounts of apology texts send by euijoo; sighing in annoyance before replying. too immersed in the conversation, you hadn’t realised that jo had already finished and was currently standing over you.

“oh, sorry.” you apologised and slipped your phone back into your handbag, watching as he set the steaming cup of hot chocolate and another plate — a croissant that you obviously didn’t order — down.

you smiled at his thoughtfulness. “no way i’m eating it for free. how much for the croissant?”

“it’s on the house too, don’t worry.” he shot you a small smile back, fixing the pencil behind his ear.

“no, really.” you insisted once again.

the barista shook his head firmly. “it’s the least i can do. you looked hungry.”

you furrowed your eyebrows in faux confusion at the last part.

“u-uh… i didn’t mean it like that. you don’t look hungry — fuck. you look really pretty if anything. i can’t believe i said that.” he fiddled with his hands, refusing to meet your gaze.

when you noticed his ears got redder at every word, you let out a giggle. “it’s fine, i got what you were trying to say.”

“oh, that’s good then.”

“thank you again. i really thought i was going to freeze out there, you know. one of my friends canceled on me.”

raising the croissant to your parted lips, you took a big bite, savouring the taste.

“did you make this? it’s really good!” you covered your mouth as you spoke, eyes glistening. and jo couldn’t help but be enamoured with you more in that exact moment.

shyly, he nodded.

“i sometimes help out with the baking. i’m really glad you like it…” he trailed off, looking at you with an expectant expression painting his face.

that was when you realised he was still standing in front of you and began to scramble to take your belongings off of the chair in front of you, gesturing to it kindly.

”no, i couldn’t.” he said, moving his hands around. “i… i have to work anyways.”

you pinched the bridge of your nose. “you’re not gonna make me beg, are you? please. i could really use the company.” you smiled up at him.

after a few seconds, he relented, pulling the chair and plopping down. his posture was stiff; shoulders fixed and hands beneath the table — probably clasped together, you thought.

was he always this awkward around new people? it was cute.

“jo, if you keep staring, i’m gonna think there’s something on my face.”

“it’s just that…. you’re really pretty.”

it was your turn to freeze, face heating up. you never expected him to be that straightforward.

“i think you are too…” you said, hurriedly taking a sip of the forgotten hot chocolate in embarrassment. however, the second it reached your tongue, it burned. letting out a small yelp, you placed the cup onto the table once again, covering your face more.

the man scrambled up, reaching over and cupping your face. “are you okay?” he asked hurriedly, his voice more louder than it’d ever been. jo moved your chin up as concern filled his eyes. “i should’ve warned you.”

you learned something about jo at that moment. his hands were surprisingly warm.

and that he smelled good.

“that was my fault. it’s hot chocolate after all.”

you gazed up at him, mesmerised. he was really more handsome up close. it was your peering eyes that snapped him back, jo snatched back his hands apologetically, obviously embarrassed.

“sorry, it’s just that i—” he started.

you cut him off quickly, very much flattered with his rambling. “could i have your number?”

“huh…? oh.”

“it’s okay if you don’t want to.” you assured.

“no, i want to!”

as you passed your phone to him, he gave another small smile before inputting the digits. shortly after receiving it back, you heard a ping.

it was euijoo.

a frown tugged at your lips. “i have to go. my ride is here.” you announced sadly.

grabbing your stuff, you got up.

“thank you for the free food, i really enjoyed meeting you, jo. i hope we can meet again.”

the barista stood up, his gaze stuck on his shoe. he wanted to say something.

only when you turned around to leave did he talk.

“i’d really like it if you’d let me take you out.” his tone was still soft, but something seemed different. when you turned to meet his eyes, you were shocked to see him already staring at him.

“i would love that. text me soon?”

he nodded slowly to which you giggled at before leaving the shop but not before waving enthusiastically.

now jo had something — or someone, rather — to look forward to in these drab days.

reblogs are appreciated!

net: @lune-net

[sleepyspudbrainrot]

Say My Name

Randy Orton x OC (Currently Unnamed) | 18+, NSFW, smut | 803 words

Had inspiration to write a bit of Randy Orton smut based on a prompt my friend had picked out for me ages ago. Hope y'all enjoy this little one shot !

“Your heart is beating so fast right now…”

Randy’s head was a pleasant weight against her bare chest.  His breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in it’s wake as he stopped to listen to the cadence of her heart.  “Someone could walk in at any minute… isn’t yours?”  Her words were a hushed whisper, her hands resting against the swell of his bicep.  “I doubt anyone’s going to be looking in here… for another hour or so?”  She could feel his smirk against her skin, his tongue darting out to tease at the swell of her breast.  So close and yet so far from her nipple, the bud still sensitive from his earlier onslaught.  “Yes but if they do… all they’re going to see is…”

“You really think I’d leave you exposed like that?”

He was an all encompassing presence, his head removed from her chest.  He stared down at her, his sheer size enough to keep her hidden if the door were to open.  “I’ve got you sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”  He captured her lips in a searing kiss.  He invaded her senses, her eyes drifting closed as his tongue slid between her lips.  She moaned softly, hands moving from the swell of his biceps to his shoulders.  Her nails clawing at his tattooed skin.  “You like that baby?” His smirk was evident against her lips, just before his lips moved away.  She gasped at the loss of contact.  Her skin chilled as she watched him lower himself in front of her.  “I think you’ll like this so much more.” Her skirt was nothing to the man’s large hands, pushed up and out of the way to reveal the thin fabric of her panties.  His breath fanned across the fabric.  “How much do you like these?”  

Her eyes widened, “Umm…”  It was too late.  The fabric tore, the two halves falling to the concrete floor beneath them.  His nose brushed against her lips, his eyes fluttering as he inhaled her scent.  

“Already so wet for me…” He nuzzled between the lips, tongue darting out to tease at her bud.  Her hips bucked forward at the sensation.  Her own eyes fluttered now and she found herself moaning.  “Easy does it… would hate to get us caught yeah?”  One large hand trailed up her front, twisting her pert nipples between his fingers before his palm encompassed her mouth.  “Be good for me alright sweetheart?”  She didn’t have a chance to respond.  His tongue began moving, dipping in and out of her core, then teasing at her clit.  Each stroke and swirl had her hips moving, muffled moans bouncing against his palm.

It didn’t take her long to reach the edge, for her legs to tremble and for the only thing holding her up was the man in front of her.  He kept the pace, seeming to sense the near orgasm.  Perhaps it had something to do with each dip of his tongue inside of her, the tightening of her walls around the intrusion.  She groaned again, his hand dampening the sound.  Another few strokes from the flat of his tongue and she was tumbling over the edge.  Tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she cried out. His name a symbol of worship as it fell from her lips over and over again. His hand did little to muffle that, especially as he continued to kiss and lick over and over until she was slumped against the wall behind her.

“So good for me sweetheart… and would you look at that, we didn’t get caught.”

Once she’d stopped shaking, he helped her dress.  Her shirt was still in one piece although a bit more wrinkled than it had been only an hour prior.  Then, he was the first out, looking this way and that before guiding her out with his hand on the small of her back.  She wondered briefly if they should’ve taken a bit longer to clean up, to address the dripping mess between her legs.  Though some part of her knew that Randy loved seeing her like that. 

They made it to the mens locker room, Randy stopping them just outside of it.  “This is where we part sweetheart… but don’t worry, I’ll be by tonight to clean you up.  Don’t miss me too much alright?”  A tender brush of lips against hers before he’s swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the locker room.  The nights match’s had yet to begin and she still had preparation of her own to get to.  However, first a stop to her hotel room was at the top of her list.  She was not about to go out to the ring with no panties, especially not knowing what sort of participation was expected from her tonight.

[miffysrkv]

The safehouse is dim again.

Another mission behind you. Another file decrypted, another corpse left bleeding behind some government curtain.

You’re still in your torn undershirt. Ada’s lipstick is smudged. And Leon?

Leon sits on the edge of the couch, legs spread, bloodied gloves off, watching you both like a man barely holding the leash.

“You two think I didn’t see the way you were looking at each other all mission?”

You and Ada glance at each other.

A smirk played on both of your lips

“You gonna punish us?” Ada asks sweetly, already undoing the zipper of her dress

Leon just growls, head tipping back as he leans into the cushions. “On your knees. Now.”

You drop first.

Ada follows beside you, kneeling gracefully on the hardwood like a predator resting before the pounce. You sit thigh to thigh, your shoulder brushing hers as you both reach up at once—hands tugging Leon’s belt open, zipper down, pants shoved low on his hips.

