#take that filthy orange jersey off

[captainlondonman]

old favourite

HI VIS

Portacabin Workie

The guys had all packed up for the weekend but a dirty van was still parked out the portacabin. No sign of life but then I was suddenly aware of a guy looking out one of the windows in my direction. I’d been sitting quietly reading the paper , well I say that but I was more interested in looking at the hiviz workies that might be around and who had been working on digging various holes in the road. So I pretended to look at the paper but aware I was being watched. Which workie was it? There was one I really got hard watching. A bruiser of a guy, always dirty, smoking and swearing loudly. He was a good 6’2” burly thick neck always in Hiviz jacket and usually jogging bottoms so when he bent down I could see a well formed black hairy arse and at the front it almost looked like he wore a cock ring as his cock stuck out making a horny outline when seen side on. He was always unshaven with close cropped black hair. He was not at all my type as usually it was fit , healthy well dressed guys but there was something about him that every time I could feel my cock hardening.

The portacabin door opened and shit it was him and he had been looking at me. However he showed no interest , shut the door got into his van and drove off. That’s a shame. So as I was about to get up I saw the door swing open. He had not locked up. It didn’t take much for me to walk over to shut it as no one would be around for the weekend so it might as well look safe.

I put my hand on the door to close and even though no one was around I could smell the stale odour to sweat and piss. He must have just pissed before leaving as in some ways it felt fresh. I’d never been in a workie cabin before and thought what the hell, this is a one off chance to check out. Besides my cock was already stiff as a brick.

I got in and closed the door behind me.. What a bloody mess, there were clothes, hi viz trousers, jackets, helmets, gloves strewn everywhere. The floor hadn’t been cleaned in ages and it was thick with mud and tar. Unwashed cups lay on the table and a big bowl of butt ends.

However next to the door there were clothes neatly hung on a peg with boots on the floor under. There were a pair of ripped camoflague army type trousers, dirty with tar patches and well worn, in fact they looked as if never washed, a ripped blue sweat top, an army jersey where the person had smeared their hands across and holes all over it. At the back was a filthy orange Hi viz jacket covered in grime and tar marks. On the floor a well used pair of rigger boots with the steel caps showing and a pair of crusty grey socks that were once white. Next to the boots on the bench a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of beer.

I could smell the person who had worn these, the sweat, the cigarette smoke, the dirt and without thinking I started to examine the clothes rubbing my hands over them all. What made me do it I don’t know but I lifted the trousers off the peg and started smelling the crotch. Christ it smelt of piss. Obviously the guy was commando and I could see the piss marks where at times he had not shaken his dick. But there was another smell and I could see dried cum marks. Christ he was dirty bugger, obviously wanking on the job and allowing the final drips to stain the jeans. Without thinking I put my nose to the crotch for a quick sniff but as soon as I did a wave a being dirty took over and I rammed my face deep into the crotch breathing deeply and with every breath my cock got bigger and bigger. Thank God no one was around and the more I ran the crotch over my face so my hand started wanking slowly as I was  wanting to cum but at least not yet. I could smell the piss and cum on my face and loved it. There was only one way now and that was to put the clothes on. I quickly stripped everything off and stood there pure and naked with a throbbing cock. There would be time for that wank and when I came I know I would shoot everywhere but most of all I wanted to come inside his camoflague gear and leave my own  dried cum for him when he came in on Monday.

I sat on the  bench and pulled on the crusty socks. God they were yellow underneath and I could smell the cheese. They looked a bit big but I saw my feet fitted perfectly. Next the sweatshirt. I smelt the armpits and could sense the sweat. Did this guy ever wash. But I wanted his smell over my body. Next the camouflage. Like him I was going to be commando and when I pulled them up my cock stuck out like a tent. I could see some precum staining through. They fitted perfectly. As did the boots though they looked 2 sizes bigger than I would take. Then the army jersey and I smeared my hand across it as I pulled it down. God my hands suddenly looked dirty and I even had dirt in my fingernails. They looked bigger and real workie type stubby hands. Finally the HI VIZ jacket dirty smelly, tar marked which I zipped up. That was me in the gear. Christ this was great, beyond expectations. On the bench were a pair of gloves. That would just finish everything and I wanted to wank wearing the gloves and cum in the gear. What happened to the clean cut guy? This was not me. Was it the smell,?  thinking of Bruiser?,  christ what?  but I felt dirty and loved it. I picked up the packet of cigarettes and took one out. What for I didn’t smoke and hated it but now I wanted nothing more than to have a fag and a good deep puff. As I took it out I held it between thumb and second finger. Christ that was so workie but it was instinctive and I wanted a fag and now. But before lighting up I needed to wipe my nose and just drew my sleeve across my face and then brought up a good gob of spit and spat onto the floor. I would never do this but now it was me what I wanted. I felt dirty and a workie.

My cock was now rigid and I started massaging my balls with the gloves on while puffing on the fag with the other hand. I had to see what I looked like. There had to be a mirror some place. Next to the bog (bog? Surely WC) was a grimy spattered full length mirror. I walked over fag in one hand the other gloved hand still massaging my cock and balls. I stood in front of the mirror.

Fucking Hell, who the fuck is this. Shit man what the fuck is going on. This wasn’t even my voice, the words that spilled from my mouth were deep sounding Brummie accent. Jeesus what the fuck.

Standing there staring at me was a forty year old well built, a good beer belly lying over the waisband, in full gear, the cock sticking out, and what a size, fag in hand, shaved head and a good few days growth on his face. My hands were big thick and covered in black hair, with bitten dirty nails. I looked like a footie hooligan with thick neck, squashed nose. Where was the twenty year old fresh faced guy that’s me? I put my hand up to my face and wiped across and sure enough there was the same growth and as I wiped so the dirty gloves left a mark as if I’d been putting in a full day on the roads.

Shit what the fuck has happened, yer a fucking workie. Shite I need a good puff. It was me speaking these words but not my voice.

Yet as I stared at myself and puffed the fag so my cock stood rigid and a leer came over my face. Fucking hell man you look a proper workie, its what you wanted, a right dirty smelling bugger. Christ man have that wank you deserve it.

As I started to massage the length of my cock through the material I heard a van draw up outside and then the van door closed. Fuck what’s going to happen now?

The door was flung open and in walked Bruiser.

I knew it’d be you he says smiling from one side of his face to another

Do you think I fuck off and leave the door open. Who do you think left these clothes you’re now in hanging just by the door. I knew you couldn’t fucking well resist. I just left you, went for a coffee and came back knowing full well I’d have a grimy mate like you standing here. Much fucking better than that cleancut college kid. Don’t look so fucking startled. Its what you wanted. A right dirty Brummie workie. It’s got you going man. A right fucking knob on there Shit you certainly got a big un. Much bigger than your college knob. Pass us a fag before you finish the lot off the way you’re going. Aint you going to say something.

I a’int the only one with a big dick mate. Shit that’s making one fucking large pole in your joggers. Christ this was me saying that and to Bruiser.

Too fucking right. I’ve had a hard on the whole way back hoping you’d be here looking just like this and you’re fucking better than I expected. I wanted a real workie and I certainly have one, he said dragging on his fag.

Then I ‘d better get to work on that cock of yours so come on, flip it out and let me see what you’re made off.

With one hand smoking his ciggie with the other he eased down the elastic of his joggers and flipped out his huge tool, a good 9inches.

Ain’t washed for a few days so you can get this stinking piece of meat down yer throat. We workies know how to give a bloody good blow job don’t we.

Too fucking right. I hope yer right and yer cocks stinks as I want the full taste of yer manhood.

I stubbed my fag out and was down on my knees smelling his cock. Christ he was right I could smell the piss and cum but its what I wanted and all the way down my throat. I wanted to savour his stinking dick so licked carefully around the head taking in the left over piss and taking the full thick shaft in my hands.

Get my prick down that throat of yours. I’m fucking horny as I have been waiting to see you and was wanking all the way here so I’m ready to put a load of cum all down that throat of yours.

Shit, Bruiser I said that’s one big dick to take but don’t worry I want the whole fucking load you can give me.

At that he grabbed me round the head and start pulling me in.

Breathe properly man and get it down you. That’s it. Slowly I felt his sweaty dick move down the back of my throat. He must have pissed just before he came as I had that tang in my mouth and loved it.

That’s it man swallow my whole big prick. I only want workies on my cock and you’re the best I’ve made. Fucking dirty whore man. Go on suck it let me feel those lips of you right round the shaft. He pulled me in and set me out time after time swearing

Yeah fuck it man, take it all, fucking dirty workie take all my cum.

I had hold of his legs and pushed and pulled them as he stood stock still

Suddenly he stopped shoving my head right up to his balls.

Jesus I coming I hope you fucking gag on all that’s coming to you.

 I could feel his body tightening and then without any warning he screamed fucking hell and shot a fountain of cum down my throat. I wanted every drop of it and swallowed and swallowed but there was so much it was also spiliing out of my mouth and down my chin.

You know how to suck a man. Shit that was fucking great. Now take the last drop.

As I leant back I took my hiviz arm and wiped the cum off my mouth on chin leaving a big white smear across the jacket.

I ain’t rubbing that off mate so everyone can see I’ ve given you the best blowjob ever.

Too fucking right.

I stood up and as he flipped his cock back into his joggers he looked at my dick.

Now you need a bit of satisfying.

You know what Bruiser there’s only one way that’s going to be achieved I said rubbing my cock and unbuttoning the flies

And what’s that he said

I’m going to fuck you rigid I said as I pulled my prick out. Christ it was big and the foreskin slid back revealing a monster head

You wanted a workie, well you got one and this workie wants a fuck. Lets see that hairy ass of yours.

I’d never fucked a guy in my life having always been the sub but now with the Brummie voice, looking like a footie bloke I wanted my cock up his arse.

Before he had time to reply I turned him round and pulled down the joggers round his knees.

Just what I thought a nice hairy ass and I love hairy ass for a good fuck. So bend over and spread those hairy beefy legs.

Take it easy mate that’s one big prick you have there but I want it deep inside. I knew you were the fucking type as soon as I walked in.

I put my hand between his crack and massaged the hairy bum finding the hole. I shoved in one finger and then two and Bruiser started to moan. Hope there’s a lot more than that coming.

Christ man once this dick of mine is up you you’ll know.

I gobbed up a good bit of spit and smeared it over my cock.

Putting my beefy hands in the gloves around him I started sliding it in. After the first wince it started sliding more easily.

I aint the first to have fucked you mate

Maybe not but youre the biggest. Christ its fucking great. Get it all the way

If that’s what you want I said as I rammed my dick the whole way up  and felt my balls swing against his arse. I felt the hair against me as he let out a long moan.

He was bent over the table sticking his arse out so he could feel the full thrust and my hands were round his waist. Christ he was hairy all over as my hands went round the front grabbing his belly.

You want a good fuck so I giving it. I started to pump slowing so I could savour every slow move and felt his muscles grab my cock inside him. The more he used his muscles the more I wanted to speed up the fuck.

Go on mate gie it to me fuckjng me hard as you want.

I was ramming my prick up and down and the quicker I rammed the nearer I was to spurting a great load.

Christ I’m ready. I could feel the cum leaving my balls and ready to explode. Shit I comin as I qickly took my cock out and let rip with a fountain of spunk all the way up his HiViz jacket.

Fuck man that arse has given me the best fuck ever I shouted in my Brummie voice.

Bruiser pulled up  his joggers and sat back on the bench. I wiped my cock with the gloves and smeared it over my jacket so the cum makes would harden nicely. I put my dick back in the camos and could see some staining coming thro from the left overs.

I never thought you’d be as good as that, he said. All my dreams come true when I set those clothes out for you. Give us a fag.

I lit up 2 fags and handed one to him. Both of us taking long draws.

Now then Mate he said, you have to decide as I’m about to lock up. Your old clothes are over there and then you can go back to reading your paper and being the little perv or we can turf them out in the nearest bin and you come back with me as a Brummie Workie.

I took another long draw, wiped my hand across my mouth and spat onto my jacket

Doesn’t seem as there much of a fucking decision to make, Bruiser. I’m a fucking butch workie who knows how to give a good fuck and can be as dirty as I fucking want. Bin those clothes, I’m.staying as I am This is the bloody life , a dirty workie, with some fags, booze, mucky work on the roads and best yet a good load of fucking with the lads.

When we get back to your place make sure  that cock of yours I had a taste off gets rammed up my arse.

I put my gloved hand down and gave my balls and cock a good rub. Better get going Bruiser I’m as horny as fuck.

[writingsbyren]

God Blessed Texas | J.S.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader

Warning(s): 18+ due to explicit unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, light choking, exhibitionism, established relationship - Minors, do NOT interact

Summary: Jake and reader have always had a healthy, active sex life during the course of their relationship. But when she gets turned on, she can’t stop herself from getting her hands on him, despite his entire squad in attendance.

A/N: Feels so good to be back! Finally managed to break out of my writer’s block by putting this little piece together after falling head over heels for Hangman. Let’s just hope y’all can see it and I don’t get shadowbanned.

Between the television on full blast and the group of aviators in her living room, the unmistakable sound of college football filled the entire house. It seemed as though the majority of the Dagger squad surrounded the TV, eyes glued to the screen as they watched her boyfriend’s beloved Texas Longhorns play. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, it was impossible for her to take her eyes off of him. Even in that gawdy rust orange that she secretly had grown to love (though she would never admit it), he did things to her that she couldn’t explain. Little things caught her attention and drove her wild, like the way he nervously licked his lips while his team played defense or his boisterous voice when they secured the first down. When he threw his hands up, celebrating the first Longhorns touchdown of the game, she mustered up every ounce of self control to keep herself from lunging forward at the mere sight of his exposed stomach. Even if it was the smallest glimpse for a nanosecond. She was parched, absolutely thirsty for the man.

The worst part was, he damn well knew it.

In an effort to distract herself, she disappeared into the kitchen to prepare more food, despite the the finger foods that already covered every square inch of their dining room table. Absentmindedly, she opened a bag of chips and poured them into a serving bowl before she made her way into the living room without a word. She placed the bowl in the center of the coffee table, which seemed to distract the rest of the squad, who immediately went for it as she walked around to the back of the couch. Bending down, she ran her fingers through the sandy blonde hair at the nape of his neck before her lips pressed against the shell of Jake’s ear. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, she whispered, “I know you’re busy right now but whenever you get a sec, I’d love to have your cock down my throat.” With a sweet peck to his cheek, she disappeared, heading in the direction of their shared bedroom with a bright smile and rose tinted cheeks. That was a first for her. Usually, he was the one with the filthy mouth, whispering naughty things to rile her up or to help push her over the edge. Part of her wished she could be in the other room, so she could witness the expression on his handsome face firsthand.

As she perched herself on the edge of the mattress, Jake slipped through the door, wearing a proud smile. “You dirty little thing,” he drawled, locking the door behind him. Strolling over to her, green eyes raked over her body. From head to toe, he drank her in. She smiled triumphantly, gaze locked with his as he slotted himself between her legs. They shared a heated look for a short moment before his mouth found hers. He cupped her face in his palms, wasting no time, slipping his tongue into her awaiting mouth, eliciting a soft moan from her throat. She slipped her hands underneath his jersey, fingertips tracing the ridges of his abdomen. He broke their kiss, pulling back enough to look into her eyes with a devilish grin. “I believe there was something you wanted,” he teased, tracing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she nodded, licking her lips. Her hands fell to his belt, where she quickly went to work undoing the buckle. Turning her head, her lips parted briefly before wrapping around his thumb, gently sucking it into her mouth as she worked on the zipper of his jeans. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with arousal. She released his thumb with a smile, tugging at the edge of his shirt. “I need to see you,” she whispered breathlessly. He wasted no time giving her what she wanted, reaching over his head and fisting a hand in the material before pulling it off his body completely. He didn’t have time to toss the fabric to the floor before her mouth was on him. She trailed wet, open mouth kisses down his chest until she pushed him back, just enough to allow her room to drop to her knees in front of him. With her eyes locked with his, she tugged down his jeans until they were pooled around his ankles. “Shit, baby,” he hissed when she mouthed his painfully hard cock through his boxer-briefs. Thankfully, she pulled the thin fabric down, allowing it to join his jeans as his erection sprung free.

Grabbing him by the base, she looked up at him through hooded eyes, her tongue connecting with his red, swollen tip. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, making her smile. The only thing that turned her on more than her boyfriend’s painfully good looks or his unbelievable body? The sounds he made during sex. As soon as she wrapped her lips around him, Jake’s hands tangled in her hair at the crown of her head. His jaw went slack, watching as he guided her to take the rest of him into her mouth. Although she gagged when he first touched the back of her throat, she closed her eyes and relaxed, taking a quick breath through her nostrils before going to work. “Baby, you look so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he drawled, fighting the urge to rock his hips and fuck her face. He was usually the one in control. Therefore, on rare occasions where she took the lead, he happily followed.

She pulled back, removing just enough of him from her mouth to circle her tongue around his tip before sliding the rest of him back inside. He tugged at her roots and she moaned, the vibrations causing a grunt to fall from his parted lips. She squeezed her thighs together, searching for any kind of friction against her neglected clit. Going down on Jake was always something she enjoyed but there was something about him towering over her while she was on her knees that drove her wild. The roughness of his hands in her hair, the feel of his meaty thighs flexing under her palms, the wispy blonde hairs that he kept perfectly trimmed tickling her nose when she took every inch of him into her mouth. He dominated all of her senses and she could never get enough.

As she lost herself in him, his own resolve shattered in record time. “Fuck, let me look at you,” he demanded as he pulled her off of his cock with one hand, caressing her cheek with the other. In a matter of minutes, she went from looking perfectly dolled up to absolutely wrecked. Eyes watering, lips red and swollen, spit evident on her chin. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Then she smiled, still kneeling in front of him, looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. His trademark smile lit up his face as he studied her face, whispering a quiet, “I love you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before crashing his lips to hers.

