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hellavile · 1 year

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LUV THIS SHIT | eren yeager.

‍ ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.1k. fem!reader, eren’s pent up from working out, asmr sexting, submissive reader, impact play [ face smack, spanking ] public arousal, indecent behavior, mating press, f!oral, fingering, profanity, established relationship, lots of making out, unprotected sex, eren’s aggressive, floor sex, riding, creampie, artist!reader, pet names, reader has black features, minors aren't allowed!

‍ merry christmas! ♡

eren starts his day the same every morning. the alarm goes off at six o'clock which is never your favorite thing to hear considering you're not an early bird. usually groaning in your state of sleep and tugging the blankets away from him after he kisses you on your forehead and steps out of bed. you always snuggle on his side before the warmth he created grows cold. proceeds to take a steaming hot shower, tilting his neck back to let the heavy beats of water dampen his long hair. lathers his body with african black soap you picked up from a shop while SONDER plays from his speaker, careful not to blast it too loud to wake you up. it's your off day so he's respecting your wishes to hibernate all day.

he honestly hates leaving you alone in bed. sue him but being your little spoon is the best thing he's ever known. he's never slept so good in his life until he met you. never knew it felt so comfortable being in another persons arms. eren’s next step is to dress for the gym, the only reason he's up this early three times out of the week. a dark gray towel is wrapped low around his slim waist, tatted chest and arms running with water droplets as he wipes the foggy mirror clear to see his reflection. washing his face with a kale, spinach, and green tea cleanser along with brushing his teeth, cleaning his tongue with a scraper and gargling mouthwash. he forgets to do this backwards sometimes considering he has to eat first. the taste lingers and makes his food nasty.

afterwards, he’s moisturizing his face with cerave healing ointment and his pouty cotton candy lips with one of your babylips sticks. lathering his body in vaseline coca butter lotion and slipping on a olive green colored sweatpants with a black cropped metallica muscle tank, wrapping a matching black bandanna over the top of his towel-dried chestnut hair. he spritz this cologne you picked up at the mall when thinking of him called art deco amberwood by clive christian. makes you fall to your knees to suck him off every time now that he thinks about it.

by then it's near seven and he's down in the kitchen with his black airpod max’s over his ears listening to jazz while he blends his smoothie with spinach, kale, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. he gulps that down after filling a mason jar completely. and for further consumption, he makes avocado toast topped with chia seeds, himalayan salt and pepper and two strips of bacon each.

before he leaves he makes sure to run back up the stairs to double check on you to see if you needed anything before he left such as picking up a coffee from dunkin or anything from the art supply store. he peaks his head through the door to see you sprawled out, mouth open and snoring peacefully, cuddling his pillow. he smiles to himself, mumbling ‘my pretty girl’ before quietly tiptoeing close to the king-sized bed with satin sheets to give you a kiss or two before heading out, moving your bonnet aside to whisper that he loves you.

he's got his gym bag and his car keys when he leaves, taking the elevator down the parking lot of the loft you two live in, three years now. he finds his car parked directly next to yours. cute. the pretty wolf gray kia k5 besides his onyx lexus rc 300. there's a gym located in the building but he prefers the one your brother owns a few minutes out of the area.

it's around ten o'clock when you fully wake up, missing his presence already and pouting about it before heading to the shower yourself. sitting in a towel for a full hour stuck on tiktok and getting a craving for samyang carbonara noodles and rice cakes. it's really the only thing that made you leave the house today, throwing on a pair of eren’s gray nike shorts you had to roll up to properly sit on your hips, and a black tank, jewelry remaining on your skin everyday from layered necklaces to multiple bracelets.

you're sitting in the starbucks drive thru which has an incredibly long line but you're not minding the wait, craving a pink drink suddenly. the sun was hitting nicely into your car so you decide to take photos to pass a little time, thumb slipping and accidentally opening the voice memos app with only four recordings, one of them fairly new. created about two weeks ago and you vaguely remember that night. it's about an hour and fifteen minutes long

'luv this shit <3’ is what it's titled. not remembering exactly how it went. you and eren only used this app whenever you're having sex, meaning those four audios were strictly nsfw. you bite your lip in curiosity, deciding to press play to hear it, flinching when you hear how loud you were screaming on top of forgetting that your phone is connected to your cars bluetooth. you swallow in panic, turning it off and sitting back in silence, twiddling your fingers, becoming impatient with the line now because you wanted to hear it. it had to be something the two of you made when you were intoxicated. or else you would've remembered it.

you've retrieved your pink drink, and now it was time to park, too impatient to wait and hear this. sipping your drink, you get comfortable, holding your phones speaker to your ear and pressing play yet again. there's music playing in the background, luv this shit by august alsina in specific, now you knew where the title came from. probably eren’s doing. a rush of heat swarms your cheeks and gut as you hear your boyfriend’s voice, deep and stern as he talks to you while skin connects and your moans overshadow the music. the sound of you kissing wetly makes you shift in your seat, feeling his soft lips on yours at the moment. you loved kissing him.

it lasts for about two minutes before eren’s voice becomes louder than yours when he's fucking you hard, your voice muffled by your hand you assume, doing that a lot since you think you're too loud. “let me fuckin’ hear it,” there's his voice again, unconsciously whimpering along with yourself in the audio. eren’s whining with you, the two of you gasping and listening to how wet you were. a loud smack erupts and you're crying his name, the memory slowly coming back. he smacked your face. the jewelry on his wrist prominent when he does it again, this time it's the outside of your thigh.