His cock is thick, already flushed, twitching with need.

You glance at Ada.

She smirks. “Ladies first?”

But you both go in at once.

Your tongues meet first—on him. You lick up the underside of his shaft while Ada sucks his tip into her mouth, humming low. You moan into the base of his cock, licking where he’s hottest. Ada bobs her head slowly, one hand pumping him, her other curling in your hair to guide your mouth to his balls.

Together, you worship him.

Leon groans—loud, guttural—his head falling back, a hand tangling in each of your hair. “Fuck. You two—look at you.”

You blink up at him, your mouth wet, tongue tracing his length as Ada slides off with a pop.

“She’s messy,” Ada teases, licking a drop of spit off your lip.

“She’s mine,” Leon growls.

And he grabs his cock—grips it tight—and slaps it against both your tongues.

Once. Twice.

“Open.”

You and Ada open your mouths, side by side. He slides in—deep—into Ada’s first, fucking her throat slowly. Then pulls out and feeds it to you, groaning when your lips seal around him and your throat flexes to take more.

You’re both drooling. Eyes shining. Desperate.

Ada strokes what you can’t reach, whispering in your ear, “You’re so good at this. Look at you, dripping.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock.

He’s shaking above you now, hips starting to thrust, losing control. “Fuck, you two—too good—keep going—”

You and Ada take turns.

Kissing his shaft between your mouths. Sucking his tip together. Cleaning up the mess together.

One team. One target. One goddamn beautiful downfall.

Leon chokes on a breath.

“Where do you want it?” he rasps.

Ada licks her lips. “She earned it.”

He grabs your jaw, cock twitching, and groans through gritted teeth as he cums across your tongue, his load hot, thick, spilling down your throat and over your lips.

You swallow.

Ada leans over. Licks the rest from your chin. Kisses you filthy.

Leon watches, dazed, destroyed. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You both smile up at him like angels with blood on your hands.

Ada tilts her head. “Again?”

-

Now you lie upside down across a crate. Your back arched, legs over the far edge, head dangling off the side.

Mouth open. Throat exposed. Waiting.

You feel Ada’s fingers slide down your cheek, curling under your jaw to tilt your head just right.

“You look divine like this,” she purrs.

Leon steps between your parted lips.

His boots creak on the concrete floor. You don’t need to see him—you feel him. The heat of him. The tension radiating off him like a live wire.

He brushes the head of his cock along your lips—wet already. Heavy.

“She’s shaking already,” Ada whispers. “Use her. Slowly.”

Leon eases inside your mouth.

Gravity helps. Your throat opens on instinct. You gasp around him, hands grabbing at the sides of the crate for stability as he sinks deep, the angle forcing your muscles to stretch and submit.

Ada strokes your hair as you gag.

“Good girl,” she breathes. “Breathe through your nose. Take what he gives you.”

Leon starts to move.

Short thrusts at first—testing, building—before growing bolder, deeper, until your throat is flush with his cock, spit pouring from the corners of your mouth and down your cheeks.

He groans above you, hand braced on the crate. “Fuck. She’s swallowing me—just like that.”

Ada crouches beside your face now. Watches your lips stretch around Leon’s cock. Watches your lashes flutter as you try not to choke. Watches spit string and fall to the floor.

“She’s crying,” she says gently, fingers swiping a tear from your temple. “So beautiful like this. Ruined just for us.”

Leon thrusts harder now. Controlled. Feral beneath the surface. His hips slap lightly against your lips, cock slamming down your throat in smooth, punishing strokes.

You can’t breathe properly. But you don’t care.

You want to be used like this.

You want to give him everything.

Ada leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice like sin.

“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you to.”

You whimper around Leon’s cock, body shuddering. Your thighs rub together at the other end of the crate—soaked, dripping, desperate. You're not even being touched, but the pressure is unbearable.

“She's twitching,” Ada muses. “You're wrecking her.”

Leon grunts, hips stuttering. He’s close. Again. You feel it—thick, heavy, pulsing on your tongue.

“She gonna take it?” he pants.

Ada kisses your temple. “She’ll take every drop.”

Leon drives deep one final time, hips flush to your lips, cock buried in your throat.

And he cums.

Hot. Sudden. Brutal.

His seed floods your mouth, thick and hot, and you gulp—again and again—refusing to let even a drop spill.

Ada watches you with dark, hungry eyes.

“That’s it. Don’t waste it. Swallow him like you’re starving.”

You do.

Your throat aches. Your mouth is numb. You can barely breathe.

And you’ve never felt more alive.

Leon steps back. His cock slips free from your lips with a slick, messy sound.

You lie there upside down—dripping, wrecked, mouth still open, throat fluttering around the ghost of him.

Ada leans in, gloved fingers dragging gently down your throat.

“You didn’t cum,” she whispers.

You shake your head, dazed, obedient.

Her smile sharpens.

“Good girl. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

She disappears from view—and then, warm fingers slide between your thighs from the other end of the crate.

Finally.

[captainlondonman]

Cubicle Skin

Luke was desperate for a shit. He knew he’d never get home on time and he hated the idea of going into the bushes. As he rounded a corner to his relief he saw a public toilet set back slightly from the road. Generally these days they are all boarded up but he could see this one was open. He rushed in and saw that there were 3 cubicles but the one on the left and the right had a sign saying Out of Order and only the middle one seemed to be in use.

‘Thank God’ he said out loud. As he went to the cubicle he saw out of the corner of his eye two guys in jeans at the urinals but he couldn’t care what they might be doing as all he needed to do was have a crap. He shut the door and went to lock but the lock had been ripped off. Somehow he was able to sit on the loo and keep one foot pressed against the door.

After a few minutes he felt so relieved as he wiped himself clean. What he hadn’t noticed as he sat down and got on with his shit was that on each side of the cubicle was a hole in the partition. As he started to stand to hoist up his boxers he could see a shadow through one of the holes and a pair of shiny boots facing him on the other side of the partition. Seconds later a hard long cock was being put through the hole. Luke had heard about Glory Holes and cruising in toilets but had never had the experience. Sometimes when he had heard guys talk about it he had found his own cock stirring in excitement. Now here he was with a good 8 inch dick all the way through the hole. The head was fully exposed, the foreskin pulled back. It was gleaming with some precum showing. Luke pulled his boxers down to reveal his own erect cock.

Suddenly he heard a voice on the other side.

‘What the fuck are doing mate. Me dick is there for a suck, get your mouth around and make sure you give me a bloody good blow job.’

Luke was at once scared but also so worked up at the command and seeing  the prick waiting for his mouth. He got down on his knees, feeling the cold concrete pissed stained floor and tentatively put his hand around the cock.

‘Forget the fucking hand, gimme yer mouth.’

Still holding the end of the guys dick Luke put his mouth around the head and licked the precum.

‘Like the taste boy eh?’

Luke did like the taste and the smell of a prick that hadn’t been washed for a couple of days and he could taste some piss as well. He opened his mouth wider and let the cock slip down further into his throat. The size was perfect and there was no need to gag. He kept pushing his mouth further towards the partition until he was tight up against it with the guys cock all the way down.

‘You’ve done this before, boy, getting a cock all the way down that gob of yours. So start sucking. I want you to swallow all my cum. ‘

Luke slowly took his mouth back up the shaft savouring the smell of piss and let it guide itself back down. He was getting off on this this sleaze in a public toilet. Why had he never down this before. He was always afraid of cottaging but the thrill was so great.

‘Get yer mouth going up and down quicker mate, I’ve a load of spunk to get out of me balls.’

Hearing the guy sound so dirty made Luke slide his mouth ever faster up and down the shaft whilst keeping his hand firmly clenched at the opening. He could hear the guy grunting on the other side, and the more Luke sucked the more he could feel the precum in his mouth.

‘Yer a fucking horny little bastard,’ the guy said’ making me so ready mate. I’m about to explode my cum down yer throat.’

Luke could feel the guy pressing tight against the hole and he could feel the cock veins throbbing as he sucked.

‘Get ready boy its coming. Fuckin hell’ and with that as he pushed his cock back and forth against the hole so his balls erupted creamy cum all the way down Luke’s throat

‘Shit man that’s what I call cum. Yer fucking great boy.’

As Luke was wiping the cum off his chin he realised he had not wanked himself off and as he went to sit on the bog to masturbate he suddenly saw another rigid hard cock sliding through the hole on the other side and again a pair of shiny boots facing into the partition.

