#long-haul driver tips

[artisticdivasworld]

Managing Stress on the Road: A Guide for New Truck Drivers

If you bought it, a trucker hauled it. As we celebrate National Truck Driver Appreciation Week, it’s important to not only acknowledge the hard work and dedication of drivers but also to address the challenges they face on the road—especially the stress that comes with the job. For new drivers, adjusting to long hours, unpredictable schedules, and the isolation that comes with being on the road…

[mariahcarreyyy]

max making u wear a pendant with his initials/driver's number engraved around ur neck coz he likes to watch it swing when u ride him

# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio ! nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

"Where's the necklace?"

Max's words had made you halt. He placed a gentle hand on your collarbone, pushing you gently from where you were mouthing at his neck and stroking his thumb where the gold of his initials should be.

With furrowed brows, you craned your neck down to follow his disheartened glare. The absence of the cool chain around your neck didn't seem quite as important as the growing need for max, max, max.

"Dunno," you mumbled dismissively, rolling your hips from where you were straddling his legs on the bed. "Ah—bathroom, 'think, t-took it off to shower."

Your boyfriend hummed sweetly before lightly tapping the side of your thigh. "Get it."

Barely forcing down a whimper, you bit your lip, tugging on the hem of his baggy shorts. "Max, please, just—"

A taunting, raised brow was enough to have you huffing and hauling yourself off of his lap. The walk from the bathroom and back to Max's arms, barely ten steps, made your eyes glassy and the pleasure stirring in your stomach boil.

You made the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sprawled in various directions, and an evident pout etched onto your face. The necklace was expensive; you'd known that, but had Max really needed to stop you mid-foreplay to run and get it?

Judging by his cocky smirk and the fact that he'd fumbled out of his clothes in the ten seconds you'd left, you guessed so. Your eyes drifted down his body, past the sweaty abs, and onto his hand, lazily stroking his hard cock. You wanted it inside you, in your mouth—fuck, he was making it really hard to stay annoyed.

"Happy?" you grumbled, your facade slipping when Max swiftly pulled you into his lap, shivering slightly as he nearly ripped the shirt off of your body, the cold air hitting your nipples and Max's wet tongue trailing kisses down your neck.

Moans slip past your lips, and you slide a hand down to the angry, red tip of Max's length. You grin wildly when he groans, the vibrations rippling against your skin and shooting straight down to your core. "More than." He cups the swell of your ass with his massive palms and lifts you up to hover over his dick. "C'mon, shatje, make y'self feel good on m'cock."

And who were you to deny Max that?

The stretch of his cock burned like it always has, spikes of pleasure overcoming the momentary pain. Max's desperate moans mixed with yours, echoing across the room. After a few seconds, Max's palm impatiently striked at your ass, making you jolt and bite your lip to avoid the embarrassing sound that would have left your lips. "M-Max, oh, fuck."

You lifted your hips, almost slipping Max's slick-covered dick out of your wet pussy before dropping back down. Max's eyes were half-lidded, a hazy grin plastered on his face; he watched the gold swing recklessly, worrying his bottom lip at the fast pace you'd set.

Max rolled his hips upward to meet your movements, and the loud yelp that left your lips made you flush. "Fuckk, s'good, baby—ah, all mine, yeah? All. Fucking. Mine."

Punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, Max almost came when your wet pussy clenched around him. "All yours, m'all yours, Max."

That was what the initials on your collarbones stood for, didn't they?

authors note. i havent written in so long pls forgive me everyone

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The drive into town, or the few shops that cluster together at the midpoint of the backroads, is quiet. As you lazily steer around the long bends. As you come in sight of the beer store banner, you squint into the rear view. Bucky’s been so silent, you’re half certain he’s asleep. 

He sits with his arms crossed as he stares out the window. His eyes could be closed. As you roll into the gravel lot, he clears his throat. 

“Not much to this place,” he comments. 

You give a start and shift into park, “nope.” 

He nods as he unbuckles his seat belt and sits up, “quiet.” 

“Very,” you agree. 

He makes no other comment as he gets out. You really can’t tell how he meant it. Does he like the quiet? Hate it? Does he long for the New York rush? 

You push yourself out of the car and head for the front door. He steps ahead to get the door and you thank him. It’s not too unusual. A lot of the men in their plaid fleeces insist on doing the same. You enter and greet Dustin behind the counter. 

“Foster sending you ‘round again?” He asks. 

“Mr. Foster’s drying out. At least his wife says so. And I told her I wouldn’t bring him anymore gin.” You explain.  

“Ah, you got company,” Dustin comes to the end of the counter, “Dustin, and you?” 

He holds out his hand. Bucky shakes it with his gloved one and introduces himself. 

“Ha, boy, fingers’ cold already? Must not be from around here.” 

Bucky sniffs and drops his hand. He has both covered. It’s probably best he not draw attention. 

“Yeah, came up from the States,” he says. “Not a fan of the Canadian beer though.” 

“Ah, you like piss water. Well, head to the back, you’ll find that yankie river water.” 

You chuckle and shake your head. You go down the middle aisle and Bucky catches up to you with a grumble. You notice his glower as he peruses the cases. 

“Don’t take it to hear. That’s just Dusty. If you’re a hockey fan, don’t mention it unless you wanna hear about the Leafs for an hour.” 

“Right,” he nods and grabs a green case. “More of a baseball fan.” 

“Don’t mention that either. He’s a Jays fan.” You head down the far aisle and peruse the smaller bottles. That should be enough. 

“Thought you don’t drink,” he comments as you pick out the brown bottle. 

“Rumcake. I’m gonna check in on the neighbours later this week. Make sure they’re okay. Plus, you add a bit to some fried bananas. It’s great.” You explain. 

He drones again and clicks his tongue. He probably doesn’t care much about the neighbours or your mother’s rumcake recipe. You go to the counter and put the bottle down. As you reach into your pocket, Bucky leans the case on the edge. 

“Charge hers with mine,” he takes out his wallet and slips out some bills. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Least I can do,” he insists and hands over the money, “Sir, you keep the change.” 

“Boy, this is a beer store, we don’t take tips,” Dustin scoffs. 

“Then put it in that charity box,” Bucky shrugs and hauls up the case. “Got somewhere else to go?” 

You take the bottle and say goodbye to Dustin before you follow. 

“Groceries,” you say as you follow him out. 

You fish around for your keys. What pocket did you put them in? You stop beside the driver’s side and search for them. Of course, you locked the car. 

Frustrated, you set the bottle on the car roof. You look down as you continue to pat your jacket. You finally find them and then you hear it. The subtle friction of the bottle slips down the curve of the roof.  

You panic and try to catch it. As you do, you press against the wall that appears behind you. Bucky reaches over your shoulder as he saves the bottle. You get your keys free and teeter between him and the car. He backs up. 

“Got it,” he says. 

“Uh, thanks,” you hid your discomfort. You weren’t expecting him to be so close. 

He easily carries the case under one arm and takes the rum with him around the passengers side. You unlock the doors and he opens the back to put the alcohol in front of the seat. You swing into the driver’s and get yourself situated. 

You’re overthinking. He probably didn’t even realise how awkward that was. You put your keys in the ignition as he drops in through the opposite door. 

“Real friendly around here,” he remarks as check the rear view. 

You reach over to grip the passenger seat as you crane to see behind you. By accident, you grab his shoulder. He grunts and you release him quickly, grabbing the seat instead. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s fine,” he shrugs and you slowly reverse, hooking around to put your car straight.  

You rescind your hand and turn forward, steering out of the lot and down to the next street. There, the grocery store is a bit more lively with the early risers. You draw up and park again. You get out and he follows suit.  

He grabs a cart before you can. You’re not sure if he’s being overly helpful or what. You walk beside him toward the front doors. As you do, Cathy comes out with a paper bag in her arms. Before you can hide, she shrilly calls your name. Great. 

“Oh, haven’t seen you lately,” she smiles beneath her fuschia lipstick. “Oh my,” her heavily lined eyes flick to Bucky, “and who is this? Don’t see a lot of new faces in Caribou.” 

You glance over at your escort as he stops the cart. 

“This is Bucky. He’s visiting Canada.” You say. 

“Visiting? Oh, how wonderful,” she walks up the side of the cart, squinting at him. She never wears her glasses. “Ah, look at him. Strapping.” She grabs his square jaw. 

“Um, Bucky, this is Cathy.” 

“Look at those eyes,” she squeezes him so her acrylics sink into his cheeks. He looks stunned by her latch on him. She is one of a kind, especially around there. 

“Uh, nice to meet you,” he speaks stiffly as she stands on her toes to inspect him. 

“About time you found yourself a handsome young man,” she lets go and he brings his hand to his cheek. 

“Cath, it’s not like that,” you chuckle. “It’s nice seeing you but we gotta grab some stuff.” 

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Oh, the pharmacy got some of those new ones. You know... the ones with the ribbing,” she winks. 

You take a moment to catch her meaning. Your lips part but you don’t have much of a response. Bucky shifts beside you. 

“Gotta be safe,” she smirks, “anywho, if I was you, I’d be in a hurry too.” 

You set your chin and grab the side of the cart. You pull it along and Bucky goes with it. The silence is stifling. 

“She was nice,” Bucky says as you enter the store. 

“She’s... Cathy. Don’t mind her,” you say as you stop at the shelf of pears. 

“Been a while since anyone called me young,” he snorts as he lingers with the cart. 

“Well, around here, you might just meet a few of your peers. Or close to,” you mutter, paying overly much attention to the pear. You’re too embarrassed to look anywhere else. As usual, Cathy has to make her little comments. “You mind grabbing some maple syrup? I uh... I’m almost out?” 

He doesn’t respond right away. He wheels the cart up in front of you and backs up, “think I can manage that.” 

