#independent truck driver

[diamondpaintingworld]

The ultimate guide to finding an independent owner operator truck driver

There are many benefits to being an independent owner operator (IOO) truck driver. In this article, we'll discuss the top five reasons to consider becoming an IOO, and give you tips on how to find the best fit for your driving style and needs.

When it comes to finding a truck driver, there are many factors to consider. You need someone who is reliable and can handle long hours. But what about personality? Do you want someone who is chatty or introverted? Do you want someone who is sociable or professional? In this blog post, we will explore all of these factors in detail and give you the ultimate guide to finding an independent owner operator truck driver. From checking references to understanding the industry, everything you need to know is here.

What is an independent owner operator?

An IOO is a type of truck driver who operates their own commercial vehicle. This comes with many benefits, such as flexibility and control over their hours and earnings. However, it can also be more challenging than driving for a company, since you are responsible for everything from your independent truck driver to your income. If you're interested in becoming an IOO, here are some tips to get started.

First, find a truck that's right for you. You'll need to consider your skills and experience, as well as the type of truck you want to drive. There are several types of IOOs out there, including owner-operators of large trucks, owner-operators of medium-sized trucks, or solo drivers operating smaller vehicles.

Next, prepare yourself for the challenge. It can be tough work owning and operating your own truck all by yourself, but with the right preparation it can be rewarding both financially and emotionally. Make sure you have all the necessary insurance policies in place, attend training sessions if necessary, and stay up-to-date on industry changes so that you're able to run your business effectively.

If you're ready to start an IOO career, there are plenty of resources available online. Start by researching different types of trucks and how they operate before making a decision about which route is best for you. Once you've found the perfect truck and prepared yourself for the challenge ahead, don't hesitate to get started!

How to find an independent truck driver owner operator

If you are looking to become an independent future operators truck driver, there are a few things you need to do first. First and foremost, research the different types of truck driving jobs out there. There are many options available to you, so it is important to know what type of truck driving job best suits your skills and interests. Once you have determined what type of truck driving job is right for you, find a reputable company who is hiring independent owner operators. Next, prepare yourself by completing all the necessary licensing and background checks. Finally, get ready to hit the road!

The benefits of being an IOO

There are many benefits to being an independent owner operator (IOO) truck driver. In this article, we'll discuss the top five reasons to consider becoming an IOO, and give you tips on how to find the best fit for your driving style and needs.

1. You Control Your Career Path

As an IOO truck driver, you have control over your career path. You can choose when and where you work, and set your own schedule. This gives you the freedom to work when it's convenient for you – no early mornings or long hours required! Plus, with less overhead costs associated with owning a business, there's more money left over for enjoying life on the road!

2. You Earn More Money than a Truck Driver on Charter Fleets

One of the biggest benefits of being an IOO truck driver is that you earn more money than a truck driver working for a charter fleet. Why? Because charter fleets operate on shorter routes with higher average speeds, which means they can legally drive longer hours without breaking the law. That added hour or two of driving each day can really add up over time – making IOO trucking one of the most lucrative options out there!

3. You Have More Control Over Your Work Schedule

Another huge benefit of being an IOO truck driver is that you have much greater control over your work schedule. You're not obligated to work certain days or hours each week, or be on call 24/7.

What trucking companies are looking for in an IOO?

When looking for an IOO truck driver, there are a few things to keep in mind. First and foremost, companies are looking for experienced and certified drivers. A good indication of whether or not a driver is certified is to look at their driving record and see if they have any recent violations. Secondly, companies are looking for drivers who are comfortable with the sleeper cab configuration. Many IOOs require the driver to sleep in the sleeper cab while on long hauls. Finally, companies are looking for drivers who are reliable and punctual.

How to interview an IOO

When you are interviewing an IOO, it is important to be prepared and know what to ask. Here are some tips:

1. What is your job title?

2. How many miles do you drive per day?

3. What type of vehicle do you typically drive?

4. What is your hourly rate?

5. Do you have any experience driving a truckload? If so, how many trucks/day?

6. What routes have you driven in the past?

7. How would you describe your customer service skills?

8. Describe any memorable incidents or accidents while driving a truckload.

9. Are there any other factors that would make you a good candidate for this position (i.e., safety records, transportation experience)?

What to do if you are hired as an IOO?

If you are hired as an IOO truck driver, the first thing you need to do is obtain a CDL Class A license. You can find out more about obtaining your license on the Bureau of Motor Vehicles website. Once you have your license, you will need to meet all of the requirements for operating a commercial vehicle. These requirements include having a Class A or B license, holding an insurance policy that covers your truck and cargo, and having a clean driving record.

Once you have met all of these requirements, it is important to learn as much as you can about the trucking industry. This includes understanding the different types of routes that trucks travel, what risks are associated with each type of route, and how to mitigate those risks. Also, it's important to know how to drive and handle cargo in the best way possible. These include using proper braking techniques, following traffic laws, and never overloading your truck.

Ultimately, being an IOO truck driver is one of the most challenging jobs in the freight industry. But with careful planning and preparation, it can also be one of the most rewarding career paths.

What is an Independent Owner Operator (IOO) and what are the benefits?

An Independent Owner Operator (IOO) is a truck driver who owns and operates their own truck. The benefits of becoming an IOO are numerous. Here are just a few:

- Increased Earnings: As an IOO, you will generally earn more money than a traditional truck driver. This is because you have more control over your own career and can set your own hours and rates.

- Greater Freedom: An IOO typically has less oversight from the company that employs them, so they enjoy greater freedom to drive as they please. This gives them more opportunity to find new routes and improve their earnings.

- Reduced Stress:Working as an IOO can be tough, but it also gives you plenty of autonomy and flexibility. This means that you don't have to worry about the strict rules and regulations that apply to most truck drivers.

How to find an IOO truck driver

The best way to find an IOO truck driver is through online resources or by contacting your regional trucking association. Online resources might include websites that list independent owner operators, truck driving forums, or trucking job boards. Many regional trucking associations also have online resources and contact information for their members.

To find a driver in your area, you can contact your regional trucking association or search online for driver profiles. You can also use the Driver Availability Service at the commercial vehicle operator registry (CVOR) to search for qualified drivers. The Driver Availability Service provides access to driver records from across the country and includes a variety of filters to help you find a qualified driver.

If you're not comfortable using online resources or contact lists, you can also speak with local freight brokers and visit truck loading facilities to meet potential drivers.

What are the requirements for being an IOO truck driver?

To be an IOO truck driver, you must meet certain requirements.

First, you must have a Class A commercial driver's license (CDL).

Next, you must have at least two years of driving experience.

Finally, you must pass a DOT physical exam and a criminal background check.

The best states for IOO truck driving

The best states for IOO truck driving are those that have a high percentage of independent owner operators (IOOs). These are drivers who own their trucks and operate them as their sole source of income. In states with a high percentage of IOOs, there is a greater chance that you will find a truck driver who is qualified and experienced.

The best states for IOO truck driving are Alaska, Colorado, Florida, Nevada, New Mexico, Oregon, Texas, and Washington. These states have a combined percentage of IOOs that is higher than the national average.

Alaska has the highest percentage of IOOs in the country at 47%. Colorado is second with 34%, and Florida is third with 32%. Nevada has the lowest percentage at 12%, but it has the largest population of IOOs in the country. New Mexico is fourth with 27%, and Oregon fifth with 24%. Texas sixth with 21%, and Washington seventh with 20%.

The best way to find an IOO truck driver is to search online or contact your local Truck Driving School. The National Registry of Independent Owner Operators can also be helpful in finding a qualified driver.

The disadvantages of being an IOO truck driver

The disadvantages of being an IOO truck driver are numerous and significant. The most common disadvantage is that the driving schedule is erratic and can be very demanding. Oftentimes, the trucker must work long hours, often weekends, to make up for low pay. Additionally, many IOOs are required to drive at night or on hazardous routes.

Another disadvantage is that truckers are largely self-employed and lack benefits such as healthcare and retirement savings. In addition to the challenges associated with being self-employed, IOOs typically earn lower wages than full-time employed drivers. Finally, IOO truckers are frequently not protected by any safety regulations, which can lead to dangerous work conditions.

Conclusion

Truck driving can be a great career opportunity, but it's important to find the right company. In this article, we will go over some of the key things to look for when choosing an independent owner operator truck driver. By following these tips, you'll be able to find a driver who is a good fit for your business and who will provide years of service. 

[artisticdivasworld]

How to Find Brokers with a Good Reputation as a New Carrier

Navigating the trucking industry as a new carrier can feel like trying to find your way through a maze. One of the most critical steps to success is finding reliable brokers with a good reputation. Working with the right brokers can ensure consistent loads, timely payments, and a strong working relationship that supports your growth. But how do you identify the brokers that will set you on the…

[cdldriverrecruiter]

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[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 2

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, we die like men, reverse harem. This is getting sexual. I’m sorry.

Writer's Note: I live, I die, I live again. I’m trying to keep an even pace when publishing, I promise. It’s just that finals week knocked me on my ass. I’ve basically got to prepare week 9 and 10 before it. Graduation is also right around the corner. Besides school and work though, this has also been my only focus. Also, sorry to everyone who reached out. I promise I’m not ignoring the kind messages and everything. I just keep forgetting. I’m so sorry. I’ll try to do better. Also got to write a bio and start publishing the other things I’ve been cooking up. This series is still a top priority though. I’m going to be more consistent from here on out.

When you finally make it back to the manor after a day of detours and horrible karaoke that makes your insides warm and fuzzy, Duke doesn’t let you open your own door. All the being nice was making you itch, and you kind of were missing being a strong independent person. It’s also not that you didn’t give it the good old college try, desperately jiggling the handle to open the door that he child locked as you look out the window in disbelief as he laughed his ass off outside your door.