‘Hearin the noise of me mate coming boy, you can do the same for me. Sucking him was a good first but as you can see mine’s bigger and thicker and will just about choke yer fucking throat. Put yer hand round it first and feel the thickness and the size of these dick veins.’

Luke didn’t know what to do but seeing this massive dick being offered up to him made his cock so hard he thought he might cum without wanking

‘Lick me head first. I like the feel man before you gag.’

Luke let his tongue get covered in spit and slowly started on the head which was pink and shiny and like a helmet. Judging by the slit there would be a heap load of cum to swallow. Opening his mouth as wide as possible he started to let the cock enter his throat but at first the size was too much and he started gagging.

‘I told you boy. Relax a bit and you’ll find it goes in easier. Take yer time as I want to feel it go right to the back of your throat.’

Luke did as he was told and inch by inch he changed his breathing and the shaft went further and further in, sliding easily with all Luke’s spit which was spilling out his mouth and down his chin.

‘That’s better boy you’ve got the hang of it. Let me feel yer lips rubbing against this filthy partition. Let me feel as if it’s not there and your mouth is tight in against me pubes.’ 

Luke kept his hand over the end of the shaft so he could balance to take in the full length. He had never taken such a cock as this but its massiveness was such a turn on he wanted the full length. He was not going to miss out  and this time  his own load of spunk erupt. As he started to let his hand move up and down his own shaft so the need to take the full length of the guys cock was more desperate.  He was sliding his mouth up and down the shaft quicker and quicker and as he did so he hand worked his own good sized dick.

‘I know yer fucking wanking boy I can hear your breathing but shit mate its making me so fucking ready and that mouth of yours is the best suck I’ve had in ages. I want you to come at the same time and hear your jism. Go on spunk it boy I’m ready.’

Luke could not contain it any longer and as his own cum shot out splatting against the partition so he let out a mighty orgasmic sound.

‘That’s it boy I’m coming now.’

Whilst Luke’s spunk was still hitting the partition so the guy let rip an avalanche of cum almost choking Luke who could not swallow quick enough with great wads spilling down his chin.

The guy withdrew his cock and the boots moved away. There seemed quietness as Luke took out his hankie to wipe his chin and the remainder of his own cum from his cock. He leant forward to pull up his trousers and that was the last he remembered as he blanked out as something hit his head with such force.

As Luke had stood up the two guys had kicked the door with their boots with full force smashing into Luke’s head.

The next thing Luke knew as he started to come round was that he felt cold and could hardly move his head. Slowly his eyes began to focus and open more. He firstly realised that he was totally naked and in a cage. The reason he could hardly move his head was that there was a hole in the cage that allowed his head through but was too small for him to remove it. The room he was in was dark and smelt of piss and damp. His hands were free but as his head was clamped there was very little he could do. As he looked down there was a bowl of water that he could just reach to drink out of.

‘Christ my head is so sore. I must be bruised to hell and I can feel blood in my mouth. Where the hell am I? What have I done to deserve this? Someone has to hear me.’

Luke started shouting at the top of his voice

‘Help me, help me will someone come and get me out of this?’

After shouting for several minutes and starting to feel hoarse, there was a blinding light. For several seconds he could see nothing and before he could open his eyes there was a thundering noise over his head.

As he opened his eyes slowly the noise was as loud as ever. With the head still looking down he made out a pair of shiny black high laced boots. He felt he had seen them before, yes that was it he saw them under the partition in the toilet block.He was just able to look upwards as to what was going on above him.  A guy with a baseball bat was banging it over the bars, and thumping the bat up and down, grinning from one side of his face to the other.

‘Wakey wakey you cock sucker.’

‘Stop it, stop it please’ Luke screamed over the noise, his ear drums almost bursting.

‘Oh we have a nice little gay guy here don’t we. Stop it please,’ the guy said trying to imitate Luke.

‘Why have you done this to me?’

Another guy in the corner said

‘Well you gave us a great blow job we thought we would keep you a bit longer. But you need to change your look a bit mate.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

‘A bit preppy for us.’

 Luke looked more closely at the two guys. He had noticed as he rushed in for his shit that both were wearing boots and jeans but had not looked enough.

The two guys were in tight fitting bleachers as if the bleachers had been sprayed on they were so tight and not just their legs and thighs but their cocks and balls showed a huge package stuffed down one leg. They both had their high boots , one with red laces and one with yellow. Both had braces to match their laces with black Fred Perry T shirts. One wore a green A1 jacket the other was black Their heads were shaved and one had a scar all the way down one cheek. Skin 1 and Skin 2.

‘Time to leave you in the dark for a bit but don’t worry we will be back every hour.’ And with that they turned off the lights and left locking the door.

Sure enough one hour later they came back each with their baseball bat and started thumping them across the bars of the cage

‘Stop stop for Gods sake stop.’ Luke screamed

‘You need to get used to this boy.’

Out they went and sure enough every hour they came back  and ran the bats across the bars.

‘This is fucking great. The boy hates it.’

After 8 hours of this they returned again and started up.

‘I’m fucking loving this mate,’ Skin 1 shouted as he beat the bars

‘Fucking stop that fucking noise now.’ Luke shouted.

The skins stopped immediately.

‘Now that’s what we want to hear, a big of aggro in the voice. Say it again.’

‘Fucking stop it.’

‘Good boy.’

‘Now what’s this I see boy. A nice big piss puddle you have made.’

Luke hadn’t noticed but the noise had made him so worked up that he had peed himself and his piss was in a puddle under him.

‘Yer luck’s in boy. We just downed a few cans of lager and both of us are desperate for a piss. Seeing you’ve just pissed yerself then you won’t mind some of ours. A right golden shower is coming your way.’

Skin 1 and 2 unzipped their bleachers and pulled out their cocks. Luke could see they were the two pricks he had so enthusiastically sucked earlier. They stood in front of Luke and took aim at his head with their cocks.

‘Fuck I have a right load of piss here for you mate.’

And with that they both let rip with a heavy stream of bright yellow piss aiming it at Luke’s head and face.

‘Drink it up boy. You loved our cum so swallow our piss.’

Luke could not move his head in the cage as a torrent of pee cascaded down his face. He had no option but to lick it as it poured over his lips. At first it tasted acidic but after some had gone down the back of his throat there was something about being a sub, unable to escape with so much piss that he found himself starting to swallow. The Skins seeing this made sure their stream was directed at his mouth.

‘He fucking loves it. As good as our cum eh boy? Shit look at his cock he’s getting a bloody hard on. Getting a bit more like us and Christ me cock’s starting a boner seeing him. Need to get rid of this pee first.’

Both the Skins shook their cocks and stuffed them back into their bleachers, Skin 1 having more difficulty as he was the one with the thick cock and now semi hard.

‘Got some work to do now. Go get the clippers mate.’

His mate went out the room and came back with a shaver, razor and shaving cream.

‘Your hair is now stinking of our piss so best for you if you get rid’

‘No please don’t do anything to my hair’

‘We’ll fucking do what we want. You ain’t got much option in that cage and don’t fucking shake your head while I have me razor on you.’

Skin 1 got down on his knees in front of Luke who knew he had to obey in his cage. He took the shaver and started on Luke’s head working from the back to the front. Luke could see his hair falling on to the floor and was helpless.

It seemed no time until most had been removed. Skin 1 then sprayed the shaving foam all over his head.

‘Need to get rid of all this fucking stubble you got there.’

Luke could feel the razor tight against his head and a couple of times felt the razor cut his scalp.

‘A couple of cuts wont do you any harm. In fact better for a skin.’

After half an hour Skin 1 sat back and looked

‘I’ve done a fucking great job there boy. Have a look. He walked over and picked up a mirror putting in front of Luke.

 ‘Oh my God I look just like the two of you.’

Fucking right mate what did you think. You’re gonna be one of us. Need to clean you up a bit. He walked over to the wall where a hose was hung on the wall. Unravelling he brought over to the cage and then walked back and turned on the water. He aimed the cold water at Luke at full power and Luke almost froze as the water splashed against him.

‘Stop please, I’m clean now.’

 The water was turned off 

‘So now we are gonna leave you for a while. Time to get dressed. Your clothes are on that chair. I’m gonna unlock the cage and let you out. We’ll lock the door so you won’t be getting out. Luke could feel the cage door’s padlocked being undone and the padlock that had made his headstuck in the round opening.

Luke felt he had no strength to do anything and just laid  there at the open cage door.

‘See you later boy’ the Skins said as they went out locking the door

Luke slowly clambered out the cage feeling stiff and slightly disorientated. As he stood up, naked he saw clothes piled on the chair and in front a pair of high lace up boots, It all looked the same gear as the skins.