“rennnnnn! fuh-uuck.”

“i hear you, baby. come on, come on, come on, cum, cum, cum.” with every thrust he gets louder, hissing as your pussy constricts around his dick. “that's it, pretty. yeah.”

you nearly spill your drink over your lap, the cup slowly slipping from your grip after you zoned out, catching it quick and collecting yourself, setting it in the cup holder. you need to leave. actually, you need to send this to him. he has to be done at the gym by now. then again, you're never sure with him. the man could work out all day if he wanted.

being risky, you grin, pulling up his contact and sending him the audio, following with a text that said . . .

NEW MESSAGE

kuromi princess hello kitty baby star ♡

don't we sound pretty? <3

follicles of eren's hair stick to his sweaty forehead, putting it up before he started his workout, going on for about three hours now. RICH FLEX blasts in his headphones. the neckline of his top is doused with sweat, removing the boxing gloves off his hands to sit down and gulp a full bottle of water. checking his phone, he sees your message. lifting his brow at the audio you had sent, reading your response, and clicking it without hesitating. immediately when he hears your desperate pleading and skin smacking, his pupils dilate, clenching his jaw and checking his surroundings. not many people were in this area of the gym.

“fuck me, baby. fuck me, baby. fuck me, babyyy,” eren listens with wide eyes as he hears your pretty moans, skipping through the audio to hear bits and pieces.

“yeah, speak to me like that.”

eren grows shamelessly aroused from what he's hearing, swallowing hard and shifting his dick back in place, breathing heavier. he's mad at you. mad because you know he's in public and he gets easily turned on by anything regarding you. whether it be your scent, your smile, your eyes, or your fucking voice. when you talk, or scream his name. it's all the same. he's triggered by it all. and you know this, so why test him? not to mention the two of you haven't been sexually active because you've been caught up with work and painting and he's been working doubles. the only time you spend together is brief mornings in bed or one day weekends, usually sleeping all day or being lazy.

all he can think of this moment is fucking you rough and raw. gathering his belongings without another thought and sending you a brief text.

pretty boy ren <3

yea, okay.

it's so stressful walking with a hard dick, and eren really can't wait until he gets home to fuck you up. such a dirty girl needing to be put in place. he forgets his headphones have noise cancellation, so when he's speeding home like a dummy, music continues to thrum in his ears, acting like a complete madman. exactly five minutes before he enters the apartment, you're sitting in your usual corner of the loft where you've made your art station. sitting on the ground while incense flows and sza’s new album plays soundly. a canvas laying on the ground where you sat on a cushion, finger painting a collage of the weeknd’s discography since it's the 11th anniversary for echoes of silence. unaware of the message you received.

that is until you hear the familiar sound of keys jangling and in a matter of seconds, the front door flies open, there standing a big, tall, visibly irritated man. your eyes go wide from seeing him, eren kicking off his shoes, heavy feet stomping towards you and you sit up with curiosity, trying your hardest to hide your devious smile. you knew it'd have that effect on him. eren’s hot hand grabs your jaw fervently, clenching his before yanking your face close to his to connect your lips in a heated kiss. smacking his lips roughly over yours, moaning into his mouth, his eyes focused on your face as you close your eyes too comfortably for his liking. as if you're not in trouble for the shit you pulled.

your hands kept to yourself on either side of his wide shoulders, eren dragging you down to lay on your back onto the cushion you previously sat on, slipping off the black panties covering your neglected pussy, weeping, and waiting for him to get home to do exactly this. staring up at him with glee in your eyes, it's the opposite in his. he can't hear a thing you say because of his headphones, not bothering to toss them off because the only thing on his mind is sliding his dick inside of you and getting his nut off.

raising your knees without his help, he's pushing them further up to your chest, folding you still before arching his neck to release globs of spit onto your cunt three times max, each one emitting a ‘puh’ sound. you clench from his dirty act. his big body hovers over yours, heavy dick practically drenched in precum resting on your mound before eren angles his hips to slip into you. he doesn't give you time to brace yourself, gasping as he groans and thrusts his hips fast, your skin clapping and body jerking under him. beautiful green irises switching darker as he stares into your soul, your moans faintly being heard.

“think you fuckin slick, baby?” eren rasps, your mouth agape, his grip on your thighs harsh. “did that shit on purpose just so i can fuck that pretty pussy stupid on my cock, right?”

“y-yess,” he watches you nod drunkenly, your hands digging on your sides into the rug beneath you. every pound into your slick pussy vibrates into your throat, following his rhythm. happy tears brim your eyes.