As he turns, you almost feel bad. You don’t want to treat him like an errand boy. You just need some space. You’re still getting used to someone else being around. All the time. 

[vinvantae]

for the bringing the f1 grid to a nascar request!! would u do george, lewis, charles, and lando? thank u sm!!

Okay so I know nothing, nada, zilch about NASCAR so I turned to my fave American @formulaforza who wrote some prompts for me. Thank you Mackie 😘 x

Got a little carried away with George at the end 👀

*************************************

Lewis

When you suggested taking Lewis to NASCAR, you expected him to turn his nose up - the sport just wasn’t as refined and delicate as Formula 1. But he was ecstatic, and within days a paddock pass was draped into your lap. He wanted to get up and close and personal with the action before the race, have you close by his side as he listened to overcomplicated lectures from members of the team.

And when the race finally started, he was enthralled- shouting louder than you think you’d ever heard him as the cars fought on track. Cheering and whooping, the brightest of smiles on his face as he leant down to whisper - well shout with how loud it was - into your ear.

“This is brilliant! We should do this more often!”

You grinned at him and playfully smacked the brim of his cap. “If I had known you’d be such a NASCAR nut I would’ve bought you waaay sooner!”

“It’s definitely our thing now.”

The two of you shared one more playful grin before turning your attention back to the track - just in time to see two cars wipe each other out and gasp with the crowd.

Charles

“It's not too dissimilar to F1.” You explained, as the two of you climbed the steps of the grandstands to find your seats. “Friday is practice, Saturday is qualifying and Sunday is the race.”

“Yeah but… we don’t do hundreds of laps.” He frowned, “What did you say this was, 200 laps?”

“Yeah, this one is, but some are up to 400. But it’s in stages.” You hummed softly, bursting out laughing when you caught the shocked look on his face - the most laps in F1 being at his home circuit, a measly 78. “You’ll understand it, love I promise.”

He looked at you with wide eyes, nodding - still as confused as before. You linked your fingers with his. “Okay, so the first two stages are 65 laps long - the top 10 get points. Winner gets 11, 2nd 9, 3rd 8 etc… the winner of the third stage gets 40, and all the way down to 40th gets points. Well most of the time”

“Wait Forty? How many cars are there?”

“Forty. They all get points in the 3rd stage. 36 of them are reserved for drivers of teams that own charters.”

His eyes flickered across your face. “I don’t think I’m ever going to fully understand this… but if it’s important to you I’ll give it a go.”

“Thank you baby. You’ll have fun, I promise.”

Lando

“What are you doing, Lan?”

You watched with a playful smile as your boyfriend stood up to peer over the track into Victory Lane. “…I was kind of hoping we’d see a fist fight or two. I was told people are always fighting each other.”

“Not always.” You laughed, tugging at his wrist. “Sit down. Besides, they’ve gotta race first, you idiot. They need a reason to fight each other.”

He whined softly, plonking down in the seat beside you - resting his head on your shoulder. “Are the fights good?”

“Oh yeah, sometimes people do shit during races too - like this guy hit someone else and took off most of his door so when the guy came back around he literally threw the door at him.” You hummed, squeezing his thigh. “I hope there’s a fight just for you.”

His smile alone was worth it. “Hell yeah.”

George

“Georgie, are you even paying attention?” You whined softly, using the tip of your finger to redirect your boyfriend’s longing gaze back towards the track.

“Sorry, darling, you’re just very distracting.” He teased softly, looping his arm around your middle so he could haul you closer. “What did I miss?”

“Depends, how long were you staring at me?” Your voice had a teasing lilt.

His cheeks flushed a little. “…uh, longer than I care to admit. Fill me in?”

George watched as you explained, gestating wildly and pointing to the cars on the track - and he found himself getting lost in you again. Although most… all of it was going straight over his head, he loved how passionate you were about it and that was enough.

He blinked a few times when he realised you weren’t speaking anymore, your brow raised. “…what did I just say, George?”

“Something about Joey… lasagna?” He winced.

You burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Logano! My god, Russell, I’m going to have to get your ears tested.”

“Love, my ears aren’t the problem.” George pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I’ll make you a compromise. You name three drivers by the time the race is done - I’ll let you do that thing you’ve been asking for in the bedroom.”

His breath hitched before he pressed another kiss to your lips, this one more intense. “Deal.”

He managed to name all 40, and turns out there was more than one thing he’d been asking for… and who were you to deny him?

[lady-z-writes]

Oxytocin

Request from the lovely @bobabilbil

SubmissiveReader! x Butcher

Based off of Oxytocin by Billie Eilish.

Posted this on my main blog in our little Butcher community and it grew on me so I wanted to share here too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A job. It's just a job.

Waitress at some hole in the wall diner. Nothing special. You're just trying to pay off some bills. Asshole manager put you on the shittiest shift and you never get enough tips.

But then he stumbles in.

Literally stumbles.

Looks like he hasn't slept.

And it's 2am.

He doesn't talk much, but he's always eyeing you - always has some expression on his face like he's contemplating something sinister and it makes you melt a little inside.

He comes in twice a week now.

If you were bold you'd leave him your number on a receipt.

He's clearly here to see you. Turns down any other wait staff. Sips black coffee.

Waits.

You should be scared when he grips your wrist one night as you're leaving his bill.

Instead you feel heat rise to your cheeks.

And you let him take you to the back room.

Of course he'd been eyeing up the layout. Of course he knew where the employee only area was.

Of course he kept the door unlocked as he lifted you up, shoved you against the wall, and kissed you like you'd never been kissed.

It ignites something in you. Something long buried.

Weeks of this. Devastating when he doesn't show up. Embarrassing when the cook can hear you moaning. But you like that no one says anything. The patrons aren't regular and you find trust in the silence of the two staff that step up when your lover shows up to fuck you in the back room.

But some nights he's leading you to his car, tying you in knots in his backseat. You love to let him control you - strip you of your uniform, play with your body as his practiced hands bind you in rope. It's relaxing letting him control you - having someone else take over for a little while. And you love the possibility that a patron can see you like this. That you could get caught.

You think you're addicted.

You want his number so badly; to be able to call him when the lonely hits, when you're stressed, when you want him in an actual bed this time.

He shows up with a gift one night. Clasps a collar around your neck as you proceed down the hallway to your usual spot.

You're shocked as he hauls you out the back door.

He's in the driver's seat, you're in the back.

"Now strip, lovey."

He doesn't usually speak to you. Hell, it took weeks for you to even get a name.

But you obey.

And he loves that.

Breasts heaving with every breath, you're in a bra and panties by the time he pulls up to some building.

You're not really sure where you are but he makes you walk in your heels, practically naked.

You should feel ashamed.

Instead, you're eager.

It's an office he opens the door to. You don't see much else because a blindfold is placed over your eyes.

And then a night of the most intense pleasure follows.

You have no idea if anyone else is in the room watching him tie you up and edge you until you're dripping down your thighs. You're unsure if this building has tenants that may hear you screaming his name as he pumps his cum inside of you.

All you know is he calls you "his" and that's enough.

[dandydrunky]

The Winter Recital

A/n; this was so rushed, I am so sorry, I tried

Warnings; fluff?

"How do we plan three weeks in advance, and you're still unprepared?" Rafe grumbled, watching you toss through your closet. "In my defense," you didn't miss his teasing glare, daring you to justify it," a lot can change in three weeks."

You are headed up to St. George in Bermuda for the holidays, exquisite, isn't it?

Kildare had a history of celebrating Christmas, but their more glamorous festivities are usually around summer and spring.

Not that you minded, but this was you and Rafe's 2nd Christmas together. And it had to be nothing like the last one."I'll buy you something when we get there, if we can get there," Rafe offered, tugging you out of your closet.

It's just nerves. He was also escaping his family for the holidays.At least until New Years. Somehow, Rafe had managed to get you out the front door and out to the dock where your ride awaited. You skipped ahead, now your turn to urge your boyfriend along.

"Cool your jets," he was being weighed down by the luggage you wanted to bring. The only thing of his he carried was his wallet. Lord knows he would need it. Especially when you had wanted to double the 20% tip he was already leaving the driver. The cabin was quaint and festive, ribbons tied above the door and looped throughout the staircase in bright green and scarlet. It smelt of pine and cinnamon as you were led through the house, admiring the decor as you did.

It was so homey, and Rafe knew it was perfect when you disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to haul your luggage through the doorway. "I'm never going back home" was your official declaration. And that wasn't even the best part. Amist raiding the insanely sweet hygiene products, in the bedside the you found a holiday card for the guests of cabin 8, "Rafe," You called, hearing his hurried steps, you chuckled to yourself, flipping the card over. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything is perfect," you handed over the card, watching a defeated sigh leave his lips, but a look of curiousity flash as he skimmed over it's contents.

"Okay? It's just a welcome card." Just a welcome card? "It's scented," you snatched it back scratching at the back, your dull nails denting the card, rather then the patch.Rafe sighs, tossing you his keys which you fumbled but then caught.

"Why did you bring these?" "That's what you're worried about? They're my house keys, they were coming with me even if we went to the North Pole." There was his Christmas spirit.You shrugged at the point, racing the keys over the card, bringing it up to your nose, inhaling deeply. He simply watched, a slight scrunch in his nose, watching you cuddled paper.

"It can't be that good," he grumbled, stepping forward to be met with your shoulder as you turned away.

"It's better than your cologne," you teased, to which his smile sank into a pout, "you love my cologne," "Yeah, but..." You drew out, another long, excessive inhale, "This is my new favorite." The parchment was ripped from your face, folded half heartedly, "enough of that," he hummed, tucking the card into his pocket.

"Don't be sad," he wrapped his massive arms around you, rendering yours to your side, his heavy head falling against your squared shoulder.