Luke was cold from the blasting of water and wanted to get into the clothes quickly no matter what he might look like. At the top of the pile was a black Fred Perry T shirt like the other two which was a tight fit but showed off his torso well. They must have had some idea of his size. Next the bleachers. He saw they had a zip back and front. As he pulled them on they were tight to his legs and thighs and as he pulled them up it felt good, so good that his cock started hardening. He pushed it down the inside of his leg making a large obvious bulge. The more it rubbed against the bleached denim the more it got bigger. He attached the black braces which seem to pull up the bleachers even more . ‘Christ what a package I have’ Luke thought staring down at his fully hard cock. He then pulled on the thick white socks which came up to almost his knees and sitting on the chair he forced his feet into the shiny black boots carefully lacing up as though he had done it many times before. Finally he put on the A1 green bomber jacket. He felt so great.

‘Where was that mirror?’ He picked it up from the floor and made sure he ran it over his body so he could see himself. Something suddenly snapped inside him. ‘I’m fucking Luke the skin.’  He had a large bruise down one side of his face from the cubicle door being rammed into him but now it made him even more like a  fucking rough skin. “No more fucking pansy boy for me. I’m up for some action and time those guys got what’s coming to them. He rubbed his crotch examining the bulge. Shit man just hope I can pull this out for my revenge.’

He heard the key turn in the door and jumped back behind it ready for anyone to walk in and be dealt with. Skin 2 marched into the room expecting to see Luke wandering around the space. Luke closed in behind quickly putting his arm around Skin 2 in complete stranglehold, the guy chocking and unable to release the vice like grip. His head was skewered back and he was desperately trying to get air as the grip tightened. The guys arse was tight against Luke’s boner and the slight rubbing made his dick even harder.

‘Not so much a fucking boss now are you. What did you expect doing all this to me and making me dress like you. You wanted a fucking skin and let me tell you mate you’ve got one and one much harder than you. Can’t talk can you. I’d like to fucking strangle you.’ Skin 2 could only splutter and was at the point of passing out.

‘Don’t fucking think about it mate’ Luke shouted as he pushed Skin2 towards the cage. With his other arm he pushed the skins head downwards until it was pressed against the bars of the cage.

‘Gonna make a nice imprint of these bars on that fucking face of yours.’ He then ran the arm over the guys arse. 

‘Nice bum you’ve got there and you know what that for. Right a good fuck and I see you have a rear zip so you’ve had it done before. This time my cock will split that arse of yours.’

Luke quickly undid the zip and the bleachers immediately parted revealing a nice dark hairy arse. Luke gave it a couple of sharp slaps making the skin wince with pain.

 ‘Shit you little fairy that ain’t painful’ and with that he slammed his hand with full force over his buttocks. ‘I wanna see that arse of yours tingling red for my cock.’

‘So you ain’t moving much. What that means  it you do wanna be fucked. Now get your legs nice an wide.’

As the skin did what he was told Luke undid his zip and pulled out his cock which was straining inside as it was so hard.

‘To make it easier for you let me gob some nice spit down my shaft’ Luke said and he released a huge gob onto his cock and then he rubbed it. 

‘That’s nice nothing better than a slimy cock ready to fuck.’

With one hand firmly of the skin’s back keeping him fully bent over the cage, Luke used his other hand to direct his cock into the crack and loosening up the hole with a couple of his fingers.

‘Christ that hole of yours is desperate for my dick and by the feel of it you have had a few cocks up there in the past.’

 Luke took both hands and spread the skins cheeks apart ready to ram his cock in. The hole widened and Luke’s head slipped in the skin letting out a squeal of pain.

‘Fuck it man it’s not even all the way in. Now this is. With one great push Luke pushed his cock all the way up to the hilt..

‘Nice and juicy that hole of yours. Hope for your sake there’s no shit in there. Can you feel my pubes right up against that hairy arse of yours?’

The skin squealed but a squeal of delight.

‘Knew you’d love that you fucking little whore.’

As Luke said that the door opened and Skin 1 walked in.

‘Well you’ve changed you hungry skin. You look the part. Knew you would when you walked in to that bog. You are right up there mate so let’s see you get the rythmn going and fuck him hard.’ As he said this he was rubbing his crotch which was now half way down his legs and bulging thick.

‘I remember that dick of yours. Go on get it out and let’s see you wank while I roger your mate.’

‘We’re all mates now boy.’

‘or a start you can bloody well stop calling me boy if that’s the case.’

‘Ok man give it to him

‘Seeing that meaty cock of your mate has me even more ready to shoot my load inside him.’

‘Then go on really slide it in and out.’

 Luke started ramming his prick in and out, faster and faster his breathing rapidly increasing, skin 2 grunting more and more, while skin 1’s hand was working his shaft faster having let a big gob of spit grease him up.

‘Ride him man, I’m ready’

With one final push Luke shot his hot spunk in fierce spurts right up Skin 2 arse. Skin one arched back and sprayed the floor with his cum. As Luke let Skin 2 move the bloke had come in his bleachers with a great wet patch showing and some cum oozing through.

‘That’s what I call a fuck man’ Skin 2 said.

‘You’ll have to stay here mate’ he said to Skin 2, ‘you cannae come out with all that cum showing on yer bleachers.’

‘So man stuff that dick back it but shake off the left overs first. We have a job to do.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Follow me we have to go and do some cottaging.’

The two went back to the same toilet where it had first all happened. This time Luke and Skin 1 stood facing the urinal. Skin 1 moved his hand over to rub Luke’s cock and it was no time until his shaft was a full boner. 

‘That’s you ready now. You can go first.’

As he said this, so a young guy walked in and quickly looked at the two blokes at the urinal and went into the middle cubicle and shut the door.

‘I’m ready ‘Luke said unzipping his bleachers, ‘just hope he is’

 and the two walked into the left and right cubicle.

[954pressurecleaning]

Concrete Cleaning and Sealing: Expert Pressure Washing Tips

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[glitchedoutpxie]

“Soft Muscle”

TMNT 2003 - Raphael ficlet series - Episode 18

Genre: slow burn romance

Pairing: Scientist fem!reader x captive Raphael

Read episode 1

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･*

Episode 18: Tartaruga Brothers

Raphael slumped against the wall. Blood. So much more than you'd realized. A clean shot, buried deep in the soft tissue between the plates of his side.

You didn't hesitate. You tore both sleeves off your lab coat, hands shaking as you bundled the fabric and pressed it hard against the wound.

"Shit—okay, okay," he hissed, trying to lean back against the wall. "No need to give me an attitude."

"Shut up and keep pressure on this," you ordered, guiding his hand to the makeshift bandage. Your fingers brushed his. Cold. Too cold.

The elevator clanged to a stop, old gears groaning like they might give way. The doors hissed open. You supported his body against yours as you walked out into the sewers. You were far from safe. Stockman's tech was way too close by and the guards would be behind you any minute now.

You hadn't made it more than ten steps into the tunnel before the elevator behind you screeched, gears reversing violently, sparking.

Slowly, you both turned.

The metal groaned like something alive. The control panel split open, wires slithering out like vines. The floor retracted. The whole damn lift lurched forward, dragging itself on hydraulic limbs that bent the shaft doors open with a howl.

"Oh my God," you breathed. "Stockman's back..."

"You thought you could escape me?! I am done with you, vermin! Both of you! No more mercy!" the distorted mechanical voice bellowed, sending chills down your spine.

The entire platform shifted, part spider, part scorpion. Wires snapped into tendrils, curling toward you like they could smell blood and fear. A red sensor light blinked in the center of its ‘head.'

Raphael forced himself upright beside you, swaying. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

"Move!" you shouted, throwing his arm over your shoulders and hauling him forward. "Go, go, go—"

A mechanical limb whipped out, slicing into the concrete where your legs had just been. Another jabbed out ahead of you, cutting off your path.

Too fast.

Too many limbs.

This was the end.

You turned to cover Raph's body, knowing it would strike from that side—

And then boom!

The sewer wall behind you exploded inward, concrete raining down as a heavy-duty, shell-covered truck crashed through the tunnel with roaring headlights.

"TURTLE TRUCK, BABY!" a turtle with an orange bandana shouted from the wheel.

Twin grapples launched from the front, wrapping around two of the elevator-monster's legs and yanking it sideways with a mechanical scream.

Another turtle with a purple bandana burst out from the hatch above, staff already sparking as he leapt into the fray. "Step away from my brother, you toaster-faced freak!"