To get back at him, the both of you ensued the pettiest game of unlocking and locking the doors. You, holding the door closed when he unlocked it and tried to pull it open, and scrambling to the driver’s seat to keep that door closed as well. Would it be bad if you admitted you liked the way his smug pretty face grew determined and slightly irritated? Never mind the dimples, the tick in his sharp jaw had your mind skipping a beat.

It was all fun and games until Alfred, who undoubtedly was watching you from the window, opened the other door just as you held yours shut and taunted Duke. “Can’t even open a wittle omega’s door?”

You’ll never forget the feral boyish smile he gave before sliding over the moving van’s hood and gently pushing Alfred out of the way.

His big frame wedged the door open letting wind into the cabin with enough pheromones to make your eyes water. In a panic you start trying to move away from him as far as possible. Cue, Alfred opening the other door your back was against, and you almost tumbling out.

“(L/N)? Just what on earth are you doing?”, Alfred questioned.

You stare up at the old Beta and your savior. His gloved hand on your back keeping your from tumbling out of the truck cab and busting your head on the gravel. Something all three men on the property were undoubtedly worried about as they watched you dangle too close to the ground. Not that you ever saw the curtain drawing closed from the third story. All you saw was help. Because surely Duke would knock it off with Alfred here.

“I’m poking the bear”, you tell him.

A large mitt, exactly like a bear’s, wraps around your ankle and tugs you out of Alfred’s hands and towards the open car door with a slightly pissed alpha waiting. Oh no. New employment be damned, you are not going out like this.

You scramble for purchase as your dragged across the leather seat. Your fingers digging into the crevice between the driver’s side and middle cushion for dear life. Desperately you try to shake Duke’s fingers off your one good ankle.

“(Y/N), get out of the car. You’re probably hurting yourself right now while doing this”, Duke warns.

There was an unspoken “Are you stupid?” that hung in the air. With Alfred here, the big, dimpled grin has disappeared, giving way to grim determination as Duke looked as though he was five seconds away from peeling the truck’s metal frame apart just to get at you better. You didn’t know what to do, it was better when you two were playing. The air was lighter, and you could breathe and believe he had best intentions at heart. Now you couldn’t keep playing, because he seems to be getting angrier every defiant second you spend clinging to cushions. Which made you want to burrow under the seats even more, away, and safe from the anger.

What you hadn’t noticed was how his anger started the second Alfred intervened. It’s not your fault, a lot has been happening and pissed-off Alphas take priority. The old man did though, and backed the adequate amount of steps away after ensuring you would not tumble out of the cab. If it wasn’t for the promise he made to Bruce to chaperone, and to you when he hired you, Alfred would have taken up the offer the others had given him. A nice vacation, the first he would have taken, just to give you and the rest space to figure each other out. Based on the messages from the family’s missing members, it would have been smart to leave Gotham. Or the continent.

“Don’t tell me what to do” you say.

“Get out of the truck”, Duke replies.

“No. Fuck off. I’m grown up, I can get out if I want.”

“I’m seriously running out of patience (y/n)”

“Good. Leave me alone Duke.”

“Terrible things are about to happen to you.”, Duke warns.

You squint at him and stick your tongue out at him. You know he’s just full of shit and would never do anything to actually hurt you. Nor would he allow you to be in any real danger. He’s got a trick up his sleeve and the muscles in your stretched leg were taut, waiting for release so you can roll and limp away to safety.

There was hardly anytime for you to plan your next step before Duke wrapped his hand around your ankle and starts untying your sneaker.

“Don’t”, you squeal.

He ignores you and gives you another bright smile full of sunshine and mischief. Dear God, he was going to kill you with that look on his face. Totally disarming and distracting as you barely register the shoe and sock getting tugged off.

“I mean it Duke! I give up! Look, see? I’m letting go!”, you beg.

You unclench your fingers and start waving your hands in his face. Trying like hell to sit up and defend yourself. Unfortunately, the hood on your hoodie was caught on the seatbelt latch in the cushion. Preventing you rolling farther away or sitting up and smushing his face away with your freed hands.

“I will never forgive you”, you solemnly vow.

“Yes, you will, look at your face, you’re smiling. You’ve already forgiven me.”

“They stink, I haven’t changed my socks in five days.”

“That’s another lie, I know for a fact that your laundry has been washed.”

“And that’s weird. We’re going to revisit that later though. Let my foot go. I also haven’t taken a shower yet; I ran a five K this morning.”

“In what? Your dreams? You know, I think we should go back to begging.”

You give an enraged shriek that devolves into panicked laugh as he starts torturing every available space on your foot. It was not an enjoyable experience. You were scrambling and flailing to get away but couldn’t since he seemed to have super strength. He also barely swatted your thick cast covered foot you tried to jam in his face. Tears start leaking out the corners of your eyes as you giggle and beg and plead for him to release you. Not that he listened to any of it. He seemed perfectly happy watching you writhe.

The merriment came to about as abrupt and end as it started as a sleek black muscle car growled into the driveway. Duke dropped your ankle and crawled into the truck cab with you. As defective an Omega as you were, you still picked up on the spike of adrenaline and what you thought was panic although it was smothered by anger. You scrunch your nose at the onslaught of pheromones that made you want to bump up and rub against him and soothe in any way you could. Because no. You’re not that kind of Omega.

“Duke?”, you ask.

He must have picked up on the nervous twitching from you. Or the tell-tale patter of your little heart trying to produce enough pheromones to get you out of this situation. Enough to tell the Alpha that’s laying on top of you, tantalizingly close, so close you could hear the clack that the wooden beads in his dreads made as he pressed flush against you. I’m in danger, help me. Is what should have been leaking out of every pore. Yet, you were broken.

“Shh, don’t let him see you.”, Duke says.

That didn’t help the matter. Especially when Duke used his freakishly long limbs to pull both sets of doors closed as quietly as possible. What was happening? Was someone trying to attack Bruce Wayne, billionaire-philanthropist and notorious Alpha who also seems to be in close contact with the most frightening infected Alpha in the country. Merely the thought of the shadow you often saw cast on buildings as dominance battles were fought all over in the different Gotham territories was enough to make you shake. You never saw Batman. No one whoever truly interacts with him lives to tell the tales. So just what is Bruce Wayne that he seems to be in an alliance with such a monster?

“Bruce! Get out here you chicken-shit piss-poor excuse of a sire”, a booming voice shout outside.

A seismic level shockwave rocked through you, and you couldn’t suppress the litany of whines that escaped as you dug your claws into duke’s yellow and black muscle shirt. It was embarrassing, you felt like a pup again.

In all your years you had never come anywhere close to that amount of dominance that was coming out in waves that even rattled the windows. Whoever this was, he was bad news. Even Duke knew it.

Duke’s eyes were flashing gold in the sudden darkness of the cab. You were once again struck by the oddity, but this world is full of strange things. To be fair, you were mostly preoccupied with other things, and you had a feeling that if you started digging into what was going on at the place you were hired then you would truly fall down the rabbit hole.

“Stop moving”, Duke whispers.

His hand wraps around one of your wrists that you had thrown up against his chest. Just for a little breathing room, rather than being pressed face first in a scent gland that would have you dry humping everything in sight. Despite the abject terror at the situation unfolding outside.

“Where do you get off siccing Dick on me in the middle of a meeting?”, the man demands.

You didn’t hear the heavy manor door creaking open. So you had no idea just who this man was talking to. During the struggle with Duke earlier and the tickle fight, you didn’t see Alfred. You doubt the man stuck around during the shenanigans. Which begs the question. Just who was he talking to?

“Really? The silent treatment. You really are too scared to face me huh?”, the unknown man says.

Oh no. That sounded right outside your moving truck. No, nonononononono. You could feel the anger coming off him as it made your teeth chatter.

Your worst fear came true as the driver’s side door, above your head, was ripped open. No. It was ripped off the truck cab in a screech of metal that had you cringing and trying to burrow farther into Duke away from it. You were still stuck on the damn seatbelt thing that was jammed into the back of your neck. All you could do was look up and try not to burst into tears.

Because the man who just opened your door was death. You were teetering between pissing yourself from fear, and trying to control the inappropriate lust that was starting to ride you hard. Because damn. That voice, that dominance, paired with that attitude and face. My God, it’s like he was made perfectly for you. Or any Omega really. A fact that was cemented when the stern bluish-grey eyes that stare down at you flash a crimson red. Sploosh. You seriously needed to get your head checked.

“(Y/N)?”, mystery man says.

“How do you know my name?”

“Bruce told us he got you. Shit. I thought he was just pulling his usual shit”, he swears.

You were about to question who he was and what all was going on, but Duke beat you to it.

“(Y/N) this is Jason. I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would ever come back home. Speaking of what are you doing here Jason?”, Duke says.

Jason straightens, his eyes flashing another dangerous candy apple red color that brought another bout of hot oozing warmth where it definitely didn’t need to be. Not that you needed to worry about it. Like you said, you were broken. Although you couldn’t help but wonder if being by lethal amounts of Alpha fueled testosterone would kick your damaged hardware into gear. Food for thought at a later time.

“I have just as much of a right to be here, if you checked your phone you would know what was going on. Bruce… interfered with a business interaction of mine when I refused to come back to the Manor.”

“So you decided to just go ahead and give him what he wants, really Jay?”

“No. I’m going to kill him. First though, get off of her.”