You tried to shake him off, managing a slight twist before giving up. You were only getting out if he let you out.And strangely enough he did.Something replaced the warmth of the scented card, something stronger, muskier and thick. Rafe's cologne. "Now I smell like you," "and you love it," he argued.

The night went on like that, playful banter, and gentle affections, eventually you crashed in the living room by the the brick fireplace.Rafe wandered down the steps in a low hanging towel, another working at his wet hair, his attention landed on your curled up form on the couch. You're resting in front of your unopenned briefcases splayed out on the fur rug.

To his surprise you were in one of his flannel curled up against the velvet couch.

"You packed three suitcase just to wear my clothes?" he scoffed playfully, picking up a shirt of the floor. The next morning you two woke up snug on the couch, your head in Rafe's lap and his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey," he gently whispered nudging your shoulder, "Merry Christmas," his lips ghosted over the she'll of your ear.

Your elbow jerked into his stomach instinctively, earning a groan into your ear. He leaned back scooting against the couch, resting his head against the pillows.

Don't worry, he's was gleefully dancing around the kitchen to some old vinyl you found, and making hot chocolate late into the day.

And it wasn't all bad, you took a walk around the town, visiting stations, and you spent time in the store spending Rafe's money.

At that point he had trade you his wallet so he could carry all of your bags.

You returned back to your cabin after all of that and crashed to watch some holiday movie waiting for nightfall.

When it did you asked Rafe to help you pick an outfit to which he kept responding "you look great in anything."

It was frustrating as it was flattering.

You ultimately ended up with fur coat, (Rafe's) and a sweater dress with wool leggings, just in case it gets cold. And it does, but it also snows, Rafe's hand holding yours as you walk side by side, your other hand smearing it from every availabe surface.

You go out, party, dance, but your favorite part of the night was the couple's cooking contest. To participate in your favorite tradition of the night, and to also be with the one you love unlike last year.

Now the cooking was slightly over cooked, but it looked pretty. You didn't win, but you had fun. You did however get voted for best chemistry, earning you a wreath around your neck, wrapped in ornaments, chesnuts and a classic mistletoe.

"You owe me a kiss," Rafe teased, to which you scoffed, nudging his shoulder.

"Under the mistletoe, remember?"

Rafe grumbled beneath his breath, his hand reaching for your arm, "What're you doing?" you asked, feeling him squeeze your elbow.

"Mistletoe, remember?" He carefully picked you up, you squealed your feet leaving the ground.

Still, you attempted to balance yourself against his shoulders, resting your arms, his hand wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, guiding your head down to his.

And you share a gentle kiss, his lips cool against yours, and your tension melts, allowing you to soften in his grasp. He smiles against your lips, letting out a breath of cold air, "ready to take this back to the cabin?" You nodded against him, leaning back in.

[sanguinesorceress]

Eviction Notice

[ Music ]

The docks were shady at the best of times, but at night they seemed to worsen.  Criminals from all walks of life slunk out from the shadows to do their unsavory bidding.  Among the workers and transients was an old battle axe of a woman who was not afraid to hand out a piece of her mind, or the tip of a blade to those who mistook her as an easy target.  A lorry driver by the name of Drusalva Runeveil, though no one knew her real name.  She was referred to only as “Sally.”

The Heiress of a fallen house, Sally was placed in an orphanage where her family’s coffers were exhausted long ago by a ‘bleeding heart’ of a matron.  After years of living in and out of the system and her fortune bled dry, Sally was tossed out on the street and left to fend for herself when she came of age.  The unwed Sin’dorei grew up hard, with no knowledge of her noble lineage, and was forced to work for a living.

For all intents and purposes, she was perfect.

Malakortana watched as Sally angrily stomped around the back of her carriage and hauled a full-grown man out by the collar of his shirt.  “An’ next time don’ forget the tip, ya cheap bastard!”  She hollered.  “Get out… ride’s over!”

He bounced like a rag doll onto the cobblestone, staining his ill-fitting-- most likely borrowed-- suit and had the alcohol to thank for making him limber enough to avoid any serious injuries.  “Oof!!”

The Sorceress grinned and slipped into the other side of the carriage unseen, closing her door at precisely the same time Sally slammed the other.

“Ya gambled it away again, din’t ya?!”  Sally loomed over him with a knife pointed at his throat.  “If ya cheap out on me again, you’ll be needin’ more than just a new suit.  Ya hear me?!”

He was either too drunk to comprehend the danger he was in, or he didn’t care.  The man continued to lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, which was spinning much too fast for his comfort.

“Ya ain’t nothin’ but a loser! A damn useless loser!!!”  She spat on the ground, the gob landing between his legs, before turning on her heel and leaving his fate to the ravenous dockside vermin.  Sally muttered a few choice words under her breath as she stepped up onto the driver’s platform and settled into the bench seat.  A snap of her wrists spurred the team of horses into action, leather reigns stinging their hides with her fury.

“Miserable bitch!”  He shouted as she sped off, his bold retort finding him a bit too late.

Sally retrieved a flask of whiskey from her bosom and promptly took a swig.  The liquor burned, kindling a bad case of reflux, and she harnessed its severity with another angry snap of her reigns.  Fuelled by frustration, her heart hammered in her chest.  The gambler had the audacity to ask her for a ride, knowing he was broke.  This was the last time.  She didn’t work for charity.

If only she understood this was not an emotional response to her confrontation, perhaps she might have taken a different course of action.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and raised the flask to her nose questioningly.  Did that bastard poison her?  The flask slipped from her fingers, and Sally struggled to find the strength needed to tug on the reigns, slowing her horses to a trot.  Her arms ached, and the pain spread from her arms all the way to her neck and jaw.

Unbeknownst to her, this was her unseen passenger’s doing.

An uncomfortable pressure in her chest squeezed her ribs like a corset tied too tight.  A wave of nausea washed over her and her heart felt like an overinflated balloon, ready to burst.  A hand reflexively clutched at her clothing, tugging on the fabric as though it were a noose and she was desperate for a gasp of air.

The Sorceress’ lips curled into a predatory grin as the carriage slowed to a halt.

Sally lay slumped awkwardly to one side, her eyes wide with glazed over panic.  The reigns having fallen from her hands signalled the well-trained horses to stop when there was an absence of pressure.  One whinnied softly, while the other stomped and shook its mane.  They were eager to move on, but knew they were to remain still until their driver returned.

Except their driver would not be returning.

Malakortana exited the carriage, her gloved hands closing the door quietly, before approaching the driver’s box.  Dead as a stone, Sally had suffered a massive life-ending heart attack… with a bit of assistance.

Last time she claimed a body and slipped into their life, unnoticed.  This time she would take an old body and with it, make a new life.

The future ‘Governess,’ Drusalva Runeveil was about to make her big debut.  Using her noble lineage and surname as clout, Malakortana would dress this body up beyond recognition and use it to open an etiquette school to educate Silvermoon’s budding youth on the importance of social prestige and decorum.  It would allow her the freedom to move through plenty of noble houses undetected, weaving a web of chaos in her wake.

No one would miss the miserable old wench anyway... the Sorceress was doing them all a favor by taking her out of the picture.

[ Thank you to everyone who submitted their face claim suggestions. There were some great contenders to choose from. <3 ]

[aerodaltonimperial]

Like on the one hand I want to prompt you for something like hurt/comfort post Full Gear but tbh I don’t know who needs it more— Darby with his physical injuries after TBoning that truck or Jack with alllllll the bullshit in his head after losing his title. They’re both probably a hot mess after that PPV though.

(SO, SAT ON THIS ONE AND LO AND BEHOLD, ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY CAME AROUND TO USE IT oops 💚🖤)

The floor is cold. Every nerve in his body is on fire, screaming. He spits out a gummy mixture of blood and saliva and can't even get it far enough to avoid his coat taking the brunt of it. Darby thinks, once, Ospreay will come for me, and then, when the minutes tick by and it doesn't happen, adjusts. No one is going to come for him; the Death Riders have seen to that. The floor is cold, and he isn't sure he can move, and he closes his eyes.

What a fucking fitting place to die, huh. New York City finally took him the fuck out. It'd be funny if the pain wasn't excruciating. Well, maybe it's funny anyway, in that hazy way the world gets right before everything sort of slips away into nothing.

He's gone for awhile—how long, he doesn't know. Could be a minute, could be an hour. He'd think he was dead except everything hurts too damn much. And then hands come down around his shoulders, and he thinks, they know I'm not dead, and they've come to finish me off.

"Get up." Low, and urgent, and ragged. "Come on. We have to go."

Everything hurts. Darby’s about to puke from the sloshing his brain takes just getting hauled up to his feet. His cheek is wet, because he was lying in his own blood, which explains the smell of pennies. And from inside the Hammerstein, noise: an increase in volume, of shouting, of voices all on top of each other as the world seems to fall spectacularly to pieces.

Darby hit his head. It's gotta be why he's being dragged out of the shadow of the staircase and onto the sidewalk outside—he's hallucinating. He's dying, and his brain is shrieking for oxygen as his blood vessels all shut down, and that's why Jack Perry is shoving him into the back of a NYC cab.

"What are you doing here?" Darby rasps, after Jack slams into the other side of the backseat and barks something at the driver, syllables Darby can't pick up over the music playing.

"Getting you out," Jack mutters. "It's a fucking war zone."

Yeah, and it has been for weeks, and this fucking guy has deliberately tip-toed away from the entire thing. Darby tries to vocalize this, and ends up with nothing but mumbles. He's too woozy. He can't focus on anything. They stop in less time than he would have anticipated, and Jack hands the driver a stack far too thick to be necessary for the trip.

As he's manhandled out of the car, Darby glares blearily up at the neon sign. "The ER?"

"I'm making sure you didn't break your fucking neck," Jack snaps, almost like the fact that he's here, with Darby, looping one arm around to keep Darby upright, is somehow humiliating. He's lashing out just to avoid anyone settling on it.