A third turtle with a blue bandana followed with two blades, diving into the chaos.

Raph sagged against you, a delirious laugh catching in his throat. "Took them a damn while."

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･

Author's Notes:

WOOHOO TURTLES IN THE HOUUUSSEE honestly elevator tentacle scorpion monster? Ai could never 😩

Should i keep posting here or move to ao3/wattpad? I really want to post the original Rosie version somewhere + uploading there would be much faster hmmm idkkkk would yall prefer to finish reading on ao3 or wattpad or tumblr? Help i do not fare well with the freedom of choice

[storm-angel989]

can I request Valentino x daughter reader who unalived someone? How would he deal/react? Sorry if it's too much, you don't have to do it

💣anon

There are few things in this world that sober us faster than death. 

Around me, the city continued to buzzed with the sounds of the night. Cars honking, people yelling, the hum of electricity. Two hours ago I had been in the thicket of it, laughing and drinking. The flash of smiles across the dance floor, the movement of bodies under the flashing lights, the too loud music obscuring any outside noises. After all, no one wants to be interrupted while they’re having a good time. 

The events of the night began the way all bad relationships start. A brought drink late in the night. Sweet, sloppy kisses back and forth to the beat of the music, sweating in the heat on the dance floor. My father owned the majority, if not all of,  the clubs within the pride ring, and he’d tell you himself it was simple math. The more you dance, the more you drink. 

At first I thought I downed the last drink too quickly. His arm around my shoulder, a suggestion to get some fresh air. Ducking away from my friends, and the coolness of the back alleyway. More kisses, and the same sweetness on my tongue. 

I couldn’t be sure how long I had been out there, but something shifted as suddenly as it came on. Gentle hands turned rough, the feeling of gritty concrete against the bareskin of my back turned to dirt and hard ground. A sharp pain, a tug, and the sound of fabric as it tore from my body.

Growing up Valentino’s kid, Vox and Velvette’s niece, I had been taught to defend myself. When I turned eighteen and started going out to clubs, I had been properly outfitted with firm lectures on club safety and armed with the most advanced concealed protection.  The decision was instinctual at this point.  

My brain didn’t register reaching for the gun. Nor did I stop to think before I fired. His body collapsed onto mine and I scrambled away as quickly as I could. Around me, the night moved, oblivious to the actions in the alleyway. My mind raced and for the first time in my life,  I hit the SOS button on my VoxTech watch and sank down to the ground. My mind went numb and wrapped my arms around my knees as I stared at the would-be rapist.

To be the only child in the lives of the three most powerful beings in Pentagram city, it felt like forever before I heard my father’s voice booming voice from the street.

“Reader? Reader!” Valentino yelled. “God fucking damn it, bebita where are you?”

I tried to open my mouth but the words to answer caught in my throat. To my relief, his head turned and he raced towards me. Some part of me knew he was speaking, but my brain couldn’t make sense of it. 

Behind him, my Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette stood, surveying the scene. Neither looked particularly bothered by the fact that there was a body in the middle of the alleyway, or my gun on the ground next to it. 

“She’s in shock, Val. And probably still drunk. Or drugged,” my Aunt Velvette said as she knelt down next to me. “Come on baby, let’s get you home. Valentino, you get her home. Vox, let’s clean this shit up.” 

My father wrapped his arms under mine and pulled me to my feet. A silent limo ride home and as he stepped into the elevator, he hit the button for his studio. I glanced at him. 

“We’re going to get you cleaned up downstairs,” he said by way of explanation. “Housekeeping already brought down clean clothes. They’re in the nurses office. I want you to shower in one of the bedrooms and make your way down there, alright?”

I didn’t respond. As soon as the elevator door opened, I let him guide me into the eerily silent studio, down the dimly lit hallway to one of the countless hotel rooms. As soon as I was inside, he shut the door and locked it. 

“You’re going to strip all of your clothes, put them in the garbage. You’re going to shower with every product in that bathroom and wrap yourself in the bathrobe hanging behind the door. Do you understand me?” Valentino asked, not unkindly. “Daddy will take care of it, but I need you to do your part.” 

I nodded and stepped into the spotlessly clean bathroom. Numbly, I did exactly as he instructed. As I wrapped the robe around myself I caught my reflection in the mirror.

The eyes of a murderer stared back at me.

My stomach turned and I coughed bile and vodka into the sink. I heard the door knob turn and felt my father pull back my damp hair. 

“It’s alright honey, get it out,” he said softly. 

“Daddy, I killed someone,” I choked out as I turned to face him. “Daddy, I…”

“Shussh,bebita,” he interrupted gently. His hand cupped my chin in his hands and gently wiped my mouth. “It’s okay. Daddy took care of it.” 

“Daddy, he-”

“Your Uncle Vox caught it all on camera,” he continued. “The drugging. The almost rape. You did nothing more than defend yourself. Not that anyone will ever know that you had any involvement.”  He walked over to the garbage and tied the bag that contained the remains of my clothes. “Not that anyone will ask questions, but if they do sweetheart, you know nothing. The tapes from the surrounding areas are gone, understood? Now let’s go get you checked out, hm?” 

I let him guide me out of the bathroom and down the hall. Unlike all the other times I had been in there, the nurses office was completely empty of everyone except us. 

“Sit on the bed,” Valentino instructed. “I’m going to take a blood sample. See what’s in your system.”

I obeyed and a few seconds later, the door opened as Vox and Velvette walked in. 

“How’s our sweet girl doing?” Vox asked as he sat down on the bed next to me. He ran a hand down my back. “Honey?”

“Val, is she out of it or just in shock still?” Velvette asked as she locked the door behind her. 

“I’ll know in a moment, is it all taken care of?” Valentino asked as he walked over to me. 

Vox stood up and crossed his arms. “Of course it is, I…” his voice trailed off and he looked at me. “We can talk about it later.”

“Bebé Muñeca, give me your arm,” Valentino told me. 

I offered him both and he tugged up the sleeve of my left arm. A quick pinch later, he had a vial in his hand. He turned away and I watched as he added several droplets of my blood to a card. Instantly, a line turned bright green, purple and pink. 

“Interesting mix. Had to be in his salvia. Did you see them kissing or sharing drinks?” 

“Both,” Vox replied. “I’m sure he slipped it under the tongue. She wouldn’t have noticed anyway, it’s so sweet.”

Sweet. I thought the kisses tasted that way because of the drinks. Guess now I knew better. 

“Baby, do you want a shot or a drink?” Valentino asked as he turned to me. “I can give you the drugs to counteract it either way, but you choose.” 

I swallowed and looked at the three of them. “Daddy, I killed someone.”

I watched them exchange glances and a strange expression crossed my fathers face. Sadness? Concern? Slowly, he nodded. 

“Reader,” my Uncle Vox said softly. “Honey, look at me. Your daddy asked you a question.”

I turned my head back towards Vox and our eyes met. Warmness washed over me and my mind turned from numb to a peaceful mix of relaxation and happiness. Flashes of the night, dancing with friends, taking shots of vodka and climbing in the limo as I waved goodbye to my friends. My Aunt Velvette helping me into the shower and wrapping myself in my bathrobe. 

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” I asked.

“Babygirl, do you want a shot to help your hangover or do you want to drink it from a cup?” Vox asked. “What would feel better to your body?”

“Probably the shot? I feel tired. Auntie Vel, what time is it?” I asked. 

“It’s late,” she replied simply. “Almost bedtime. Once your Daddy gives you the shot, we’ll go up to bed.” She sat down next to me. 

“I don’t remember the car ride home,” I said as my father pulled my arm towards him. “How much did I have to drink?”

“Too much, sweetheart,” Valentino replied as he slid the needle into me. “But this will make you feel so much better.”

I felt the cool liquid slide into me and tiredness washed over my body. I leaned onto my Aunt Velvette’s shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt my fathers hands lift me up and the movement of his body as he carried me out of the room. 

“Don’t worry bebita,” I heard my father whisper.  “Daddy will always take care of you.”

[nils-gold-34]

The Black Reservoir

After everyone else had gone home, the locker room settled into silence. Practice had ended two hours ago, but the air still hung heavy with the scent of sweat and effort. Socks tossed carelessly. Cleats stacked in neat piles. Kits dripped from hooks, still damp. The Golden Bros had left in a haze of laughter and swagger, their energy lingering in the hallways like distant thunder. But Nils remained. He always did.