The callous way he mentioned killing your employer was chilling you to the bone. You bet he could do it to. From the heavily muscled frame that was subtly flexing, his old brown leather jacket creaking as it strained. He took to cracking his knuckles as he stared down at you both. Too make matters worse, there was a small scar that twisted the left side of his face in a permanent smirk as it ran up from the corner of his slips, across his high cheekbones, and disappeared above his ear and into that thick black hair. Hair that contained a curious white streak that made you want to take a closer look. Not that you would. You were smart. Everything about this man shouted danger.

While Duke was massive in his own right, Jason looked as though he could rip linebackers in half for funsies. You believe that those thick corded thighs that your eyes had zeroed in on, the ones that his frayed jeans were struggling to contain, those are rugby thighs. Once again, it’s not your fault, you were born to be this pervy to those of the Alpha secondary gender category. Just like Deltas were made for Betas. This is all evolution's fault that you wanted to climb a psycho killer like a tree and purr. Ooooh, maybe you could get Duke to wear a firema- nope. Annnnnd you’re done. You seriously need to focus if you’re going to somehow finesse your way out of this situation.

“What are you going to do? Make me?” Duke says.

You almost think he’s teasing Jason, then you hear the bite of a challenge to an invading Alpha. Dear God, it’s almost like you’re a kid on the playground again. This was so not fun nor was it sexy. Especially with you sitting so close to the crossfire.

“I said, get off.”, Jason start growling.

Oh good, now we’re slowly becoming dogs. This is great. Totally not borderline psychotic in any way.

“You didn’t want to come back, so you don’t get to have her. Back off Jay.”, Duke warns.

“No one here gets to judge me; you know the reason why the family is so broken is sitting up there. Plotting. If I had known- well- doesn’t matter. Get off before I rip you to pieces. I might till do it, send a fun little message to our psycho father by spreading his precious new pet’s blood all over the front steps.”

“Isn’t that what Dick said to you when you met?”

“Say his name again and I will make good on my promise.”

“Can I just say one thing?”, you ask.

The tension was getting so thick you could cut it with a cheap plastic spork. Honestly, you suspect they could’ve just kept going all night if they had to with the witty one-liners. You were getting tired though, and all this negativity was not good for your heart.

“Hon, not right now, I’m winning.”, Duke tries to shush you.

First of all, how dare he shush you. You had just as much of a right to talk as they did. Duke is different from most Alpha’s you’ve met. The silent prejudice was still hanging in that back of your mind though. Omegas are useless without Alphas. So be a good little one and sit there and be pretty. Don’t ever think of talking. You know he’s not like all the other assholes you’ve encountered. What he just said though started ringing those little alarms that told you he might be though.

“No, you’re not.”, you pause and notice the slight smirk across Jason’s scarred face, “Neither of you are. Can I please get up and get my boxes in while you two have your pissing match?”

Jason lets out a surprised bark, and you give him brownie points for keeping his mouth shut besides that.

“I’ll let you up, once he goes inside.”, Duke tells you.

“No. I want to get up now.”, you say.

Duke’s next response gets cut off as you watch Jason reach over you and grab Duke’s dreads. There was a slight struggle, but the comforting weight of Duke’s body between your thighs is gone within seconds. You almost miss it. You almost feel bad when you finally wrench your hoodie free and look out the truck door and see Duke on the ground with Jason’s hand around his throat. It was ok. You can tell no real weight was being put behind it. It was just one Alpha gently reminding a younger one to submit. You’ve seen this shit all the time.

You also weren’t going to lie; the dominance was definitely starting to rev your engines.

“Please don’t kill him, I need his help with the boxes and my wheelchair”, you call out.

Jason turns to look at you, the red in his eyes damning as he stares into you. Oooh. You can have a lot of fun with that. Maybe you can ask him to pretend to be your sleep paralysis demon that has his wicked way with yo- nope. No roleplaying. No playing with these Alphas in any sexual manner. You need money and a place to stay, and while sex is nice, everyone always moves on to more compelling Omegas that aren’t broken. Besides, you’re pretty sure these Alphas don’t know their strength. Nope, you’re good without all the heartbreak and hospital visits if you go down that route.

“Boxes?”, Jay asks.

“Yeah, I’m moving in, didn’t anyone tell you?”, you ask him.

“No. They just told me- nothing. I’ll help, you don’t need shit-for-brains”, Jay says.

He gets up, slightly pushing Duke’s face to the side and into the muddy wet gravel. You can’t help but wince and give Duke a sympathetic look. Not that he was paying you any mind. His lovely brown eyes were now a liquid gold that screamed revenge. You just pray that he can hold off long enough to get your wheelchair from the back.

“What- what happened to her?”, Jay asks.

“Motherfu- get my chair”, you boss.

“She got chewed on at one of Cobblepot’s clubs”, Duke tells him.

“Shit, none of the others know huh.”, Jason sighs.

He runs his hands through his hair, and you’re stuck looking at it again. It looked fluffy and silky. Of course, it would put you in a trance, the same as the wood beads in Duke’s dreads. You might actually have a thing for hair now that you thought about it.

“No, we’ll have a war when they do.”, Duke replies cheerfully.

“Why?”, you ask. You were genuinely confused as they kept talking circles around you.

“Don’t worry about it Hon. Let’s get you inside”, Duke groans as he gets up from the dirt.

Jason reaches in and lightly grabs your good wrist as he pulls you out. You willingly let him, marveling at that the body made from the gods. Would it be bad if you reached around and gently pinched his ass? It’s just curiosity. So much muscle, how much fat?

Duke looks slightly peeved when he grabs the chair from the back and notices you in Jason’s arms. You couldn’t help but give him a slight smug wave from the safety of King Kong’s arms.

“I like the bell, maybe we should find some streamers for the back too. There’s no way she’ll get lost.”

And just like that, you lost it as Giant 1 and 2 dissolved in a fit of giggles. I’m going to kill them. Hopefully before your hormones and pheromones killed you first. Because damn it, you did seize the opportunity to smack the ass of the jack ass.

That ass is not only iconic and slightly hard, but it jiggled a little too. This is going to be so much fun living here.

[f10werfae]

Daddy’s Princess Fairy

pairing: Husband!Dad!Sy x Wife!Mom!Reader

summary: Sy comes home to his newborn babygirl and wife after his last ever deployment, and he’s desperate to meet his tiny twin, and get into his wife’s panties (Dilf Sy) likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Henry Masterlist, Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Daddy’s nearly home booboo, he’ll be out here any second now” Y/n cooed bouncing her baby girl in her arms, the two month old softly snuggled against her mama, the both of them waiting at the entrance of the military base along with the other families. Her eyes tracing each body that left the aircraft, her breath hitching when she saw her big hunk of a man step out, his head shaven but his beard grown rough and long. God he looked filthy but so sexy.

Biting her lip she saw him take off his dark sunglasses as he scanned the crowd carefully, his lips pulling into a smirk once he saw his baby momma waiting at the back, away from the crowd; holding his baby girl. Practically skipping all the steps he threw his bag to the ground, his built arms bringing his wife and newborn into his arms, this was his first time home since that night their daughter was conceived. That one special night by the fireplace.

“Fuck pumpkin, missed ya n’ your sweet self s’much” He grumbled inhaling her scent deeply as he grazed his nose up and down her cheek, his other hand cupping his daughter’s head, this would be the first time he would see her in person. “And this- this is Penelope, Penelope Syverson” Y/n giggled holding up Penelope up to Sy, and even he could see she already was his twin, the same grouchy look already.

“She’s stinkin’ adorable, i’d say jus’ like her momma but i’m seein’ frowns on her already” Sy chuckled seeing his babygirl whimper and wiggle, leading Y/n to place the tiny babe into his arms, and just the mere size difference between the father and daughter was enough to make a witch’s heart melt. “She missed you, anytime you wasn’t on the phone she’d cry and whimper until I played your voicemail” Y/n explained tucking Penelope’s bib a bit more, seeing how she was drooling onto her daddy’s arm.

“Awk babygirl you break ma heart, m’not leavin’ again, I can’t do it- that’s me done” Sy chuckled bending down and kissing her forehead, breathing out a sigh of relief, he was finally discharged and able to start the rest of his life. “Damn right you aren’t leavin’, we still need to give our bubby a brother” Giggling Y/n latched herself onto his arm, the happy family walking towards the pickup truck waiting for them; Y/n watched on as Sy carefully put his pride and joy into her carseat, pouting up at Y/n when he realised Penelope wouldn’t let go of his finger.

“Babe, jus pull your finger out come on” Y/n laughed as he shook his head, “no can do sugar, don’t want my babygirl thinkin’ am leavin’ her again, can’t be her first heartbreak”

“If ya let go i’ll give ya some of your treat when we get home, after I put Pen down for her nap” It hadn’t even been two seconds but Sy carefully pulled his finger out, kissed his baby bye bye, and jogged over to the driver’s side of the pickup truck. “Now ya gotta keep your promise, wait- are you even okay down ‘er” Sy questioned looking concerned down at her crotch, he knew how hard the healing process was for his wife, needing stitches and medication. It honestly broke his heart that she had to go through it alone, but she was strong and independent, just his typa woman.

“Yup! Doctor gave me the green light a while ago, jus wanted to surprise ya for when you got home, Captain Syverson” Y/n winked grabbing a handful of his thigh tightly, his eyes widening and smacking her hand off, “Jesus woman didn’t ya read the sticker on the car? There’s a baby on board” He joked intertwining their hands and kissing her knuckles, leaning forward and pressing a heated kiss to her lips, his beard scratching her face in the best way possible. His tongue venturing out to lick over hers, tasting his favourite watermelon lipbalm causing him to groan into their kiss.

“Forgot how much I missed these luscious lips of yours” He growled pulling away, kissing her lips once more before sitting back in his seat to look at her, his wife. “Yeah? What else did ya miss” She giggled leaning over and pulling him back towards her, both her hands holding onto his as she looked up at him, her fingers then playing mindlessly with the wedding ring on the chain around his neck.