“s’okay. ‘cause i got something for you.”

his pace hastens, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he drills deep, jackhammering almost, like a needy, inexperienced boy. your cunts squelching loud, hand pressing at his abdomen in attempt to slow him down but he only fucks you harder, air knocking from your lungs. it's so fucking hot the way he's handling you right now, like he's been so deprived of you for so long he couldn't stand it. couldn't even take his clothes fully off, keeping every piece on because he needed you that badly.

“ooh, i'm fucking cumming. ssss, fuck,” eren moans. you squeal as eren takes both your arms and crosses them over your tummy, holding them there while he puts his weight on you and grunts in your face. sweat dampening his bandanna, breath mixing with yours as he cums inside you. coating your walls with thick spurts of white. your knees buckle from the feeling, his lower halve twitching from the rush.

eren licks his lips, stilling his movements to take a breather, knocking back one of the ears to his airpods to hear how desperate you sound, slowly pulling his dick out, still hard.

“eren, i didn't cum,” you whine, squirming with an attitude.

“i think i knew that.”

you put your middle finger up to him for his smart ass tone, eren arching a brow and scooping you up without another word. smiling, you cling to him as he moves towards the couch, deciding to stay seated on the floor, lifting you so you sit on his lap. his cock resting on his stomach where you're able to see toned abs and a dark, neatly trimmed happy trail to match your cute brazilian strip all cause of that slutty, grunge crop top he has on. his back rests against the furniture. you take the initiative to remove these stupid headphones so you could put your hands and mouth around his neck.

“i don’t think you understand how much i thought about fuckin’ you today. you really fuckin’ don’t.” eren lands a heavy hand on your ass causing you to jump and scoot forward from leaning back on his knees. “could barely fucking focus. all because you sent me that shit.”

“and because you miss me,” you whisper, delicately skimming your lips over his, arching into him as he spreads your ass cheeks apart after smoothing over them. spanking you hard on either side until you gasp into his mouth and he could kiss you again.

“sink on it real slow,” eren taps your clit with the tip to say he wants it done now. sucking on your lip, you raise yourself till he's kissing the entrance and gently easing down, indenting crescent moons into his broad shoulders momentarily. dragging your hands to your waist, you rub over your body, hissing and throwing your head back, feeling a storm of euphoria fuel you. eren hums in fascination as you lose yourself in the bond.

“g’na say sorry with your pussy, baby?” eren taunts in a baby-like tone.

“mhmm,” what eren wants, eren gets. and if he wanted you to ride his dick you were going to. getting up on the tips of your toes and rode only on the tip first, eren choking on his spit with brows furrowed and praising you. soon, inching lower to bounce yourself up and down to his liking, being sure to clench your walls a little tighter just to hear him whine. when eren gets really feral he gets really loud. unable to control what his vocal cords let out. he used to think it was embarrassing, but the two of you have shared enough time together to dismiss judgment. he sounds so pretty when he's getting fucked good.

“shit, you keep fuckin’ me like that m’ not gonna last,” ignoring him, you continue to clap your ass down, skin interaction picking back up, eren’s hands on your hips just for leverage. he never needs to guide you. a few squeezes occasionally since he's so sensitive. painfully aroused it makes no sense.

“i can't last long,” you warn, pawing at his chest as you raise your ass and fuck him faster, eren moaning and helping you out by pounding up into you. you fall forward into his arms, yanking you down each time you'd rise back up. smacking your ass just to hear your voice pick up. “eren, fuck baby!”

“unh huh, keep goin’,” eren’s face scrunches up, whining in your ear while keeping one of his tatted arms wrapped around your backside. your thighs begin to burn but you know stopping isn't an option when he sounds that good in your ear. eren gets aggressive and hits into you harder, same time ass you drop down with more force, tugging at his hair and he whimpers your name. “keep that shit up, baby. yeahh.”

it feels so good you start crying, missing this so much. holding onto him for dear life as he somehow moves quicker, slouching in his spot so his neck settles back onto the couch, slipping his right hand under your right thigh and raising his hips to fuck up into you, lifting you like you're one of his weights at the gym. you watch as he mumbles ‘fuck’ with his eyes scrolled back and mouth wide open, jawline sharp, and adam’s apple in his throat prominent. he looked so fucking good right now you just had to kiss his neck. eren hitting that spot so good you can't control yourself from screaming, mouthing at his neck and leaving hickeys. he smells good, hints of musk and that damn cologne you love, feels good, looks even better. then wonders why you act the way you did. he’s made a monster.

“you fuck me so good, ‘ren. love you so much, missed you so much,” at this point you're babbling, saying anything that comes from your brain mindlessly. it's enough to make eren bellow streams of curses before hiking your ass off and nutting over your back, eren releasing a high-pitched gasp as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. vision blurry.

before you complain, eren’s lifting you higher and scoots further down to sit you on his face, hot mouth munching on your soaked cunt with puffy lips. your eyes cross and you scream into the air, gripping the couch as he slides two fingers, middle and pointer, deep into your hole, thrusting while his fat tongue laps at your clit, silver cuban link on his wrist cold on your stomach. he's swallowing your arousal like he's drinking a glass of water, moaning into your pussy and spanking your ass with his unoccupied hand.