Darby must look terrible, because two people move out of the way as Jack hauls him up to the counter. "We need help."

The clerk doesn't reply by explaining that everyone here does; she looks from Jack to Darby, and asks, "What happened?"

"My fiance fell down the stairs at our apartment building," Jack says, and Darby’s operating too far behind to react in time to that. "Hit his head on the ground at the bottom. Probably fucked up his spine, I don't know."

The clerk’s eyes take in the blood that's undoubtedly smeared across Darby’s forehead. "Okay. We'll bring a wheelchair around, you just need to get him into it."

Darby only sits because his knees are shaking bad enough to splinter his joints apart. He reaches for Jack’s collar, misses, and then catches the fabric the second time. "What the hell are—"

"Really glad I can go back with you," Jack hisses, with considerable feeling, "given that we aren't married yet."

Right, sure; decent lie without time to come up with without anything better, Darby supposes, as the emergency team wheels him into the emergency room proper. He isn't special enough to get his own room, just an alcove sectioned off with curtains. Busy night, apparently. Maybe the Death Riders made a whole evening of the maiming or something.

Honestly, it's all kind of a blur. Someone in another bed is just yelling profanity, without end, and another person two beds down is crying. The doctors shine lights in Darby’s eyes while his brain spirals like a fucking washing machine on high. He can't make heads or tails of much besides Jack standing on the other side of the cot. At some point, Jack grabbed Darby’s hand tight enough to bruise, and sure, they might as well try to keep this flimsy ass cover story alive.

Finally, the doctor leaves, and Darby snatches his hand back. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Saving your ass," Jack returns in kind. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Why do you care?"

Must be the right question, because Jack's expression pinches. For the first time, he looks unsure. "I don't know."

"We tried to kill each other all summer."

Jack’s face disappears into his palms. "I know."

"You hate me."

"I know."

"So why the fuck would you—" Darby’s question cuts off as the ER nurse sweeps the curtain aside and comes back in. Jack grabs for Darby’s hand again, a second delayed, but the nurse doesn't seem to notice. She starts fiddling with the machines, humming to herself.

"Don't you worry," she says, to Jack, "we'll get your man all patched up."

"No railing on our apartment stairs," Darby says, and isn't even sure why. "The most dangerous thing."

The nurse tsks with her tongue. "Should file a complaint."

"We should," Darby agrees. "But it's rent controlled, so what can you do?"

Jack is staring at him like he's lost his mind, but the nurse is nodding as she wipes at Darby’s face with a towel. "The things we'll do for rent control in this city, huh?"

Darby squeezes Jack’s fingers, mostly to send the message so that Jack shuts up. Eventually, the nurse finishes with her cleaning and heads out, and this time, neither of them lets go.

"Are you stupid?" Jack asks. "Going after Claudio like—"

"Heard that before."

"Well, maybe you should hear it more," Jack snaps. "If you have a death wish, you could at least—"

"At least, what? Oh, are you saying you care?"

Jack goes quiet for a moment. "I don't—"

"Jack," Darby cuts him off. "Why were you there? You've declared yourself obnoxiously neutral."

"I'm..." His voice trails off. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes on Darby’s face. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?"

"I'm not like that," Jack says.

"Not like what, a coward?" Darby snorts. "I remain unconvinced."

Jack stares at him, and the tension in the curtain-separated space goes tight. Finally, and still, neither of them have let go yet, even though Darby’s fingers are starting to cramp, Jack says, "I don't hate you."

"Got a funny way of showing it."

"I know, I'm..." Another pause as Jack shakes his head, seemingly frustrated at himself. "I don't know how to deal with things."

"No shit."

"I don't hate you, Darby," Jack says, quieter. He stares at the cot somewhere beyond Darby’s hip. "I came back for you."

"You threw me in a coffin."

Jack’s eyes, when they meet Darby’s, shine in the harsh ER lighting. "But I still came back for you."

"What do you think you're gonna find here, Jack?"

A pause. "Nothing."

Darby stares at him. His head hurts, and his back hurts, and his neck is gonna ache for weeks, but this? This is both unexpected and not a surprise, and Darby can't explain why. "You're a fucking son a bitch."

"Yeah," Jack agrees, warped.

"You'll be targeted if they know you helped me."

Jack’s throat bobs. "Yeah."

"You," Darby begins, lungs constricting, "better fucking kiss me right now before I punch you in the face."

Jack makes a strangled sort of gasping noise, against his will, apparently, but he doesn't require any further instructions before he leans in and presses their mouths together. And it shouldn't work, of course it shouldn't, but it does. Darby closes his eyes, and everything hurts, and kissing Jack doesn't feel nearly as fucking weird as it ought to.

The nurse comes back in, startling both of them; they break apart, but all she does is laugh, amused. "Oh, you kids. Keep that love close."

Jack ducks his head down, but not quick enough to disguise the pink on his cheeks. Their hands are still clasped together against the thin sheet. Darby tightens his grip on Jack’s fingers. The nurse does another check on Darby’s forehead, applying a few butterfly bandages to where he must have split the skin open, still bleeding.

"He cares about you," the nurse murmurs.

Darby’s eyes slide to the side. "Yeah. He does."

"Darby," Jack tries.

"He'll be in pain for awhile," the nurse says, pushing back from the cot, "but he was lucky. Missed all the important stuff."

"Okay," Jack says, a whisper. "Thank you."

"You take care of him," she says, with finality and a nod in Jack’s direction.

Jack meets Darby’s gaze. His eyes shine. "I will."

[sanjoongie]

Mile High Club

ღPairing: Reader (f) x Jung Wooyoung ღGenre: smut with no plot ღAu: mile high club au, biker au, rich ceo au, established situationship lmao ღWord Count: 1,347 ღWarnings: public sex, exhibitionism, dom! wooyoung, sub! reader ღRated: 18+ MDNI ღSummary: Wooyoung has to leave the city but he's not leaving you behind and he certainly does not fly economic either. ღDedication~ in conjunction with @thelargefrye who is writing mile high club! seonghwa, @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland for beta reading ღA/N: Happy birthday woo bb, my spirit animal, light of my life

Wooyoung's eyes followed you as you sat hesitantly across from him on the private jet the both of you had boarded. Wooyoung had to fly to his offices on the other side of the country and that's why the two of you were here. Wooyoung refused to leave you alone in this city without him and your work was used to Wooyoung yanking you from your life by now. What he did love was pampering you with everything he had to give. And that included a private jet.

"Okay?" Wooyoung raised his eyebrows in question to you. He grabbed a water bottle and opened it. He tipped his head back to give it a swig. The wonderful line of his jaw and adam's apple and neck wasn't something to laugh at. His eyes slid your way and was happy to report that you had crossed your legs anxiously. He knew it had nothing to do with the flying.

"Did we have to come on your bike instead of the car?" You bit at him which he let fly over his head. You often bit at him but he liked it. All Wooyoung wanted in a partner was someone to verbally play with.

Wooyoung laughed silently, his shoulders shaking. "I won't be able to drive in the city, it'll be mostly drivers."

Your hands twisted as well, and when that wasn't enough, you began to dig half-moon's into the palms of your hands. "Pretty, come sit over here," Wooyoung suggested.

You said "ha!" mirthlessly. "I don't think so, Woo."

Wooyoung cocked his head 'innocently'. "What's wrong?" He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, hands covering his mouth. The bill of his cap barely hid his inquisitive eyes. 

"Do not, Wooyoung," You bit even harder.

Wooyoung was happy his hands were over his mouth or you'd see his smirk, and then he was pretty sure that meant not getting what he wanted during this flight. And he really, really, really wanted to get this.

"Come on, sit with me. I'm a spoiled rich guy who still hates flying. Come hold my hand." Wooyoung held out his hand and waved his fingers.

You sighed loudly, well aware that this was a trap, and Wooyoung was luring you in. But if you could have resisted him, you wouldn't have even been on this plane. You lost your ability to say no to Wooyoung a long time ago. 

So you stood up and sat beside Wooyoung. He took your hand, placed it high on his thigh, put his hand over yours and sat there, eyes toward the nose of the plane, waiting eagerly for the staff to tell them to prepare for assent. And the bugger didn't do a damn thing… until the plane was miles high in the air and the staff receded.

Once the staff closed the folding doors, Wooyoung's hands wrapped around your waist and hauled you on top of him, straddling his body on the bench seat you two had been sitting on. "Hi," He said cheekily, like he didn't just put you in a very compromising position.

"Wooyoung!" You hissed, head snapping towards the doors that had just finished shutting.

"No one will hear us," Wooyoung grinned. His tongue was between his teeth and he was doing nothing to hide his grin now either.

"I am not--Wooyoung!" You slapped his chest.

Wooyoung began to chuckle and it went straight to your core. "I'll rip your jeans right now if you keep that up; expose the fact that you have no underwear on and take full advantage of that."

Your nostrils flared at Wooyoung's gall. "You wouldn't give me my underwear and we had to rush out because of your antics, Jung Wooyoung."

"I still have them in my pocket. I like the red." Wooyoung smiled teasingly.

You gripped Wooyoung's face between your thumb and forefingers. It squished his cheek together comedically. "Stop running your mouth." Wooyoung simply puckered his lips and made kissy noises.

You made a noise of disgust and moved to get up but Wooyoung's arms locking behind the small of your back made it a bit impossible to leave. Your thighs lifted your ass up and then you landed back on Wooyoung's thighs, except this time you were higher up Wooyoung's body and your eyes widened. 

"Come on, pretty. Fuck me. Let's join the mile high club."

Like you said, you had lost your ability to say no to Wooyoung a long time ago. 