The quiet after the storm was his time. It wasn’t glamorous or loud, but it mattered. Folding towels, replacing gear, refilling hydration racks—he was the unseen lifeline, the waterboy. He was carrying the last crate of bottles toward the supply annex when something caught his attention. A sound. But not footsteps. Not voices. Just a drip.

He paused, then turned. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The drops came from the ceiling vent above the annex door. Not water. It was too thick, too slow. A dark droplet splashed onto the tile with a muted plop, like oil slipping into silence. Another followed. Then another.

Curiosity nudged Nils closer. The vent grill was slightly ajar. One of the golden screws had warped, twisted outward. He leaned in. Behind the vent, shadows writhed—pipes, but not ones he recognized. Black, glinting faintly, they pulsed like veins in the dark.

He looked down. A crack stretched from beneath the vent to the floor—jagged, narrow, unnatural. And glowing. Barely perceptible, but there.

He set the crate down, his pulse quickening. Following the line of the crack, he crouched behind the storage shelf and found a hatch. Square. Reinforced. Covered in dust—but unmistakably unlocked. The bolts that once held it shut were half-melted, as if something had burned through them from below.

Nils hesitated, but only for a moment. The hatch creaked open. A rush of cold, stale air met him—not musty, not dead—but sterile. Preserving whatever lay beneath, as though it were waiting.

He climbed down the ladder, one rung, two, twelve. His feet hit the concrete floor with a soft thud. The walls were lined with yellowed tiles, some chipped and cracked, others scarred with scratches—faded sigils, team logos. But then there were others, jagged, precise, unfamiliar.

He moved forward. The soft glow of golden lighting strips embedded in the ceiling guided his way, but the deeper he went, the stranger it felt.

The hallway opened into a vast underground vault. In the center was a pool—circular, still. Its surface was flawless, untouched. But it wasn’t water. It was black. So black it swallowed the light around it, so black it hurt to look at. Beautiful. Mesmerizing. Like polished obsidian, liquefied and waiting.

And above it? Something hovered. A polo shirt. Black rubber. Gold trim. A Fred Perry cut. Perfectly preserved. Not hanging—floating. Suspended above the pool by nothing at all. Slowly, deliberately, it rotated, as if it knew he was watching.

Nils didn’t understand. He took a step forward. That’s when the voice came.

“Waterboys serve the thirst… but whose thirst do you serve?” It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t threatening. But it echoed inside his skull like a distant memory. “You hydrate the team. You purify. You think your role is clean.” A drop fell into the pool. The ripples weren’t circular. They were hexagonal.

Nils stared at the water. A reflection stared back. His own face—but altered. His eyes were empty. His skin was rubber-tight. He wore no jersey—just a glossy black uniform, marked with gold numbers. The number “034” gleamed across his chest.

He blinked. The reflection was gone.

The voice returned.

“This is the Reservoir. The Source of the first breach. Where Gold was compromised. Where the Hive entered.”

Panic gripped him. He turned to run—but the hatch was gone. Or perhaps he was deeper than he realized. The polo shirt pulsed, drawing closer.

Nils tried to move, but his legs refused. He watched, paralyzed, as the shirt descended, hovering inches from his chest. The air thickened. It buzzed. Every droplet of sweat on his skin seemed to tingle, a golden sheen breaking across him.

“Try it on,” the voice whispered. “You already carry the water. Carry the truth.”

The collar brushed his hand. He didn’t remember lifting his arms. Didn’t remember pulling it over his head. But the shirt fit. Snug. Perfect. The rubber melded to his skin as if it had been waiting for him. A hiss whispered through the chamber, his heartbeat pounding—but it slowed, synchronized. Steady. Mechanical.

His eyes flickered black-gold. His thoughts softened.

But just before the transformation could seal, a memory surged—Brody on the field. Grayden’s pep talk. Trevor tossing him a towel and shouting, “You’re the real deal, Nils!”

He ripped the shirt off and threw it into the pool. The water roared—silent, but deafening. The pipes pulsed red. Alarms screamed inside his mind. And then, darkness.

When he awoke, he was back in the locker room, the annex behind him. The hatch was closed. No sign of the pool. No shirt. Just a crate of water bottles and a single black droplet on his sleeve.

He didn’t speak of it. He went back to work. Polished the benches. Refilled the tanks. But when he passed a mirror, he swore he saw himself blink—his eyes shimmering black-gold for a split second.

Some thirsts should never be quenched. And some waterboys… carry more than hydration. They carry secrets. They carry leaks. They carry the Hive.

Think you’ve got what it takes to step beyond the pitch and into the underground? Think you’re ready to discover the secrets behind the sweat, beneath the cleats, within the gold?

Then it’s time to join the Golden Army.

Contact our recruiters: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 52

Something Blue

     Rain came in thick sheets by dusk, drumming hard against the cabin’s corrugated roof—like fingers on a rusted tin drum, relentless and uneven. Each impact sent a hollow tremor down the walls, into the floorboards, and deeper still into the concrete veins of the lab.

        Below, it felt like being submerged.

     The hush was complete—so complete it dulled the passing of time itself. No rat wheel creaking. No bundled wires to dodge. No haphazard drifts of paper. Just current and heat and thought.

     Fiddleford had called it for the night, muttering something about headaches and humidity and dinner that hadn’t agreed with him. But Ford had only been working for nine hours—nowhere near the threshold where exhaustion overtook obsession. Especially not with all the new space. The open floors, the cleaner shelves. The lingering adrenaline of adaptation.

     He hovered over a circuit array, tweezers poised, shoulders hunched in concentration. The movements were infinitesimal—every adjustment a breath held steady, every connection soldered to silence. His glasses slid lower on the bridge of his nose and stayed there, forgotten.

     Bill lingered inside the quiet with him—cool, coiled, and watchful. His awareness was braided with Ford’s, nested just beneath each thought, guiding every nerve.

     Outside the lab, the world blurred. Just the storm—rain sheeting sideways across the clearing, the wind bending trees like fevered limbs, thunder growling at the horizon. Inside, only the ticking of the regulator. The slow, meditative exhale of machines at rest. Ford’s own breathing, matched perfectly to Bill’s—A small world, perfectly contained.

        Until—

     A crash—then several—split through the ceiling—and the moment broke all at once. 

     Glass shattered. Something heavy toppled. And somewhere in the mix—a voice. Loud. Sharp. Fiddleford.

     Ford jerked. The tweezers pinged from his grip, gallium arsenide still clinging to their tips as they spiraled into shadow. But even before it struck the ground, Bill surged forward behind his ribs—a jolt of voltage and heat that shorted hesitation clean out of him.

     Move, Sixer. 

     Ford’s chair hit the floor with a bang. He vaulted the bench, papers scattering in his wake, lab coat cracking like a sail behind him. His boots skidded on the concrete—caught, pushed off—every synapse charged with singular focus: Upstairs. Now.

     The storm strobed across the kitchen—rain-slanted shadows, flashes of motion. The cabin trembled with it. Another thud. Another shout. 

        “—Fidds?”

     Ford didn’t wait. He tore through the main room, the entryway lurching sideways for a breath before righting itself. Lightning cast the furniture in pale sheets.”

        Deeper in: another crash. A full throated curse. Bill’s presence flared—hot now, almost snarling. “Careful. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

     Ford’s fingers flexed, instinct searching for the blaster that wasn’t there—still holstered on the lab rack, useless now. Too late.

        His heart slammed against his ribs. His body surged forward anyway.

     The hallway reeked of wet timber. Rain had soaked through somewhere, darkening the seams of the floorboards. Ford’s boots landed hard, slipping once, catching. The first door on the right—

        It flung open, Ford stopped

           Fiddleford was everywhere.

     Drawers gaped from the sideboard like broken teeth, their contents flung in drifts across the floor—outdated manuals, crumpled blueprints, Polaroids curled in on themselves like dried leaves. A lamp lay shattered across the rug, jagged porcelain splayed like the debris of a small explosion. One of the chairs was on its back, a leg cracked clean off, splinters glinting in the dim light.

     And Fiddleford—he stumbled from bookshelf to desk, not seeing where he was going, only reacting—knocking over a jar of pens, knocking over himself. His eyes were wild—unfocused, unfixed—caught mid-panic, too furious to freeze.

        “Fid—whoa, hey.”

     Ford raised both hands, palms open. He pitched his voice low, soothing, like approaching a shorted-out machine. “What’s going on?”

     Fiddleford spun, clutching a fistful of paper he seemed to only now realize was in his hand—it looked like a letter. His chest heaved; each breath sounded like it was being pulled from under something heavy. And when he finally spoke, his voice scraped raw—half shout, half sob: “She’s leaving me.”