“oh my . . . god,” you're breathless as you cum, legs twitching and squealing from the intensity of your orgasm, losing balance and falling forward. eren smirks and smacks your ass one last time before moving from below you, sitting on his knees behind you and pushing your back down to fix your arch, turning your head to face him, fucked out face staring at him like he was crazy for putting his dick back inside you. you already feel so sore.

eren arches his brow. “oh, you thought i was done?”

˖ ࣪ ⌨ ˚ ﹢tags :: @sailewhoremoon @dejwrites @getosbunny @massivelynervousprincess @gatoru @satotokii @sintiva @shamelesshoefairy @minniecums @kiitysstuff @itsn0ct @7inaa @444yeager

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thebeautysailor1 · 1 year

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the-beauty-sailor · 2 years

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tigertales9 · 7 months

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Hard Reset

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: The first game of the 2023 season didn't go well. This fic covers the aftermath with a quick flashback to the game.

Time/Place: Monday, Sep. 11, 2023 (the day after the week 1 loss to Cleveland) / Cincinnati, Ohio

Edit: Explanation is here

Here's the follow-up - Hard Reset II

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

You wake up slowly, stretching and yawning before turning your head to look at Joe; he's still asleep, his lips slightly parted and his messy hair fanned out against his pillow. You ease out of bed -- careful not to wake him -- and walk into the bathroom, quickly peeing and washing your face before heading downstairs to make coffee.

You roll your shoulders and stretch a bit while you wait for the coffee to be done. Your entire body feels a little sore from literally tensing most of your muscles throughout yesterday's game in Cleveland. Between the awful weather, the lackluster offense, and Joe looking like he was one wrong move away from getting hurt, the game had been a miserable experience.

You pour a cup of coffee and add a splash of salted caramel creamer before taking a seat at the kitchen island, your mind rewinding back to yesterday.

~ ~ ~

You'd been anxious well before kick-off, worried that the team was rushing Joe back before his calf injury was fully healed. The steady rain had kicked your anxiety into overdrive, you and Joe's mom exchanging worried looks while his dad tried to remain stoic. It became obvious fairly quickly that Joe was hampered by the calf, not really rolling out or scrambling as well as usual. Every hit he took, every time he slipped on the wet turf, your heart jumped into your throat. The fact that he got out of Cleveland without getting anything but his ego hurt seemed like a damn miracle.

And his ego was definitely hurt, you think to yourself, remembering the look on his face when he got home late Sunday night after the game. You'd been home long enough to shower and change clothes before he came in; you hurried to hug him as soon as he walked through the door, pressing your face against his broad chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

"You okay?" you asked. "I'm fine," he grumbled, "and I really don't wanna talk about it," he continued, dropping a kiss on your forehead to soften his words. You leaned back and looked up into his face. "You hungry?" you asked, biting your lip when he shook his head no. "Can we just go to bed?" he asked, giving you a tired smile as you took his hand and led him toward the stairs.

~ ~ ~

The sound of Joe ambling down the stairs snaps you back to the present (Monday morning); you spin your barstool toward him and give him a smile, taking in his wild hair and grumpy expression.

"Good morning, sunshine," you chuckle. "Morning," he mutters, dropping a quick kiss on your lips before heading to the fridge to grab the orange juice. You zero in on his gait, trying hard to decide if he's limping or just doing his usual long-legged, loose-hipped stride.

"Calf feels fine, babe," he states, throwing you a knowing look over his shoulder.

"How did you know I was looking at your calf?" you scoff. "Your back was to me."

He takes a sip of his juice before answering. "Were you looking at my calf?"

"Maybe," you shrug, rolling your eyes playfully when he gives you a smug grin. "So it feels good?"

"It feels … fine," he answers, giving you a 'don't go there' look.

You really want to 'go there' but decide not to. "You want some breakfast?"

"Yeah, I'm starving," he groans, sitting beside you at the island while you list possible breakfast items.

"How does an omelet sound? And maybe some avocado toast?"

"Yes and yes," he chirps, his demeanor perking up at the thought of yummy food.

About forty minutes later you watch him finish the last bite on his plate. "That was delicious," he moans, giving you a smile while rubbing his stomach. "Wish I could go straight back to bed for a nap," he sighs. "I didn't sleep worth a shit last night, but I need to get to the facility."

"Too bad you have to go on your day off," you mumble, cutting the last bite of your avocado toast in half and handing him a portion.

"Yeah." He pops the tasty morsel in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before giving you a shrug. "But you know how it is. Gotta get treatment -- maybe watch a little film while I'm there -- then I can come home and take a nap."

You nod your head before responding. "Anybody coming over to watch the Bills & Jets game tonight?"

"No. I don't feel like having anybody over." He stands up and grabs both of your plates. "Guess it'll just be you and me," he continues, quickly rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

He walks to the stove to grab the skillet and you shoo him away. "I'll take care of that," you state, standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss before he turns and heads for the stairs; you watch him carefully as he walks away from you, giving him a bland smile when he shoots you a look over his shoulder. "I was looking at your ass not your calf," you lie, smiling at the sound of his laughter as he disappears upstairs.