Before she knew it, he was depositing her on the bed, easily maneuvering her body so she was lying on her stomach against the mattress with him behind her. The soft moment from before was long gone, replaced by a needy Hangman that physically ached to be inside of his girl. “Fuck me, Jake,” she begged, gasping as he yanked down shorts, the tiny pair of underwear she had on going with them. “Yes ma’am,” he murmured, Texas accent on full display as he grasped her hip with one hand, guiding his cock into her entrance sigh the other. By the grace of all things holy, her wetness allowed him to slide into home with one single thrust. He moaned, fully sheathed inside of her sweet cunt. “Oh shit,” she cried out at the sudden fullness, dropping her forehead against the bed as she gripped the comforter. “You feel so good, baby,” he stated, peppering kisses along her shoulder blades as he teased her with long, languid thrusts. He held her hip tight, fingertips digging into her flesh, keeping her ass flush against his hips as he reached forward, placing his hand over the back of hers and interlocking their fingers. With every push and pull of his hips, she could feel his muscles flex against her back, his warm breath ghosting the shell of her ear as he fucked her nice and slow. She squeezed his fingers, turning her head in search of his lips. He pulled back, shaking his head as he chucked quietly. “So desperate. You need more, honey?” She nodded, clenching around him.

Slowly, he increased the speed of his hips, still focusing on depth as he gave in, kissing her with every ounce of love he could muster, drinking in her little sounds. He released her hip, dragging his hand up her body before curling his fingers around her neck. She mewled under his touch and he smirked, fucking her with reckless abandon.

He knew they didn’t have long. By how, everyone was most likely aware the couple had slipped out for a quickie. But something about making his girl cum, while his coworkers sat in the other room spurred him on. “Goddamn, baby. I’m gonna cum,” he warned, continuing the perfect rhythm he had created. He knew she was close by the way she clenched around him, so when he applied just the slightest pressure to her neck, it was no surprise that she fell apart. “Jake,” she whined against his lips, body shaking underneath him as he held her close, spilling deep inside of her.

The sound of heavy breaths filled the air as the couple collapsed onto the bed. A content sigh escaped her lips, while he smiled from one ear to the other. Reluctantly, he pulled out and rolled off of her, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging with a warm, wet wash cloth. Jake Seresin knew all about aftercare.

After cleaning her up and helping her dress, he decided to do the same for himself. While he stepped onto his jeans, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She stood in front of the vanity, brushing her hair in an attempt to put herself back together. He didn’t have the heart to tell her the freshly fucked glow, which she didn’t have before, would quickly give their secret away. Instead, he just smiled, tugging the jersey back over his head.

The loud sound of jeers mixed with a string of curse words caught their attention. Having completely forgotten about the game, Jake opened the bedroom door and sprinted to the living room, green eyes wide before settling on the television. “What happened?”

Coyote rolled his eyes, unable to hold back a laugh. Beside him, Bradshaw reached for his wallet, mumbling something under his breath.

“Longhorns won,” Natasha elaborated as Rooster, who looked like a wounded puppy, handed over a twenty-dollar bill to Payback. Everyone else seemed to be devouring the remainder of the food in the dining room.

Shaking his head, Jake took a seat, watching a replay of the last few plays that he missed while he was preoccupied. Y/N crawled onto his lap, offering him an ice-cold beer and a heart-stopping smile. “What’s gotten into you?” He asked, lifting the bottle to his lips, downing half the liquid in seconds. She shrugged, eyes flickering down his jersey before meeting his eyes. “God blessed Texas,” she grinned, quoting one of his favorite songs that he sang all the time.

[shoyosthighs]

1 Month Challenge

Hinata Shoyo X f!reader (SMUT 🔞)

Sum: A challenge came up by Hinata before he leave for a month of intensive volleyball training 🤭 (timeskip MSBY Hinata)

Warnings: +18 MDI, dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral receiving (both ways), hard edging, dirty talk, daddy shoyo, 69, hard orgasm deny, creampie, basically really filthy smut

Word count: 2504 words

Author’s Note: Its been 8 years since I last written smut HAHA please spare me 😭 Im loving timeskip buff hinata currently and this plot is something similar I saw on p*rn so I decided to write it 🤭

________________________________

“Sho! Have you packed all your stuff?” You shouted from the kitchen from you and Hinata’s apartment. Preparing breakfast for him before he leaves for his intensive training in Brazil with the MSBY team in an hour.

“Yes baby” Hinata whispered in your ears from behind while snaking his arms to your waist and pressing you to his chest. “Can you pass me the soy-sauce, I made your favorite” you kiss him on the cheek while preparing his favorite Japanese rice with raw egg and soy-sauce.

“What did I do to deserve you baby” he wipe his fake tear smiling at you while passing you the soy-sauce.

“Baby girl, remember to take care of yourself okay? I will be back in a month. I know your college exams are coming soon but without me reminding you to eat you wouldn’t eat, so please remember to eat okay?” You nodded while pouting, didn’t really want him to leave.

“I will tell Yams to check up on you too” he side-eye you, knowing you will forget to take care of yourself once you indulge yourself into studying. “You’re so nagging haha” you pass him a cup of ice chocolate while ruffling his hair.

“Anyway baby, before I leave let’s come up with a challenge?” he asked while helping you wash the dishes and drying it. He pulled you to the couch and sat down while pulling you onto his lap, straddling him.

“What’s up your sleeve again?” You run your hands cupping his head from behind and play with his fluffy orange hair. “You see, I will be gone for a month and we won’t get to fuck” he said in a teasing voice. Knowing him, your high sex drive boyfriend for 2 years he will be having this dirty thoughts 24/7.

“And yeah what about it?” You rest your cheek on his chest and hug his waist instead. “Don’t touch yourself for a month, and when I come back I will breed you till morning” he smirk at you. “Hey not fair, what about you?” Knowing his horny ass he will probably run to the bathroom to finish himself off, “Both of us, it’s a challenge for both of us”

“I am up for it, but can you?” You tease him back. “You bet” he kiss you on the lips while carrying you into your shared bedroom, breeding you for the last time before he leaves for training.

It was already the 3rd week since Hinata has gone for his intensive training in Brazil, he had been sending you photos of himself shirtless almost everyday, but a prominent outline of his hard dick is seen on this jersey pants in every picture.

my ninja sho❤️: Im sooo horny baby🙁 i wanna ruin you so bad 😘

you: shoyo… HAHAHAHAA just how hard are you 🤣🤣🤣

my ninja sho❤️: Just you wait, 1 more week and you won’t be able to walk after im done with you 🙃

you: 🤭🤭🤭🤭

Truth to be told, you was so close to touching yourself and relieving yourself, but you really wanted to see how long can you hold onto it. You busied yourself with studying, playing the new game you downloaded, eating lunch and having tea time with Yamaguchi in the cafe that you, Hinata, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima like to hang out in your free time. Yachi and Kageyama joined sometime too but Yachi has moved to Osaka for college and Kageyama was busy with travelling because of his volleyball career.

“So how are you coping without Shoyo?” Yamaguchi stop scrolling his phone, looked at you while sipping his frappe. “What do you mean?” You acted blur, you know what Yamaguchi was implying. But you didn’t want to remember anything of Hinata that will get you riled up.

“Oh come on, you two are the second horniest couple I have know. Well Tsukki and (tsukki’s gf name) being the first” he laughed since all of you had been friends since high school years.

“Not saying anything~~~~ don’t ask anymore before I tell your girlfriend you wanna get it” you smiled not hiding the intention of killing. “Jeez ok ok im kidding” he laughed while seeing his girlfriend of 4 years outside the cafe. You and Yamaguchi then meet her outside and walked home for a movie night.

Hinata had just landed into Japan, after getting into the van with the team he texted you to let you know that he will be home in 2 hours. You were eating dinner when your phone pinged, you replied him with a ‘Okie hurry up 😭’ you had missed him, 1 month without hugs from him was quite depressing for you, the house seems quiet without him singing loudly while showering.

You had brought a white crotchless underwear to surprise him, you quickly showered, change into an oversized white t-shirt and slip on the lewd panties. You turned on the tv while watching the 7pm show that you had been chasing since last week.

Time passed by quickly but you were getting sleepy, so you grab your blanket and wrap yourself on the couch snoozing off for a bit, thinking to have a 10 minutes nap before Hinata comes home. But your snooze was interrupted by Hinata’s loud “MY LITTLE BABY!!! YOUR FAVORITE ABS IS HOME!!!”

You jolted awake and rush to jump onto on Hinata, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Luckily your shirt was long to cover your ass because Hinata’s quick reflex supported them before you could fall. “I miss you so much baby” you whispered lightly while peppering kisses around his neck.

“I miss you so much too” he put you down on the floor and wrap his arms around your waist and kisses your forehead, nose and lips. After the small reunion, Hinata was in the shower and you were on the bed thinking about the steamy night that was about to happen. Just before Hinata went to shower he whispered “Prepare to be ruin by my cock tonight my little slut” this little cheeky tangerine, you thought as you clenched your pussy getting excited.

Hinata’s hands were running up and down your body as soon as he came out of the bathroom naked, “What? Im gonna fuck you anyway, why bother wearing clothes hehe” he chuckled when you glance at him in disbelief. He was kissing you slipping his tongue in to taste you while pulling off your t-shirt, he knew you didn’t wore any bra so he when straight at sucking your nipple while toying the other, his other hand going straight down south, wanting to feel how wet you are outside your panties but was caught by surprise when he touched skin.

“Do you like my surprise?” you said softly to his ear. He glanced up at you, “You are driving me crazy holyshit” he pushed you down onto your shared bed, brought both your legs up and spread your thighs wide to look at his surprise. “You are so fucking wet, you’re literally drenched” he move down collected some of your arousal and show it to you, “Sho, stop it. It’s embarrassing” you cover your face with both hand. Who knew not touching yourself and not cumming for 1 month made you this wet just by kissing your boyfriend.

“If you don’t move your hands away now, you won’t be getting any dick tonight” he said sternly. You were quick to remove your hand and he chuckled at how desperate you are. “You better not hold back your moans if you want to get fucked tonight you little slut” he turned your hip sideways, slip your panties off and slapped your ass, you moaned feeling yourself clenched again. “Do you hear me?” Hinata slapped your ass again when you didn’t answer, “Yes daddy” you whimpered, feeling extremely horny by how Hinata is treating you. Its really been awhile.

Hinata placed you back on your back and spread your legs again, hands holding onto the back of your thighs and diving into your drenched pussy, “Oh fuck daddy it feels so good” you clench your fist onto the bedsheets, back arching. You had been eating pineapple for the past 3weeks in prepare for today, “Why do you taste sweeter than usual baby? Did you had pineapple or what?” He lifted his head up to look at you, man the sight of him wet chin, wet lips full of your juice. You just nodded and clenched your pussy feeling the lost of touch, Hinata look down and the sight of your cunt clenched while juices dripping down made him want to just take you right here right now, but he steadied himself and dive back down to your pussy slipping his tongue into your tight pussy, tasting everything you have to offer.

Not even a minute had pass but you were writhing under Hinata, “Im gonna cum daddy” you whimpered, arching your back and grinding your hips into Hinata’s face desperate for the first orgasm after a month. You almost screamed when Hinata lift his face off your wet aching pussy, “Tonight you are gonna cum on my cock and only my cock” you whimpered a small yes daddy, panicking a little. When Hinata is serious he won’t hesitate to deny you orgasm and you wouldn’t want that.

“Now come and suck daddy off before I fuck your brains out” he lay next to you and you didn’t hesitate to take his already hard cock around your hand slipping the head to your parted lips, Hinata glances sideways to see you still dripping from your pussy, he tapped your ass and you turn back to look at him, lips still on his cock. “Sit on my face” knowing he loves 69 you quickly lift one of your legs and drape it over his head. Shifting your drenched slick infront of his face you move your mouth down to take Hinata’s warm cock into your mouth, “Oh fuck, your mouth feel so good” at this point Hinata wants to see how long he and you could stand denying orgasms before snapping.

You were a hot mess above Hinata, he had denied your orgasm 5 times while you had denied him 3 because you took slower stroke to work him up. Your pussy is literally drenched and sticky, you really couldn’t take it anymore its starting to hurt and you really need to cum, “Daddy please fuck me I need your cock” you turned behind and look at him. “My favorite” he lift himself up and you got on all fours facing the headboard, back arched with your cheeks squish onto the pillow. “Please daddy i am so wet for you, I had been a good girl, I want your cock please”

Hinata thinking he too couldn’t hold it back anymore line up his cock up your pussy lips rubbing up and down to tease you for a bit, he chuckled when you whimpered another please daddy and slip in all the way. You were so tight despite how wet you was prior to the foreplay and its driving Hinata crazy by how warm and wet you felt. “Holyshit baby you are so tight and warm”

You couldn’t think straight, all you could think was if Hinata were to move a few times you will cum soon. He slowly slip out dragging his thick cock veins around your walls and then slamming it back, “Fuck daddy im gonna cum” he continue to slam his cock into your pussy and then pull out completely and look down at your pussy, you were literally sobbing by now you clenched onto nothing and grind your hips wanting Hinata to just fuck your brains out.

You subconsciously slip your finger between your legs to relieve some tension on your pussy but Hinata hold your fingers by your folds, using his hand he guide it and circle it on your hole, you whimpered at how drenched you were, “Look at you wet and horny for me, since you’re being such a good girl daddy won’t hold back anymore okay” He line his rock hard cock back on your pussy and slip in, “I want you to cum hard on my cock okay” he leaned down and you nodded, preparing for his brutal thrust. At his 5th thrust your pussy had clamp down his cock and had you squirting all over your leg, you didn’t had the chance to tell him you were coming, Hinata had to pull out and watch you squirt all over the bedsheet and thinking how fucking hot you were currently.

“Look at you, so desperate to cum that you squirted all over our bed. What a little slut” he was gripping your ass and had continued his fucking your brains out. Your pussy is clenching onto him for the 4th time cumming hard on his dick and he had emptied 3 load of cum into your womb by then, holding you down while shooting his load into you. He weren’t kidding when he say he wanted to breed you.

Your lower half was sore by midnight, Hinata was now lying down with you on top of him grinding and whimpering at how hard he still is, both of your cum making your lower body full of white stains. “Sho- I-I can’t-t im gonna cum again” you grind harder onto his cock while throwing your head back, “Me too baby” he thrust up and hold your hips making you fall to his chest taking in the loud skin slapping and wet squelching sound you both produced, “Shoyo omg please please please harder im so close” he feel your walls clenching hard on him again and you cum hard onto his cock again for the nth time tonight while he shoot his almost nonexistent cum into you again, he really unloaded everything with nothing left. Soft moans filled the room as you lift yourself off his finally limped dick and plopped yourself beside him catching your breath.

“Stay here while i prepare the bath for you okay” you gave him a tired smile and close your eyes for a bit still feeling your body hot from the activity. Hinata came back and gave you a kiss on your sweaty forehead and carried you bridal style to the bathtub filled with warm water with your favorite bath bomb scent.

(EXTRAS)

Hinata was at the MSBY locker room the next afternoon for their short meeting/training regarding an upcoming match. He was shirtless was trying to put on his training jersey when Atsumu gasped, “HOLYSHIT SHOYO WHAT HAPPEN TO YOUR BACK?” All he could do was smile sheepishly and said “My little cat scratch me”

You weren’t spare either, you had to call Yamaguchi telling him you were sick the next morning because of how sore you were and you were literally limping even going to the bathroom. And had to cover the hickeys around your neck before going to school.

(A/N:It’s literally almost 4am here and Im also drenched after writing this fic, I HOPE YOU ENJOY 😭😭😭 reblog and comments welcomed ❤️)

[troubatrain]

sober - m. barzal (pt. two)

a/n: part two every body give it up for reposting part two!!

One - Three

The sounds of skates on the ice at the Rangers practice facility were becoming almost therapeutic at this point, you close your eyes basking in it for a moment while you edited a video from a charity event the team hosted the week before. You had a makeshift desk in the hallway that led to the locker, trying to get as much work as you could none so you could try and wipe your memory of everything that had to do with Mat Barzal. You knew you shouldn’t have let him win, because men that smug don’t need an ego boost, but you did. Mika’s voice on the other side of that bathroom door was the wake up call you desperately needed. Mat Barzal was a gigantic mistake, and you had to just forget he ever existed. But, his contact was burning in your phone, Mat with a blue and orange heart just to piss you off a little bit more.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Chris huffs out, his large frame towering over you and leaning on your desk. His eyebrows were furrowed, he’d seen right through, something was off.

“Nothing Kreids,” You roll your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were thinking about Mat’s mouth on your pussy in that bar bathroom, “Seriously, I’ll get over it.”

“This is about a guy isn’t it?” Chris questions, grabbing the chair across from you and sitting in it, “Spill.”

“I’m not diving into my dating life with you,” You snap back, catching yourself before your tone gets too harsh. It wasn’t that Chris wasn’t your friend, because he was, it was that you didn’t want to get caught gossiping when you were supposed to be working. Charlotte would have your head on a stick, and everything you’d been working for since you got the job would just be for nothing, “I’m fine seriously, I have a date tonight.”

You did. The night after you last saw Mat, you’d gotten bored enough to open up Tinder on your phone. A couple of swipes later, you had a date with some finance bro from Murray Hill you weren’t going to call the next day. If you wanted to get over somebody, you were just going to have to get under somebody else. Plus, in a city this big, the odds you’d ever run into Mat again were probably slim.

“Like a real date or a rebound date?” Chris asks, a humorous tone to his voice. Chris was a romantic, but you knew Chris Kreider’s were few and far between. So while you were young, you decided that it didn’t matter if you fell in love, you could do that later. For now, you were going to work hard and play harder. 

“A rebound date,” You smirk, watching Chris roll his eyes at you, “Don’t slut shame me Chris or I will-”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Chris defends throwing his hands up before you really got into it, “Just call me if he’s a creep or something, please.”

“Okay dad,” You snort, laughing and directing your attention back to the video you were supposed to be editing.

***

Maybe you should have listened to Chris. The man sitting in front of you did nothing besides talk about himself, his job, and he was unbelievably rude to your waiter. You should expect this, as if some random dude you met off Tinder would be some sort of gentleman but you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be wrong. Unfortunately for you, you were just reminded of one thing - men are trash.

“So what do you do?” Chad asks, which could very possibly actually be his name but you’d forgotten while you were trying to block this entire night from your memory.

“Oh, I work for the Rangers,” You shrug, it wasn’t that you weren’t proud of your job. But the questions that came after were always the same, and if you were right, Chad would have the same answer.

“They must love having a pretty little thing like you around,” The words were sleazy, and they left the same icky feeling in your stomach that they always did. You didn’t want to be some pretty little thing that was around for someone’s amusement. You were an adult who had a pretty important job and you liked to be respected and in the little bubble you lived in at MSG, you were. But, no one outside of 8th and 33rd seemed to agree.