“These other lips down ‘ere” Laughing his hands smoothed up her thighs, settling under her dress, right on top of her panties waistband; he could already feel that it was those cotton white ones that he had a thing for. She just knows him so well. “No you didn’t”

“I did” She winked pulling up her skirt enough to show the start of the soft cotton pants, pulling the skirt down fast enough once his fingers tried their way up again. “Nuh uh mister, only when the angel is bed do we get to play” She scolded turning the ignition on for him, watching as he scoffed and turned his attention to the road

-

“Alright princess fairy queen, ah need ya to get to sleep pronto” Sy whispered into his baby’s tiny ears, the tiny tot sleeping on his bare chest, her head nestled comfortably on the curls on his chest. Her tiny fist clutched peacefully as tiny gurgles and coos came out every time she hiccuped or moved. “Princess fairy queen? Really Sy?” He heard his wife ask from the nursery door, clad in her white silk robe, very clearly not wearing anything underneath.

“I need my little girl to know she’s the best of ‘em all, n’ that means callin’ her every nickname on God’s Earth so she knows how much ah love her” Looking down at his tiny tot, he felt the need to lean down and nuzzle his nose with hers, pulling away instantly when he heard a toot. A fart.

“Now was that from me or you?” Sy frowned holding her up to face him, her tiny eyes clearly shocked, her own farts had woken her up just from how loud it was; “Tell ya what bubby, you’re definitely your daddy’s daughter”

“Yeah there’s now way that loud thing came outta this tiny precious sugar cube” Sy questioned seeing the tired girl had gone to sleep in his arms again, thankfully for Sy’s sake she didn’t need changed, well not yet anyway.

It finally seemed like baby Penelope finally got the memo when she finally stayed asleep in her bassinet, after 20 minutes of him just whispering pointless happy memories of him and her momma, many soft baby back rubs and head scratches and of course with her binky in place. Princess Penelope was down for her nap. Now Sy could have his wife, any way he darn wanted.

“Momma, you spoil me too much” Walking into their shared bedroom Sy saw his wife, her robe untied as she laid on the bed waiting for him, a chocolate covered strawberry already in her mouth as she winked at him, her legs spread open showing off her glistening folds; she needed him as much as he needed her.

“Irish twins?” Y/n asked plucking the strawberry from her mouth, licking its juices from her lips as she quirked up a brow; Sy doing nothing but growl and rush to get rid of his white t-shirt and cargo pants. “I’d give ya irish triplets if it were possible” He snarked climbing on top of her, his body hovering over hers as he bit into the strawberry that was back in between her lips, his teeth squeezing the juice down the valley of her tits. His delicious welcome home treat, just for him to enjoy.

———

PSA:Hope you all enjoy this bit of Daddy Sy 😗

Library blog of works: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (not accepting, please use library)

@pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @marvelgurl @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @aerangi @bookfrog242 @alina02 @alexxavicry @lastwandastan @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @luvabellee @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @queensgirl718 @sweetybuzz25

See you all again very soon xoxo

- Fae

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Seven - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, and Chapter Six! Masterlist :)

Chapter Seven - Playin' Games

After driving for a half hour, your stomach decided to make an appearance by growling loudly just when the radio was switching songs. Your arms immediately covered your stomach, not like it mattered, you both knew where the gurgle came from. 

“Food is only five more minutes away, think you can last that long or will you wither away into nothing?” He asked, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. 

“I think I’ll be okay,” you said, rubbing your belly, “I’m not sure about my stomach though.” 

As soon as you rounded the corner, there was a cute little red barn-shaped building next to a little convenience shop. The outside sign read ‘The Barn.’

“Is this where we’re eating? It barely looks like it would fit 50 people!” You said, sitting up in your seat. 

“Yep! My mom and I used to come here when I was a young kid and get breakfast on our way to Wyoming to watch my dad in one of the rodeos out there,” he said, “He started my love for riding but after so many accidents I had to switch to tornadeos.” 

“We’ll have to go to one sometime, there’s plenty of them down in Salado,” you said, “They use one of my parent’s bulls.” 

Once he parked, you opened your door and slid out of your seat. 

“Little lady you get back in the truck and let me open that door for you!” Tyler said in a rush, getting out of the driver's side and jogging around the front of the truck to grab the door. 

“Ty, I’m a grown woman and can open and close doors all by myself,” you said, patting his chest and walking by him. 

“But I’m here so that means you don’t have to,” he said, catching up to you while you walked into the little diner. 

“Let me be independent while also being a gentleman,” you said. 

“Hello, kids! C’mon in and sit where ever you’d like!” The waitress called from behind the small wall of delicious pies. 

Tyler led you over to a booth near a window, rolling up the shade slightly. 

Another waitress came over with menus, silverware, and glasses of water.

“Howdy, my name is Brandi and I’ll be your server, is there anything else you’d like to drink besides the water? We have lemonades, sweet teas, and Coke products,” she said while setting everything down on the table and taking out a notepad. 

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please,” you said, picking up the menu to start mulling over your options. 

“I’ll do the same, thank you,” Tyler said, rubbing his foot on yours under the table. 

“Comin’ right up, sugar,” she said and walked off to the counter with a little too much pep in her step. This started a little fire inside of you that you didn’t know could be lit. 

Tyler saw your facial expression change over the top of the menu as you gave Brandi a slight glare. 

“Calm down, baby girl,” he said softly, reaching across the table and putting a hand over yours, “You’re all I have eyes for.” 

You sighed, looking up at him. “What are you getting?” 

“Well, probably a burger,” he said, glancing down at their menu. 

“I’ll probably do the same,” you said, closing the menu and setting it at the front of the table, “Burgers are usually my, what I call, safe meal. It’s hard to mess up on a burger and fries.” 

“I get that, as a kid my meal used to be chicken tenders and fries,” he said, taking a drink of his water and looking at the menu.

The waitress came back over, setting the teas down on the table, “Alright you two, here are those teas and what can I get started for you?” 

“Let my wife order first, I usually wait to see what she gets before ordering as I most times end up switching because she says mine looks better,” he said gesturing to you with a smile. 

Hearing him call you his wife shocked not only you but the waitress as well. You looked over at him and he winked at you. 

“I’ll have a California burger with no onions, fries, with a side of ranch please,” you said, trying your best to remain calm after being called Tyler’s wife when you two aren’t even dating. 

“And for you sir?” The waitress asked, keeping her eyes on her notepad. 

“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger with fries,” he said, “Along with a slice of apple pie for us to share, it’s her favorite.” 

“I’ll put your order in and it should be out in 10 minutes, would you like whipped cream on the pie?” She asked, grabbing the menus off the table. 

“Honey, what do you think?” He asked, grabbing your hands on top of the table.

“I would love some, thank you, Brandi,” you said, smiling up at her and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. 

“Will do,” she said and walked to the kitchen. 

“Your wife?!” You whisper shouted at Tyler. Granted, you didn’t fully mind as Mrs. (Y/n) Owens had a ring to it, but it was more so unexpected. 

“I didn’t like how upset you got by her callin’ me sugar, so I had to improvise and that’s what I came up with,” he said, “Are you sayin’ you wouldn’t want to be married to this teddy bear?” 

“Only time will tell, Owens,” you said, taking a drink of your tea. 

“Playin’ games, are we now, honey?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows that were resting on the edge of the table. 

“No, but need I remind you that this is technically our first date?” You asked him quietly. 

“Nope, I just love seein’ you blush,” he said, reaching over and pinching your cheek softly. 

You slapped his hand away playfully, “Okay Grandpa, you can quit pinching me.” 

“But why? Your cheeks are just too cute,” he said, making his voice sound like he was 40 years older. 

“Oh stop it, baby,” you said, noticing how smoothly that slipped off your tongue. 

“See honey, by the end of the day you’ll be calling me hubby and all will be well in the world,” he said, a cheesy smile coming to his face. 

“Don’t test your luck, Owens,” you said, wagging one of your pointer fingers at him. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up as a surrender. 

“Bacon cheeseburger for you sir,” Brandi said, sliding a basket in front of Tyler. 

“That looks good,” you said, ogling over his burger. 

“See? In five minutes we’ll have different baskets,” Tyler joked with the waitress. 

“And a California burger with fries and ranch for you, ma’am,” she said, “I’ll be over with the pie in a few minutes. Is there anything else you two need?” 

“This will be all, thank you,” he said, looking over at you and then at the waitress. 

As she walked away, Tyler looked at you practically drooling over his burger basket. 

“Do you want to trade?” He asked, nudging the basket towards you. 

“No, no,” you said, “That’s what you ordered, I’ll let you enjoy it.” 

“If you say so,” he said, taking a big bite of the burger. 

You grabbed a few fries and dipped them in the ranch, then stuffed them in your mouth. As you chewed you did a slight wiggle in your seat. Tyler watched you do that while taking a few fries and eating them. 

“Do you always wiggle after you eat fries with ranch on them?” He asked, using a fry to point to you, the fries, and the ranch. 

“Just think of it as the negative, hangry mood leaving my body per se,” you said, taking a bite of your burger. 

“Is it because you love fries and ranch?” He asked, smiling slightly. 

You nodded and grabbed a few more fries while you finished the bite you just took, not wanting to look like you were starving and shoveling the food into your mouth faster than you could chew. 

“I’ll remember that,” he chuckled, taking a big drink of his sweet tea. 

“Here’s that warmed apple pie with whipped cream on top for the lovely couple,” the waitress that originally greeted you said as she placed the pie with two spoons in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you said after swallowing your bite. 