~ ~ ~

Several hours later after a shared nap and a 'cheat day' pizza dinner, y'all are snuggled on the sofa watching the lead-up to Monday Night Football.

"Think it's gonna be a good game," you ask, smiling at his inelegant snort. "Who knows," he sighs. "I just hope both teams put on a better show than we did yesterday. We sucked ass, especially me."

"You were playing in shitty weather after missing damn near all of training camp," you grumble. "Give yourself a break, okay?"

He turns his head and locks eyes with you. "I just signed a 275 million dollar contract. There are no 'breaks' when that kind of money has been handed to you."

"You earned every penny of that and then some," you retort. "This franchise has gone from being an absolute joke to a top contender because of you." You take a deep breath before plowing ahead. "What you've accomplished in just two full seasons is mind-blowing and …"

"Babe?" he interrupts.

"What?"

"None of that changes the fact that I sucked ass yesterday."

"But you weren't 100%."

"Tough shit. I've never made excuses and I refuse to start now."

You stare at each other for several heartbeats before you break the silence. "You're right. Sorry."

"No need to apologize."

You give him a smile. "Didn't mean to get my panties in a wad over it."

"Need some help with that?" he chuckles, sliding a hand up your thigh, laughing even harder when you playfully slap it away. "Easy there, horndog. You're about to miss Mr. Rodgers running out waving the flag." You point at the TV and Joe turns his head to watch. "This is some high-octane drama," he murmurs, shaking his head as y'all watch the remainder of the pre-game festivities in silence.

A little while later you head to the kitchen to grab some water. "That pizza was salty as hell," you mutter, guzzling most of your glass before refilling it, almost dropping it when you hear Joe holler.

"Oh shit!"

"What is it?" you chirp, setting your glass on the kitchen counter and hurrying back to Joe, your gaze locking on the TV as the replay rolls.

"Aaron went down really awkward," Joe mutters, standing up off the sofa to walk closer to the TV. "Looked like his cleat got stuck in the turf." You walk up beside him and watch the replay again, now in super slow-mo. "Jesus, it's his fucking Achilles," Joe whispers, running a hand through his hair in agitation as he watches the trainers help Aaron off the field.

"He's putting some weight on it," you offer hopefully. "Maybe it's not that bad."

"It's bad," he mumbles, pulling his phone out and doing a quick search. "Fuck," he breathes, shaking his head as he watches something, rewinding it a few times.

"What are you watching?"

"A man's Achilles tendon snap like a brittle rubber band."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Don't look too close at that replay or you'll see it too." His eyebrows slowly creep up when his phone starts blowing up with texts. He bites his lip while looking at the display.

"Who's texting you?"

"Just some teammates … and my parents."

"You're not gonna answer them?"

"No, because I know exactly what they're gonna say."

"What?"

He takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling for a minute before locking eyes with you. "Aaron had a calf strain like mine back during OTAs. Folks are gonna say that his Achilles injury is proof I shouldn't be playing until my calf is 100% healed."

"Was his calf strain on the same leg as the Achilles injury?"

"No, but overcompensating and favoring one leg over the other can result in an injury to the good leg."

"So it sounds like you shouldn't be playing until your calf is fully healed, right? Or you risk either making the calf injury worse or sustaining an overcompensation injury."

"No," he shakes his head in annoyance. "Aaron is older than me and has had calf issues his entire career. Plus, his cleat got stuck in the fucking turf. It's bad luck not an overcompensation injury."

His phone rings and he stares at it for a second before ignoring it.

"Who's that?"

"Mom." He makes a 'don't go there' face when you open your mouth to say something; you glare at him for several heartbeats before you're startled by your own phone ringing. You quickly check the display as Joe speaks up. "If that's my mom don't answer it."

"Hey Robin," you say, turning your back on Joe when he rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking to her," he says loudly, his expression totally belligerent when you spin around and lock eyes with him. "Well, I am!" you snap. "And I know you're not gonna tell me who I can and can't talk to!"

He's smart enough to keep his mouth shut as you continue your conversation with his mom. "Yeah, it's super concerning since it's the same injury Joe has. Something about overcompensating a calf strain makes you really vulnerable to an Achilles injury." Joe makes a snorting noise and you cut your eyes at him while continuing. "Well, he's a hard-headed, stubborn asshole when it comes to stuff like this, so no way he's gonna listen to us about it."

"Damn right," he mutters, ignoring your warning look while picking at his thumbnail.

"Okay, I'll tell him," you sigh, ending the call and hitting Joe with an exasperated look. "Your mom would like to talk to you when you feel like it."

"It's not gonna be tonight," he states. "And it may not be for a while since I don't feel like hearing a bunch of crap about why I shouldn't be playing."

"She's just worried about you, Joe. We all are."

"That's nice, but I don't wanna talk about it with anybody right now." You open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off. "That includes you."

You heave a sigh and lick your lips before responding. "But …"

"Drop it!" he snaps, immediately grimacing when he sees the look on your face. "Fine," you whisper, brushing his hand off your arm as he reaches out to touch you. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he mumbles, following you as you turn and head toward the kitchen; halfway there you hear his phone ring, your eyes going wide when he answers it.