Your pants had been discarded, Wooyoung's down by his feet, but there was a blanket drawn around your waist to hide your nakedness. Wooyoung's hands were around your waist, sometimes skimming up your ribcage to admire the body in front of him. You already had him fully seated inside of you, something that was never done easily with Wooyoung, who adored suddenly bucking up into you and causing you to gasp. 

"Where the hell did you find condoms that say mile high club?!" You demanded incredulously. 

Wooyoung's head was tipped back on the seat, eyes glimmery under his hat. "I know a guy."

You were about to grumble under your breath that he always said that, when Wooyoung rolled his hips against you, and turned the grumble into a groan. It didn't take long before the two of you were earnestly fucking each other. To Wooyoung's greatest glee, you were unable to keep your noises to a minimum so the staff--maybe all the way to the pilot!--knew you two were fucking on this plane. 

Wooyoung was having a hard time deciding where he wanted his eyes at. Watching his dick drenched in your wetness continuously pound into you was making his hand itch to film but he knew you would shriek at him. You wouldn't put it past him to leak it 'accidentally'. But he also wanted to watch your eyebrows furrow in pleasure and you bite down on your forefinger, your hand raised to your lips in an effort to keep yourself quiet--and failing. Your boobs in the high collar t-shirt were bouncing gloriously in front of him and he just wanted to lean forward and capture your pert nipple in his mouth. 

"Fuck, Wooyoung, shit," You cursed him. Your hand slapped onto the slanted ceiling above you in an effort to brace yourself as Wooyoung waved his body between your thighs. 

Wooyoung's hands moved down to your thighs, squeezing them ardently. "Feels good, pretty, bouncing on my dick this high, huh?"

Your eyes snapped open, part angry, part horny, and Wooyoung couldn't have been more turned on at this moment. "Stop gloating."

A slow, smug smile pulled across his lips as he raised his head. "Why don't you worry about coming first?"

You opened your mouth to scold him again but this time Wooyoung snapped his hips up into you, pushing a fervent noise from your throat. You clapped your free hand over your mouth and Wooyoung knew you had embarrassed yourself. Wooyoung let loose one "I told you so" and then tensed his pelvis and fucked you at just the right angle to have you coming apart above him immediately.

You collapsed against Wooyoung's chest completely and bonelessly, twitching and fluttering around him. Wooyoung had come once your walls started squeezing down on him. He had filled the condom and was regretting keeping this clean. He wanted to lick a creampie out of you suddenly. He knew you would never let him on the plane, but it was nice to think about. 

"Wooyoung," You panted into his neck, giving him goosebumps. 

Wooyoung was running his finger tips up and down your spine, returning the favor of goosebumps. "Pretty?"

"We are--NEVER--doing that--again!" You said into his slightly damp skin. 

Wooyoung's chuckles reverberated in his chest and you felt them through your own body as well. "I can't promise that."

You bit down on Wooyoung's neck, teeth threatening lightly. Except now Wooyoung was groaning. "I give up," You groaned in frustration.

Wooyoung patted your butt lovingly. "At least the staff don't have to clean up after us." Taglist: @hijirikaww @flurrys-creativity @mingsolo @starlitmark @pyeonghongrie @k-pop-ology

[lavendersubs]

she tells me come on, puppy, we’re going on a road trip, and to pack a bag of essentials, maybe a change of clothes, it won’t be terribly long. she hauls her own couple of bags she packed over her shoulder, and heads out to load them up.

we get in the car and i can tell something is off, but i don’t press it and she certainly doesn’t betray anything to me. as we drive she asks me how i’m feeling, about my day, although she draws her words out quite a bit, and is awfully smile-y this afternoon….

our first stop - a nondescript empty parking lot, and she orders me to take my panties off. i’m a bit taken aback at first, but am not one to disobey her, and quickly begin to do so. she thoughtfully considers letting my skirt stay on, for a moment, but ultimately decides i don’t need that, either. she admires my body, her property, and gently draws lines and shapes on my thighs with the tips of her fingers.

we start driving again, and she keeps her hand firmly on my upper thigh the entire way to our next stop - another parking lot, this time near the woods, keeping us in seclusion.

without any hesitation, she pulls up one of her bags from the backseat and brandishes…. restraints. i gasp a little, and she laughs at me, like i’m silly. after all, it’s not safe to drive if you’re not safely strapped in, she insists, with a twinkle in her eye that i can’t resist… and i know that she’s right, because i’m dumber than her, and she binds my elbows and wrists to the car seat’s armrests.

the seatbelt already holds my body down quite well on its own, but she does the same for my torso, tying it to the back of the seat. i attempt a struggle when she asks, and with the exception of kicking my legs uselessly, i am stuck there. when she secures the last restraint, she sits back a bit, taking in the sight of her bondage work, and her good puppy looking back at her with begging eyes, after spending the ride so far teasing me with her fingers tapping tantalizingly on my inner thigh.

and then she finally begins rubbing my pussy, reaching over from the drivers seat to give me soft strokes, and leaning over to place loving kisses to my neck and my cheek as i squirm as much as i can into her fingers, desperate for her touch.

she speeds up, upping the intensity of her kisses on my neck and bringing her other hand to squeeze at my tits through my shirt. when i start to get close, and am moaning uncontrollably, i begin babbling to her. and then, just once, i beg her to cum, and she instantly pulls away from me entirely, a look of faux disapproval on her face when i meet her gaze again.

such a bad dog, asking me for an orgasm, she tuts, pulling something from her bag, and fishing… something else… from the backseat. she demands i open my mouth, which i do, and in go my panties she’d made me remove - and she gently pushes my jaw closed with her hand, smiling condescendingly in my face.

but luckily, mutts don’t really need to speak, do they, she asks me; before continuing on to tell me she would’ve gagged me with her panties instead buuut that would require her to strip out here, and that might be embarrassing! which is suuuch a shame because they’re sooo wet from seeing me like this… so mine will stand in… besides, she doesn’t think i deserve her wetness on my tongue, anyways.

and i see now that the second item is a roll of thick, clear tape… she tears a nice, long strip, flattening it against my closed mouth with her hands, pressing it fully into all of the creases of my lips, caressing my face once she’s satisfied, telling me i’m such a pretty toy for her, giving me scattered kisses on my face.

she returns to touching me, coaxing several more edges out of me with her lovely fingers on my clit, until my thighs are shaking from the pleasure, while i can do nothing but cry through my panty gag and attempt to writhe away.

finally she says we ought to get going, or we’ll be here all night… and we can’t have that.

she pulls one last item from the bag, her eyes on me the entire time - one of my favorite vibrators. and i start to struggle against the restraints, pleading as best as i can with my attempts at words as she places it snugly against my clit and ties it there - so no matter how much i kick it will always stay put…

she switches it on, seemingly the lowest it can go, and i blank out from the lust clouding my vision. she begins to speak to me, though i don’t entirely hear her, and then starts backing out of the lot, continuing our drive as i moan in the passenger seat.

maybe i’ll turn it to high at the stoplights or something, she laughs, or every time i see a buggy, i’ll bump it up juuust a little… i’m sure we’ll see plenty on the way to the hotel, it’s quite a way away…

my ears perk up, despite my state of mind, and she pulls out the map to show me.

see? here we are, right here, and it’s here, in this city… it’s about… she smiles at me, and that twinkle is back… four and a half hours away, give or take, puppy!!

i throw my head back against the headrest and whine in frustration… 💞

[artisticdivasworld]

Mastering Time Management and Route Planning are Key Strategies for New Truckers

Alright, now we are looking at the fourth part in this series–route planning and time management, a real make-or-break skill for new truckers. When you’re on the road, managing time well can mean the difference between a smooth, stress-free haul and one filled with delays, rushed stops, and unnecessary headaches. Think of route planning as more than just plotting a course; it’s like building a…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unwanted 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, insults, body insecurity, perversion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You’re used to being unwanted, but a strange man might just convince you that’s a good thing.

Note: this is a sequel to Unsolicited/Unexpected, but with a different reader. This is Lloyd’s sequel. Peaches is flourishing somewhere else.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The only thing you like about work is that it’s an excuse to get out of the house. You can only go for so many walks or wander around the library for so long before you start to feel weird. The fact that you hate being at home is enough to make your shifts less of a slog, even if they aren’t very exciting. 

As neither your parents or Derrick will let you borrow their cars and the buses don’t run before five, you are left to Uber to the warehouse. It’s more than you’d like to spend and could be used towards saving for your own vehicle, but that’s no their problem. 

You sit silently in the back seat as the driver plays his indie rock music and rolls through the winter morning. You tuck your chin down into your jacket and watch out the window. There’s a glint of headlights off the glass. It’s a bit early to see others on the road but you suppose others have painfully early start times. 

You tip the driver before you get out and thank him softly. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You’re used to it. He must drive so many people that you’re barely a thought in his head. 

As he backs up, another car approaches but drives by. Hm. This far out, you only ever see the other employees around. Oh well. You’re noticing odd things for no real reason. 

You go inside and clock in. Mikey sends you to start unloading as he sits at his command center. He only ever sits their chewing gum and signing papers, then scrolls through the orders that come in. You and Judy are the only women there and the men tend to travel in a pack. Even when you’re cutting bubble wrap with Ryan, you don’t get much conversation in. 

It’s dull work. Like the others, you’ve fallen into the habit of getting through with one earbud in. Music on low as you scan and haul and take your turn on the forklift. The hours unwravel slowly and you only get one break. You’re entitled to two but no one ever takes that many, not unless they want their hours cut. 

Despite the weather, you eat outside. You’re not very hungry, so you just sip from your thermos as you lean again the brick wall and stare out at the other industrial lots. There’s that car again... Or maybe it’s not. 

You continue to sip on your tea and cap it up. As you stand straight to go inside, the car reverses route and drives back around. This time, it turns in between the chain link. There are no new hires, all the seasonal ones are in place but maybe it’s one of suits come to do a surprise inspection. 