“Is there anything else I can get you, or is it alright if I grab the tab?” She asked, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like to keep out of the Oklahoma heat.” 

“Maybe a box and to-go forks for the pie? The burgers have been more filling than I think either of us realized,” Tyler said, patting his stomach. 

“Let me go put it in the container for you, hon,” she said, grabbing the plate and walking to the kitchen. She came back two minutes later with the pie in a styrofoam container, two plastic forks, and the tab. 

“Thank you so much, we appreciate it,” you said, finishing the last of your burger. 

“Of course, sugar! Thank you for choosing The Barn, please come back anytime!” She said, walking back to the kitchen. 

Tyler left cash on the table for the bill and put his hat back on, then slid out of his seat after finishing his tea. He stood up straight, grabbed the container with the slice of pie, and then held out his hand for you. You sucked down what was left of your tea and grabbed his hand while sliding out of the booth. 

“Have a great day!” The older waitress called out as you both walked out the door.

“Damn, you must have scared off the other waitress by calling me Mrs.Owens,” you laughed, “She never came back.” 

“Good!” He said, giving you a wide grin while holding the door open. 

Want more? Here's Chapter Eight!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719

[yuurei20]

do we know what caters dad does for work? its mentioned that they move around a lot for his job but what exactly /is/ his job

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

Cater’s dad works at a bank!

It is not specified what it is that he does for the bank, only that he is transferred to a new office about once every two years.

We have a surprising amount of information about the employment situations of the parents of the various characters!

Riddle’s Parents: Medical mages (also called “magical healers” on EN, but the job title of “魔法医術士" is consistent in the original game. There is a theory that EN is being localized by multiple teams separated by vignettes/main story/events, which would explain inconsistencies like this, certain things in Glorious Masquerade, etc.)

Trey’s Parents: Professional bakers that run their own cake business / patisserie.

Cater’s Father: Works for a bank Cater’s Mother: No information

Ace’s Father: No information (confirmed magicless) Ace’s Mother: No information

Deuce’s Father: No information Deuce’s Mother: Delivery truck driver

Leona’s Father: King of Sunset Savanna Leona’s Mother: No information

*I have seen conflicting interpretations of Leona’s family situation on EN, with some saying that Falena is already king, but he is not: it was confirmed in Tamashina-Mina that Falena is still the crown prince.

It is not said anywhere in the game that Falena is king, though he is performing certain duties due to their father being bedridden.

Ruggie’s Parents: No information

Jack’s Parents: No information

Azul’s Mother: Restaurant owner (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Father: No information (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Step-Father: Lawyer (confirmed mage*)

*Azul says, “everyone in my family is a mage," without distinguishing between the different members.

Jade and Floyd’s Parents: “They simply run an independent business that dabbles in a bit of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.”

Kalim’s Father: “Does business in a lot of different places,” but what kind of business may never be specified.

Kalim says they come from a long line of merchants and he wants to emulate his grandpa and great-grandpa, but I have not been able to find a specific line that says Kalim’s father himself is also a merchant. Jamil describes Kalim’s father as “a key player in our government and economy.” (confirmed magicless)

Kalim’s Mother: No Information (confirmed mage)

Jamil’s Parents: Servants to Kalim’s family

Vil’s Father: Actor (confirmed magicless) Vil’s Mother: No Information

Rook’s Parents: No Information

Epel’s Parents: Apple farmers (confirmed magicless)

Idia and Ortho's Father: Director of STYX Idia and Ortho's Mother: (redacted for Book 7 spoilers)

Malleus’ Parents: (redacted for Book 7 spoilers)

Lilia’s Parents: No Information

Silver's Father: Retired General and Royal Guard (confirmed mage) Silver's Birth Parents: No Information

Sebek’s Father: Dentist (confirmed magicless) Sebek’s Mother: Assistant to her husband's dental practice (nocturnal fae, confirmed mage)

[diamondpaintingworld]

What are the requirements for owner operators and truck drivers?

Many people working as truck drivers have to decide between being an independently running owner operator or driving for a company. In some countries, where the cost of living is higher and there's less job security, employment as independent party trucking may be the best option for people.

What is an owner operator truck driver?

An owner operator truck driver is an individual who drives his or her own vehicle and provides transportation services to others. The business is self-employed, meaning that the drivers set their own schedules and choose which customers they want to work for. They also have complete control over their vehicles, which means they can choose when and where to drop off cargo for delivery or pick up loads from other companies' locations.

Owner operators have the freedom to drive for multiple companies at once if they wish; however, each company must be registered with the Department of Transportation (DOT). In addition this requirement also applies when it comes time for renewing your CDL license every 3 years; each time you renew your license there's another exam process that must be completed before being granted another one (which means having passed all previous exams).

You have many responsibilities as an owner operator.

As an owner operator, you have many responsibilities. You are responsible for the truck and its maintenance. You are responsible for the truck's safety. You are also responsible for the fuel economy of your vehicle and cargo that it carries on its journey from A to B.

Lease your truck and get the free tires

Leasing your truck can be a very cost-effective way to get around. You’ll save money on the lease and use of your vehicle, as well as on insurance and maintenance. The leasing company will typically pay for any tires you need. Plus, they provide free roadside assistance for any problems with your vehicle while it is in their possession—which means no more waiting in line at the mechanic's office!

Once you've leased your rig from an approved provider (like Trucking info), there are many other benefits available:

Free training programs from industry leaders

Fuel discounts at certain terminals or fuel stations

Parking discounts at local garages

Trucking is a great job for an independent contractor or owner operator

Trucking is a great job for an independent contractor or owner operator. It’s one of the best ways to make money, get experience and learn new skills.

Trucking can be done as an employee or as an independent contractor (also known as an “independent owner operator”). As an employee you will have benefits like health insurance, paid vacation days and sick days. You may also receive bonuses based on your performance with the company. As an independent contractor you are responsible for paying taxes on your income since it is considered self-employment income instead of wages or salary income

How to become a successful owner operators

There are a few steps you should take to become a successful owner operator. First, you need to be able to drive a truck. A CDL license is required by most states and many cities, so if this isn't available in your area or if it's not for whatever reason (such as financial hardship), then you'll have to find another way of getting around without one.

Next up: passing the DOT test! This is required by all states in order for drivers' licenses and insurance coverage from state authorities like DMV (Department Of Motor Vehicles). If you fail once during the exam process or later on when driving under supervision with an instructor at night time behind some sort of safety barrier system called a "fog lamp," then there could be consequences such as losing your license permanently over time due to having too much alcohol inside of blood stream levels at any given time during operation hours.*

Benefits of trucking owner operators

You are your own boss. The majority of owner operators and truck drivers work for themselves, so you can choose the hours that fit your lifestyle and schedule.

You are in control of your own schedule. If you want to work from home and drive every day for two weeks, it's possible with this job!

You can work from a laptop or tablet if that's what works best for you (and even if it doesn't). Many people choose to use these portable devices while they're on the road so they don't have to worry about missing out on opportunities because they didn't have access to email or phone reception (or both).

Get advice from an experienced truck driver

Ask a truck driver or a friend who is already a driver.

Ask your local live trucking company if they can recommend someone who has been working as an owner operator for some time and can give you advice about what it takes to become one.

If you don't have any options, reach out to someone in your community who knows something about being an owner operator or truck driver (i.e., someone who will be able to help guide you through the process of becoming one).

How to drive an 18 wheeler

Driving a truck is difficult, but it’s not impossible. The first step is to understand what each type of truck does and how they operate. Then you need to learn the basic rules of the road, including turning left or right at intersections and stopping when approaching crosswalks or stop signs. You should also know how many miles per hour (mph) it will take for your vehicle’s speedometer gauge needle to reach its maximum reading on a level road surface with no obstacles between you and oncoming traffic; this number will vary depending on whether there are curves in front of you as well as hillsides around corners that must be taken into account before deciding if turning onto them would be safer than staying straight ahead over flat surfaces with no elevation changes whatsoever (which would lead us into uncharted territory).

When driving these heavy vehicles through busy streets filled with other cars who may not understand what they're doing--or simply don't care--you'll want someone who knows how much force their brakes can generate without causing any damage whatsoever; otherwise they might cause accidents while trying out new ideas behind closed doors!

Conclusion

Requirements for owner operators and truck drivers are different from other professions such as airline pilots or doctors. It is important to follow certain rules to ensure job security and health. There are many factors that affect the job description of an owner operator. For example, a CDL holder with a large vehicle may be required to drive for three straight days, thus making it difficult for them to take care of their family commitments.

[moralesispunk]

Gold Band

Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie considers that he may be a little possessive, just a little

Warnings: established relationship, (respectfully) possessive, masterbation m/f, unprotected sex, one (joking, maybe) mention of a collar, breeding kink

Word Count: 1.7k

Frankie often prides himself on being a rational man. Level-headed. Able to view any situation objectively.

It’s a virtue that kept him alive for his twenty years in the military, is one that now keeps him patient when dealing with even the most pretentious of clients at his private-hire helicopter tour business.

He is rational and he tells himself that now, repeating it over and over again even as he peels the label off of his beer while watching a man sidle up to you at the bar. He’s young, handsome, sending you a flirty smile while you send him a polite one in return, throwing a genuine smile across your shoulder to Frankie. The man understands, his eyes dropping down to where your hand rests on the bar, before he backs off with an apologetic smile.

He is rational, Frankie repeats again, but maybe not that rational when it comes to you.

It’s like the primal, caveman side comes to the surface when he is with you sometimes. The need to provide and care for you, make everyone else know that you’re his, even though he knows you well-enough that the thought makes you roll your eyes and mutter something about being independent. He knows you well-enough that even when you say that you also find yourself leaning into him, letting him keep a hand resting on your hip when you’re out at the bar or letting him whisper every primal, depraved thought he has when buried deep inside you while you keen a moaned yes, Frankie in response.