"Hey Coach," he mutters, turning back toward the living room as you continue into the kitchen.

"Of course he answers Coach's call," you grumble, stopping just out of sight to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Yeah, I saw it," Joe says. "Looked like his cleat got caught in the turf. It's def a ruptured Achilles." He listens for a minute before speaking back up. "As far as I'm concerned this changes nothing for me. I intend to play Sunday as long as I don't have any setbacks between now and then."

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding and walk farther into the kitchen, grabbing your water glass to refill it before setting it back down. "Fuck it," you mumble, reaching into a cabinet for a wine glass before pulling a bottle of rosé out of the fridge; you pour a large serving and take a couple of sips before heading toward the stairs, rolling your eyes when you hear Joe talking about some offensive scheme with Coach Taylor.

Fifteen minutes later you're chin deep in a bubble bath, the only light in the bathroom coming from several candles; you take a sip of cold wine and hold it on your tongue for a bit before swallowing, your pulse picking up when you hear a soft knock at the door.

"Can I come in?" Joe calls.

"Yeah," you answer, setting your glass on the tub ledge as he opens the door and slowly approaches you; he drops to his knees beside the oversized tub and blinks a few times as his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he states. "I'm under a lot of pressure, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

You take in his earnest expression, struck speechless for a few seconds at how achingly beautiful his face is in the flickering candlelight. "I understand," you finally concede. "I just wish you'd talk to me about it instead of shutting me down."

"There's nothing to talk about because my mind's made up. If practice goes well this week -- and I receive clearance to play -- I'm taking the field this Sunday. I'm sorry if that makes you mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm scared," you whisper, blinking your eyes rapidly to try and keep tears from falling.

He bites his bottom lip and leans in closer. "Babe, I'm not gonna lie and say there's nothing to be scared of because you never know what's gonna happen in this sport. Here's the thing though." He runs a hand through his hair before continuing. "I could bubble-wrap my entire body and sit out until I feel 100% healthy," he shrugs, "but the second I step back on the field I'm at risk just like every other player. Instead of a calf it might be another blown-out knee, cracked ribs, a bad concussion …"

"You're making me feel a lot better, thanks," you butt in, grabbing your wine glass and taking a hearty gulp.

"My point is … guys get hurt every week. You can't play scared, though, or you might as well just go ahead and hang 'em up." He takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly. "You went through my knee rehab with me so you know it was hell. But we came out the other side stronger than ever. If, God forbid, something like that happens again, I know we'll get through it, okay?"

"I guess it has to be okay," you sigh. "I mean this is your job. It's violent as hell, and it may get you permanently maimed or worse one of these days, but unfortunately you're really good at it."

He gives a snort of laughter while shaking his head. "Unfortunately?"

"That was a little harsh," you admit, watching as he stands up and strips his clothes off.

"Scoot forward," he orders, stepping into the tub behind you as you do his bidding; he eases into the warm, frothy water, his long legs stretching out on either side of you as he pulls you back against him, your back to his chest.

Once he's settled he digs his fingers into your shoulder muscles, working out the tension as you give an appreciative moan. "That feels good," you whisper, your toes curling as he moves to your neck muscles, taking his time to give you a thorough neck and shoulder massage before dipping his hands below the water surface to rest on your thighs. "How did you know my thighs are sore?" you sigh, your eyes sliding closed in pleasure as his big hands knead your sore thigh muscles.

"Because I'm guessing you were so tense at the game yesterday you could've cracked a walnut with your buttcheeks."

"You have a way with words," you giggle, taking a sip of wine before setting the glass on the tub ledge and relaxing back against him. He continues to massage your thighs for several minutes, his right hand edging closer to your crotch before he finally ghosts his fingertips over your folds; your body reacts instantly but your mind refuses to play along. You wait a minute to see if you can get in the mood before dropping a hand down and gently moving his hand back onto your thigh. "I'm not in the right headspace for that," you murmur. "My body's saying yes but my mind's saying no."

"It's okay," he soothes, pressing a kiss on your neck. "I just thought some endorphins might help you relax."

"Absolutely would if I could shut my damn brain off for a few minutes." A thought hits you. "If you want me to get you off I'll be happy to."

"I'm not really in the right headspace, either."

Y'all fall silent for a bit before he speaks back up. "Since we're both tired as hell why don't we get in bed, put something boring on TV and hope it lulls us to sleep."

"Sounds good," you sigh, easing out of the tub and drying off before brushing your teeth; you step into a pair of panties as Joe blows out the candles, a smile gracing your lips at the comforting feel of his hand on the small of your back as he follows you into the bedroom.

~ ~ ~

The next morning (Tuesday) you're in the kitchen making breakfast burritos when Joe comes down the stairs already dressed for the day.

"Smells delicious," he says, watching you roll up two fat burritos before setting them on a hot griddle to get toasty. "What's in 'em?"

"Eggs, spicy turkey sausage, onion, red bell pepper, poblano, jalapeno, and some chipotle salsa."