        The words dropped like glass.

     “She’s—” Fidds choked, shoved both hands through his hair, fingers knotting in the strands. He pulled, hard. “Emma Mae—she’s been—God, Ford, she’s been seein’ somebody else. Sleep in’ with some—some,” his arm swung, knocking a jar of spare change across the room. “—Prick from the hardware store!”

     Fidds slammed the stack of papers down onto the desk. They scattered like frightened birds. Ford could only watch.

     “Says she’s tired of it. Tired of me. Of my excuses…”

     Ford stepped forward instinctively—but Fiddleford’s arm flew out, a finger pointed in Ford’s direction. Not a threat. A warning.

     “You know what else she’s tired of?” he spat. His voice was splintered now, wobbling between rage and disbelief. “You,”

     Ford’s brows furrowed. “Me?” he said incredulously.

     “You.” Fiddleford repeated. He snatched a notebook from the desk, thrusting it toward Ford like evidence. “She says everything’s a you problem now. That everything changed when I came to work for the great Stanford Pines!”

     The name caught on something in his throat, cracked against it. His hand braced on the desk. The other fisted uselessly at his side. “She wants full custody. The house—I’m leaving tonight.”

     The air in Ford’s lungs felt like static. He reached forward—slowly, unsure where comfort might land without doing more damage. His hand hovered uselessly in the air between them.

     “What about the contact?” he asked—fast and far too practical, the words out before he could soften them. “The project—you leaving now would put everything at risk—”

        Fiddleford’s head snapped up.

     And Ford recoiled his hand, stopping in his tracks.

     “I don’t give a fuck, Ford. Okay?” Each syllable struck like a hammer. “That shit won’t fix my marriage.”

     Fidds shoved past him, shoulder slamming hard into Ford’s, knocking him sideways a half-step. Ford caught the edge of the doorframe and turned, but the hallway already felt different—emptied. 

        “I have to go save my family.”

     The storm outside had coiled into something monstrous—rain hammering the roof in frantic, arrhythmic fists. The gutters overflowed, releasing sluiced waterfalls that sheeted across the porch and wept from the beams. The windows rattled in their frames, their silver veins alive with each pulse of lightning.

        Inside, the cabin was all motion.

     Fiddleford tore through the rooms like a man caught in a house fire. He grabbed life in fistfuls—every drawer he yanked screamed on its runners; every cupboard slammed hard enough to leave the dishes ringing long after he’d moved on.

     Ford hovered shortly behind, trying—still—to wedge sense between the cracks of rage. It was useless. Every word landed too late. Every attempt slid off the storm-slick surface of Fiddleford’s focus, unable to find purchase.

     “Just—stay until morning,” Ford tried, following him to the door, voice swallowed even as he raised it. “You don’t have to drive in this—Fid, just wait—”

     But Fiddleford was already moving into rain-laced wind, rushing past the threshold into the flickering wash of the porch light, then down the steps into the downpour. Ford followed—apologies and questions slipping loose, too many and too little to hold back what was happening.

     “Fid!” he called out again, desperate now. “I need you—”

     That stopped him. Just a few steps beyond the base of the steps, he paused—then he turned. Rain stippled his glasses. His jaw was set. His eyes were red—not just from the wind, not just from the cold, but he didn’t look away.

     “I’m sorry, Ford,” he said quietly. “I’m not… I’m not like you.”

     Lightning split the sky wide open, illuminating everything in a single, white frame.

     Ford saw it all at once—the way the collar of Fiddleford’s coat flared awkwardly in the wind. The way the sleeves bunched at the elbows. The way he didn’t flinch at the cold. The way he didn’t look back again.

     He hoisted his suitcase against one hip like dead weight. The Mustang loomed just beyond the fringe of the porch light, slick with runoff. He opened the door, climbed in, started the engine.

     Thunder rolled overhead, long and low, and the rain surged colder, harder, washing across Ford’s shoulders in violent diagonals. The Mustang headlights flared—sharp, merciless—cutting through the downpour like teeth. The door slammed. The engine caught. Tires spun, mud churned.

     The taillights bled red into the fog. Glowing like coals in a drowned world—bright, trembling, receding. The outlines blurred, then softened, then smudged. The trees closed in around them. And then—

        Nothing.

           Just the storm.

     Ford stood frozen at the edge of the porch, one hand locked around the support post, knuckles bleached white.

     Behind him, the cabin door hung ajar—gaping, crooked on its hinge, letting the storm spiral through the rooms Fiddleford had left in shambles. A mouth that couldn’t close. Couldn’t explain. Could only echo the absence it now contained.

        And then—Bill stirred.

     His voice surfaced like a ripple in still water—low, velvet-soft, amused. “Wow. Not even the melodrama of begging in the rain could stop him—that’s gotta sting,”

        Ford didn’t move.

     “Oh, if only,” Bill went on, just as softly, “there was someone’s arms you could fall into for comfort right now.”

     The words landed like a tap on an open wound—casual, cutting, and achingly familiar, hanging in the flash of light as thunder rolled on.

—

        Three days passed.

     No word. No phone call. Not even a postmark from Tennessee—and in the vacancy Fiddleford left behind, time lost its shape. 

     Hours kneaded into one another, days stretching out in long, bruised smears across the calendar. The clock hands moved, but the meaning didn’t stick. The sun came and went like someone flicking a switch in another room.

     Ford retreated into the lab with zeal. With something just shy of guilt and just past obsession. The kind of tunnel-vision you didn’t climb out of so much as absolve yourself through. 

     Bill was everywhere at once. A murmured suggestion, a pulse of approval, a bright needle of impatience. Together they burned through graphite, solder, and sleep, chasing coherence through circuits that glowed fox-fire green in the low light. Coffee cooled to sludge at Ford’s elbow; he drank anyway, accidently crunching the grit at the bottom of each cup before abandoning the mug wherever it landed—on blueprints, on notebooks, on shelves still scattered with remnants of Fidds’ organization.

     When exhaustion finally pried the tweezers from Ford’s hand, Bill took him elsewhere. Into places not tethered to space or time—where they found themselves fluent in the language of curiosity and hunger. 

     And when Ford awoke—smiling and sated to the marrow—the answers came easy again.

        Upstairs, the cabin began to forget itself.

     Dirty dishes collected in the sink, stacking in careless layers, a geology of apathy. Coffee grounds formed constellations on the counter. A spoon lay just behind the grinder where it had fallen three mornings ago—now crusted into place like a fossil. 

     An oily hush that pooled in the corners, that wrapped around the places Fiddleford had once animated—his sighs, his banter, the scrape of his chair, the click of the space bar as he typed too loudly. At first Ford didn’t register it—there were too many voltages singing in his skull. Too many theorems to hunt.

     But between those moments—when his soldering iron cooled or the paper ran out or the circuit didn’t blink the way it should, the silence would press against his eardrums. Loud. Dense. Like a question.

     And Bill, always attuned, filled the gaps like incense.

     But sometimes—just sometimes—on the edge of Ford’s consciousness, just before the lab dissolved into another impossible landscape, he could feel Bill listening too, waiting for an echo that refused to return.

        On the fourth dawn, the rain had stopped.

     The world outside lay washed clean, but the windows were still fogged with condensation, the air inside the cabin thick and sour. The back door stood propped open with a bootheel, letting damp air curl through the hallway.

        Ford placed another mug beside the sink.

     Porcelain clinked porcelain. A tower shifted. Several plates slid. Ford caught the stack before it would tip, steadied it, but didn’t bother washing a single one.

        He stared at the mess.

           At the quiet accusation.

     And then turned away before the silence had a chance to ask something he wasn’t ready to answer, descending the stairs and vanishing back into the place where time had stopped tracking him.

     On the fifth morning, Ford stood in the kitchen at first light. The air was thick—stale with overnight soldering and cigarette smoke, the faintest trace of something sweet gone to rot in the trash beside the sink.

     The kettle hissed on the stove, its warped aluminum base stippled with rust. The coffee maker stopped working—go figure—and fixing those sorts of things was something Fidds usually did. Plus, Ford and Bill were teadering at the edge of another breakthrough after days of working at it. Samples of Shifty’s cells were proving useful in their pursuit of understanding cross dimensional chemistry—how biological molecules interact as they shift phase states. So, for now, he had to make his coffee the old fashioned way.

     Steam coiled toward the ceiling in slow ribbons, catching the gray-pale light that filtered through the condensation-streaked windows. The bulb overhead buzzed faintly, flickering once, then held.