He forces those thoughts from his mind now, wrapping his palm around the still cool bottle in his hands until he feels he can look at you again without thoughts about you wrapped in the bed sheets coming to mind.

At first it was seeing his marks on you - little thumb prints on your hips, dark bruises left by his mouth trailing a path from your jaw to your chest, a bite mark on your shoulder that faded within ten minutes but already had him leaving another mere minutes after the first disappeared.

Then there was the time you were slightly tipsy on a weekend trip and walked out of a tattoo parlor hand-in-hand, Frankie with your initial on the inside of his wrist and you with an F on the dip of your hip. He can’t stop himself from pressing his lips against it whenever it is revealed, pulling you to stand between his legs when he sits on the edge of the bed as you get ready or when he’s slowly undressing you and making sure to stop on the way.

Now there is a reminder that you’re his for everyone to see with the ring on your finger. Frankie doesn’t have his yet, the ceremony booked for six months time, and while marrying you means a million things to Frankie, mostly in relation to you spending the rest of your lives together, there is no denying that little primal part of him that feels smug when he watches on as people notice the ring.

His eyes follow the ring now as you walk back from the bar, the simple gold band and with the green stone shining where you hold both beer bottles between your fingers. He watches as you tap it on the table while talking to him about something that happened at work today. He finds himself twisting it when you rest your hand on his leg, your head tucked against his arm as you listen to the band that has set up by the bar.

He feels it against his skin when your hands link together as you walk back to the car, letting go of your touch only long enough to help you into the truck before he climbs in the drivers side and your hand comes to rest on his leg again, his fingers wrapping around the band.

Twist, twist, twist.

He doesn’t know why he is so focused on the ring tonight. Maybe it was the man at the bar, maybe it is just a day where he feels even more in awe than usual that you want to spend the rest of your lives together as much as he wants that. Either way, his eyes are still trained on it when you slip it off your finger long enough to get ready for bed, placing it in a dish by the sink as you stand in front of the mirror, before slipping it back on and switching off the bathroom light.

He looks away long enough to catch the playful glint in your eye when you start to crawl up his body where he rests against the headboard, the cool band dragging a path up his calf and thigh as you nudge his shorts higher and higher until you’re kissing along the scarred and weathered skin of his thighs.

He tries to reach for you - to drag your face up to his - but you slip away, falling to lie by his side on the bed and trailing your hands down your body until your hand slips beneath your shorts and between your legs. He just watches for a second, soft skin on soft skin, his hands gripping the sheets between you and his chest already heaving, until you roll your head to the side and look at him with a smile he can only describe as dangerous.

A smile that has had him pulling you into whatever door has a lock on it when you’re at one of the MIller’s barbecues. A smile that has had him pulling his truck over into an off-track road like some teenage boy unable to control his hormones, rather than the forty-year old man who drags you across the console and onto his lap. It’s a smile that has him moving in an instant now, dragging your shorts down your legs and kneeling between your thighs where he can watch as your fingers disappear inside you.

He wants to look up to your face when you moan his name, he wants to see the half-lidded expression that’s there - but he can’t tear his eyes away from where the ring rests against your skin, not even when you come and your other hand reaches for his, squeezing as you moan his name and he feels like he could follow you without so much as touching himself.

He knows that you’ve noticed how much attention he has paid to your ring tonight from the way you pull your fingers away, slipping them into your mouth until the cold metal presses to your lips. You finally drag them out with a pop, leaning forward and holding your weight up with a hand behind your back as you slip the other beneath the waistband of his shorts.

“Do you like when I wear this ring Frankie? Do you like it when other people see me wear it?” You begin to stroke your hand back and forth and he bites down on his bottom lip as you come to kneel before him. “Do you like that they see this and know I’m yours?” You trail kisses along his collarbone, gently squeezing him so he stops biting his lip and gasps a yes. “Maybe you should get me a collar and people will know that I’m yours straight away, they won't have to look for a ring on my hand.”

You’re teasing him, you’re finding it charmingly ridiculous, and he can feel your smile against his neck and the warm puff of air that comes with a silent laugh, but he’s so lost in you that the thought almost seems rational and it makes him thrust his hips into your hand.

“Oh Frankie,” you coo, pushing him onto his back and pulling his shorts down so you can both see how your hand wraps around him. “Do you like that thought?”

His responding yes is more of a whine than a word, especially when you dip your head to lick up his length and his hands reach out to grip at the bedsheet. His eyes squeeze shut and he has to take a minute before he can open them again, groaning when he sees what hand you’ve decided to wrap around him as he feels the cold band against him.

He doesn’t know how long you stay like that before he’s dragging you up towards him, finally slanting his mouth over yours in a kiss he has felt like he has waited hours for. He groans when you hum into the kiss, his hand gripping the back of your neck and his hand fumbling between you both until he’s slowly sliding inside you and your forehead falls to his shoulder.

“You know what I want?” He says, finally finding his voice and you smile against his neck, tugging on his ear with your teeth as you whisper a breathy “what” in return. “I want everyone, every second of every day, to know that you’re mine.” His hands grip your hips and pull you down against him again, and again, and again. “Guys still try and flirt with you even with that ring so maybe a collar is what you need.” You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and drag your fingers through your curls. “Or maybe-“ His hand slips between your bodies, palm pressed to your stomach and thumb dipping lower to bring you to the edge with him “-maybe I just need to fill you over and over until you’ve got my baby inside you and then maybe they’ll stop flirting with you.”

You fall over the edge and drag him with you, his mouth finding yours in a messy kiss until your bodies relax and he kisses across your face while rolling off you and bringing you into his chest.

After a moment of silence you start to giggle.

“Frankie-“

“Don’t,” he groans, already knowing you’re about to repeat whatever he rambled on about.

“A collar?” His eyes snap open, tickling your side until you squeal and roll away from him, lying on your side on your pillow and looking at him.

“You brought it up!”

“You went with it!”

He scrunches up his nose. “No offense to anyone with that… affinity,” he says and you snort, “but I’m quite happy with the ring on that finger.” He reaches for your hand, lifting it to kiss the band.

“And the baby?” You ask, holding his cheek with your hand.

“Now that-“ he drags you back into his side, “is open for discussion.”

.................

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09 @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @phandoz @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @oogaboogasphincter @booksaremyyoga @bport76 @sirpascal @nyfeeer @manuymesut @alwaysdjarin @milispunk @thirddeadlysin @theluckyplaces

[artisticdivasworld]

Autonomy in Trucking: Why Steering Your Own Wheel Matters

Today, let’s talk about something that’s crucial to our success out on the open road: autonomy. Now, before you think this is just another buzzword, let me break it down for you in plain old English. Autonomy is all about having the freedom and independence to make decisions that steer your business in the right direction—literally and figuratively. It’s about being your own boss, calling the…

[rafeandonlyrafe]

savior

words: 500

warnings: drinking/bar setting

“rafey.” you whine into the phone, hoping he can hear you over the pounding club music. the bass practically shook your entire body, from your stiletto heels all the way up to your dangly earrings. 

“what is it honey? i’m on my way.” rafe says, and you can hear his truck starting before you even ask him to come pick you up.

“some guy started grinding on stephie and then they went to hook up in the bathroom and i’m all alone… and i miss you.” rafe warned you that it wasn’t the best idea to go to the club with your friend, but he trusts you and wants you to have some independence, even if all it does is reinforce your need for him.

“i’m sorry, princess. i’ll be there in five minutes.” rafe wants to slap stephie at this moment, he doesn’t care that she’s a girl, she hurt you, and that’s all that matters to him.

“okay.” you sniffle. “some guy tried to talk to me but now i’m just sitting in a booth.”

rafe’s hand tightens in anger on the steering wheel. “just stay where you are baby.”

“are you almost here?”

rafe steps on the gas pedal, completely ignoring the speed limit. “yes, baby, i’m pulling up right now.”

“i’ll come out.” you start to stand up, but rafe stops you, “no.” he says quickly, before clearing his throat. “no, baby, i’ll come and get you.”

you don’t want rafe to worry about paying the cover charge, but you’re not one to argue with him, so you agree and keep your eyes on the door. you wait to hang up until you see rafe, scanning the crowd for you before making eye contact.

“baby.” rafe rushes over to you as you stand up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“thank you for coming.” you sniffle, hiding your face in his chest.

“i’ll always come for you.” rafe squeezes you sides. “now wheres that guy that tried to hit on you?”

in truth he was by the bar, but you shake your head. “he already left.” you know that rafe wouldn’t leave without punching the guy, and it was no fault that he tried to hit on you when you were alone, no boyfriend around.

rafe sighs, always able to tell when you’re lying, but not wanting to push you when you’re already upset, and wraps his arm around your shoulder, leading you out towards his truck. you get in the passenger seat, rafe leaning over you to do up your seat belt. “i love you.” rafe says, stroking your cheek.

“i love you too, rafey. only you.” you lean up and kiss him, fisting your hand in his shirt to keep him closer.

“better only be me, princess.” rafe only half-jokes, closing your door gently and moving around to the driver side, but not before opening up the back seat and grabbing your fluffy blanket, draping it over you as you snuggle into the familiar seat.

the warm blanket and the slow driving has your eyes drifting closed. rafe looks over and sees you starting to drift off, purposely missing the turn down your street to let you sleep for longer. he slows carefully to a stop at a stop sign, leaning over to kiss your forehead. 

you stir slightly, but rafe shushes you. “it’s okay baby. go back to sleep.”