That was the moment when you realized someone’s eyes had been on you the whole time, stopping you from chewing out your date in the middle of the restaurant. Mat Barzal was seated across the restaurant, a girl who looked like a supermodel in front of him. You roll at your eyes at his cocky smile, the girl paying no mind that he wasn’t even listening to her. You pull your phone, letting Chad ramble on about how nice your gig with the Rangers must be.

stop staring at me barz

i can’t when you look like that angel

pretty sure the girl in front of you should keep you busy

pretty sure the guy in front of you is a douche, sneak out of here in 5?

in your dreams

i’ve had dreams about you, they’re pretty fucking filthy though

You stop, rubbing your thighs together subconsciously. You were on this date to forget Mat ever existed and going home with him would be an enormous mistake. One more time couldn’t hurt? Right?

call the uber loser

You watched Mat’s face light up, practically slamming cash down and saying goodbye to his date, before he skipped out of the restaurant. You shake your head at his obviousness, excusing yourself to go use the restroom and thanking whatever higher power that it was close to the exit. The second you stepped out, you could feel an arm wrap itself around you - pulling you into a broad chest.

“I like this little game we’re playing,” Mat smirks, pecking your lips while you wait for a car to pull up. You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation, “You know, where you pretend to hate me because we’re supposed to but in reality you can’t stay away - you know how these movies end.”

“I can go back inside,” You threaten, pointing to your date who is still sitting at the table.

“Why? So you can hang out with some dude who you know can’t get you off like I can,” Mat scoffs, his ego getting bigger by the second.

“Maybe I’ll just steal your date,” You smirk, taking notice of the way Mat’s face lit up, “You’re a pig.”

“You’re not a ray of fucking sunshine either you know,” Mat scoffs.

“Your ego’s huge, I’m just keeping you humble,” You tease, pushing his arm off of you, he didn’t get to claim you like that.

“It’s not going to humble me when you’re at my apartment screaming my name,” Mat smirks, and you roll your eyes.

***

Mat’s apartment was a vague memory from the night you had spent. But, you remembered enough to point out every reason why you hated it. It was a bachelor’s apartment, filled with overpriced dark furniture that you know someone else picked out - or even worse, it came with the apartment. The view was immaculate, the floor to ceiling windows lived in the dreams of your own ideal place. The decor was typical, a few jerseys framed on the walls that you most definitely should have noticed when you left his place.

“You can say you hate it,” Mat chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist while you continued to take in the apartment, “I’m sure it’s not up to your standards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, biting your lip to suppress the moan that was trying to escape with Mat was nibbling at your ear lightly.

“It means you know you’re better than me,” Mat whispers, “But I know there’s one thing I’m better at than you and that’s why you’re here. I can fucking ruin you.”

“Mat,” You sigh, elbowing him in the stomach while he smirked against your neck, “I’ll ruin you first.”

Mat let out a dramatic groan, “You’re such a brat.”

Before you could defend yourself and chirp him back, Mat had his large hands on your thighs while he carried you into his bedroom, dropping you on the bed. His mouth was sucking at your neck, and you knew you were going to have to invest in a new concealer if you kept this up. Well, at least he finally shut up-

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Mat whispers, his hands exploring your body, “You going to remember it this time?”

“Shut up,” You whimper, trying to let out how good Mat’s hands under your shirt actually felt. They were huge, and the rough skin against yours made your pussy flutter. Mat unclasped your bra, smirking to himself when he got it on the first try, “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.”

“I have that’s why I know I’m good,” Mat smirks, climbing down your body while you shed your clothes. Mat slips his finger under your jeans, pulling your panties off in one swift motion, “Fuck, I think you know it too. Are you this wet for little old me?”

You didn’t have words for his stupidity, instead you kicked his back with the heel of your foot. You heard Mat’s laugh while he pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, “You’d be a lot cuter if you were nicer.”

“You’d be a lot cuter if you didn’t laugh like a hyena but here we are,” You chirped, sighing when you feel Mat’s finger slid up your folds.

Mat Barzal’s oral game was, in all honesty, immaculate. Were you going to let him know that? Absolutely not. Were you going to let him milk for every orgasm you had left? You might.

“Mat, fuck,” You let out a breathy moan, a real one trying to escape you. Mat had made you cum twice already, and his mouth was well on his way to a third before his dick even touched you.

“Let me hear you Y/N,” Mat halts his movements, curling his fingers to see if he could just get it out of you.

“Faster,” You moan out, your hips lifting to try and get his fingers to start moving again. Mat smirks, finally satisfied before his tongue swirled your clit to send you over the edge. Mat finally pulled away, wiping the sides of his mouth that were glistening from you.

“Ready for me?” Mat asks, a smug smile on his face. You nod, watching while he reached over into his nightstand to grab a condom.

“That box is awfully big,” You joke, not able to stop yourself from making fun of Mat. In reality, he probably wasn’t any better than you were, but that didn’t mean for a second you didn’t think he needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

Now, it was Mat’s turn to roll his eyes, “Because you’re such an angel.”

“I’m not, I’m the devil,” You smile, biting your lip while you watched Mat roll the condom over his cock. This part you may have remembered vaguely, but you didn’t remember how big it really was.

“Tell me if I’m being too rough,” Mat groans, entering you slowly so you could adjust to him. At least he isn’t a total douche.

“I thought you were going to ruin me Barz,” You tease, “I’m sure you know better than to talk a big game and not deliver.”

Mat’s eyes went a shade darker, a smirk on his face while he snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to let out a moan that was so loud you were positive his neighbors heard. His pace kept up, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. You grab into any skin you could find while Mat continued to pound into you, your legs practically shaking from the feeling. Your nails dug into his skin, only boosting Mat’s confidence that he was good.

Mat gave you one more orgasm before he finally let himself go, his hips stuttering and a string of curse escaping his mouth. He stayed for a minute, trying to let you both bring yourselves down before he finally slipped out of you.

“You can stay if you can’t walk,” Mat jokes, his nude frame walking back into his room with a warm towel to clean you up. You didn’t peg him as much of an aftercare guy, especially for someone who probably got laid more than the average person.

“I’ll crawl back to Manhattan before I sleep in this bed with you,” You say while you pull yourself up from the bed. You gather your clothes, getting dressed while Mat watches you from his bed.

“So…” Mat starts, his hands behind his head in a way that was just so masculine you didn’t know if you wanted to go another round or punch him square in the face, “Did I make the team?”

“We can’t do this again,” You say, trying your hardest to keep your cool. If you were being honest, you probably would have done it again.

“We can,” Mat suggests wiggling his eyebrows, “It’ll be our dirty little secret, that’s hot.”

“Barz...”

“Y/N...”

“I’ll call you.”

“So I made the cut?”

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 2: In Which Tetsuya Shigaraki Reconsiders his Life Choices

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves. Or, alternatively: The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

A/N:  Happy Yule/Solstice to everyone who celebrates it! (This chapter is the reason for the animal death tw tag. If you want to skip that scene, go to the first page break.)

        Hisashi was standing in the abandoned, overgrown baseball field behind his high school when his father found him. It was a few months into the school year, and his brother had gone home early with a flimsy ice pack because he’d dislocated his knee when he tripped on his way to lunch. Hisashi had been missing for hours, and Testsuya Shigaraki had arrived home as the sun began to dip into the horizon only to be met with the panicked fretting of his youngest son. Thank God for phone GPS, Tetsuya had thought when he managed to locate his eldest, it would have taken hours to find him otherwise. A twig snapped under his feet as he approached, and his son’s head jerked towards him. His brown eyes were wide and glazed over, tears threatening to spill out. A splatter of red was on his cheek, and Tetsuya brows furrowed with confusion. There was a small, furry shape by Hisashi’s feet. He felt bile creep up his throat.

        “D-Dad I..” Hisashi’s voice was shaky, cracking with grief and disbelief.

        There was silence as the world seemed to hold its breath, “What happened?”

        “I don’t know what came over me I.. one minute I was petting it and the next-”

        Tetsuya wrapped his arms around his panicking son in an embrace. He snuck a look down at the broken body that lay there and felt his blood run cold. It was a house cat, “What. Did. You. Do?”

        “I killed it Dad!” His son was hysterical now, trembling violently in his grip.

        Tetsuya broke his embrace, unable to stave off the disgust from his face. “We’re cleaning this up, then you’re going home.” Hisashi opened his mouth to protest, but Tetsuya cut him off, “No excuses, your brother is worried sick about you and if you make him cry again I won’t be able to forgive you.”

        Hisashi sniffed and nodded, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.

        “Where’s your school’s cleaning supplies?”

        “I’ll go get them,” Hisashi’s voice had grown cold once more, panic in his eyes replaced with steel.

        Tetsuya was left alone in the abandoned baseball field with that... thing for much longer than he would have liked, and he found his eyes wandering to anywhere but the mangled house cat, with its ears bent back and legs twisted at odd angles, like it was praying.

        His son returned with a shovel and a change of gym clothes. Tetsuya didn’t ask nor want to know how he broke into the likely locked up school and locker rooms. The hole that they dug was three feet deep and two feet wide, and Hisashi watched him gently lower the broken body into the small grave with unfeeling eyes. Never in his life did he think he would be afraid of his own son, but he couldn’t help the chill that seeped into his bones, nor the way his heart rate sped up every time he caught Hisashi’s gaze.

        His son wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve and stepped behind a tree to change out of his now filthy clothes. Tetsuya pulled out his phone. 1 missed call. He’d unpack the clusterfuck of telling his wife what happened later, for now - Hisashi stepped out from behind the tree and peered over his shoulder - he’d have to deal with this.

        This was not the first time he had encountered his son with a dead animal crumpled into a gory heap. They had lost many family pets, often in the span of only a few months, before Tetsuya and Hana had discovered what happened to them. When Hana had seen her darling little seven year old in the nearby park, standing over a freshly made grave.

        They’d never bought a pet again. Hisashi had been promptly sent to therapy, to sort out his violent impulses and twisted expressions of love. Tetsuya thought that this tendency had died. Had disappeared. That his eldest son had been cured of his depravity. Evidently, he was wrong.

        The walk back home was silent. Tetsuya didn’t know what to say. What he could say. Hisashi didn’t seem to know either, and the cold night air only seemed to cause the distance between them to grow.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was wrapped in a large, plush blanket. Around him was a nest of pillows and blankets to prop up his aching joints. He’d managed to scrounge a heating pad from the linen cabinet and wrapped it around his right knee. Even though he was able to set it back in place himself, it still hurt like crazy. He was worried when his brother hadn’t shown up after school had let out, and that anxiety grew exponentially as the hours ticked by. He’d tried calling his brother in between reading comic books and texting his new friend (he’d gotten Zach’s number the second day of school, and they’d been sending each other memes in the weeks since), only to be met with his familiar voice mail. 

        “Hello, you’ve reached Hisashi Shigaraki, I can’t come to the phone right now, please leave your message after the tone.”

        His brother’s familiar, overly formal voice did absolutely nothing to soothe his nerves. Each time he heard that monotone phrase he felt his frustration and anxiety grow alongside a steadily worsening headache.

        Tomura crawled out of bed once he heard the familiar creak of the door. Had Hisashi finally returned? He let out a hiss of pain once his feet hit the gray carpeted floor, and he reached out for a bed post to steady himself. To his annoyance, his cane had been discarded haphazardly by the door when he returned from school. He’d have to do this the stupid way, it seemed, since it was hard for him to put weight on his right leg without wanting to scream. Tomura used his arm to push himself from the bed to the dresser on the other side of the room, just barely able to catch himself on the corner before he could break his fall with his hip and add yet another colorful bruise to his collection. He leaned his weight on the nearby wall and scooped his cane up from the floor, then limped his way to the living room.

        Disappointment flooded his mind like ink to water when he saw that it was not his brother, but rather his father who had arrived at home.

        “What? No greeting?” His father said once he realized Tomura had entered the room, “I heard you took quite the fall at school today, you okay?”

        Tomura chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head, “Hisashi hasn’t come home yet.”

        Tetsuya’s brows furrowed, “He’s just a teenager, they tend to stay out late, have you tried calling him?”

        It took every shred of willpower Tomura had to keep from rolling his eyes, “I called him a bunch of times, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. I’m really worried about him, he’s never stayed out this late before!”

        “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll call him, he won’t be able to ignore his pops after all,” Tetsuya did just that. They waited in silence for several moments before irritation fell over the man’s face like a shroud. He, too, had been sent to voicemail.

        “See what I mean?”

        “Don’t give me cheek, boy,” Tetsuya replied stiffly, though Tomura could tell the aggravation was not directed towards him, but to the situation in general.

        “I- What should we do? I tried getting a hold of his friends but they don’t know where he is! Do you think he got mugged? Kidnapped? Oh no, what if he’s in a hostage situation like the one in the capitol building last week-”

        “Tomura, take a deep breath,” after a few moments of running Tomura through breathing exercises, and Tetsuya rubbing circles into his back, his father continued, “I have a GPS tracking app installed on his phone - don’t give me that look - called Circle, I should be able to use it to find him.” Tetsuya pulled out his phone and opened the app. Tomura was annoyed to find that he was listed on there as well, though he supposed it could be helpful if he ever went missing. A photo of his brother (a school photo, taken a year ago at a chess tournament) was imposed over a map as a small icon. He was at the high school.

        Tomura’s eyes widened, “I think I know where he is.”

-@~*^*~@-

        It had happened near the end of Hisashi’s freshman year, Tomura had tagged along with his brother’s friends to the abandoned baseball field behind the school. It was a place teenagers hung out and smoked after school, since the field was obscured by overgrown eucalyptus trees. The field was empty aside from his brother’s friends by the time he and Hisashi had arrived, though Tomura could see cigarette butts on the ground, still glowing a bright orange and the air was heavy with the smell of nicotine. His heart leapt to his throat as he recognized some of the teenagers and hid behind his brother’s tall imposing form. Hisashi looked confused by his reaction, but stepped forward to greet his friends nonetheless.

        “Hey, who’s the brat you brought with you?” One of his friends, a wide set, blonde fellow in a football jersey, asked.

        Hisashi’s eyes narrowed, “My little brother, mom and dad wanted me to watch him today, we spoke about this in the group chat.”

        Tomura poked his head out from behind his brother, long hair in his face. He saw a flicker of recognition in the teenager’s eyes. Oh no.

        “That little punk is your brother, really?” the teen hopped off his perch on the rusting metal bleachers.

        Sensing the tension in the air, Hisashi moved his body to further block Tomura, his tone spoke of warning, “Excuse me, Dylan?”

        The rest of the group backed off, not wanting anything to do with the unfolding situation, but another, dark haired teenager moved to stand besides the jock. Light emitted from the teen’s fingertips. A metahuman?

        Dylan laughed, his voice all sharp edges, “Oh that’s rich, so you don’t know?!”

        Hisashi placed his hand on Tomura’s shoulder, an empty gesture of reassurance. He smiled, “And what is it, exactly, that I’m supposed to know?”

        “Well, ya see, this invalid decided to interrupt me while I was collecting my due, it was pitiful really, and I ended up with double the profit!”

        Tomura tensed, he had been walking home from school alone when he’d heard someone cry out in a nearby alleyway. He’d seen Dylan backing a young woman into the wall, knife glinting at her throat. As it turns out, intervening is futile when you’re half your attacker’s size, and he ended up getting the shit kicked out of him, the money he’d been saving for Christmas shopping stolen. His parents were quick to buy the white lies he’d spun about the confrontation when he got home, but he didn’t miss the shrewd, calculating looks his brother had shot him in the following days. Now, as he tried desperately to hide how hard he shook, he could still feel the sickening crunch of his broken nose and the familiar tear of his shoulder being ripped out of socket.

        Hisashi’s grin grew wider, somehow, and those still sitting on the bleachers inched backwards, “Really?” He took his hand off Tomura’s shoulder and stepped towards the boys, “Because I recall a discussion about who’s off limits.”

        Dylan pulled his fist back and attempted to punch Hisashi, but he dodged with ease, gripping the teen’s leg and flipping him on his ass. He blocked a kick from his other opponent and narrowly avoided a sudden beam of light.

        The boy in question looked on with wide eyes, tears blurring his vision, “Y-yes?”

        “Go home.” a stomp on Dylan’s stomach and a whimper.

        “B-but-”

        “I’m serious, go home. I’ll meet you there in a little while and we can watch your favorite movie, okay?” Hisashi looked over his shoulder, fondness and barely controlled rage fighting for dominance on his face.

        “Hey, stop ignoring me you bast-!”

        Tomura didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say as he turned tail and ran as fast as his weak legs could carry him.

        Hisashi never did return to their apartment that night, instead spending it alone in a cold holding cell. To this day Tomura could still remember the disappointment in his parents’ voices as they lectured him during his single, permitted call.

-@~*^*~@-

        Tomura was curled up on the couch cocooned in a fluffy blanket, watching Captain America: The First Avenger, when his dad and brother returned. “Why are you in gym clothes?” he blurted out without thinking. Hisashi ignored him and made a bee-line for their room, and then the shower.

        His father, however, paused by the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s a long story.”

        “I have time.”

        “Maybe when you’re older, your brother will tell you,” Tetsuya meandered into the kitchen, and sifted through the cabinet full of pots and pans with a loud clatter.

        Tomura propped his head up on the back of the couch, “Whatcha’ making?”

        “Dinner.”

        “I mean obviously, but what’s for dinner?” he asked, his question supported by a growling stomach not suited for a boy his size.

        “Food,” Tetsuya smiled at Tomura’s childish groan of frustration, “We’re having fried rice, I don’t think your mom would appreciate us having take-out again.”

        Trying to find a topic to continue the conversation, Tomura asked, “How was work?”

        “The usual but my boss, the one who runs the flower shop, wanted me to work a double shift, I told him no. I don’t get to see you boys enough as it is,” Tetsuya hummed, “Apparently one of my coworkers had a run-in with one of those damn meta-humans and had to take the day off.”

        “A metahuman? I’ve heard about them in the news but.. I don’t really know much about them,” Tomura said, curiosity itched at him. He paused the movie so that he wouldn’t miss anything, though he’d seen it dozens of times. There was a metahuman in his class, the kid always ate alone and no one ever wanted to play with him. Tomura felt bad, but didn’t really know what he could do to help.

        Tetsuya scowled, “They’re freaks of nature, that’s what! It started with that glowing baby a few decades ago and the mutations have just gotten worse and more frequent since, some of them can’t even be called human.” 