The red car veers in crookedly next to one of the many pickup trucks. You slowly head towards the door, feeling around for your lanyard where your ID hangs. Before you can turn to scan it, there’s a whistle in the air. 

“Hey, lollipop, where are you runnin’ away to so fast?” The voice calls out. 

You twitch in surprise. No. It can’t be. You shouldn’t recognise the timbre, you only met the man once, but you haven’t really been able to shake that memory. You turn back to face him as he crosses the lot, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket as he puffs out a thick cloud. 

“Shit, it’s cold as balls,” he says, “speaking of, how about you warm mine up?” 

You grimace and shake your head, “what are you doing here?” 

“I knew you couldn’t forget me,” he snorts. “Come on, baby cake, I’m here to spice up the bland existence you call a life.” 

“How--” 

“Don’t matter how,” he tilts his head, “and let me just tell you, you don’t wanna know the answer. Come on, think about it, I’m showing commitment here.” He smirks, “how many guys can you say put in that much effort?” 

You clasp your thermos tight, “I don’t know you.” 

“Sure ya do, told ya, name’s Lloyd,” he winks, “and you’re...” 

As he says your name, your blood runs cold. It’s possible he heard Derrick say it. Maybe. But that’s a bit too convenient. 

“Go,” you warn. 

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’m being nice so far,” he pleads. “You know, I just wanted to tell ya that the backyward, the keister, the old cushion, is spectacular--” 

“Ew, please, leave me alone.” You spin around and bring your card up to the scanner. It beeps but you’re yanked back by your elbow. Your adrenaline piques and you swing out with your half-empty thermos. It bounces off his shoulder as he lets you go. “Oh!” You recoil in surprise of your own reaction, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just—I don’t want to hurt you. Just please, go away.” 

“Ah, sugar cake, you really think that hurt? Look at me. I’m a strong guy,” He flexes his arms and chest. “Built, huh? You should think this out. I’m a real catch.” 

“I...no thank you.” 

“You’re playing hard to get. I understand. That’s what they say you should do but let me tell ya, baby, no fun in life denying the best parts,” he winks. 

“No!” You squeak and lean over, blindly swipe your card so it beeps once more. You push your elbow down on the handle and nearly fall through the door. Just as swiftly, you shut it and press yourself to the inside. 

There’s a thump from the other side. “Don’t worry, I like it this way.” 

You stand there, heart racing, confusion roiling in your skull. You can just hear his footfalls on the other side. There is no relief in hearing him go because by the sounds of it, he isn’t giving up. You just don’t understand why? Why you? And why is he doing this? 

[revasserium]

*runs in* ISAWYOURAUPOSTNAJSJSJSJJS Omg hiii

I really like your blog! It's like yummy food for my tired brain, so I got really excited to see you're making aus!

Can I ask for roommate au with Jamil? I'm down bad for him;;;

for my 31 days of au challenge @bakedgrape

a story in reverse

jamil; 3,571 words; fluff and slightly suggestive themes though it's never actually nsfw; college roommates!au + implied fwb...; you can read the story top the bottom or bottom to top ;)

day 273.

on the last day of term, you say goodbye for the very first time — and it stings like an unsuspecting papercut found by a thoughtless dollop of hand sanitizer, sharp and bitter with the pang of betrayal.

“ah… i guess this is it, huh?” jamil’s voice is lighter than it usually is, and just as forced.

“you say that like we’re not coming back next year…” you say, though there’s a twist in your stomach that makes your throat seize at the thought, even if it is just a thought.

“s-sorry! i just meant —“ he clears his throat and tries again, “i meant that i’ll see you soon, hm?”

for a second, you don’t know what to say — you can feel a torrent of unsaid words pushing up against the back of your throat like an insistent tide, crashing against the shore of your tongue. but then, jamil is reaching out to tip your chin back, brushing his lips to yours.

“soon. i promise,” he whispers, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them, gray and bright as the breaking dawn.

“yeah — i’ll see you soon, jamil.”

you pull your lips into a smile and watch as he jogs towards the curb, kalim already waiting there for him with their family car (rich boys, ugh), a dark-suited man in shades dipping his head in your general direction before slipping into the driver’s seat. you wave as jamil and kalim both turn towards you, raising their hands.

“see you next year!” jamil calls even as you nod.

“yeah, see you!”

and then they’re pulling away from the curb, leaving you standing there amidst your three rather large, well-scuffed suitcases. you let out a long sigh, plopping down on the largest one, the shell painted red and gold, though the colors barely peak out now from beneath the countless travel stickers to places that you’ve never been to (but jamil had promised he’d take you to all of them, didn’t he?)

well. there’s always next year.

day 212.

“are you gonna dorm again next year?”

“hm? i’m not sure… kalim says that we should just get a place together, so that’s what i might do.”

“oh.”

you pause over your half-eaten tub of haagen-daz, licking your lips of the mint-chocolate flavor. jamil glances over, reaching out to dig his spoon into the melting icecream.

“don’t worry though, wherever you’re staying, i’m sure we’ll be able to find a place nearby,” jamil says, flashing you a smile and a wink even as you duck, your cheeks flooding with color.

“that’s not what i was thinking about!”

“no? hm… i could’ve sworn that’s what you were looking so upset over but… well, if i’m wrong…” you can hear the mock-seriousness in jamil’s voice as he shrugs and heaves a melodramatic sigh.

“you’re the worst…” but you can’t keep from grinning as he cocks a challenging eyebrow in your direction before pouncing on you, pinning you beneath him on the sofa, the springs squeaking beneath you as the nearly drop the nearly empty pint of icecream.

“j-jamil! the ac’s still out —“

“mm… but isn’t that why we got icecream?”

his lips chase fire over the plains of your skin and despite everything, you find yourself shivering.

“y-yeah but —“

but your words die on your lips as he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, tearing a gasp from your throat as your head tips back.

day 196.

he’s always running high after his dance competitions, and this time it’s not different. so when he comes home, his eyes limned in glitter and khol, you’re not surprised to feel yourself being hauled out of your chair and into his lap, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you purse your lips, card your fingers through his hair and hold his face steady with a teasing grin.

“i’m guessing that you guys won?”

“course we did,” he says, his breath still coming in short enough pants, his irises blown nearly black as he leans up to nip at your jawline, “we swept.”

“mm — i mean, you guys are pretty damn good.”

“how would you know? you never come to our competitions, even when i ask.”

you pull back with a dainty smack of your lips, pressing a finger to his frown.

“you guys could try to have competitions that aren’t either overseas or during exam weeks — then i might actually be able to go.”

jamil rolls his eyes, readjusting your in his lap even as he lets his head fall back against the sofa cushions.

“stupid exams…”

“just because some people are geniuses doesn’t mean we all are —“

your breath hitches as he narrows his eyes, a quicksilver glint flashing behind them as he hoists you up into a bridal carry and makes a beeline for the bedroom door.

“but since some other people finished their most stressful exam today… don’t you think they deserve to be… rewarded?”

a delicious shiver races down the length of your spine as you allow yourself to be plopped down on your too-narrow bed. jamil grins like the devil as he tugs off his sweat shirt and you can’t help the way your stomach clenches at the sight of him — so lithe and muscular, his skin smooth and perfectly sun-kissed. you’d never get tired of looking at his body, not in a million years, you think.

“i… i suppose one night off wouldn’t hurt…”

“mm, that’s what i like to hear.”

day 120.

“dance practice again tonight?”

“yeah. every monday, wednesday, and thursday —“

“— and sometimes fridays and sundays —“ you grin as you watch him shove a towel into his sports bag.

“here,” you say, holding out his water bottle, “i — uhm — you said you wanted to try liquid iv’s the other day so i put a packet in for you — i don’t know if you’d like the flavor but…”

jamil blinks as he pauses over his half-tied shoes.

“thanks.” he reaches out to take the bottle from you, giving it an experimental shake, “i — uh — i’m sure it’ll taste just fine. that was… really thoughtful of you.”

you hate the heat creeping up your cheeks as you turn back to your studies.

“it’s nothing. they had them at the farmer’s market i passed by this morning so…”

“uhm… will you be… up… when i get back?”

your head snaps up as you turn to look at him, eyes wide. fire courses through you, followed quickly by the sobering cool of uncertainty but still. you gulp and lick your suddenly very chapped lips.

“i — i don’t know… may… maybe?” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, casting your eyes back at your half-written notes, your mind already spinning over the calculations of how long it’d take for you to finish them properly.

memories from the past few weeks flood through your mind and you can’t help the twisting coil of tension thrumming at the base of your belly.

“well… i’ll text you later when i’m on my way back then,” jamil says, double-knotting his sneakers and flashing a grin your way. he gives you a two-fingered salute before he’s off and out the door, leaving you very nearly squirming in your seat at the mere thought of ‘later’.

day 101.

the third time it happens, neither of you can blame the alcohol. there was no party this time, no crush of ill-dressed bodies, no too-loud music and too-cheap beer. this time, there was just you and him and a shared bowl of under-salted popcorn, the lights off, a rerun of some movie both of you have watched at some indefinite point in time.

you don’t quite remember who made the first move — maybe it was you, when you’d coiled your legs under you, pressing your knee to the outside of his thigh and leaving it there. maybe it was him, when he’d rested his arm along the back of the sofa and let his fingers tangle absently in your hair.

maybe it was the moment of breath between one scene and the next, when the screen had gone miraculously dark and left nothing but the imprint of light behind both your eyes and before either of you could blink it away, your lips had found each other.

there’s nothing to blame this time but yourselves and each other, no questions to ask but the ones you’d already answered — right here, right now, because it feels good, because it feels right.

you fall asleep tangled in each other’s limbs, half beneath the silken covers of jamil’s brand new sheets.

and when you both wake up this time, it’s to the warmth of each other’s arms, the steady of one another’s breaths. jamil doesn’t pull away and you don’t try to think of something casual to say. instead, you both just look at each other and jamil grins.