[batneko]

Okay I was trying to come up with a sugar daddy bowuigi AU and I ended up spending so much time thinking about the setting that this is gonna be another long one

So! It's modern day, big city. I prefer to think of it as still a world full of magic and mushrooms and monsters but if y'all want to picture this as a human AU feel free. In this world instead of a king Bowser is the third-generation owner of the biggest demolition company in the city. They took a slight dent lately because Bowser doesn't exactly get along with the city planner... but the company is still best in the business and not hurting for work.

Then there's the Mario brothers, who run a tiny independent plumbing company and by sheer coincidence have a phone number exactly one digit off from Koopa Demolition. They're good at what they do but because they can only take at most two jobs at a time they sometimes struggle. And they can't cut costs (any more than they already have) so the only leg up they have on the competition is promising to be faster than anyone else at the same price. It means they have to work a lot harder (and will definitely backfire sooner or later) but right now they're doing pretty well. Reasonably well. They're doing okay.

Having nearly the same number as a different business means that occasionally both groups will show up somewhere thinking they're about to negotiate a contract only to find out they just wasted their time and gas money. Hard feelings build up. Once, when the bros actually managed to convince a building owner to replace the lead pipes instead of tearing everything down, Mario and Bowser very nearly got into a physical fight. (It doesn't help that Mario is dating Bowser's ex though neither of them will admit that's part of it.)

And then one night Bowser goes back to a demo site to check on something, ends up getting hurt, and Luigi happens to be working late on a job nearby and comes to his rescue. He insists on accompanying Bowser all the way to the hospital, and while he's waiting with him mentions that it turned out to be a good thing the van broke down because if he wasn't walking back to the subway he might not have heard Bowser cry out. Bowser asks how Luigi is going to get home now, since it's so late the subway isn't running anymore, and Luigi says "I'll... I'll figure something out." Bowser calls one of his people and makes them give Luigi a ride. It's awkward for everyone.

The next day a tow truck shows up to take the Mario Bros' van to a mechanic. They're like "we didn't order this??" and the driver just says it was paid for in advance. Luigi realizes what happened and, thinking about the bad blood between Mario and Bowser, tells him the client last night was really grateful for him working late. Mario says they should thank him and Luigi says he definitely will.

So he goes to see Bowser, who is still laid up with a broken foot, and brings him a fruit basket. Bowser is like, I will absolutely eat this fruit but fixing the van was supposed to be payment for Luigi's help. He doesn't like feeling indebted. And Luigi says it was too much! There must be something Luigi can do to thank him properly.

Well... there's this stupid local businessman dinner that Bowser really didn't want to go to. Having somebody to talk to will make it more bearable. Luigi says sure, and the day of the dinner Bowser picks him up two hours early to go out and buy him a suit. Top to bottom, shoes and all. Luigi is a little offended Bowser didn't think he had nice enough clothes... but once they get to the venue and see what everyone else is wearing he can admit he did not have nice enough clothes.

The dinner goes well. Luigi IS a local businessman and nobody questions what he's doing there, even if they haven't heard of his company. Talking with Bowser is surprisingly easy, especially since plumbing and demolition have enough overlap that they can chat about work without having to explain much. They have a lot of similar gripes about clients and contracts and tools.

After a pretty nice evening and maybe one too many glasses of wine, it's all too easy to forget this wasn't supposed to be a date-date and fall into bed with Bowser. When Luigi gets home, rumpled and dressed in clothes he didn't leave in, Mario just congratulates him on what looks like a successful night.

A few days later there's a delivery. A brand new set of the power tools Luigi had mentioned he daydreamed about. Luigi calls Bowser and says this is too much, he can't accept it, and Bowser just says, "keep 'em or throw 'em out, I'm not taking them back. Already wrote them off as a business expense."

Luigi keeps them, but he can't explain this one away. He tells Mario that the person he went out with last week is... from a different socio-economic bracket. (Mario is not allowed to judge, Peach pays for most of their dates too.) They both avoid using the S-D words, but Mario says he feels too weird accepting work equipment from a stranger. Better tell the guy to stick to personal gifts.

So with something like brotherly approval, Luigi starts dating Bowser. He gets clothes, a new phone, fancy dinners and nights at expensive hotels. Bowser is not a bad date (except for when he is) but Luigi always feels a little weird knowing that their relationship is transactional. Even though Bowser clearly likes him and wants to make him happy, Luigi feels like he can't speak up about Bowser being demanding or talking down to people. Because if he's not agreeable enough Bowser will just find somebody new.

Meanwhile, Bowser has NO IDEA that Luigi thinks this. Somewhere along the line he got it in his head that his affection is a burden. He hasn't thought about this enough to put it into words, but he feels like he needs to reward people for being around him or they'll leave. He's not even trying to be a sugar daddy, he treats all of the (few) people he loves like this.

It's not until they've been dating long enough for Luigi to meet Bowser's son that anything changes. Luigi immediately sees that Bowser is pulling the old "new toys make up for not actually being around, right?" and can't stop himself from telling him that NO it does NOT make up for it. Your son wants your TIME.

He's extremely surprised when Bowser listens. And after Luigi tells him that asking Junior about his day and his hobbies will make him feel more cared about, Bowser starts making an effort to ask Luigi those things too.

Eventually he starts to think that... maybe? Bowser has just been romantically incompetent this whole time? So he tests it, and the next time Bowser tries to demand he take a week off to go on a boring business trip with him, Luigi (calmly but firmly) says that he can't possibly miss that much work but Bowser can call and talk to him every day. Bowser goes for it. He actually seems really excited that Luigi is "allowing" him to have so much of his attention.

Oof. Now Luigi feels bad.

After a couple more weeks of trying to wean Bowser off buying his affection (except paying the phone bill because Luigi seriously couldn't afford to do that himself) Luigi asks Bowser if he can officially call them boyfriends?

Bowser practically falls all over himself to agree. Everything is good, they understand each other, Luigi even has his own section in Bowser's closet. He could see this relationship lasting for the rest of his life.

Now he just needs to figure out how to tell his brother...

[catnipaddictt]

Abstract

wc: 2.1k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

You had finally moved away from your hometown. A final answer to your undying search for independence. A trait your mothers whipped tongue had tried to rein back for years. Something that had very clearly failed. The thought alone made you smirk a bit as you stood before your new home. The Alderaan apartments were a choice at best. Very cheap for the location being so close to the centre of the city but a little decrepit. Still it felt like a palace to you right now.

You made your way up to the 4th floor, the highest of the crumbling building. Leaving you to look out to the curtains of the slightly nicer hotel on the other side of the street. Grabbing your suitcase, you unpacked your luggage before coming to the realisation that you had no food in your new home. And of course it just had to be dark outside, evening having set. After overthinking your options you decided to ask your neighbour for some eggs. Dragging yourself to your neighbour’s door with your metaphorical tail between your legs, you knocked on the door.

A strange being poked its face through the slightest gap possible, it looked around worried. You didn’t know if it was to look for trouble or to find it. After the anxiety-writing look, the creature opened the creaking door. Now that you could see it, It was clearly a Gungan.

“Hello. Missa Jar Jar Binks. Why are you at misssas door?“ he questions “Hey, I'm your new neighbour. I was wondering if I could borrow some eggs?“ You say, a bit unsure of the Gungan in front of you. “Missa loves eggs. Sun sun or scrambled, lovely for my tumtum” jar jar snickers at the end. ”So… Can I use the eggs? You question once again. “Missa doesn’t have any eggs for sunsun but missa could go to the store for stuff and stuff.” Not only did you think of going to the store before you were now massively disappointed and also extremely tired. The less effort option was clearly the wrong one.

“No it's fine I will go myself thank you anyways.” Before finishing Jar Jar was already speaking, “It's not a big dealio, you newbie don't know the way like missa does.” Before you could protest against this clearly exhausting task, he was already out of the door and started walking towards the staircase. Not wanting to be rude, you followed. It took 17 minutes longer than normal to get to the store because Jar Jar wanted to ‘cut a cornerio’. Once at the store Jar Jar started to argue after eating a RAW egg “As a tasty jum jum” Only after 36 min of arguing and you finally offering to just buy the dozen did you start to make your way back home which also took a small hour.

You could finally bid Jar Jar goodnight. You got home just to cook the damn eggs ‘sun-sun’ style and went to bed in the early morning, you already knew this new life was going to be hard at first.

Waking up had never been so hard before, but the alarm was ringing and today was an important one. It was your first day at your new job at the paper company, ‘Paper Force’. Paper Force was located pretty far away, you would have to drive past the mustafar part of the city, making it a long trip for a very tired driver. Prepping for work wasn't the worst as you had laid out your work outfit the night before.

You got in your beat-up 2002 beetle and started the 50 minute commute. At the 20 minute point your car started to rumble, not just a soft snore, no, a rumble. 10 minutes later and you were stuck by the side of the road. You search an auto shop on your hologram immediately. The only car mechanic that wasn't 2 hours away was a place called ‘MustaCar’. Having no time to waste, you called the number.

45 long minutes later an old pickup truck pulls up behind your still-not-starting beetle. By this point you were frankly very annoyed. You were already half an hour late to your new job, and it didn't seem like you were going to get there soon. And to make things worse, you slept bad last night, meaning you were now rather sleep deprived.

The door to the pickup truck swings open with a clunk, clearly well used. A man in his early to mid 20’s steps out of the vehicle, he reaches up and moves his dark-blond curls out of his field of vision. He wears an oil-stained long sleeved button up, of which you cannot tell the original colour, as well as a pair of dirtied jeans. He spots you, puts his hands in his pockets and stalks over, clearly in no hurry.