        “Is that why there’s been so many protests and stuff?”

        A chuckle, “Yeah that’s part of it, people haven’t been doing too hot after the pandemic either. Nothing like mass evictions to make the public angry,” Tetsuya started the rice cooker and walked over to the couch to ruffle his son’s hair, “At least you and your brother are normal, that gives us less to worry about.”

        Tomura nodded, an odd feeling twisting in his guts.  

        “So what’re you watching?”

        “Captain America,” he replied, gesturing vaguely to the TV.

        “Again?” His father asked, amusement coloring his voice. Tomura flushed bright red. Before he could open his mouth to respond, the front door opened with a familiar creak.

        “I’m home!” His mother’s familiar voice called 

        Tetsuya visibly tensed, dread on his features, “Hello dear, how was work?”

        Hana placed her keys in a small dish on a table by the door and slipped off her jacket, “Oh it was just terrible! Some woman came into the salon today, she raised a massive fuss and kept asking to speak to our manager when we wouldn’t let her use an expired coupon.”

        “Was her name Karen?” Tomura quipped. Both of his parents shot him a baffled look.

        Tetsuya walked over to his wife and embraced her, placing a kiss on her soft cheek. He whispered something in her ear and she paled, giving him a nod, “I’ll talk to him about it after Tomura goes to bed.”

        Dinner later that night was terse and awkward. Something unsaid hung in the air, and Hisashi opted to slide his fried rice around his plate with his fork rather than eat. Tomura, on the other hand, shoveled his food quickly and excused himself from the table. He couldn’t stand it when his family got like this, it had happened before, a few times when he was really young, and the night after Hisashi had gotten home after the incident. He knew what it meant as he shut his bedroom door behind him and slid into bed, pulling the covers over his head. Sure enough, shouts flooded into his room from the kitchen, and Tomura found himself falling asleep to the sounds of sobbing and the front door slamming shut.

A/N:  I'm not super happy with how this chapter has turned out, I've repeatedly read it until it feels like my eyes are going to bleed so I can avoid grammar and spelling mistakes. I'll probably catch more later and have to do small edits to the chapter. I have a crackfic that should be coming out tomorrow, so keep your eyes peeled for that. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Next chapter was originally supposed to be part of this one but I decided to split it to keep chapter lengths consistent. Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback.

AO3

Next Chapter

[savannahsdrabbles]

The Dinner Party (Encounters-verse)

rating: G summary: Splinter invites April over to the lair for dinner, and April learns that there are secrets yet to be revealed.

notes: This was a lot of fun to right, if not just because I got to talk about sleepy turts. <3 4k words, Ao3 link here

April pressed the buttons on the side of her watch and squinted as a soft blue light illuminated the small screen: 2:27 A.M. When Splinter said no one would know that she was gone, he wasn’t kidding. Her street seemed to be asleep, despite the fact that she could still hear sirens and cars moving in the distance. New York City was never totally silent, but at this hour it was the quietest it was ever going to get. Her mom’s heavy snoring from the other room was the loudest noise around, and didn’t show any signs of stopping even as April had pushed open her bedroom window and crawled out onto the fire escape.

She’d snuck back into her school clothes once her mom had gone to bed, tucking her pajamas and a few stuffed animals under the covers to give the illusion that someone was still beneath them. April didn’t think her mom would even come to check, but doing so still made her giggle – this all felt like a dramatic scene from a movie. The young protagonist, sneaking out of her house and meeting a stranger in the night to go to a party – April was sure she’d seen at least three Disney Channel movies with a similar storyline.

The girl’s stomach growled slightly, serving as a reminder that she hadn’t eaten much for dinner. She briefly considered pulling a granola bar from the box in her backpack, but then decided against it. They were supposed to be eating at the lair tonight, and it would seem rude for her to show up full and having eaten part of her gift for them. Still, considering the fact that the family had been dumpster diving for food only weeks ago, April couldn’t help but wonder what their meal could even consist of. It was very possible that the food would be a hodgepodge of things pulled from dumpsters or stolen from open window sills.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to eat a little bit of something beforehand -

“Are you ready?”

April bit back a shriek at the sudden voice hovering over her head and stumbled back across the metal grating, her fist swinging wildly in the direction of the source. Before it could land, however, a slightly larger and softer hand caught the fist and gently held on to keep her from tripping over her own feet.

“Splinter, oh my gosh,” April caught her balance and then pulled her fist back to place the palm over her pounding heart. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn’t even hear you climbing up the ladder – you’re like a ninja or something!”

Splinter’s whiskers twitched in amusement. He was perched on the edge of the fire escape, squatting in such a way that he looked like he were about to leap frog onto the platform where April was sitting. A dark brown robe was tied around his body, and a hoodie was pulled over that to further cover his rodent features. “Or something like that,” he mused. “But I am sorry to have scared you. Are you ready?”

April nodded, shouldering her backpack. “Yup! So how do we get there?”

The rat leapt nimbly from the bars, landing silently on his claws and then pulling himself to his feet. “I know that we spoke about this last night, but I wanted to give you one more warning before we go. Our home is intentionally a bit difficult for the average person to find, but that is for the safety of myself and my sons. It is of the utmost importance to me that you do not reveal its location, even to your mother. I am trusting you with a secret that, if shared, could spell danger for my family. You do understand this, right?”

April bobbed her head hard in affirmation, then gasped as her glasses slid down her nose and nearly tumbled to the ground below. “Yes sir!”

“Heh, alright then.” Splinter’s serious expression changed to a paternal smile. “Let us hurry now– I left the oven on.”

***

Splinter was not exaggerating about their home being difficult to find. After leaping from the fire escape with April hanging onto his neck, the rat had ricocheted off of the surrounding brick walls until he landed safely on the ground below. There he had led her to a nearby manhole cover, which he removed with ease and then pointed out the metal bars connected to the sides of the cement tube. The two then descended together into the depths, April grimacing slightly at the smell and general dampness in the air until they reached a bigger tunnel below. The air felt at least slightly drier there, even if the smell persisted. Once they had dropped onto the underground sidewalk, Splinter began to follow a seemingly nonsensical path through the sewers – two rights, a left, straight for several minutes, three lefts, a right – April tried to memorize the course, but eventually gave up and instead focused on not stepping in anything weird.

Eventually the sewer area ended, and the two emerged onto what appeared to be cement platforms that ran alongside old railroad tracks.

“From what I understand, these tunnels were originally going to be part of the New York subway system,” Splinter explained as he jumped down onto the tracks and then held a hand up for April to take. She took it gratefully and jumped, the CLANG from her feet landing on the metal sending echoes through the tunnels. “However, after several tunnel collapses and general flooding issues, these tracks were abandoned and left vacant. So for now, the boys and I have decided to make use of what was left behind. Someday soon we will likely out grow our home and be forced to relocate to an area that better suits our needs, but until then,”

Splinter gestured down the line, and April gasped. A lone subway train car was positioned a short distance down the tracks, definitely older and more rusted than any of the cars April had seen actively moving in the subway station. The car also appeared slightly smaller – more like a sleeper car than one of the long, steel tubes that normally carried dozens of human passengers across the city. Several tubes and wires were suspended from the ceiling above the car and hummed softly – April guessed that this was how they had access to water and electricity. “Oh wow – you guys live in there?”

Before Splinter could reply, a door on the side of the car slammed open and a shriek of delight rang through the tunnel. “They’re here!”

Within seconds, a small green and orange form crashed headlong into April, bowling her over and knocking the breath from her lungs. She stumbled backwards, gasping, and eventually fell flat on her butt on the tracks.

“Michelangelo, calm yourself!” Splinter warned, but there was a smile in his voice as the small turtle wormed his way into April’s lap and wrapped his short arms around her waist.

Once April could breathe regularly again, she looked down into her arms and locked caramel colored eyes with the chocolate brown ones of Michelangelo. The hoodie-clad box turtle rested his chin on her chest and gave her a gap-toothed grin, showing no signs of the fear that had been so prominent on their first meeting. His sleeveless hoodie also seemed to have been thoroughly cleaned since then, since the turtle smelled more like a normal, sweaty little boy rather than the filthy garbage he had been hiding in. “I’m so excited you’re here – Dad told us you were coming over and so we’ve been getting the lair ready for you all day! And he said that since it’s a special occasion, we get spaghetti AND meatballs – that’s one of my favorite foods beside pizza!”

April opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as three other turtles of varying shapes and sizes tumbled out of the train car. “Mikey, you were supposed to wait inside until Dad brought her in!”

Michelangelo shifted into a sitting position, still perched atop April’s stomach, and stuck his tongue out at his brothers. “Well, they’re hear now, and it’s polite to greet guests - right Dad?”

Splinter’s ears flicked as he pushed down the hood that had been covering his head. “I suppose so. But it’s also equally as polite to not crush your guests.”

“Oh, sorry – ” the turtle quickly rolled off of his newfound friend and allowed her to stand, but didn’t show any signs of joining his brothers. “I’m just super happy to see you!”

“I’m happy to see you, too, Mikey!” April grinned. “How’s the foot doing?”

“Better now! I got really sick from it before, and Dad had to take out the stitches to fix it,” Mikey stuck the specified foot into the air, allowing April to see the row of bandages looped around it. His beak wrinkled up as he remembered the incident. “It really hurt, but I didn’t even cry, hardly. But now it’s healing up, and I just have to walk like this for a while – ” He took a few steps away from April, balancing on the heel of his injured foot with each step to avoid putting pressure on the wound. The process looked painful, but Mikey ended the walk cycle with a proud grin. “Plus Raph has been giving me piggy back rides, which has been cool.”

April looked towards the other turtles, suddenly remembering that they had an audience. She smiled warmly at the largest one, who she was fairly certain was Raph. The snapping turtle shuffled his feet under her gaze and blushed shyly. A red football jersey fit snuggly over his shell, but April could already see where several spines were protruding through the fabric. He was about the same height as she was, a fact that would have made her nervous had she not seen how he behaved before. Despite his gruff looking exterior, April still remembered the way he had cradled Mikey after Splinter pulled them out of the dumpster, and the small flowers he had drawn on their correspondences. “That’s nice of him.”

“I don’t mind.” Raph rubbed one arm and smiled. “I don’t want him to hurt his foot any more.”

The other two turtles were slightly more reserved in their greetings, hovering close to their father as they observed April. She didn’t blame them – she and Mikey had formed a bit of a closer bond through their initial meeting and eventual note passing. The other three she only really knew by name and what Splinter and Mikey had included in their messages.

“Why don’t we head inside now,” Splinter motioned with his tail towards the car. “It’s brighter in there, and April still has school tomorrow, so we shouldn’t keep her too long.”

“You go to school?” one of the boys piped up, his eyes suddenly sparking with interest. A more middle-sized turtle with a purple hoodie tied around his waist peered out from behind his brothers. He wore what appeared to be a large army style backpack over his shell, and a pair of thick black glasses was perched on his snout, making April briefly wondered how Splinter had managed to get his claws on prescription lenses. “What grade are you in?”

“I’m in sixth grade,” April smiled as the group shuffled down the remaining line and into the train car. Splinter ducked in first, muttering to himself that ‘the meatballs had better be done by now’. Mikey clung to her hand, skipping beside April and pulling her up the metal steps. “But I’m only eleven. My birthday falls late in the year, so I’m one of the younger kids in my grade – most of my classmates are twelve.”

The turtle – Donatello, she decided – listened with interest, his head bobbing as she spoke. “Cool. We’re all eight and are homeschooled, so that would make us…” he squinted thoughtfully. “Third grade, I think? Right Dad?”

“Something like that,” Splinter nodded absently as he hurried around the stove and adjusted the burner. “School was a bit different for me when I was your age, and the levels can vary from country to country.”

“Dad’s from Japan.” The turtle in the sleeveless blue tank top piped up, speaking his first words since April had arrived. She turned to face him, and was surprised to see the twin streaks of red running down either side of his face. They looked almost like crescent moons, running vertically from the tip of his head to right above his chin and passing over both eyes. Similar shaped yellow stripes ran up and down his arms and legs, marking him as a red eared slider – a term April had discovered during the frantic turtle research she had been doing over the past few weeks. She hadn’t had a chance to see his markings in the dark that first night, but now in the light of the car April could see that most of the turtles bore unique markings. Donatello’s shoulders boasted purple rectangles below his backpack straps, and bright yellow circles crept up and down Mikey’s legs. A few smaller dots were smattered across the bridge of his nose, almost as if flicked from an artist’s paintbrush. Several stickers had also been slapped to Mikey’s plastron, further diversifying his color scheme. They were all quite a sight to behold, really – a brilliant splash of color and life amongst the darkness of the sewers.

Mikey suddenly tugged at her arm, pulling her out of her thoughts. “C’mon – let me show you around.”

Now that she was looking at her surroundings, April couldn’t help but gape. The inside of the train car was nothing like the cold, intimidating exterior. The whole thing primarily consisted of one long room, with a curtain hung along the back right wall. The front of the car had been completely remade, and was now outfitted with the stove that Splinter was cooking on, a small sink, and a tiny cabinet from which he pulled a variety of mismatched silverware. Behind the rat was a small card table, currently covered with a variety of knickknacks, VHS tapes, stacks of used notepads, and books that April assumed had been collected over the years. Her eyes glanced across the spines – science and engineering textbooks, a few nature magazines, and then several books labeled with symbols that she could only assume were Japanese. She recognized a few of the VHS covers as being Lou Jitsu movies, and the rest were a collection of old cartoons she vaguely remembered having heard of. A large wooden tub sat underneath the table, which Raphael pointed out and clarified that it was for baths.

The four turtles elbowed past each other as they continued towards the back of the car, where twinkling lights had been strung along the ceiling and posters bearing characters from various action movies were plastered over the windows. Donatello explained that this area had originally been the conductors’ sleeping quarters, and two bunk beds had been built into the walls for layovers or when conductors took shifts driving through the night. Nowadays, this served as the boys’ bedroom. Leonardo seemed to be warming up to April as they guided her around, and he whipped open the curtain proudly to reveal the bottom bunk.

A large amount of the twinkling lights were gathered here, woven through the bars beneath the top bunk so as to dangle above their heads like stars in the night sky. The whole bunk was outfitted with a handful of t-shirt pillows and several small blankets with frayed edges. A large quilt lay on top of these, stretching from one end of the bunk to the other in a brilliant gradient of red, blue, purple and orange fabric. April noted a few holes poked through the red portion of the blanket – a clear sign that that was wear Raphael often slept.

The top bunk was much less decorated – two pillows and a thin blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. This was clearly Splinter’s domain, but Leo loudly announced that he had thrown up on the bed during their bout with the flu the week before.

“I had to clean it up,” Raph grumbled. “Since everyone else was sick.”

Mikey patted his arm solemnly. “You’re our hero, bro.”

On the opposite side of the bunks sat a small, portable television – April remembered having seen a similar one in her grandparent’s house back in Northampton. She had vague memories of watching cartoons in her grandpa’s workshop while he worked on cars, and having to lean in close in order to hear the sound that could never seem to get loud enough. In this small area, though, April could imagine snuggling into one of the bunk beds and allowing the speakers to echo through the car.

The last area of the car, immediately to the left of the door, featured a small table that folded out of the wall. A few books had been stacked here – easy readers and a handful of well worn comic books that April guessed were part of their homeschool curriculum. A row of spiral notebooks bearing each boy’s name sat in the window sill, and Donatello pointed his out proudly.

“I’ve got a list of inventions in there- stuff I’m going to make one day when I’m a world famous scientist!”

April grinned. “Cool! I’ve never been great at science myself – I’m more of a math person.”

“Ooh – I like math, too!” the turtle flapped his hands in front of him excitedly, causing Leonardo to giggle. “I can show you what I’m working on, if you want!”

“You can show April your work later, Purple,” Splinter suddenly announced as he sat a stack of plates and silverware on the school table. “For now, let’s go ahead and eat.”

He didn’t need to speak twice – the boys’ calm demeanor quickly dissolved into pushing and shoving as they all grabbed for plates and scooped out heaping portions of spaghetti and meatballs. April was a bit startled at the sudden commotion, but Splinter saw her expression and rolled his eyes tiredly as if to say ‘this happens everyday’.

Once everyone had settled down, forks in their hands and steaming plates before them, Splinter raised his cup. “I want to take this time again to honor Ms. April O’Neil, and the kindness that she has shown our family. From helping Michelangelo in his time of need, to helping us with groceries, she has proven herself to be our hogosha. April, thank you again.”

“To the hogosha!” the boys chorused as they lifted their cups.

April shrunk down in her seat a little, ears burning as she blushed. Thankfully they didn’t seem to need her to say anything in response, as the whole family immediately lowered their cups and dove hungrily into their meals.

***

“Ugh,” April placed a hand over her stomach and sat back in her seat. “That was so good.”

“Yeah,” Mikey nodded in agreement, having already flopped his head into her lap. The other boys sat in various stages of food comas, Donatello’s eyes drooping occasionally and Leo leaning heavily against the wall. Only Raphael seemed to fully awake as he happily bit into another forkful of pasta. Having enough food was clearly a rarity in this household, and being totally satisfied was even rarer. “My tummy is happy.”

April grinned down at the turtle in her lap and patted his shell. He made a purring sound in response and scooched closer, silently urging her to continue. As she did so, the girl looked up at where Splinter was quietly washing dishes. “I can help out with that, if you’d like.”

Splinter’s flicked in her direction, but he continued his job calmly. “That is alright – I’m almost finished, and then we need to get you home.”

April glanced at her watch. Sure enough, it was almost four a.m. She wondered briefly if she could convince her mom that she was sick in order to skip school, since she could already tell that she would not be getting any work done.

“Speaking of home, Leo mentioned that you were originally from Japan? That’s so cool – I’ve never been out of the country before.”

The rat nodded, though April could almost feel a silent guard go up as he spoke. “Yes, I was born and raised in Japan, but I came to America when I was still young. It was a good life, but…” he turned and looked over his boys. “My life wasn’t complete until I adopted these four.”

The girl considered his words for a moment, pondering if her next question would be rude to ask before she finally blurted it out. “How did you get to America? I mean, I’d imagine it’s hard to fly or something when you have to be in disguise the whole time.”

Splinter paused, and April immediately bit her tongue. That was clearly a sore topic. “I’m sorry- you don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

“No, it is alright,” the creature gave a light shrug of his shoulders, and then turned back to the dishes in his hands. “Life was not always like this for me. Let us just leave it like that.”