“so… breakfast?”

you laugh, letting your head thump back onto his uber-plush pillows.

“yeah. that sounds fantastic.”

day 75.

the second time it happens, you blame the alcohol. you blame the crush of ill-dressed bodies, the too-loud music and the too-cheap beer. who’s idea was it to host a house party in your dorm room of all places anyway? and why is jamil’s entire dance crew suddenly here? hooting and hollering and grinning knowingly in your direction, a few of them even tossing you obvious winks.

as if they knew.

do they know?

you curl into yourself, press your body against the cool of the wall and toss back your drink, grimacing at the taste. whatever jamil had put in the punch bowl originally, there’s no question that it’s since been spiked with maybe a dozen different alcohols. and the mixture is fowl as it burns through your chest into your stomach.

the room spins, and eventually, you find yourself being pressed up against the back of your bedroom door, the party still booming along outside.

“f-fuck —” you fist your fingers in jamil’s long hair and tug; he lets out a hiss as his head jerks back, but even in your alcohol-induced haze, you can see the desire burning bright within him.

“sorry — did i —?”

“no — just f-feels good —” you bury your face in his shoulder, your body going soft and languid in his arms even as he slots a leg between your thighs to keep you still against the too-thin door. your hips ruck down against him and he lets out a thick groan at the way you shake against him.

“yeah? g-good… i like that —” he tugs you back with him and the pair of you topple onto your bed, all desperate fingers and dirty hands, sloppy lips, taking what you can, each from the other as if your bodies were endless things. and like this, with his hand pinning your wrists above your head, his gasping breaths bursting by your ear, you think they just might be.

the next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and cold pancakes on the kitchen counter.

day 47.

“why don’t you just talk to her about it?” kalim asks.

jamil frowns, running through his cooldown stretches, his eyes focused on his own form in the mirror even as kalim glances over at him.

“because — what’s there to talk about? i mean — it was just… one of those things.”

kalim shrugs, turning back to the mirror as well.

“if you say so but… it seems like you wanna talk to her about it.”

“it’s fine.”

“till it happens again.”

“it’s not gonna happen again.”

kalim slates him a look; jamil scowls even harder.

“if it does —” kalim’s voice is light as they both pack up their stuff and click off the lights to the dance studio.

“i said its not gonna happen again,” jamil snipes, readjusting his bag on his shoulder and digging out his phone. your message thread is pulled up and he’s halfway through the sentence — on my way back — before he catches himself and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

kalim grins, looking a bit too smug as jamil clears his throat and tries to play it off as if nothing’s happened.

“if it does… you should make her breakfast the morning after.”

“w-why the hell would i do that?”

kalim laughs, “because! then she’ll know that you might want to spend more time with her — time when you’re not —”

“okay! okay — ugh… but like… what do i even make her for breakfast anyway?”

kalim looks much, much too pleased with himself as he peers into jamil’s face.

“how about pancakes?”

day 31.

the first time it happens, it’s barely more than a month into your co-habitation. it’d been a not-quite-accident kind of accident. it’d been one of those rare nights when jamil doesn’t have dance practice and you’d finished all your work early.

“wanna play a game?”

jamil’s smile had been viper-sweet and just as dangerous.

“only if drinks are involved.”

you roll your eyes but agree.

“never have i ever.”

jamil shrugs, “sure. we drink if we’ve done the thing, right?”

you nod, pouring a row of malibu shots. jamil grimaces.

“why malibu?”

“cause — it’s sweet and it’s cheap and it’s the only thing we had in the cabinet.”

“fair. alright — you go first.” jamil pulls a glass towards him, his eyes fixed on you. he watches as you swirl your own shot glass with a contemplative look on your face, and he wonders if you know how terribly tantalizing you look.

so… he might’ve caught himself staring a few times right after you’d gotten out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel, your hair tracing water down the bare skin of your shoulders and back. and he might’ve lingered over your uncapped bottle of perfume, swallowing hard as he catches a whiff of the vaguely floral fragrance, the base warm and woody and dizzying.

“never have i ever… gone to three different countries in one month.” your smile, when he finally fixes his gaze on you again, is nothing short of wicked.

he narrows his eyes as he takes his shot, “that’s not fair — you know i have to travel for my dance crew’s international competitions.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, and i’ve never been to half the places you’ve been so…”

“i’ll take you with me one day,” he says, the words out of his mouth before he can stop himself. you cock your head as you stare at him, and then you raise your already refilled shot glass.

“i’ll hold you to it then.”

jamil refills his own glass and downs the shot.

“never have i ever… been walked in on after taking a shower.”

“hey! and who’s fault is that?”

jamil smirks, shrugging nonchalantly as you take your shot, quick and vindictive.

“fine — never have i ever walked in on someone after they’d just taken a shower.”

jamil takes his own shot in stride, swallowing down the burn with a wide, satisfied smile.

so it goes on like this, the never-have-i-evers getting more and more ludicrous till you’re both drunk and laughing and more than a little hot beneath the collar.

“never… have i ever… hm…” you muses, your head lolling back as you cast your eyes up at the ceiling, as if an interesting thing not to have done might be written there.

“what’s something… super cliché?” jamil wonders aloud, letting his gaze flicker up as well.

you pause for a moment before dissolving into a pile of red-faced giggles.

“oh! never have i ever hooked up with a roommate! there — that’s a good one.” you smile wide and sure, looking proud of your own accomplishment in thinking up this thing that you’re certain he’s done.

jamil licks his lips and swallows, his eyes meeting your as he lets out a breath.

“i haven’t either.”

the air between the pair of you thickens as your eyes flash down towards your empty shot glass.

“oh.”

“but i guess it is kinda cliché, huh…” he says, setting down his glass and dragging a thumb along his bottom lip before popping into his mouth.

he hears rather than sees the way your breath hitches and he can’t help the pleased purr rumbling through him at the thought of being able to do this to you.

“y-yeah… i guess it is…” you lick your own lips, “makes you feel a little left out, doesn’t it?”

jamil hums in response, and it isn’t till you look up again that you realize he’s leaned over the graveyard of now-emptied shot glasses, his lips hovering inches from your own.

“but how about we change that, hm?”

day 15.

it only takes two weeks for one of you to walk in on the other in the bathroom, and all things considered, it was kind of a miracle that it hadn’t happened sooner. the bathroom door doesn’t really lock and jamil had been too preoccupied with scrolling through the music for their next showcase to see the tell-tale strip of light beneath the door that usually indicates that the bathroom is currently occupied.

when he pushes through, it’s to find you stepping out of the shower, the steam still rising from your skin in thick, white wisps, your hand reaching for the towel on the rack.

“wh —”

jamil stares, drop-jawed and dumbstruck as his eyes rake over your very, very naked body, the music still thumping from his large headphones as he blinks.

you scream.

he slams the door shut.

15 minutes later when you leave the bathroom, your cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, your hair still damp, but your body now covered in a long t-shirt and sweats, neither of you says a thing.

day 3.

three days in and you have to admit that it’s kind of nice, having a super rich trust fund boy as your roommate. if nothing else, all the furniture he’s brought along is gorgeous — from the thick persian rugs to the tasteful suede sofa, you very quickly find yourself living in a dorm that looks like it might have belonged in the pages of a crate & barrel magazine spread.

“but apparently, his cousin’s family is even better off —” one of your friends had informed you after you’d looked up jamil’s family online, very quickly finding the wiki page that links him to the al-asim family.

“oh yeah? what do they even do?” you squint at the wikipedia page detailing the al-asim family legacy.

“i think something to do with… water filtration?” your friend peers over your shoulder as you scroll through the page before clicking back to google. she tugs your phone out of your hand and quickly types something into the search bar before making a gagging noise and turning the phone results back towards you.

“holy shit.”

“holy is right,” your friend had said.

“with a net worth like that… what the hell are they doing in school?” you ask, your eyes wide as you look back up.

your friend shrugs, a wicked grin twisting her lips as she leans over the library table and whispers in your ear —

“but y’know if you can bag jamil you’ll be set for life!”

you flush and shove her away, “shut up! we’re just roommates!”

your friend tuts, “plenty of people end up hooking up with their roommates — it’s a literal cliché at this point.”

you roll your eyes, “well not for us, it won’t — and e-even if we do… there’s a long way between ‘hooking up’ and bagging someone for life.”

your friend giggles, batting her lashes floridly at you, “never say never!”

day 1.

“o-oh! hi — sorry, you must be…”

jamil frowns, turning around at the sound of your voice.

“jamil viper…” he says as his eyes land on you for the very first time, taking in the three large suitcases gathered around your legs, and the light blush dusting your cheeks from what he assumes is the exertion of having wrangled them down the too-long hallway.

“yes — right…” you purse your lips, tucking a strand of hair behind your ears.

“and you must be my new roommate, right?” jamil says, recovering from his momentary shock to offer you his hand.

pretty, is his first thought, smells like flowers, is his second.

you beam up at him, nodding.

“it’s lovely to finally meet you!”

[tooti-fruiti]

WATCHFUL EYE [CHAPTER SEVEN]

Before the battle

You were sleeping in your bed, until you were scared awake when Soldier blew an airhorn in your face.

You screamed and covered your ears with your pillows.

"Wake up maggot!" Soldier yelled. "It's your first mission!"

Soldier marched out of your room and you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

You changed into your uniform and walked downstairs.

"Good morning, Miss Driver." Engineer said.

"For your first mission, we'll be on the offense. So that means we'll drive to the battle."

"Are all my weapons in the van?" You asked.

Engineer nodded and you saw a little duffle bag.

Inside was a pistol and an pump.

"You know how to drive don't you?" Demoman asked.