“I was just thinking you weren't going to bother showing up” you snapped at him harshly. “Well, sorry Miss, the rest of the world doesn’t revolve around you” You let out a sharp breath at his words. “Excuse me, just look at my car and do your job”. You were fed up with this day already and now you had to deal with a know-it-all, stuck-up, man-child of a mechanic. “Parents didn’t teach you manners I see, now what seems to be the matter here? So I can do my job” He walks towards your car, popping the lid. You roll your eyes at him before speaking. “Well she won't go” He rolls up his sleeves, “Figured that much” he states. Your brows furrow in annoyance, you don’t have time for his attitude, “something started making noise and now she doesn't want to run.” He leans forward to observe your car’s engine. “She, huh, does the lovely lady have a name as well?” You can hear his smirk through his words. Your ears turn red “Shelby, the car is called Shelby”. The mechanic lets out a harsh laugh as he turns to something unknown “An old lady I suppose then, with a name like that”. You let out a huff and turn away.

“Dead Battery and the terminals are corroding”. You jump slightly, having zoned out. “Sorry?” you question. “You have a dead battery and its terminals are also corroding. Oh and you have a break problem, that's what the noise was”. You stand there a bit perplexed, “Uh what does that mean?”. “It means you aren’t gonna be able to drive Shelby until you get her fixed”. He says the name of your car amusingly. “So can you do it then?” You ask, checking your hologram for the time, you were almost an hour late already. “Well that's my job isn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow. You sigh, clearly this guy thought highly of himself. “How much and how long?” you demand, patient wearing thin at this point. “Well the battery change is gonna be about 150, plus the corrosion, about 20, and the grinding breaks, another 150 credits” he pauses before speaking again, “it’ll take a bit, have to order in the parts, could take a while, a few weeks”. “A few weeks!” you all but shout.

You pace away, trying to think. You were very very late, had little to no sleep, and now your beloved car wasn’t going, plus you might have to wait weeks to get her back running. “Fine, do what you must” you bark out. Hopefully this man could fix Shelby quickly, and you would never have to deal with him or another car problem ever again. “Need anything out of her? Or are you good?” He asks. You walk over to Shelby, grab your bag, morning caffeine fix, and sweater. You shut the door gently. The guy speaks, walking back over to the pickup truck “Okay then, I’ll take her into the shop and she’ll be good as new soon. Oh and I will probably need some contact details, unless you never want to see your car again” He walks back carrying a piece of blue-ish paper and a pen with the ‘MustaCar’ logo on the side, passing both to you. You write down your information and hand it back to his expecting hand. “You should come by the shop, I’m sure the guys would love that” And with a smirk and a wink, he turns, secures Shelby, and gets back into the pickup. You watch as he drives off with your prized possession, your Shelby, If he ruins her, he will have hell to pay. You had now been walking for 30 minutes, with your workplace still another 20 minutes away. Your hair sticks to your forehead with sweat and your feet are starting to ache. The music playing in your ears is a nice distraction from your situation as you stroll at pace. Finally after what feels like a millennium, you reach the building. The large blue letters spell ‘Paper Force’, meaning you haven’t gotten lost along the way. Making your way to the building, you check your reflection in a window, fix your hair, and give yourself a mental pep talk. Just go in, explain what happened, it will all be fine. At least you hope. With a deep breath and step inside.

Pulling up the shop with a rumble, the pickup-truck deposits his newest client's female car around the back. The fading MustaCar sign blinks slowly at him as he gets out the parked truck and steps foot on solid ground. The beetle named Shelby looks out of place among the beat up vehicles, and forgotten projects of the shop. “Anakin” A female voice yells from inside the garage before a young togruta steps out. She wears overalls and a pair of safety goggles on her head. “New project Snips” He says. “What's wrong with it? It looks pretty good to me” the togruta states as she walks over and runs a hand over the bonnet. “Battery is dead, corrosion, and breaks need new pads” Anakin explains, counting off each problem on his fingers. “We are gonna need to order stuff in for her”. The togruta laughs “Her?” she questions. Anakin sighs “Yes, Ahsoka, Her. Owner calls it Shelby". “Cute” Ahsoka shrugs “lets see what we can do”.

“Well the brake pads are definitely going to have to be replaced, there is basically nothing there” Ahsoka looks up as she speaks. “Thought as much, '' replies Anakin, as he wanders over with two cups of coffee, he passes one to Ahsoka. “Thanks”. “I placed an order for the new battery and brake pads, should take a week to arrive, but knowing the shipping times, it will probably take longer than that” Anakin says as he surveys Shelby. “At least she isn’t a complete wreck”. Ahsoka nods behind Anakin “speaking of wrecks, how is that project coming along ''. Anakin turns to look at the car sitting under a large tree. He had picked up the third generation Pontiac firebird from a man on his deathbed; it had been living in a barn for 20 years, rusted, and in desperate need of restoration. If it even could be saved. “It's a work in progress Snips”, “I don’t know, it is rusted pretty bad in some of it, it will take a genius to make it run again”, “Good thing i’m here then” He replies with a smile. Ahsoka rolls her eyes and drains the last of her drink before returning to their newest project.

A voice pulls Anakin out of his work “Anakin, I need to speak to you”. The voice comes from an elderly man, Palpatine, the creator and owner of MustaCar. “Of course” Anakin wipes the oil off his hands on a nearby cloth, before throwing it back on the table and following Palpatine. They enter the main office of the shop and Palpatine closes the door behind them. “Sith Auto Dominion is growing. At this rate we will be losing profit by the same time next month” Palpatine states. Sith Auto Dominion was the biggest competition for MustaCar, located on the other side of town on Geonosis Blvd. Over time the opposing shop had been taking their customers, meaning Palpatine and the people he employ have been having to cut costs however they can. “What can we do?” Anakin questions. “Not much my boy, we just have to be careful. I have owned this shop for 45 years and I will not see it go bankrupt” he takes a breath “You are my best mechanic Anakin, I cannot afford to lose you”. Palpatine walks around to his desk and sits down, gesturing at the seat opposite him. “I have a favour to ask you, Anakin”. “Anything” He replies. “Take your apprentice, go to Sith Auto, find out what they have that we don’t”

“Alright Snips, we have a job”

[harrowedsoup]

Griddlehark Trucker AU

Because why not make a overly detailed AU

Gideon: once an independent owner operator that specialized in oversized loads but was in an accident that destroyed her truck (her super custom show truck that she treated like her baby) she is currently trying to fight her insurance company about the accident so she can replace it but is having a really rough time of it. Decided to team drive because she’s broke as fuck.

Harrow: Also a former owner operator. Lost her license a few years ago due to her mental health issues making her not renew it. Recently decided to get back into it but had to join a second chance company due to lack of recent experience. Decided to team drive because she’s broke as fuck.

Gideon— Old school trucker to the MAX. Has a really really fancy CB radio that she made Harrow install in their truck and tries to talk to people on the road all the time. She doesn’t plan out anything, she used to not keep accurate logs and she will park anywhere she can fit. Hates the stereotype that truckers are fat and works out in the middle of parking lots to show off.

Harrow— Maps out everything. She has a top of the line GPS but she also maps out her trips with actual maps. She’s prepared for EVERYTHING. Whatever problems she might run into she has tools for. Keeps driving her company nuts because she messes with stuff she isn’t supposed to. While Gideon can work on trucks too Harrow is better.

They fight all the time. Gideon is used to smudging her time logs which drives Harrow insane. Harrow simply will not stop unless it’s either 1) time for her mandatory breaks or 2) they’re at their destination, which drives Gideon insane.

Gideon cooks in the truck pretty often. After a couple of years she has a rotation of means she can easily make. Harrow buys meal replacement shakes in bulk and drinks those.

Ianthe is their driver manager and keeps trying to flirt with Harrow. Eventually Harrow flat out breaks her headset and tells her to call Gideon if she needs them. This pisses off Gideon but Ianthe just… never calls her. 

[dostoyevsky-official]

‘Human safari’ – Kherson civilians hunted down by Russian drones

In the ravaged city of Kherson, where Ukraine-controlled territory and Russian forces are separated by the Dnipro River instead of no man’s land between trenches in the eastern Donbas region, civilians are being targeted routinely. Terrified locals refer to the new strategy as “a human safari.”

“Drones are now flying in groups and attacking everything that moves,” said Serhii, a volunteer-turned-taxi driver.  “Our charity hub had to close because trucks can no longer deliver humanitarian aid. This has not only cut off critical supplies but also crippled local businesses that rely on transportation. It’s scary to think what will happen in winter when food and fuel shortages could escalate into a full-blown crisis.”

Drone strikes averaged 100 per day in July and August 2024, he said. But as autumn set in, the numbers have spiked dramatically. Ukraine’s TSN news program reported that a record high of 330 drone strikes and 224 explosive drops hit the region on Sept. 9 alone.

To attack women buying watermelons at city corners and children playing in parks, Russian forces use modified commercial drones.

[...] “First, you see a reconnaissance drone like a Mavic,” said Svitlana, a doctor living by the river.

“Then comes an FPV (first-person view) drone, dropping a grenade on you. Or, a Coca-Cola can with explosives. Sometimes, the drone crashes and blows up. A 90-year-old woman was badly injured next door, in her yard,” she added.

Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) teams respond to drone attacks in Kherson every day.

“Often, as I drive to the location, drones chase my car: they do ‘double taps,’ striking first responders and sappers,” a leading expert in the field told the Kyiv Independent on condition of anonymity citing lack of authority to speak with the media.

[...] "Russian volunteers fundraise for Mavic and FPV drones because these commercial models lack military certification and aren’t supplied by the military.”

[...] “Our Ukrainian military has intercepted Russian phone conversations. It seems that graduates of Russian drone pilot schools practice on us, using any moving target for training. They kill and injure civilians every day.”