April yearned to dig deeper and ask more questions, but she swallowed them down and nodded. Whether he noticed it or not, she could see the way that his shoulders had tensed beneath his robe at her words, and how his ears had flattened slightly. Whatever had happened to him in the past, Splinter was clearly not ready to speak openly about it – or at least, not to her.

Her thoughts were cut short when sleep apparently overtook Leonardo, and the boy’s head dropped to the table with a small ‘thwack’. Mikey and Raph immediately burst into quiet laughter, only barely managing to muffle the noise behind their hands. Donnie watched the incident through half-hooded eyes, a look of confusion on his face as if he couldn’t tell what had just happened, and then slowly nudged Leo’s plate out of the way before his brother could end up covered in marinara.

“I think someone’s ready for bed,” April laughed, but she couldn’t blame him. Her own eyes were drooping heavily, and she was already dreading the long walk back to her apartment.

“I’ve got him,” Raph finally said as he got over his giggle fit and hopped out of his chair. April watched the turtle gently lift his brother from the table and carry him towards the open end of the sink, where he coaxed the half-conscious turtle into brushing his teeth. Even though she knew that all of the turtles were the same age, it was hard not to see Raphael as the big brother of the bunch – a role he clearly took with pride. The thought almost made her feel jealous – she’d always thought that it would be nice to have a younger sibling.

As if reading her mind, Mikey yawned pitifully from her lap and stretched his arms into the air. “M’legs are tired – carry me?”

April smiled down at the sleepy bundle and grinned. “Where to?”

“Gotta brush my teeth.”

“Alright, then,” the girl opened her arms and allowed Mikey to cling to her side like a baby koala bear. Donnie followed close behind, his steps heavy as he reached out to grab Mikey’s ankle for guidance. Together the trio shuffled towards the sink and traded places with Raph and Leo. The younger two both pulled their toothbrushes out of a cabinet and set to work as Splinter dried off the last dish and set it to the side. He nodded gratefully at April, and then cleared his throat. 

“I should probably take April home now, boys,” The air filled with a chorus of sleepy moans. “So everyone say your goodbyes, and off to bed.”

“Can we read a story tonight?” Raph asked hopefully as he pulled his jersey over his head and climbed into bed. Leo was already snoring quietly at his side, but shifted obediently when Raph nudged him.

“If there is anyone still awake when I return home, yes.”  

Donnie let out a small, exhausted ‘woo’ as he spit into the sink and then wiped his mouth on his arm. “G’night, April. See you next time.”

“Yeah, goodnight!”

“Goodnight!”

“zzzzz… ood ni….zzzz.”

After giving each of the boys that asked a last hug, April shouldered her backpack and followed Splinter out the door- but not forgetting to leave the box of granola bars on the table. Her eyes drooped heavily as she walked, but her heart soared with warmth as she reminisced on the evening. Granted it had only been an hour and a half, but she couldn’t help but feel the sensation that this was a landmark occasion in her life. Each of the boys had won her heart in a different way, and she was already excited to come back during the daytime in order to hang out and ask more questions. Like where did they go the bathroom? Why did Donnie wear that big backpack the whole time she was there? Was he really going to me a ton of inventions like he said? And what about the future lair that Splinter had mentioned?

April smiled to herself as Splinter began to hum a walking song under his breath. She still had questions about the rat as well. There were somethings that he wasn’t telling her, and that he didn’t seem to want the boys to know either. But what?

When they finally reached the ladder that led to the surface, Splinter allowed April to wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her up and out of the sewer, then up to the fire escape before she even realized what was happening. The rat waited patiently as she climbed back through her window, bidding her farewell with a promise that she could come over again whenever she wanted, and then he vanished.

And as April climbed into bed, not even bothering to put her pjs back on, she rested in that promise – that she would see the boys again, and learn more about their world.

[empyreanwritings]

Sinful (3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader x Natasha Romanoff 

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: language, smut (vaginal fingering, edging, spanking, light d/s themes), mentions of oral (female receiving), 18+ Only

Summary: It’s not considered homewrecking if you want both of them, right? Maybe not, but it sure is naughty.

A/N: Sooooo this is my first attempt at real smut. It’s very light cause I’m just dipping my toes into the smutty waters. Huge huge HUGGE thank you to @somebody-else18 for beta reading this and convincing me not to hide from writing it! Ily so much bby <3 Let me know what you guys think! This series might have five parts unless I get carried away, so I guess we’ll see! I’m also going to tag @wintersoldierswhore for....research purposes x

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated (: x And again, you should not be reading this is you are under 18.

You felt nothing but utter bliss waking up that morning. The memories of last night - especially your punishment - flashed through your mind, and you had to take a deep breath to keep your heart from racing again. It had been sex that you never experienced before. Something about it felt sinful, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop it. You wanted more from the both of them, and you hoped they did too because you'd gladly let them have you any way they wanted.

It wasn't a usual arrangement. Even now, with Bucky's arms around your waist and your head resting on Nat's bare chest, you still thought it was a little odd. But you knew you could get used to this. The feeling, alone, it brought you was enough to keep it going.

You had been so consumed with your thoughts, you barely noticed Bucky's fingers running along your hip, making goosebumps rise wherever he touched. He slipped his metal hand between your thighs, and you gasped when he began lazily rubbing circles on your clit. His motions were slow, almost agonizingly so, and you shifted your hips in hopes he would get the hint to speed it up, but your actions made him pull away.

"Don't be greedy, kitten," he whispered, his lips grazing over the soft spot under your ear. "I need you to be quiet, or you'll wake Nat, and she'll have to punish you for that. Do you understand?"

You swallowed the whimper that threatened to make its way out of your mouth and nodded. There was this burning desire inside of you to be good for him.

He smiled against your skin and moved his fingers back to your clit, resuming the torturous circles. You leaned your head back against his shoulder and let out a frustrated breath when he still didn't pick up the pace, but he rewarded your silence by slipping one of his metal digits into you. You accidentally let a surprised moan out, and he stuffed two of his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making any more noises.

You sucked eagerly on his fingers as he slipped another inside of you. The heel of his palm was pressed against your clit, giving it just enough pressure while he worked you up. He knew every way to make you squirm, and he especially liked the way you shuddered when he curled his fingers against your most sensitive spot.

You reached back, digging your nails into his side to keep yourself still when you felt the familiar tightness in your belly begin to build. He finally slipped a third finger in and began pumping them roughly in and out of you. The sudden change of pace made your legs tremble, and you knew you were going to come soon if he kept it up. You wouldn't be able to hold it back even if he asked you too.

"Fuck, you're so wet, kitten," he groaned. "Just listen to all the filthy noises you make when I do this. I bet you taste so delicious right now."

You could feel the orgasm getting ready to crash over you, and there was no way you could respond to him right now; you were too focused on the pleasure he was bringing you.

But you never reached that point. He pulled away just before you let go, and he chuckled when you turned around in a frustrated huff. Your pupils were lust-blown, and your skin was flush, but he knew by the scowl on your face that you were feeling entirely unsatisfied.

Bucky sucked your juices off his finger and moaned. "Delicious, just like I thought."

"Buck-"

"Now, now, Y/N. Be a good girl and don't complain. We'll make it up to you later." He shot you a wink before sliding out of bed and making his way towards the bathroom.

You watched him walk away, your mouth agape. You threw yourself back against his pillow and groaned. He actually did that to you! He was about to give you an amazing orgasm to start your morning off, but he walked away like nothing was going on, and now you were even hornier than before.

Nat was still fast asleep next to you. How she managed to sleep through your torture was beyond you, but as you watched her chest rise and fall slowly, you realized that you wanted her to wake up. Bucky hadn't let you finish the way you would have liked, and you wanted Nat to fix that. You could hear Bucky's words in your head - warning you not to wake her up or she'll punish you.

But, surely, her punishment wouldn't be any worse than what he did to you, right?

Bucky and Nat were very different when it came to sex, you noticed. They were both dominant, but Nat enjoyed making you come repeatedly as a punishment, while Bucky enjoyed making you wait for your rewards. You knew the punishment last night had been mostly his idea. Making you watch and not touch yourself? That had Bucky written all over it. While it was risky to wake Nat up so early, you knew there was a small chance it would work out in your favor, and you would get what you wanted.

You slowly shifted closer towards her side of the bed. You draped one of your legs across her hips, and she shifted to wrap her arms around you. You took this moment of closeness to place open-mouth kisses across her chest, just above her breasts. Part of you wanted to leave love bites all over her untouched skin, but you had to remind yourself that you didn't know if that was okay, so you settled with leaving the sloppy kisses in its place.

"I see Bucky stirred up some trouble with you this morning," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

You nodded and whimpered. You grinded yourself against her bare thigh, letting her feel how wet you already were.

She sucked in a breath and quickly rolled you over onto your back. You watched eagerly as she straddled your hips, her hands running up your sides. You didn't regret waking her up now.

"Do you want me to finish you off, princess?" She cupped your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze, which made your eyes roll back. "Do you want me to make you come? Fix what Bucky did to you?"

You nodded again. "Please, Tasha. I need it. I need you."

She leaned in close to your face, her lips barely an inch above yours. She brought your bottom lip between her teeth, and you were already trembling again when she began to suck on it. The anticipation was killing you. There were so many things you wanted Nat to do to you right now, but it seemed she wanted to take her time too, and it was driving you crazy.

"Get on your hands and knees," she ordered.

You quickly complied. The eagerness you felt before bubbled back up, and you bit your lip to keep yourself from smiling too wide. You didn't want her to know this is what you were planning the moment Bucky walked away from you.

Instead of feeling her mouth on you, though, her hand came down on your ass, and you squealed in surprise.

"That's for waking me up when I'm sure Bucky warned you not to." Her hand came down on you again, and this time you moaned at how pleasurable the pain felt. "You need to learn a lesson in patience, kitten. So, I need you to count to ten, and when I'm done, then I'll take care of you. Maybe."

You nodded, but that wasn't the response she wanted. She wrapped your hair around her fist and gently pulled your head back.

"I need you to use your words. Do you understand what I just told you?"

"Yes," you mewled.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes ma'am."

You couldn't see it, but Nat smirked at your words. Knowing that she had you in the palm of her hand made her want to roll you over and have her way with you. She loved the way you responded so well to her, but she couldn't overlook your punishment. She needed to make sure you knew who was still in charge.

"Then let's get started, shall we?"

------------

You shifted in your seat, trying to find a way to get comfortable even though your ass still stung. Nat had given it to you in more ways than one, but she made up for it by letting you come twice with her mouth before she finally pulled away to get ready for the day.

She and Bucky mentioned they had an assignment to take care of in New Jersey, but they hadn't given you many details about it. You weren't sure if they'd be gone all day or for the weekend, and you felt sort of sad at the idea they wouldn't be around to keep you company. It was probably silly to feel that way considering they might not even be concerned with missing you.

That thought made you stop in the middle of eating your cereal. Would they miss you the way you missed them?

Sam placed a bottle of orange juice in front of you. There was a look on his face that told you he wanted to say something, but you weren't sure if you were ready to know what it was.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked you.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"I saw you sneaking out of Bucky and Nat's room this morning," he cleared his throat and gave you the look you were dreading to see again. The one where he was clearly scolding you with his eyes; the one you saw the first night during Tony's party when he caught you lusting over the couple. "You want to share what's going on there?"

"Not really," you mumbled. "It's not really anyone's business."

"I just don't want you to get hurt, kid. At the end of the day, they're the couple. You don't fit in with that, and they'll choose each other over you."

His words hit you harder than you expect them to. It was like an ice-cold bucket of reality dropped all over you. You wanted to argue and tell him that he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but you could imagine how it must look from an outside perspective. You looked like someone who was worming their way into a couple's bed - nothing more, nothing less - and there was nothing you could say to try and make it look better. You doubted he would believe you if you tried.

You sat back in your seat, trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your entire morning was ruined with just a few words.

Sam reached over and placed a comforting hand on your arm. "I don't know the situation, so I guess I can't really talk but you need to think about this. Is it worth risking your heart?"

"You should have just stopped at you don't know the situation," Bucky grumbled as he stepped into the kitchen with Nat.

"We're heading out for the assignment," Nat mentioned, directing her words towards you. "We'll be back tomorrow night, so don’t go missing us too much."

She tapped under your chin to get you to look up at her and planted a kiss on your lips. You blinked in surprise when she pulled away, but you didn't have time to think about her words because Bucky stepped over to you and gave you a kiss as well.

He laughed at your reaction, but the amusement was wiped off his face in an instant. "Don't change your mind until we get back, okay? We'll respect if you change your mind, but please don't do it until we get back and talk with you about it."

"O-okay. I won't."

The smile on his and Nat's face made the butterflies flare up in your stomach. You almost wanted to turn around and tell Sam to stick his negativity up his ass. Almost. You were too busy enjoying the happy looks on their faces.

Marvel Tags: @killcomet @stuckysheart @steampowerednightvaler @scarlettglowss 

Sinful Tag: @coohlwhip @marvelfansince08love @ithoughtiwasflying 

[ninja-hamsterstyle]

Pleasant Surprises

Pairing: Uni!Leonard McCoy x Reader

Words: 1,553

Warnings: Swearing, dry humping, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex.

Leonard didn’t think much about it when his roommate Jim texted him and told him that he wouldn’t be in their dorm when he got home that night. Nor did he consider the text after that, saying to leave a sock on the door handle if he had… company. He’d actually laughed at the one and texted Jim back, telling him it’d be too late when he got back to call you.

So when he walked into the dormroom and found you asleep on his bed, he was completely taken off guard. His duffel bag slipped from his grip and landed on the floor with a dull thud, making him wince. Quietly stepping out of his shoes, he left the bag where it was and tiptoed over to the bed.

You were sprawled out on your back on top of the covers, like you’d fallen asleep waiting for him. Leonard chuckled. You probably did. There was a book on the pillow next you.

As he got closer, he realized what you were and his heart skipped. Recognized the burnt orange color and the big white twelve that laid right across your stomach.

“God damn, darlin’,” He muttered under his breath.

Now he understood why Jim told him to leave a sock on the door.

The sight of you wearing his jersey did things to him.

When he got to the bed, he sat down on the edge of it, choosing to just watch you for a moment. Then he leaned over and kissed your cheek. He pressed another kiss to the tip of your nose and laughed softly when you wrinkled it.

“Come on, Y/N,” He whispered, kissing your cheek again. “Wake up, darlin’.”

It took another minute of him peppering your face with kisses and murmuring your name until you woke up. When you did, you swore and snapped your eyes open.. You saw your boyfriend hovering over and swore again.

“This was not how I imagined this going,” You mumbled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, you surprised me, sugar,” He assured you. “I wasn’t expectin’ to you be sleepin’ in my bed when I walked in. Or to see you in my jersey.” He punctuated that sentence with a raise of an eyebrow.

A heat rose in your cheeks. It was funny how, after almost two years of dating, he could still make you blush like this. “I thought you might wanna celebrate the win,” You said shyly. “But you probably just wanna go to bed.”

Leonard raised his eyebrow at you again and you heard the bedsprings squeaked as he shifted. Suddenly, his whole body was hovering over yours.

“Now who said I’m too tired to celebrate?” He said before he kissed you. Passionately.

You moaned, reaching your hands up to grasp at his shoulders. He cupped your cheeks, holding your head steady as he quite literally kissed you breathless.

After a moment, you pulled away and pushed at his shoulders, trying to make him sit up. He did as you wanted him to, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Is everything alright, babe?” He asked, concern coloring his voice. Had he moved too fast?

You smiled at him reassuringly. “Yeah, Lee,” You said, enjoying the shudder that ran through his body at the use of that nickname. “I just… had an idea.”

“And what is that?” He moved back so you could sit up. The confusion on his face disappeared, replaced by a sparkling of lust in his hazel eyes.

Your smile turned into a grin as you scooted over. You took the pillow you’d been laying your head on and tossed it to the floor, then gestured to empty spot where it’d been a moment ago. “Take off your shirt and sit against the headboard,” You told Leonard.

Another shudder ran through his body and a low whistle escaped his lips. “Yes, ma’am,” He said with a grin. His Georgia accent was thicker than usual - from a combination of his exhaustion and arousal, you assumed - and it had you squeezing your thighs together while you watched him move.

He kept his eyes on you as he slowly, teasingly pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere across the room. He bit his lip, something he knew turned you on. And it did.

When he was settled against the headboard, you took a moment to openly stare at him, your eyes tracing along his chest and stomach. Being a football player meant he had to stay fit, but there was a slight layer of squish on his abs that made his muscles look soft instead of hard. You loved every bit of it.

You crawled over him, straddling his lap. Your hands came up to cup either side of his face as you gave him a long, teasing kiss. Leonard followed your lead, resting one hand on the small of your back and the other at the top of your spine. Not pulling you closer, but just holding you.

He gasped when you thrusted your hips down against his jean-clad groin.

You tugged his bottom lip in-between your teeth for a moment before. “I take it you’re happy to see me?” You asked teasingly.

A rumbling groan was your only response.

You brought your hips down again, harder this time.

“Y/N!” He moaned out. “Fuck!”

You nipped at the corner of his jaw and did it again, enjoying the way his hand tightened over your back. You weren’t wearing panties and he knew it. The feeling of your arousal as it started seep through his jeans turned him feeling more than he was willing to admit. “Y/N,” He moaned again.

He moaned and whined as you continued to grind against him. You moaned, too, as you covered every inch of his throat in hickies. By the time your mouth reached the other side of his jaw, you were both panting and gasping.

“Fuck it,” You muttered against his skin. You’d had another thing you wanted to do, but you knew that neither of you had enough patience for it at the moment

Leonard whimpered when you moved your hips off of him, but it was quickly replaced with an excited moan when he realized you were reached for his jean’s clasp. Your fingers stumbled in their haste to unbutton and unzip his pants, and it took longer than either of you would have liked to get them undone. He lifted his ass, helping you pull his jeans and his boxers down enough to free his erection.

Despite your eagerness, you couldn’t resist reaching down and giving his cock a few slow strokes as you positioned yourself over him.

“Y/N, please, baby,” He whined.

You gave him a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing the shout that escaped his throat when you slid down onto him.

As soon as your hips met his, you were lifting them up again and bringing them down in a harder thrust. It was a fast, rough pace that had you moaning into each other’s mouths. Suddenly, Leonard thrusted his hips up to meet yours.