"Yum," he groans, grabbing a couple of plates as you flip the burritos, smiling down at you as y'all wait for the second side to get golden.

"Did you sleep okay? he asks, dropping a kiss on your lips. "Not really. Check out these dark circles," you grimace, pointing at your face. "Your barely-there dark circles ain't got nothing on this huge zit," he grumps, pointing at a miniscule dot on his chin. You squint your eyes and lean in close. "Boy please," you scoff. "It doesn't count if you need a magnifying glass to see it."

"It's not nice to talk about Travis Kelce's dick like that, babe," he deadpans, both of you cackling like hyenas for a bit before settling down.

Y'all eventually sit down at the table and exchange small talk over breakfast, mostly about your plans for the day:

his plans = work-out, treatment, film session

your plans = work-out, virtual meeting for work, errands

Once breakfast is done you slide the last dish into the dishwasher just as Joe's phone rings; he checks the display before giving you a look. "It's Josh," he says.

"Josh Allen?"

"Yeah, I texted him earlier. He looked like he was going through it in his post-game presser last night."

You nod in agreement, loving the fact that a lot of the young NFL QBs reach out to each other to lend support. They're rivals on the field but off of it they're a very elite brotherhood. Nobody understands the pressure on a QB1 except for another QB1.

You finish wiping down the counters and tune into the conversation.

"Yeah, bro, I know it sucks," Joe states, "but even the best-of-the-best shit the bed every now and then. You just gotta flush it down and move on." He catches your eye for a second before continuing. "Listen, you're being too hard on yourself. The worst thing you can do is dwell on it. Keep your head up and unleash hell next week."

You give him a smile as he ends the call. "Is he okay?"

Joe shrugs. "He's really beating himself up about the four turnovers he had."

"You gave him some great advice. Actually, you're giving him a lot more grace than you give yourself."

"He needs it more than I do," Joe boasts.

"Hardass," you scold, giving him a playful grin.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he smirks, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips before heading for the door. "Have a good day," he calls over his shoulder, giving you a wink before disappearing into the garage.

A few hours later you stagger into the house carrying four heavy bags of groceries. "Should've made two trips," you chuckle, heaving the bags onto the kitchen counter with a sigh of relief. You eventually get everything put away, yawning a couple of times in the process. "I could really use a nap," you mutter, checking your watch. "Plenty of time," you smile, heading upstairs and stripping down to your undies before falling into bed.

An hour and a half later you come awake abruptly, your body so close to climax that you can't believe you don't fall over the edge. "Shit," you whisper, still groggy from sleep as you cup a hand over your throbbing crotch. You consider finishing yourself off but decide to wait for Joe to get home.

You take several deep breaths as you remember the reason for your hyper-aroused state -- an erotic dream about your man. "So hot," you mumble, easing out of bed and checking the clock, noting that Joe should be home soon. You walk into your closet and grab a couple of items, deciding to recreate the outfit from your dream.

You pull on a tight white t-shirt -- no bra -- before adding a black flouncy skirt so short it barely covers your buttcheeks. "Not bad," you whisper, checking your reflection in the mirror while fluffing your hair. "Oh yeah, almost forgot" you breathe, reaching under your skirt to slide your panties off, tossing them aside as you turn and head for the door.

You're halfway down the hallway to Joe's office when you hear the garage door open; your entire body immediately reacts, every single pleasure point throbbing in anticipation. You hurry into his office as you hear him coming up the stairs. "I'm in your office," you call loudly, "and I hope you're ready for this," you add under your breath.

"Hey," he says as he strides into the room, the big grin on his face morphing into a look of surprise and then lust as he gives you a slow once-over, his gaze coming to rest on your hard nipples plainly visible through your thin shirt.

You immediately notice his haircut but are too far gone to mention it. "I took a nap earlier and had a dream about you," you admit, closing the distance between you and rising up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Must have been a good one," he says, deepening the kiss while cupping his big hands over your breasts, teasing your sensitive nubs through your shirt; he pinches them just hard enough to make you gasp, and you press your thighs together at the gush of liquid heat in your core. He reads your body language and drops a hand down, sliding it under your short skirt before slowing inching it up your inner thigh, making a sound that's part groan/part growl when he realizes you're not wearing panties.

"Damn, babe," he hisses, pulling back to look down at you as he plays with your slick folds. "So wet for me." He slides a long finger inside you, both of you moaning when your walls clench hard around it.

"We gotta slow down or I'm gonna cum," you whimper. "Is that a bad thing?" he asks, latching his pretty mouth onto your neck while pumping his finger inside you. "I wanna do it just like in my dream," you pant, taking a couple of steps back to try and get yourself under control; you watch him suck his wet finger into his mouth, the look on his face causing your core to react.

"What do you need?" he asks. "Get naked," you order, taking your own clothes off while he does your bidding; you walk toward his desk, spinning his large, black leather desk chair to face you before pointing at it. "Sit," you urge, watching closely as he follows orders, his long legs falling open in his usual manspread.

You drop to your knees between his thick thighs, your mouth immediately on his hard cock as he buries both hands in your hair, his throaty groans going directly to your clit as you work him in all his favorite ways.