"Of course I do." You smiled and rolled your eyes.

The men crowded into the back of the van and Sniper decided to sit with you up front.

He sighed as he sat in the passenger seat. "It feels weird not driving to the arena. But hey, I don't mind being chauffeured around."

You smirked at his comment. "Okay, so tell me where to go."

Sniper pointed to a curtain. "Drive through the curtain."

"Okay?"

You drove through the curtain and stopped right in front of the road.

"Turn right."

You nodded and turned onto the empty road.

"You are going to turn left about a mile or two ahead, I will let you know when."

"Alright." You said as Sniper kicked up his feet and relaxed.

"So how long do battles normally take?"

"Usually an hour, if we don't fuck up in any way."

"And if we do?"

"Usually takes fifteen minutes longer than it should each time."

"Does it usually take the same amount of time for both defense and offense?"

"Mhmm."

"So basically, what we do is kill all the enemies and steal a blue briefcase?"

"Yup."

"Do you know where the briefcase is?"

"Nah, I usually just stay up somewhere high and kill off people. Turn left up here."

You nodded and took a deep breath.

"Nervous?" He asked.

You nodded as you turned the car.

Sniper chuckled then told you to park the car outside of their base and turned to you.

"Can you aim?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Can you aim precisely and accurately?"

"...yes?"

"Then you'll be fine." Sniper said before giving you a pat on the back.

The others started hauling out of the back and pulled out their guns, yelling and screaming as they shot at random things.

Sniper chuckled at their antics before getting out of the van himself.

Then he turned to you. "Just kill as many blokes as you can, alright?"

You nodded as he grabbed his rifle.

"Good luck to ya, Driver."

You smiled and nodded. "Good luck to you too, Sniper."

He gave you a tip of his hat before sneaking away.

[Hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more and have a good day]

<-Chapter Six

Chapter Eight->

[godlizzza]

If you’re still taking fanfic prompts, I’d love to read more about Dan and Herb training or teaching Piper about their work, I’m curious as to how that could have gone down over the years, no pressure though! Your work is really good! 😁

"Where are you?" Dan hissed into the phone.

On the other end of the line he could hear the blaring horns and revving engines of traffic. Herbert's voice crackled in his ear.

"Calm down. I'm on my way home now. Try not to let your blood pressure spike in the meantime."

Dan huffed in irritation. He ran his free hand through his hair before leaning heavily against the wall, the landline squished against his ear.

"Well, can you hurry up?" he urged.

"I'm going as fast as the road laws of this country allow me, Dan. Look, it's not my fault that meeting at the school went overtime. If that idiot art teacher would've stopped arguing with me sooner than none of this would be happening," Herbert said, his voice quickly following by the passing blare of another car horn.

When Herbert had informed him he'd be attending the elementary school's open meeting to discuss the budget, Dan had argued that really wasn't necessary but Herbert had been adamant.

"Have you seen the lab at that school? Even a roaming drug cartel would turn their noses up at it," Herbert had said, pulling on his coat in the foyer. "I won't have our apprentice learning science in such conditions."

Then he'd been out the door before Dan could get out another word.

"Piper's already here," Dan hissed, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder at said apprentice, who was spinning around on one of their bar stools. "What am I supposed to do?"

"She's eight, Dan," Herbert drawled. "I'm sure you can handle it. I have to go now. You're distracting the driver."

"Herbert-"

But Herbert had already hung up. Dan let out a long, aggravated sigh as he hung the phone back up on the wall. He was granted only a moment to compose himself before Piper chirped up from her seat.

"Where's Dr. West?"

Dan turned to find Piper staring up at him with her impossibly big blue eyes. He shuddered. It was like being stared at by an owl.

"He's running a little late but he'll be home soon," Dan replied.

"Okay," Piper said, jumping to the floor. Her pink sneakers were caked with dry mud and Dan cringed as they squeaked against his clean floorboards. "Can we start now?"

Dan began, "I don't think-"

But Piper took off before he could finish the sentence. She raced down the hall and Dan hurried to try and catch her. She unlocked the basement door and was flying down the steps in seconds.

"Wait!" Dan called after her, hopping into his work boots and nearly falling over in the process. "Piper."

"I'm not doing anything," Piper called back sweetly. "I'm just looking."

"Well, stop," Dan ordered, finally pulling his left boot on and straightening up. "You know you're supposed to wait for us to open the lab before you can come in."

He stomped down the stairs to find Piper balancing on a chair, stooped over the head of their latest cadaver. She had her hands braced on the operating table, bent so low her nose nearly brushed that of the corpse. Dan's heart seized in his chest as visions of Piper losing her balance and tipping forward, straight into the open chest cavity assaulted his brain. He rushed down the last few steps to grab Piper's arm and yank her back.

"Stop it," he snapped, hauling her back to the ground.

"I'm just looking," Piper said again, a whine creeping into her voice. She stared daggers at Dan's hand locked around her upper arm until he let go.

"Stop just looking then," Dan told her but she was already scurrying off, poking her nose into the latest barrel of reagent.

Dan's temples throbbed as he tried to corral her, but Piper didn't pay him any head, no matter how many times he told her to stay still. Herbert never had this problem with her. She hung off his every word and would never dream of directly disobeying him. It seemed she reserved this defiant streak only for him.

"Piper," Dan warned as she picked up a pair of forceps from the tool tray, "if you don't put that down right now, you'll be banned from the lab for a week."

Piper narrowed her eyes at him, clutching the forceps like a dragon guarding its treasure. "You can't do that."

"Oh, really?" Dan shot back, his tone seeped in faux cheer. "Well, why don't I call Dr. West right now and see what he thinks?"

Piper went still, her eyes growing wide and fearful in an instant. "No, no- Don't!"

Dan reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cellphone, flipping it open. "No, no, I think I will. If you're going to break all of our rules I think he should know about it."

He began punching in keys and Piper dropped the forceps with a clatter. She flew across the room and clutched at his shirt, tugging desperately.

"No, please!" she begged. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please don't call him!"

Dan looked down at her beseeching gaze. When he didn't say anything, she threw her arms around his legs and buried her face in his side.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cain," she sniffled. "You know you're my second favourite doctor."

"Gee, thanks so much," he deadpanned, but put his phone away anyway. He gave Piper a swift pat on the head.

He'd seen Piper hug Herbert on multiple occasions, and while Herbert always looked a little disgruntled, he never pushed her away. Sometimes he even hugged her back. When Herbert had suggested- well, more like informed- Dan that Piper be their apprentice, Dan had thought he'd just been excited at the thought of having a willing ear to impart his theories onto. He hadn't anticipated seeing an odd paternal side of Herbert emerge.

He wasn't sure he liked it.

Actually, he definitely didn't like it.

When Dan was younger, in the days before he knew Herbert, he'd always thought kids would be a part of his future. But after Herbert and the reagent had been introduced into his life- after they'd stumbled into love- thoughts of a quiet life with a wife and kids had quickly been erased. It had always plagued him though. What would having a child be like? Was he missing out on something amazing?

Piper's entrance into his life wiped away any lingering doubts he had. Dan thought he much preferred it when it was just him and Herbert.

Herbert came home about fifteen minutes later. He descended the stairs to find Dan standing watch over Piper while she dutifully wrote out the lab rules.

"Hello?" Herbert said with some confusion.

Piper perked up at the sound of his voice. She let her book and pencil fall to the floor as she raced across the lab to throw her arms around him.

"Hi, Dr. West!" she greeted cheerily. She was almost glowing with happiness at the sight of him and Dan thawed slightly to her.

Herbert grunted but placed his hand softly on the back of Piper's head. He looked over her at Dan and raised an eyebrow. Dan just shrugged in answer. While he didn't think he'd ever have that same warmth with Piper that flowed between her and Herbert, he thought he could learn to live with her presence.

After all, they shared one thing in common: a love and devotion to Herbert West.

[clatterbane]

The wheelchair setup on city buses that I've been on here so far, btw. Thought to get a few photos on the way home.

Also featuring an incidental Mr. C, who grabbed one of the jump seats on the other side, to take a load off his own bad knee. That bus was also really not very busy at 3 p.m. on a Monday.

I can't say that I much like the manual deploy ramp setup, though these buses do at least kneel and I don't really need the ramp to get on and off as long as someone else is along and doesn't mind giving the occasional boost/making sure I don't tip over backwards on the way out. (Not that I wouldn't risk it on my own, tbf--being the person I am--but backup is unfortunately handy on occasion.)

It would suck a lot worse if you were in a power chair or otherwise just really couldn't navigate that for whatever reason. Getting on and off a bus (or train) really should not be made into such a production, with the driver needing to deploy the ramp as required. If you don't want people who need that using your public transportation, sure.

OTOH, they are definitely getting it right in terms of available parking spots. Very much unlike the double decker London bus layouts, where they do at least have a passenger operated push-button ramp, but there is a grand total of one (1) shared wheelchair and buggy space. And the driver is liable to just not stop or let you on if it's already taken up by a stroller. (Not to mention the folks who will try to wedge one in up against your knees, then act shocked and put out when they need to move so you can get back out of there. No, I am not a piece of freaking furniture, and if I could fly I would probably leave the damned chair at home.)

Anyway, I like rarely having to worry if there is a single space I can use available on a bus rated for hauling like 200+ people around at a time. That's fucking absurd, other logistical considerations aside. Take out a few of those downstairs seats if you have to.

Being a little more serious, I really don't like those folding out bars. Otherwise I would be parking up against the padded backrests. As it is, I usually just turn things around and take up a designated stroller space!

(Again, I am an otherwise fairly fit manual chair user. That may not be as feasible a an approach to take in other circumstances.)

Anyway, that's the situation on the green buses here in Malmö. I have yet to get on any of the longer-distance route yellow Skånetrafiken ones to see.

Toot toot, motherfuckers!