“Lee!” You cried out, breaking away from the kiss

Leonard came before you did, his orgasm surprising him. “Oh, fuck, Y/N!” He wrapped his arms around you, thrusting up into you over and over as he filled you with his come.

He realized what happened as he came down a minute later. “Shit!” His eyes popped open and he looked at you in surprise. “I’m so sorry, sugar!” He said quickly. “I didn’t mean to do that, it just happened so quickly!”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s alright, baby,” You said, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “It happens.” You lifted yourself off of his softening cock, apologizing when he hissed with oversensitivity.

Before you could crawl off of him, though, he tightened his arms around you. “I’m not done with you yet,” He told you. He slid one arm from around you and reached down to roll your clit in-between his fingers. A moan fell from your lips and you tightened your grip on his shoulders.

“Lee!” You cried out when he suddenly pushed two fingers into you. Heat rose in your cheeks when you felt his cum begin to drip out of you at the sudden intrusion.

“Shh, darlin’,” He whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of your jaw as he started moving his fingers in and out of you, his thumb pressing insistently against your clit.

You had been somewhat close when Leonard had came and so it didn’t take long for you to reach the edge . You screamed his name as you fell over, your hips thrusting rhythmically against his fingers. Leonard worked you through your orgasm, and his arm around your waist kept you from bowing your back too far.

When it was over, you slumped against him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” You breathed into his skin. “I love you, Leonard.”

You didn’t see the smile that turned up his lips, but you felt it when he kisses your shoulder. “I love you, too, Y/N,” He said softly.

[captainlondonman]

HI VIZ WORKIE

HI VIS

Portacabin Workie

 The guys had all packed up for the weekend but a dirty van was still parked out the portacabin. No sign of life but then I was suddenly aware of a guy looking out one of the windows in my direction. I’d been sitting quietly reading the paper , well I say that but I was more interested in looking at the hiviz workies that might be around and who had been working on digging various holes in the road. So I pretended to look at the paper but aware I was being watched. Which workie was it? There was one I really got hard watching. A bruiser of a guy, always dirty, smoking and swearing loudly. He was a good 6’2” burly thick neck always in Hiviz jacket and usually jogging bottoms so when he bent down I could see a well formed black hairy arse and at the front it almost looked like he wore a cock ring as his cock stuck out making a horny outline when seen side on. He was always unshaven with close cropped black hair. He was not at all my type as usually it was fit , healthy well dressed guys but there was something about him that every time I could feel my cock hardening.

The portacabin door opened and shit it was him and he had been looking at me. However he showed no interest , shut the door got into his van and drove off. That’s a shame. So as I was about to get up I saw the door swing open. He had not locked up. It didn’t take much for me to walk over to shut it as no one would be around for the weekend so it might as well look safe.

I put my hand on the door to close and even though no one was around I could smell the stale odour to sweat and piss. He must have just pissed before leaving as in some ways it felt fresh. I’d never been in a workie cabin before and thought what the hell, this is a one off chance to check out. Besides my cock was already stiff as a brick.

 I got in and closed the door behind me.. What a bloody mess, there were clothes, hi viz trousers, jackets, helmets, gloves strewn everywhere. The floor hadn’t been cleaned in ages and it was thick with mud and tar. Unwashed cups lay on the table and a big bowl of butt ends.

 However next to the door there were clothes neatly hung on a peg with boots on the floor under. There were a pair of ripped camoflague army type trousers, dirty with tar patches and well worn, in fact they looked as if never washed, a ripped blue sweat top, an army jersey where the person had smeared their hands across and holes all over it. At the back was a filthy orange Hi viz jacket covered in grime and tar marks. On the floor a well used pair of rigger boots with the steel caps showing and a pair of crusty grey socks that were once white. Next to the boots on the bench a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of beer.

 I could smell the person who had worn these, the sweat, the cigarette smoke, the dirt and without thinking I started to examine the clothes rubbing my hands over them all. What made me do it I don’t know but I lifted the trousers off the peg and started smelling the crotch. Christ it smelt of piss. Obviously the guy was commando and I could see the piss marks where at times he had not shaken his dick. But there was another smell and I could see dried cum marks. Christ he was dirty bugger, obviously wanking on the job and allowing the final drips to stain the jeans. Without thinking I put my nose to the crotch for a quick sniff but as soon as I did a wave a being dirty took over and I rammed my face deep into the crotch breathing deeply and with every breath my cock got bigger and bigger. Thank God no one was around and the more I ran the crotch over my face so my hand started wanking slowly as I was  wanting to cum but at least not yet. I could smell the piss and cum on my face and loved it. There was only one way now and that was to put the clothes on. I quickly stripped everything off and stood there pure and naked with a throbbing cock. There would be time for that wank and when I came I know I would shoot everywhere but most of all I wanted to come inside his camoflague gear and leave my own  dried cum for him when he came in on Monday.

I sat on the  bench and pulled on the crusty socks. God they were yellow underneath and I could smell the cheese. They looked a bit big but I saw my feet fitted perfectly. Next the sweatshirt. I smelt the armpits and could sense the sweat. Did this guy ever wash. But I wanted his smell over my body. Next the camouflage. Like him I was going to be commando and when I pulled them up my cock stuck out like a tent. I could see some precum staining through. They fitted perfectly. As did the boots though they looked 2 sizes bigger than I would take. Then the army jersey and I smeared my hand across it as I pulled it down. God my hands suddenly looked dirty and I even had dirt in my fingernails. They looked bigger and real workie type stubby hands. Finally the HI VIZ jacket dirty smelly, tar marked which I zipped up. That was me in the gear. Christ this was great, beyond expectations. On the bench were a pair of gloves. That would just finish everything and I wanted to wank wearing the gloves and cum in the gear. What happened to the clean cut guy? This was not me. Was it the smell,?  thinking of Bruiser?,  christ what?  but I felt dirty and loved it. I picked up the packet of cigarettes and took one out. What for I didn’t smoke and hated it but now I wanted nothing more than to have a fag and a good deep puff. As I took it out I held it between thumb and second finger. Christ that was so workie but it was instinctive and I wanted a fag and now. But before lighting up I needed to wipe my nose and just drew my sleeve across my face and then brought up a good gob of spit and spat onto the floor. I would never do this but now it was me what I wanted. I felt dirty and a workie.

My cock was now rigid and I started massaging my balls with the gloves on while puffing on the fag with the other hand. I had to see what I looked like. There had to be a mirror some place. Next to the bog (bog? Surely WC) was a grimy spattered full length mirror. I walked over fag in one hand the other gloved hand still massaging my cock and balls. I stood in front of the mirror.

 Fucking Hell, who the fuck is this. Shit man what the fuck is going on. This wasn’t even my voice, the words that spilled from my mouth were deep sounding Brummie accent. Jeesus what the fuck.

Standing there staring at me was a forty year old well built, a good beer belly lying over the waisband, in full gear, the cock sticking out, and what a size, fag in hand, shaved head and a good few days growth on his face. My hands were big thick and covered in black hair, with bitten dirty nails. I looked like a footie hooligan with thick neck, squashed nose. Where was the twenty year old fresh faced guy that’s me? I put my hand up to my face and wiped across and sure enough there was the same growth and as I wiped so the dirty gloves left a mark as if I’d been putting in a full day on the roads.

Shit what the fuck has happened, yer a fucking workie. Shite I need a good puff. It was me speaking these words but not my voice.

Yet as I stared at myself and puffed the fag so my cock stood rigid and a leer came over my face. Fucking hell man you look a proper workie, its what you wanted, a right dirty smelling bugger. Christ man have that wank you deserve it.

 As I started to massage the length of my cock through the material I heard a van draw up outside and then the van door closed. Fuck what’s going to happen now?

 The door was flung open and in walked Bruiser.

I knew it’d be you he says smiling from one side of his face to another

Do you think I fuck off and leave the door open. Who do you think left these clothes you’re now in hanging just by the door. I knew you couldn’t fucking well resist. I just left you, went for a coffee and came back knowing full well I’d have a grimy mate like you standing here. Much fucking better than that cleancut college kid. Don’t look so fucking startled. Its what you wanted. A right dirty Brummie workie. It’s got you going man. A right fucking knob on there Shit you certainly got a big un. Much bigger than your college knob. Pass us a fag before you finish the lot off the way you’re going. Aint you going to say something.

 I a’int the only one with a big dick mate. Shit that’s making one fucking large pole in your joggers. Christ this was me saying that and to Bruiser.

 Too fucking right. I’ve had a hard on the whole way back hoping you’d be here looking just like this and you’re fucking better than I expected. I wanted a real workie and I certainly have one, he said dragging on his fag.

Then I ‘d better get to work on that cock of yours so come on, flip it out and let me see what you’re made off.

With one hand smoking his ciggie with the other he eased down the elastic of his joggers and flipped out his huge tool, a good 9inches.

Ain’t washed for a few days so you can get this stinking piece of meat down yer throat. We workies know how to give a bloody good blow job don’t we.

Too fucking right. I hope yer right and yer cocks stinks as I want the full taste of yer manhood.

I stubbed my fag out and was down on my knees smelling his cock. Christ he was right I could smell the piss and cum but its what I wanted and all the way down my throat. I wanted to savour his stinking dick so licked carefully around the head taking in the left over piss and taking the full thick shaft in my hands.

Get my prick down that throat of yours. I’m fucking horny as I have been waiting to see you and was wanking all the way here so I’m ready to put a load of cum all down that throat of yours.

Shit, Bruiser I said that’s one big dick to take but don’t worry I want the whole fucking load you can give me.

At that he grabbed me round the head and start pulling me in.

Breathe properly man and get it down you. That’s it. Slowly I felt his sweaty dick move down the back of my throat. He must have pissed just before he came as I had that tang in my mouth and loved it.

That’s it man swallow my whole big prick. I only want workies on my cock and you’re the best I’ve made. Fucking dirty whore man. Go on suck it let me feel those lips of you right round the shaft. He pulled me in and set me out time after time swearing

Yeah fuck it man, take it all, fucking dirty workie take all my cum.

I had hold of his legs and pushed and pulled them as he stood stock still

Suddenly he stopped shoving my head right up to his balls.

Jesus I coming I hope you fucking gag on all that’s coming to you.

I could feel his body tightening and then without any warning he screamed fucking hell and shot a fountain of cum down my throat. I wanted every drop of it and swallowed and swallowed but there was so much it was also spiliing out of my mouth and down my chin.

You know how to suck a man. Shit that was fucking great. Now take the last drop.

As I leant back I took my hiviz arm and wiped the cum off my mouth on chin leaving a big white smear across the jacket.

I ain’t rubbing that off mate so everyone can see I’ ve given you the best blowjob ever.

Too fucking right.

I stood up and as he flipped his cock back into his joggers he looked at my dick.

Now you need a bit of satisfying.

You know what Bruiser there’s only one way that’s going to be achieved I said rubbing my cock and unbuttoning the flies

And what’s that he said

I’m going to fuck you rigid I said as I pulled my prick out. Christ it was big and the foreskin slid back revealing a monster head

You wanted a workie, well you got one and this workie wants a fuck. Lets see that hairy ass of yours.

I’d never fucked a guy in my life having always been the sub but now with the Brummie voice, looking like a footie bloke I wanted my cock up his arse.

Before he had time to reply I turned him round and pulled down the joggers round his knees.

Just what I thought a nice hairy ass and I love hairy ass for a good fuck. So bend over and spread those hairy beefy legs.

Take it easy mate that’s one big prick you have there but I want it deep inside. I knew you were the fucking type as soon as I walked in.

I put my hand between his crack and massaged the hairy bum finding the hole. I shoved in one finger and then two and Bruiser started to moan. Hope there’s a lot more than that coming.

Christ man once this dick of mine is up you you’ll know.

I gobbed up a good bit of spit and smeared it over my cock.

Putting my beefy hands in the gloves around him I started sliding it in. After the first wince it started sliding more easily.

I aint the first to have fucked you mate

Maybe not but youre the biggest. Christ its fucking great. Get it all the way

If that’s what you want I said as I rammed my dick the whole way up  and felt my balls swing against his arse. I felt the hair against me as he let out a long moan.

He was bent over the table sticking his arse out so he could feel the full thrust and my hands were round his waist. Christ he was hairy all over as my hands went round the front grabbing his belly.

You want a good fuck so I giving it. I started to pump slowing so I could savour every slow move and felt his muscles grab my cock inside him. The more he used his muscles the more I wanted to speed up the fuck.

Go on mate gie it to me fuckjng me hard as you want.

I was ramming my prick up and down and the quicker I rammed the nearer I was to spurting a great load.

Christ I’m ready. I could feel the cum leaving my balls and ready to explode. Shit I comin as I qickly took my cock out and let rip with a fountain of spunk all the way up his HiViz jacket.

Fuck man that arse has given me the best fuck ever I shouted in my Brummie voice.

Bruiser pulled up  his joggers and sat back on the bench. I wiped my cock with the gloves and smeared it over my jacket so the cum makes would harden nicely. I put my dick back in the camos and could see some staining coming thro from the left overs.

 I never thought you’d be as good as that, he said. All my dreams come true when I set those clothes out for you. Give us a fag.

I lit up 2 fags and handed one to him. Both of us taking long draws.

Now then Mate he said, you have to decide as I’m about to lock up. Your old clothes are over there and then you can go back to reading your paper and being the little perv or we can turf them out in the nearest bin and you come back with me as a Brummie Workie.

I took another long draw, wiped my hand across my mouth and spat onto my jacket

Doesn’t seem as there much of a fucking decision to make, Bruiser. I’m a fucking butch workie who knows how to give a good fuck and can be as dirty as I fucking want. Bin those clothes, I’m.staying as I am This is the bloody life , a dirty workie, with some fags, booze, mucky work on the roads and best yet a good load of fucking with the lads.

When we get back to your place make sure  that cock of yours I had a taste off gets rammed up my arse.

I put my gloved hand down and gave my balls and cock a good rub. Better get going Bruiser I’m as horny as fuck.

[lullaandby]

sincerely yours. c text

JIZZ for Jesus 1 minute 15 seconds/ short. 

My being single was a topic that has worried my 85 year old father.  

 a  treasure chest of  anxiety who had anointed himself my dating guru.

Every week he comes up with a new line of advice.

The first was that I should go to church and find a nice guy. 

Ah ok, but Church is centered around redemption themed activities.

What am I going to do- tell someone 

"hey. I ah just saw the way you placed your lips to that chalice- and it got something going down here

He thought about it some more and came back with-

["Hey Jo!  You know what?"

That's the way my dad always speaks, in a tenor most people reserve for an extreme emergency, like a school evacuation. 

"These guys are no good.

 Nah. Not like how they used to be. 

So you fuck 'em Jo. Take what you need and get outta there. Don't be a whore but just get what you need."

Okay dad. Very different types of advice but thank you.

So I figured out a way to combine the two bits of information. It's a little program I like to call Jizz For Jesus.

Just vats of cum in my face in the name of our lord and savior. 

Just trying to be a good daughter. ]

Then he goes " HEY Jo"

That tone means he doesn't want my mom to hear.

What Dad. 

"Are you a lesbian?"

No Dad.

"ok well I want you to know it's ok."

thanks.

"well.... do you know what they do?"

who?

"The LESBIANS!!! how do they do it"

 Dad. We're done here. 

ST HORROR

Catholic interior design is amazingly bold. 

Where else would you be able to get away

With that focal point?

Imagine walking into the grocery store to get some ice cream

And you saw a statue of someone over the cereal aisle

life size

Just bleeding.

Then another one by the ice cream

Smiling while a gentle breeze rolls

Through his luscious locks

And sun illuminates down upon him.

And everyone else was like oh yeah.

That’s our good  buddy Ralph.

He helped to make this place.

No worries just keep hoping for a good life and

Get all your groceries into a cart.

Or just rolling up to your first soccer game

And over the goal net 

there’s a photo of your neighbor, 

Mr. Gershon who served in Vietnam

And passed away last year. 

Just bleeding profusely.

And everyone’s just like oh yeah.

He sacrificed for us.

No worries here’s an orange slice ad some high c fruit punch.

It’s just how you avoid hell.

Did you bring in money for team photo?

And how’s your fundraising going for the new jerseys. 

FIREY PITS

The whole concept of hell gets so left behind.

It becomes this thought in the back of your mind,

To Avoid the  fiery pit.

Really the church needs a revamp.

Instead of a fiery pit just start telling people

They will get zero likes on their posts 

If they don’t comply.

Watch pews fill up.

GOOD TO KNOW the Bible

Dad the only person who invited in Jehovahs they multiplied.

The he…

Years later they still came to visit him so we had to do what I like to call reverse bible chats.

It always starts with a lead in question

“Do you know…” and they insert a bible verse.

It’s a trap like when your friend asks you if you know someone else-

Either they talked shit about you or you are going to hear shit talked about them.

But when it’s bible rhetoric it’s so easy to just listen

And hit them with

Dueternonmy

Or 

Corninthians and just put in random numbers. 

Then conclude with your own opinion.

And they walk away. 

OFFERING OTHER SALVATION

Just so odd

What other types of salvation?

Some like weird cheese 

Do it out 

BIBLICAL HERO

Take a quiz to see what type of biblical hero you are

Moses

Mary Magdalene cuz she’s a hoe

How did they have hoes in the Bible?

I’d like to see a Moses parting the seas of peers who are holding back orgasms

And older ladies shaming for wearing too short skirts and saying well you asked for it,nder their breath

And he just bellows out 

“Let my whores go”

Then they walk to a land where

 they create amazing porn for ladies and general

healthcare that covers all forms of birthcontrol

*

PORHN HUB THE WORLD

More than the bible, The answer is porn

if there were as many categories on porn hub

As there were ideas  for world peace and conservation

We’d be all set. 

LADIES NIGHT

We need more categories for porn by ladies.

Just liven it up make it more representative.

Less filthy next door neighbor taking big dicks

Reading a book and getting your nips tweaked

Getting your ass eaten while watching cute animals lick their faces

Finishing a craft while on top - look how cute his eyes are, and then you just go to outer space

Eating lasagna while anything 

LADIES ARE MORE DANGEROUS

More outlets for female intelignece and for ladies to cum.

That combo creates a burtito cloud of peace with melted cheese around the female psyche.

This is essential. 

Ask any dude who is pissed off a crazy eyes girl. 

Who was just one two many break ups deep. 