     Ford moved by habit. He opened the cupboard with a practiced reach, expecting to find the same several mugs he rotated through—diner-grade things, stacked with lazy indifference. But the shelf was nearly bare now. Only a few remained, pushed far to the back—relics from when he’d first moved in—The kind of things that never got used, never rotated forward. Ghosts cast in ceramic.

     With a short exhale, part sigh, part annoyance, he stretched up onto the balls of his feet, reaching into the shadowed shelf where unused things went to sleep.

     His fingers found something heavy in the hand. Not the usual matte diner weight but something glazed. He drew it out.

     The mug was pale blue. The glaze soft and cloudy, like morning sky over water. Across its side, in bold mid-century script, the souvenir lettering read: Atlantic City, 1962.

     The paint had aged to a brittle spiderweb of cracks. Hairline crazing ran beneath the gloss, tiny fault lines mapping time. The handle bore a small dent—thumb-sized—where the clay had slumped slightly during firing—a moment in the making.

     Ford’s own thumb landed in the groove without thinking. His breath hitched. A muscle fluttered beneath his right eye, small and involuntary.

     The kettle hissed louder, but the kitchen had gone otherwise still. 

     He turned the mug slowly in his hand, letting the light catch across the sea-glass blue. A breath of memory stirred—he’d seen it before. It had been handed to him. And he had taken it, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want to refuse.

     The kettle’s whistle scythed through the kitchen—shrill, blade-clean—but Ford just kept staring at the dent beneath his thumb.

     The pale blue glaze seemed to pulse with its own slow rhythm, like blood behind skin. In the space of a blink, time thinned—and the present peeled back.

     The overhead nicotine-yellow light struggled to illuminate the dinky apartment kitchen. Filbrick at the head of the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed—the same mug in his hands. Pale blue porcelain looked almost dainty cradled in those thick, gnarled fingers. 

     He tilted the cup to his lips, and above the rim, his gaze never wavered—deadlocked on the boy across the table. His son.

     Outside, a lawnmower droned on the neighbor’s lawn. Inside: stillness. And the smell—Brut cologne, sharp and synthetic, clinging to Filbrick’s shirt collar, masking something meaner: The faint, acrid tang of gunpowder. Leftovers from whatever came with a “late night.”

     Ford’s teenage hands stayed flat on the table, eyes pinned to his fingers—the smudges on the knuckles, watching the tremor, all while feeling the slow, smoldering pride in his father’s eyes.

     The kettle screamed—Ford’s grip tightened around the mug in the here and now.

     The scene fractured—A different room. Same man. Same eyes. Filbrick’s shadow looming over him as he lay on the living room carpet. His hand clamped to the back of Ford’s neck. His voice—a low snarl—serrated with something far darker than fury: “I’ll fucking kill you.”

     The words still ricocheted in his skull, etched like lines on a plate.

     And then—that flare. Bill lurching forward inside him—violent, reactive, razing the memory flat. The feeling was seizure-adjacent: teeth clamped, vision sparking. 

     The afterimage of Filbrick still lingered behind Ford’s eyelids—etched into the flash like a photographic ghost. The whistle kept screaming, a knife across his nerves. Water spilled onto the burner, hissing, snapping.

     Ford’s chest seized. Once. Twice. His lungs clawed at the air, but every inhale dragged that same old stench—cheap cologne, gun-smoke, stale liquor on breath.

        “Sixer?”

           Ford’s lungs refused.

        No warning. No negotiation. Just—lockdown.

     Air stalled halfway down his throat, muscles seizing like a cranked vise. His chest strained against itself, ribs compressing, lungs fluttering uselessly like paper bags in a vacuum.

     A high, electric whine surged in his ears. Not external—internal. Some private alarm bell only he could hear, bright and shrill as migraine light. His eyes fluttered. The mug in his hand blurred, doubled. His fingers went slack.

        Crash.

     Ceramic detonated on tile. Shards skittered under cabinets—but the sound didn’t land properly. It felt far away. Everything did. All noise collapsed inward until only his pulse remained—thudding, arrhythmic, deafening.

     Ford staggered back. His palm slammed the wall, searching for something real. His shoulder hit next, then his hip—off-balance. His knees buckled but didn’t give. Another breath wouldn’t come.

     His throat worked but drew nothing. A dry, stuttering wheeze. Every rib a locked gate.

     “Ford.” Bill’s voice slid forward—low, deliberate. A steady pressure behind Ford’s eyes, like a hand on glass. “Breathe—easy does it.”

     “I’m—I’m just windy,” Ford rasped. “Too much coffee or—fuck—”

     His vision constricted. Peripheral detail drained away, the kitchen narrowing to a tunnel of warped light and scattered glass. The room tilted—floor rising at the corners like a capsizing raft. He clutched at his chest.

        Bill’s tone sharpened. “Focus, IQ.”

     “I can’t—” Ford gasped. His legs gave another warning tremor. Shards shifted underfoot with a sound like ice cracking. “I—can’t—”

     “Ford, stop,” Bill said with a forced calm, tamping down his own rising static. 

     Ford began counting the erratic thuds: one-two-three-… a skipped beat that felt like a dropped elevator. Sweat prickled cold across his scalp. He drew a ragged sip of air, held it for a desperate second, let it shudder out. Again. And again. He looked down at the splintered mug, scattered memory in pieces, crunching under his feet like…like—

     Snow.

        Hard winter snow.

     Dry and bladed. The kind of cold that bit. He felt it—through his jeans, through the floor—gritty frost rising through the seams of denim, gluing the fabric to his skin. His teeth clicked from the cold. And his knuckles ached.

        Ford looked down.

     His right hand was split and slick—raw, caked with half-frozen blood. His wrist throbbed with the dull ache of recent impact. The smell hit next—copper-heavy, hot and nauseating against the freeze. He tasted iron in his throat, sticky and metallic, bitter-sweet like nickels pressed to the back of his tongue.

     Somewhere in the whiteout: a dull, wet thump, followed by the echo of his own ragged grunts—raspy and loud like an animal’s. Something terrible had happened. Something he did. Something they had done.

     He tried to see it—but the second he reached toward detail, a black pane dropped over it, slick and final. Like tar poured over glass. It swallowed the image, deadened the sound. Bill surged forward in his mind—a flare: hot gold against polar dark—and shoved the pane harder, locking it into place.

     Ford’s pulse spiked, sudden and brutal. He pressed both palms to his temples—hard enough to hurt.

     “What did we do?” he choked out. His voice broke across the words, thin and scorched. “Bill—fuck—what did we do?”

        But Ford’s shins still ached from the frost.

     His hands came back down, palms up and open—trembling before him. He wiped them on his shirt, but no matter how many times he did, the blood wouldn’t wipe away.

     Bill’s voice cracked through Ford’s skull—no velvet purr, no flippant drawl, only a sharp-edged command, raw and unvarnished, threaded with something dangerously close to fear.

        “Ford. Come on—calm down. Stop.”

     But the harder Bill pushed, the tighter everything locked. Ford’s lungs refused their function. His diaphragm jolted, stuttered, clenched. Each inhale rasped like torn paper—thin, useless, fraying at the edge of collapse. 

     The black pane—the one sealing off the snow, the blood, the truth—shimmered in his mind’s eye. A hairline crack spidered through its center and began to splinter. Behind it, bodies moved—but Bill refused.

        “I said—stop!” Bill’s voice cracked like a whip.

     A golden spike, clean and surgical, drove down Ford’s spine—white-hot and non-negotiable.

        A full-body unspooling, slack and sudden.

     Ford’s eyes rolled back, just a flash of white beneath his lids. His jaw went loose. His limbs fell open—he pitched sideways—but at the last second, one hand caught the counter’s edge reflexively.

        And then—a shift.

           A shiver beneath the skin.

     His body lifted—not of his own volition but like something was pulling upward from inside. His spine straightened in jerks, vertebrae lining one by one. His shoulders rolled back. His neck tipped, head lolling as if testing the fit of its weight.

        Bill exhaled through Ford’s mouth. A slow, clinical rhythm, coaxing breath back into order. Slowing the heart. Resetting the machine. “That’s it, Six.” came Bill’s voice, “Just settle down,” 

     Ford’s head tilted left, then right, jaw cracking faintly. One palm flexed on the counter. The other hovered just above the floor, fingers curling, uncurling—testing the tension, the resistance.

     “You’re alright, my love.” Bill muttered, settling deeper into the borrowed shape like slipping into an old coat. “I’ve got you.”

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