There are absoultely crazy guys

But they more start a ned narrative that didn’t happen

Or if something was wrong they just avoid and deny. 

Pretty Much All Ladies will say-

Ok let me find your birth record,

Then trail onto you best friend from preschool

Take a flight to New Orleans- get a witch

Dig up a dead body and procure the two pinky fingers as payment

Rally up anyone else who hates you

Put their soul in a doll, send it to your house

Then around 10pm give you 3 hearts on insta to hide the evidence.

That’s day one. 

*

STORY- ME

*

( How sexual repression makes you into a vengeful person)

FOR REAL REVENGE. 

Girls who are all about the revenge you generally can find zero social media presence on them

And they like to do control based things

The girl in your office 

Keep talking about going to sweet greens 

Or paint night

They are the mid level managers of the world who Marshall over every event and

When you go out to dinner make sure that everyone is paying the exact amount

THE REAL REGINA GEORGRE

I have no idea why people are obsessed with teenager Regina Georges

Because the real assholes are 

repressed, undersexed mothers with body image issues

Who feel as if their children have stolen their lives 

BECUASE FAIR IS FAIR.

They begin to not even see it as revenge.

It’s just fairness. 

Because they have been taught to be nice and they are seething. 

COME A LONG WAY

We’ve come a long way sexuality from

Your aunt who has the solid Ronald mc Donald hair cut and a long short chino

With a polo shirt

To

[50k categories and several articles]

MONGOOSE.

VALIDATION STATION. 

Repression  in females comes from mis placed  validation 

The validation that seems promised from being nice and doing the right thing.

AND JEALOUSLY

AND WORRIED UR FMAILY WILL REJECT U FOR SPOILING THE GOODS 

Jessica simpson? 

Take most of the single males you know perhaps they are sad,

But they will general find a hobby, pussy, or both.

When the barrier to entry of pussy gets to expensive, psychotic, difficult or all three.

They will resort mc guyver like tendencies to find ingenuity.

Take most females who are single.

They will use the same ingenuity to gain validation from friends and family

Which includes carrier achievement and marriage.

When the Barriers to entry become challenging they become crazy.

THAT FRIEND.

If you have been single over twenty eight you have have 100 percent taken a turn

Into crazy town. Driven straight through then taken a right into county love town.

It looks so much more intense when it’s your friend doing it 

There rare two options for yourself and that friend,

A) you’ll make it by having a life and randomly crying to ColdPlay

B) you will spend all your time trying to find someone like a person who has lost

A puppy.

MISPLACED.

LOOKING FOR SOMETHING THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS

This is so insane. 

DOWRY

This starts with our parents,

you chose in your family but I like to blame my mother.

But my dad is to blame to b/c his standards are just wanting me minimally taken care of he’d be like

do you have a car?

A job?

Ok here’s 10k

Remember she likes cheese.

Bye baby remember to turn the lights off. 

MOTHER SHAME. 

JENNER WORLD

Pretty soon moms will be fighting over how many likes their daughter gets.

(Play on how moms compete for girls getting career + marriage)

end on marriage 

The moms who are exactly the same as Kris Jenner

And there’s a lot

Except 

Kris is a narcissist who pairs her daughter up with dudes that aren’t great.

Or at the every least doesn’t encourage them to leave.

Lots of moms are like this- they loose their daughter and their daughters

“Wins” a happy marriage.

The only difference is these girls wear bikinis instead of a nice tailored slack. 

But who is the influencer of the influencers?

Do the equation and you will always come up Oprah. 

Just do it out. Oprah. 

And she doesn’t even have instagram.

And who is her influencer? Maya angelou?

So strong black women. Mostly BBW.

PRECIOUS MOMENTS

Maybe there’s  an age where repression just starts settling in

And people look at the people in their family 

Who came before them

As precious moments statues. 

Ummm just a quick refresh your moms

Vagina was once a  beatiuous place holder for jizz.

And grandma probably took a load 

And not just to the laundry

Why do you think she carries all those werthers?

Just our old friend science. 

****

JESUS INVENTED BROS

FEMALE VERSION OF BROS

PRODIGY KIDS 

[anthonybialy]

Hail to Hizzoner

Mayor Trump does a great job getting panhandlers off the subway.  Let my brain reside in the alternate Earth where life makes sense.  Instead, I'm stuck on this lousy planet where obviously horrid ideas have to be tried.  Even then, a disturbingly high percentage of inhabitants refuse to see what doesn't work.

Take a head of state with the instincts of a city executive.  Most city halls don't have nuclear code access, which is another reason Donald Trump would've been better off in Gracie Mansion than the White House.  Let's have a localized do-over.

Our president picks small fights in every sense.  Responding to insults is a better way to kill time on Twitter than serve as head of state. Someone with such dainty sensibilities shouldn't hold Earth's most criticized job.  That trend of noting what's wrong is especially apparent under this president.  Getting sucked into petty squabbles is fine if you're working downtown.  But that's only if the city isn't Washington.

New York City is a filthy, arrogant cesspool that never sleeps because it's so exhausting.  In other words, it's perfect for Trump.  A mayor is someone you can call when a traffic light is burned out.  That'd be a good level of responsibility for a former reality television character presently deciding who's an American enemy.

Set aside how picturing Trump in a vest as orange at his face filling potholes would make life easy for New York Post headline writers. The government's actual roles are pedestrian, which is why megalomaniac politicians so rarely do their actual jobs.  But one occasionally meets the challenge of a dull office.  That's all to which a representative government should aspire.

Trump might be marginally competent at such routine tasks, even if there's a danger he could be exposed as inept even at those.  He also might be bored by the drudgery involved with being based in Gracie Mansion, although it would've been easier to convince his family to relocate. But it's a more natural fit.  Bitching on Metropolis's behalf would be better than him setting trade policy.

Instead, Trump acts too small for a big office.  His incessant bickering with the press isn't merely undignified for his level: it's hard to look tough when the foe is so weak.  Paul Krugman can barely lift his necktie.

At a local level, his lame attempt to look tough might be passable.  But we've expected previous officeholders of the current job he's staffing to control their understandably seething tempers at the idiocy around them.  A president should be above the fray.  Trump singes the edges.

It's a shame the damage wasn't limited.  Last year's inglorious national election would have been far better if contained to New York City  like, ahem, some of us suggested. Either hopeless hopeful would be an upgrade from limp commie Bill de Blasio, who is so cranky because demonizing success and cops has not created utopia in the boroughs.  The fact Trump would be good for New York more of a comment on the incumbent than the worthiness of any potential replacement.

Knickerbocker mayor is a job for cranky fascists willing to take out their anger on muggers.  In other words, Trump should have run for a local office this year instead.  Each of last year's national combatants have the suitable demeanor and scope to hassle New York.  Watching Donald and Hillary squabble over who's better suited to manage garbage collection would have brought singular joy.

You could see Trump as Gotham's mayor, and not just because it's a post traditionally reserved for pompous jerks.  The position is one where quick outrage is actually a plus, as it may motivate action on mundane city manners.  The job's biggest job is as de facto police commissioner.  Serving as Il Duce from city hall is where authoritarian impulses are put to good use.  Rudy Giuliani imposing order on the seediest metropolis this side of Bangkok is the best example of political proficiency in recent memory.  A lack of manners really helped.

In case Trump still hasn't figured out the job this many months into it, he's supposed to be head of state of Earth’s greatest country. He's free to be an egomaniac, but he should at least be working to justify it.    Getting full of himself without cause explains everything, particularly his contempt for the free market.  Someone who pursued the job for ego massage should be limited to sewer patrol.

I live in New York City, and we deserve Trump.  Nastiness is the norm, while feeling drained is the default setting.  Everyone hates everyone else for good reason.  There's no greater enemy than someone stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to read a text.  Hey: I know the perfect guy who should've been in charge.  Trump's jurisdiction would still include his hideous black glass monoliths, but it wouldn't have extended past the Hudson.  The rest of the country should've been spared.

Manhattan-based Trump might actually be admired for cleaning up Stink City.  And he'd have reached his level of competence, namely scolding municipal screw-ups.  But getting an undeserved promotion is sort-of an American tradition.  Arguing otherwise means defying the president's example, and we should want to inspire schoolchildren.  We can at least dream that kids from New Jersey and beyond wouldn't know his name.

[excxt]

deleted scene one.

As the train passed from New York into New Jersey, the water became darker and the blue of the sky drained away and left a sheet of light grey, like the color of a sickly person’s skin. There was a long chain of mangled telephone poles half sunk into the muck along the tracks. Tall stalks of water-choked weeds swayed in unison as a sprawling ochre ocean with patches of swamp settled into the surface like crop circles. Towering rods of steel alive with electricity pierced the sky, webbed together by a net of lazily hanging ropes. The train thundered over a river of rippling oil slick depths with the criss-cross of dark rusted steel racing past the windows. It slithered stealthily between high walls of graffitied cement stained with the rusted rain runoff of abandoned power boxes. It rose into neighborhoods with trash scattered streets and crumbling brick. The train met the world through a sheet of icy rain or a sprinkling of snow that melted into mud when it hit the ground. Newark reminded me of Buffalo.

Rory’s voicemail picked up and I left a message. Hi, I am going to a job interview in East Orange, a position teaching music after school at the public library that popped up in a Craigslist search. I’m not sure what it pays and it’s very far, and no I didn’t move down here to work in East Orange. But the train ride is something. You’d like it. Okay. Talk to you soon.

The shades of grey and bars of steel held me enraptured like the coldness of an unconscious lover. It was a scene that managed to be filthy and beautiful at once. The mechanics of the the clattering train on its tracks and the defeated spirit of the old electrical pole, bent in half and splintered like a broken bone. The ominous shadow of the bridge’s metal stakes cast across a riverbed that cowered beneath it. It was familiar and fascinating as a place built by industry and then forgotten, much like the people huddled under the decaying roofs one stop over. I felt both large and small passing through it. I remembered feeling the same as the bus sat in traffic on the Tobin bridge on a misty Boston morning. I remembered looking out the window at the vast expanse of white fog shrouding the river and the harbor and everything below. We floated high above the earth.

There was a man sitting on a curb outside the East Orange Public Library. The building was large and square and of dull brown brick. The man looked up at me as I approached and then turned toward the doors. His face was set with deep chasmic wrinkles that folded around his drooping mouth and hollow eyes. One hand held the cement curb as if to steady himself from falling back or forward. He had long unkempt fingernails. Suddenly those fingernails were shrieking, a deafening wraithlike wail, as though they were being dragged across a blackboard on the inside of my eyelids. He held his gaze on me and I stumbled over my own feet in my panic. His nails were screaming and screaming and I staggered toward the door and stumbled up the steps, crushed and struggling against the hellish din. Once inside the foyer I leaned against the wall. My hands were numb and I couldn’t feel my feet. My face and neck prickled with heat and everything was moving further and further away. I felt the blood draining from my head and racing towards my heart, pumping and pounding while the screeching in my ears became a steady unceasing tone. Something was growing in my throat and blocking the deep breaths I knew I was supposed to take. I could feel the ground trembling and I thought wildly that it was the train, it must have toppled off the tracks and was hurtling straight into the side of this horribly boxy building, and now I’d be crushed, along with the Elaine who was supposed to interview me and thousands of books, fiery pages flying and splinters from wooden bookshelves cascading down. And then when it was over, when everything settled, that man and his fingernails would still be there, sitting on the curb among the wreckage, scratching and scratching and scratching. I wanted to cry, it was all so horrible. I wanted to run but my legs were worn out. I waited for the locomotive to come bursting through the wall but it didn’t. I finally slumped to the floor with my legs folded under me and blindly fished in my jacket pocket for my cell phone. My fingers clumsily navigated until Rory’s voicemail was calling to me from somewhere beyond the dissonant overtones still ringing in my ears.

Rory, me again. Having trouble going to this interview. It’s the worst building. Mom said you were having a bad couple of days too. Things aren’t great. I know. Okay. Talk to you later.

[patrick-charles]

The Boston Dispatch

I first learn there are two dime-sized holes in the soles of my brown leather boots as we slosh down the narrow streets of Cambridge with our necks shrugged into our coats fighting off the sideways sleet of early April.

Winter came back to life in New England. Hands tucked deep inside coat pockets, the mess of a gray slushy winter lie dirty in the entrance of every bar and hotel lobby. The falling, freezing rain glitters in the sky. Cars ride by slowly as if navigating a flood, headlights guiding the way to safety.

We step off the curb near the Dunkin Donuts, the glorious coffee shop of the northeast, the purple and orange signs on every corner you turn, fueling an entire city, region and area. The country must run on this stuff.

Nearly every stop on the T is filthy, dirtier than I remember New York ever being. But it was a respectable kind of dirty, hard-earned and struggling, dependable and determined. The red line screeches to a halt at Porter Square and we pile on, heading into the heart of the city. A dimly lit pub has two open seats at the bar so we pony up and order our first bowl of clam chowder. The Friday crowd is happy and loud. I rub Sam’s leg, she skims her spoon on the surface of her soup with a silver smile.

It’s halftime at the Garden when we run into scalpers who have got two different box tickets in two different sections. I take a piss to think it over. We fork over $57 for the pair and find seats at center court next to a couple from Ireland in Celtics jerseys who secure us spots. Isiah Thomas does what he does and the C’s hang on in a one-point win. The stairwells are packed with green. The weather rains on the fans in t-shirts, guys take their girls back home, call cabs from the corner.

Inside a dive bar off Massachusetts Avenue a group of a dozen locals take up space at the center table, pulled three tables together to make room for pitchers of beer and pizzas. Not one of them on their phones. Instead they jaw and laugh and holler in those accents. Older men sit at the wraparound bar watching the Bruins postgame show. Our waitress slaps down a plate with Philly cheesesteak, a caesar salad and a tallboy of Harpoon’s IPA. We listen to the accents, grease up our fingers and watch winter come down in thick white pellets.

The next day we stand in line at a brewery for over an hour as it rains and temperatures fall below 30. Right on the harbor, major boats sit idle and wait for joys of summer. The line stretches on forever. We drink a flight of dark beers and can’t get buzzed fast enough. I have a hard time holding or walking, all my digits on the verge of falling off. My hands stay purple up to my wrists for an hour. We have dinner plans so we head out into the cold again, make one more pit stop for a Boston-only beer for Chris back at home and catch a bus across town.

Duck tacos, more chowder, shrimp and grits, glasses of water, big wide windows showing traffic. Rain dribbles down the glass. Sam across from me, shaking her head in delight and trying new foods, her favorite thing in the entire world. I’ve sat across her in these moments in dozens of cities across the country, tasting, picking, forking, nibbling, smiling, chewing, closes her eyes, the shake of her head and then that smile, like a light that wishes it could grow brighter with every bite.

The sun comes out the next day. We stroll along the green, blue and yellow houses of the northeast. We walk along ‘50s Boston. I feel as if I’m walking in Kerouac’s Lowell, in the midst of classic Americana with tiny sidewalks, big bushes out in the front yard, Victorian houses painted the colors of an autumn rainbow. The trees barren but pretty, the mailboxes full, cars in the compact driveways and garages, big wide windows with the greens of gardens and hanging plants. We walk slow and take it all in, get lost on purpose down the winding streets.

For lunch we eat gourmet bagels with almond butter and scallion cream cheese. Downtown, coming out of the train station, we spot a miniature blonde in a long white winter coat with flowing, thick blonde hair. She waves and smiles in sunglasses too big for her and runs across Causeway Street and gives Sam a long, tight, loving hug. Eleanor, all five feet of her, hasn’t lost a lick of her Tennessee drawl or southern charm. She smiles big, tosses her hair with her small hands and calls and Uber to catch our brunch reservations she made on the train ride down from Portland, Maine.

Strong mimosas in flute glasses, syrupy chicken on a plate, pizza with mozzarella and basil. Laughing from the two girls at the table, reminiscing of old friends years and miles away. What happened to our younger selves? Have we forgotten who we are, who we used to be, is it okay to feel old now? At only 25? They talk and ask about Megans, Sarahs, Rebeccas, girls I know and don't.

We step out into the sunlight with full bellies and walk our tired feet across town with coffee in paper cups. Street performers with kids dancing holding plastic instruments gather at Boston Common. The pond of summer is brown like sewage. The grass dull and dead, trees the same. Sidewalks are packed with strollers and healthy dogs on leashes. We sit on a wooden park bench and take in the movement of a city. A woman lays in a tree with her legs sprawled out in beige jeans and leafs through a novel. An Asian couple in Red Sox windbreakers nap on each other’s shoulders.

The crooked streets of North End spine through four story flats like an Al Pacino movie. I look for his handsome face as the sun sets on the buildings beyond downtown and over the river. A 90-year-old bakery on a corner is packed with patrons and cannolis. They make every dessert under the sun and they're all on display in dough-smeared glass cases. We grab $15 worth of treats and Sam and I finish them off with licked fingers as Eleanor boards her train back up north.

The Harvard Arboretum isn’t full with green life this time of year but we stroll hand-in-hand anyhow and imagine June in Massachusetts. A small creek runs through the stones. Kids play near the pond, geese gawk at their silliness.

The blue harbor matches the blue sky for a twilight walk along the water. The lights of the sky twinkle in a big way, a catch your breath and make sure you don’t forget how she walks and moves her neck across the street watching for reckless cabbies kind of way. That moment of the weekend that resembles the dreams you had when booking a flight across the country and the memories that linger forever. At the time I’m frustrated with tired knees at every Italian and seafood restaurant we pass up for an imaginary and perfect one. But looking back this was it, walking along in silence and taking it all in with my southern lover, with my two-and-a-half year lover, the one I’ve given the most time to, the scariest one, the one who knows me best out of anyone. She whispers the names of street signs to herself, biting nails, scarf around her neck, her small ears turning pink with fading winter.

Dinner is a disaster. We walk into a five-star jaunt wearing sweaters and sneakers. The hostess wears a suit. The owner with gray hair and grace asks us how the gnocchi is. I write a note to the staff on the receipt apologizing. Never did we both want to be out of a meal as fast as that one. Neither of us want to stand up to even take a leak. We slump out after a high-end dinner and hightail it out for another dirty subway ride back to Cambridge.

The first Monday in April means baseball, and Boston does their baseball right. Like in movies, TV shows, broadcasts of my youth, sitting in front of the TV watching and gawking at Fenway Park. I find it outside of a subway stop, men and women selling programs, juggling autographed balls, the same scalpers on the sidewalk now as the Garden. Cold beers in cans on the patio as the first-pitch roar of the crowd comes cascading over the Green Monster. A flight of IPAs on the other side of the block with the sun shining down, the glow of Boston goldening the small glasses of heavy beer with the crowds and chants and fans filling up the streets. Sam clinking her rings on the glasses, taking sips of beer and more chowder. Bostonians fill the street, happy with red hats and navy blue jerseys celebrating the first win of the season.

We end our last night in Boston drinking beers in a living room watching the NCAA championship game. Cambridge glows in the rain outside as we toss and turn on the air mattress.

Tuesday rains on us, the city bidding us farewell with more cold and clouds. The owner of the burger joint down the block wishes us well on our travels. On the bus to the airport Sam and I share a half hug-half kiss in front of sad strangers, traveling with the same Tuesday blues. The city sits beneath a falling puddle as planes wait for passengers at the gate.

Where did the days go? Where do adventures take us? Why do we long for them?

To see the way buildings are positioned together next to the ocean. To hear how people talk to each other with pints of beer in their hands. To taste clam chowder, duck tacos, Boston brewed beer and to hold hands on cobblestone streets tight enough so your palms sweat with love and excitement.

Boston did this for us, and so much more.

[kansascityhappenings]

Super Bowl LIII prop bets: A look at the bizarre novelty wagers for the big game

Some people will tell you that prop bets are for suckers. And those people suck.

Prop betting has become one of the most popular wagering options for both squares and sharps alike, according to sister site Covers.com.

When it comes to the professional bettors – those fabled Vegas wiseguys – they don’t care what the bet is. Their biggest concern is value: do they have a significant edge over the book to make money on that bet?

Whether that’s on the Super Bowl pointspread or time of the first score of the game, money won is money won. That said, there are “smarter” prop bets to make, like handicapping prop odds for things you can actually research and quantify.

You can crunch the numbers around the longest made field goal for Super Bowl LIII and have an educated prediction. You can’t, however, accurately forecast the fashion habits of Maroon 5 lead singer Adam Levine and know whether he’ll wear a hat during the halftime show. I mean you can try. And boy do we try.

For all of you Super Bowl bettors — the so-called suckers — who love those unpredictable and often absurd novelty prop options: we salute you. That’s true gambling. Let’s do the impossible.

*Note: Most novelty props that can’t be officially graded in a box score are not allowed to be offered in legal sports betting states like Nevada or New Jersey. These types of props are only available online or in Europe sportsbooks. If you can’t legally take part in those markets, these predictions should simply be treated as entertainment only.

COIN TOSS

The same folks that poo-poo prop betting are the same ones that crap all over wagering on the coin toss.

Yes, it’s an actual coin toss with no way to predict what will happen. Pure 50/50. But, it’s also a coin toss, so there’s no outside factors like weather or in-game injuries that will spoil a play you thought you handicapped perfectly. Just let her rip.

Another reason to love betting on the coin toss: it’s the miso soup of Super Bowl bets. It’s quick, and early on, and you don’t have to go nuts and bet a ton of money on it. The coin toss is just a little taste to warm up your gut for the all-you-can-eat feast that is Super Sunday.

As it stands, Tails holds a 27-25 edge over Heads in Super Bowl coin toss history. Tails had hit in four straight Big Games before Heads showed up last year at Super Bowl LII. Is Heads due to come up again in order to balance out the universe or is Tails still the hot pick? Reminder: it’s a coin toss, so don’t lose too much sleep.

A couple other coin toss trends to consider (but are actually pure fluff): the NFC has won 18 of the past 21 Super Bowl coin flips but lost last year when the AFC Champion Patriots took the toss. That was just the second time in New England’s eight Super Bowl showings under Bill Belichick that the Pats won the toss – and they lost both of those games (2012, 2018).

Again, it’s a coin toss. Have fun.

PREDICTION: Tails (-105)

NATIONAL ANTHEM LENGTH

Motown legend Gladys Knight has the honors of singing the National Anthem at Super Bowl LIII. The 74-year-old songstress from Atlanta has an Over/Under of 107 seconds (could vary per sportsbook), which is well below last year’s 120-second total for pop singer Pink, who clocked in at 112 seconds and cashed in for Under bettors.

Going back over the past 28 Super Bowls, the average length of the anthem is about 115 seconds but recent singers have really milked the spotlight with longer versions of the “Star-Spangled Banner”. Before Pink, three consecutive singers went over two minutes with their anthem performance and looking back at those past 28 Super Bowls, just seven versions of the anthem stayed below the current O/U of 107 seconds.

I did some YouTube sleuthing and found a recording of Knight singing the anthem back in 1991, with her finishing with a time around 105 seconds. That was 27 years ago. According to my fellow Covers Live Wire host and professional stage performer/singer Maddy Palmer, Knight’s age and breathing control have her leaning toward the Under. Maddy believes Knight won’t have the pipes to go all out like some younger anthem singers in the past. She’ll keep it quick and clean.

Good enough for me.

PREDICTION: Under 107 (-115)

HALFTIME SHOW

Is it just me or does Maroon 5 not have enough clout to play the Super Bowl halftime show? Beyoncé, Prince, Paul McCartney, The Rolling “F-ing” Stones, and… Maroon 5. One of these things is not like the others. I guess that’s what you get when every other major musical act passes on the chance due to their stand on the NFL vs. Colin Kaepernick. But I digress.

Props around the halftime show are abundant, with Maroon 5, Travis Scott and Big Boi (God, I’d love an all Outkasts halftime show!) scheduled to appear. As mentioned above, you can wager on whether Levine will sport a hat to start the show or not, but by now that’s standard Super Bowl prop betting fare. I think the real money is in the opening song markets.

Some books have “Moves Like Jagger” as the front runner to kick off the halftime show while other have songs like “One More Night”, “Sugar”, and “Makes Me Wonder” at the top of this prop. You can grab most of these between +300 and +600.

The one trend I’ve noticed in recent Super Bowl halftime shows is a “psych out song” to open. They start playing the tune from one song but then start singing another:

We saw Lady Gaga do this three years ago with “God Bless America” and then jumping into “Poker Face”, Bruno Mars did it in 2014 with a kids choir singing “Billionaire” then he went in with “Locked Out Of Heaven”, and Beyoncé crossed us up with a “Run The World (Girls)”/Vince Lombardi mashup then singing “Love On Top”. Beware of this trend because it causes grading issues with many online books. It’s their prop and their rules, so whatever they think is the first song sung – that’s what you get. Tough tees.

The other trend I’ve picked up on in recent Super Bowl halftime shows is that acts will either open with their latest song – in order to promote the new album – or they’ll swing big with what is considered their greatest hit:

Justin Timberlake went new with “Filthy” right out of the gate last year, Lady Gaga went classic with “Poker Face”, Coldplay went classic with “Yellow”, Katy Perry went new with “Roar”, Bruno Mars went new with “Locked Out of Heaven”, as did the Queen B with “Love On Top”, and Madonna took us back to the classics with “Vogue” in 2012.

Since most of these options pay a larger sum due to the unpredictable nature of this prop, we’re pulling the trigger on three songs to open. Going classic: “This Love”. Going new: “Girls Like You”. And, digging into setlists from their recent concerts: “What Lovers Do”.

PREDICTION: Opening song – This Love (+1,500), Girls Like You (+600), What Lovers Do (+400)

BETTING THE BROADCAST

The great thing about broadcast props is that the game can be an absolute wash and you still have a dog in the fight. And speaking of dogs, did you know there’s an Over/Under prop out there on the number of dogs featured in Super Bowl commercials (5.5)? Gotta go Over, right?

Other broadcast offerings include how many time Tony Romo will correctly calls a play before it happens and will a call Romo correctly predicts finds its way to the endzone? Then you have all of the Over/Under TV appearance props: Giselle 1.5 O/U, Roger Goodell 1.5 O/U, Robert Kraft 2.5, Kylie Jenner 0.5.

There are a ton of these out there but my favorite one – in terms of probability – is will CBS mention the age difference in the two head coaches, Bill Belichick (the evil entity that uses his body as a host is 391 years old but he doesn’t look a day over 66) and Sean McVay (33).

The “Yes” on this prop is priced at -200, which may be a little too rich for the casual fan but this prop is going to hit. You bet $20 to get $10. You’re going to return half of your investment right away. No mutual fund is going to promise that kind of return.

PREDICTION: “Yes” broadcast mentions age difference between Belichick and McVay (-200)

GATORADE BATH 

Just because the whistle blew and confetti is flying doesn’t mean the betting fun stops. The postgame is a dog and pony show of unpredictable markets just waiting to be wagered on. You’ve got a ton of President Trump related props (Will he congratulate the winning team on Twitter by midnight ET?) and of course, who will the winning quarterback thank first (God, family, coach, team, fans)?

At the top of that list though is the color of the Gatorade bath. Depending on where you play, the price on colors is all over the place. However, most shops do have water/clear and yellow leading the charge.

Looking back to 2000, this is your Super Bowl Gatorade bath count: Water x 7, Orange x 5, Yellow x 3, Blue x 1, and 4 bone-dry coaches. You had both Water and Orange when the Ravens won in 2013, in case you’re actually counting.

If you like the Patriots, there might be value in no bath – if available at your sportsbook. In Belichick’s five wins, he’s stayed dry in three of those games (thanks to walk-off wins) with Blue and Water as the color of the other two. McVay, on the other hand, got a Water bath in his first win as the Rams’ head coach in Week 1 of the 2017 season.

Seems like H2O is the way to go.

PREDICTION: Water/Clear +360

This article was written by Jason Logan (@CoversJLo) and originally published on Covers.com, a site also owned by Tribune. 

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/02/01/super-bowl-liii-prop-bets-a-look-at-the-bizarre-big-game-novelty-wagers/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/02/01/super-bowl-liii-prop-bets-a-look-at-the-bizarre-novelty-wagers-for-the-big-game/

[shadowycomputercollectorstu-blog]

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Bad Buggies and Ballyhoo: Bashing through the Desert in VW-Powered Off-Roaders

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If Baja California resembles a dog’s hind leg, then Ensenada would lie near the top rear of its thigh, while La Paz finds itself nestled in a crook at the top of its toes. In 1967, a motley crew of dudes set off down the peninsula in search of glory and bragging rights. There wasn’t much in the way of cash involved; the level of danger was high, the chance of mechanical failure, very high. Twenty-seven hours and 38 minutes after leaving Ensenada, Vic Wilson and Ted Mangels crossed the finish line in La Paz in a Meyers Manx, having covered 950 filthy miles in the little Volkswagen-powered buggy.

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Class 11, the choice of strident retronauts and staunch masochists.

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Then, as now, a variety of vehicles contested the race, which began as the NORRA Mexican 1000 Rally and morphed along the way into the SCORE Baja 1000. Modern off-road racing vehicles have been divided into classes, and the most rudimentary of them all are the Class 11 cars. Stock-bodied air-cooled VW Beetles running a 1600-cc engine that could’ve been just as easily built in the late Sixties as it could be today, Class 11s are slow, violent, a hoot, and an enduring testament to the fundamental toughness of Ferry Porsche’s basic design. They can, at least, utilize the independent rear suspension introduced by Volkswagen at the end of the 1960s. The Class 9 cars make do with the old-school swing axle.

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More obvious than the swing axle, however, is the 9’s bodywork. There isn’t a whole lot of it, and it shaves about 1000 pounds compared with the weight of a Class 11 machine. There’s a lid over your head that also happens to serve as the door, some flat pieces attached to the tube frame, and well, that’s about it. A near stock Bug suspension is bolted to the front, and a tight little gearbox sits in front of a 1600 built to the same restrictions as a Class 11. In the car I was to drive, there was a total of eight inches of suspension travel out back—four compression, four rebound—and the ride is even more violent than that of a Class 11. On the upside, the light weight means that it has a tendency to skip along the tops of whoops. And out on the 10-mile course laid out for us by Cody Jeffers of Mojave Off-Road Racing Enthusiasts, if there weren’t rocks, there were whoops. Sometimes there were rocky whoops.

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The apple of our dusty eye: the stalwart, archaic, and brutal Class 9 buggy.

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Class 9s have another interesting tendency: They’ll basically high-side themselves. Motorcyclists know the high side and fear it. On a bike, it happens when the rear wheel starts to slide out from underneath the rider, gets traction, and then the suspension quickly compresses and unloads, throwing the rider from the motorcycle as if he’s been launched by a trebuchet. Wonderfully, a Class 9 buggy is capable of a similar feat. In sketchy sections under too much power, the car gets a disconcerting side-to-side oscillation going. If it gets wild enough, one side of the suspension quickly loads, then unloads itself. Combine this with the light weight of the thing (somewhere in the neighborhood of 1500 pounds dry), and it’s easy to see how it could potentially end up on its roof.

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After watching my performance in the Class 11 car, which basically consisted of pushing it as hard as I could and hoping for the best, Cody Jeffers took me aside and kindly and calmly suggested that such tactics wouldn’t work in the 9. As he was doing so, a fellow journalist rolled in, lamenting the yellow little car and finally, in a fit of dusty exasperation, exclaiming, “Just bury me in it.” Another had become disenchanted after stalling it in a wash. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I did, however, reach into the bag on the back of my motorcycle and pull out a pair of Alpinestars SMX-1 summer riding gloves, figuring the thin palms would do a decent job of approximating driving gloves, given the steering kickback the others had complained about.

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The wee shifter is over there on the right.

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I clambered up on the wheel, onto the fuel cell located between the seat and the engine, and down through the roof. I fiddled with the five-point harness while Cody hooked up my radio and plugged the fresh-air blower system into my helmet. Racing clutch to the floor, I fired up the old flat-four and putzed out of the pits.

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It felt a little bit like that first live performance with a new band. You’ve practiced, you’ve screwed up, you’ve practiced a bit more, and now you’re on a stage with nothing but wit and skill to guide you. But letting a crowd down is one thing. Hanging upside down from a racing harness while the guy whose buggy you’ve rolled comes to extract you is another.

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The first stretch of the course saw me bounding down a straight path. The wheel bucked and kicked, but with a little hand pressure to keep it on line, the car tracked true while desert scrub whipped by on either side. A right turn, and I was up into the rocks and whoops. Baseball-sized rocks could be driven over; basketball-sized rocks were to be avoided. My breathing went shallow, and I couldn’t seem to make it any deeper until I aced a section at speed and involuntarily Wooo!ed in delight. After that, the breaths came normally. Apparently, if you need to kick-start your lungs in the desert, impersonating a twentysomething female hepped up on pumpkin spice lattes and Fireball whiskey does the trick.

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The technique for dealing with whoops is as follows: punch the gas up the micro-hillock to lift the front; let off to let the car float down the other side. In practice, the technique has you tapping the throttle almost like a mid-tempo kick drum. I got a little too aggressive, and the car started the side-to-side oscillation Cody had warned me about. I gently backed out of the throttle, let the car calm down, and dug back in. Later, I mentioned to an off-road racer friend that taming the car and getting back into a rhythm made me feel like a hero but that I didn’t know whether that was because I was a newbie. She replied, “No, I totally do.” Knowing that it’s a lasting feeling makes me want more.

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Our course was marked by black arrows marked on blaze-orange placards, and while I’d been around the track as a passenger and a driver in the Class 11 machine and then suffered through an exhibition lap in a Class 5 Unlimited Bug—a tube-chassis Beetle powered by a hogged-out flat-four capable of more than 80 mph in this terrain—I didn’t have it entirely memorized. I missed a turn, came to a stop in front of a sizable creosote bush, thought that I didn’t want to deal with finding reverse in the tight transmission, then realized, “Hey! I’m in a freakin’ buggy!” and just drove over the poor plant to get back on course.

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When I was 10 years old, there was nothing in the world I wanted more than a Tamiya Fox R/C buggy. So I scrimped and I saved for the better part of a year, bought the car the day after Christmas 1986, spent the rest of my school break building it, and then had to wait eight more months until I had enough money to purchase a radio, battery, and charger. In short, the 1/10-scale buggy was one of the prized possessions of my childhood. Eventually, I put a ’67 GTO body on it, because I am from the Central Valley. At one point, tearing up a hill in the Mojave Desert, I had a thought: “I’m in the Fox! I’m the little plastic dude I painted 31 years ago!”

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I knew the hill with the jump at the top was coming soon. The smooth face of the serious rise in front of me looked like it. I was about 90 percent sure it was the jump. Perhaps foolishly judging that 90 percent is the better percentage of valor, I committed. Cody’d warned me to get out of the throttle if I left the ground. Hammer down, the small yellow buggy bounded up the hill, crested the rise, and caught sweet, sweet air. Right foot up, stuck the landing, back into the power, and on toward the last bit of the course. Tearing toward the pits, there were a couple of nature-made drainage ditches to be aware of, not easily visible in the desert sun. In the interest of avoiding calamity, I dialed back the pace.

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Into the pits, engine off. I’d been so occupied out on the course I hadn’t realized just how stupendous the whole experience had been. It was akin to the night Bob Mould invited me onstage to sing “Makes No Sense at All” because he’d blown his voice out. After the song ended, I stepped off the stage and just stood there with my hand over my mouth. A guy smiled and said to his date, “He just realized what he just did.”

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Baja Blitzkrieg: Taking the Reins of a BMW X6 Trophy Truck in Mexico

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The Burrito Cannonball

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Volkswagen: News, Reviews, Photos, and More

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Power- and weight-wise, a Class 9 car isn’t that far off a loaded up Harley-Davidson tourer, yet the experience is like riding a four-wheeled dirt bike. Throttle-induced weight transfer rules the day, steering inputs alone are largely suggestions, getting a buggy around the course requires merging with both the machinery and the landscape. Eyes down the course, foot in the gas, make the thing skitter and dance across the terrain instead of plowing through it. I was geeked; I hadn’t been so utterly thrilled in a vehicle in a very long time. It beat lapping Daytona in a Ferrari 488, or ripping around New Jersey Motorsports Park on a Yamaha YZF-R6. Cody unfastened the roof hatch, and I clambered out gracelessly, fairly well pummeled after 40 miles around the course during the afternoon. Jeffers allowed that most of the people who drive Class 11s are in their teens and early twenties. I’m 41. I asked anyway. “Cody, how much does one of these things cost?”

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“About six grand.”

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“Don’t tell me that. I can afford that!”

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The 2017 Baja 1000 starts in Ensenada on November 14. I won’t be there, but, man, am I ever dreaming dreams of Class 9 glory.

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