Shit, gotta fast-forward, you think to yourself. You'd teased him more in your dream, but you're literally about to bust so you quickly stand up and crawl into his lap, gasping when he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the desk. "This wasn't in the dream," you whisper, laying back against the desk as he grabs your ankles and places your feet on either side of him on the arms of the chair. "Just let me have a quick taste," he purrs, waiting for your approval before lowering his head.

You run your hands over his fresh fade haircut, relishing the velvet-like feel as he licks your wet slit a few times before sliding his tongue inside. "Oh my God," you moan, fisting a hand in his hair as he continues to tongue-fuck you, grateful that he left enough hair on top of his head to get a nice handful.

Even though he's strategically avoiding your clit, you quickly feel that delicious tension building inside you. "That feels so good but you gotta stop," you whine. "Why?" he asks. "Because I wanna cum on your cock," you say matter-of-factly.

The words barely leave your mouth before you find yourself lifted off the desk and straddling his lap, your head spinning a little as he makes sure you're settled before he drops a hand down to his erection, dragging it through your drenched folds a few times to gather moisture before pushing inside. It's been a few days and you bite your lip at the way he fills you up, inch by inch, the delicious stretch making your eyes water and raising chill bumps on your skin.

"So good," you whisper once he's fully seated, holding yourself still for several heartbeats to adjust to his thick length. Your gaze is drawn to your juices glistening on his lips, and you can't resist leaning forward and slowly licking them before sucking his plump bottom lip into your mouth. His cock twitching deep inside you spurs you into action, and within a few seconds you're riding him hard

"Don't touch my clit yet," you whimper, digging your fingers into his muscular shoulders as you hit the perfect pace. "Yes, ma'am." He runs his hands up and down your thighs before resting them on your ass. "Did I talk dirty to you in your dream?" he grits out, his big hands squeezing your plump ass as you bounce on his cock. "Y … yeah," you pant. "Thank fuck," he groans, his gaze resting on your bouncing breasts for several seconds before he locks eyes with you and starts talking, the filthy praise spilling from his pretty lips arousing your body like a physical touch.

"I'm so close," you gasp. "Want me to finish you?" he asks, moving a hand to your clit as soon as you give him a breathy, "yeah." It takes one stroke of his thumb on your super-sensitive nub before you come apart, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the intense climax hits; he hisses in pleasure at the feel of your core rhythmically clenching his thrusting cock, lasting only a few more seconds before he buries himself deep and cums inside you, licking your sweaty neck before sucking hard enough to leave a love bite.

You pant against his shoulder for a few minutes, eventually lifting your head up before quickly dropping it back down. "Damn, I'm dizzy," you mutter, grinning when Joe mumbles "me too" against your neck.

After taking a little more time to come to your senses, you lean back and look at Joe, running a hand over his fade while giving him a grin. "I had a feeling you'd lose the hair before week two."

"Needed a fresh start," he states, returning your grin. "A hard reset."

"Ohhh, 'hard reset' sounds kinda hot," you giggle, hitting a Kegel on his still-softening erection.

His breath catches in his throat and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. "If I knew a haircut was gonna make you go beast mode on me, I would've cut that shit a lot sooner."

"I love the cut, but I was already horny as hell when you got home."

"You need to have naughty dreams about me more often," he teases, "except don't rush me through the pussy-eating part next time."

"Did you feel deprived?"

"A little," he pouts. "You know I love to get you off with my tongue. Plus, it would be nice to be reminded that I'm really good at something since I've clearly forgotten how to throw a damn football."

"Joseph!" you scold, opening your mouth to further admonish him.

"I'm kidding," he chuckles. "Don't get your panties in a wad."

You roll your eyes at him before looking down at your still-joined bodies. "Good thing this chair is leather instead of fabric."

"Why?"

"Because your lethal hotness caused me to unleash a pussy juice tsunami."

"You have a way with words," he laughs. "Let's go get a quick shower," he continues. "I'll clean the chair up later."

Twenty minutes later y'all are lounging on the bed, him flat on his back and you on your side facing him, exchanging small talk while the ceiling fan cools down your naked bodies.

"How did treatment go today?" you ask.

"Fine," he answers vaguely. "And my work-out went good."

You're dying to ask how his calf feels but you hold your tongue, opting instead for something positive. "I'm making your fav dinner tonight."

"Yeah? Which one? You make like a hundred things that are my favs."

"It's a surprise," you tease. "Why don't you try and get a nap while I go get dinner started. I'll wake you up when it's ready."

"Okay," he agrees. "If I can't sleep I'll just watch some film."

"Of course you will," you chuckle, pressing a kiss on his chest before pushing up into a sitting position. You take a deep breath and lock eyes with him. "I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If your calf tightens up during the game this Sunday, promise me you'll tell the trainers and team doctor, okay? Let them decide if it's safe for you to keep playing."

"Sure," he says, a little too casually for your liking.

You lean down until your face is inches from his. "Listen, I know you're tough enough to play with pain, but as the leader of this team you have an obligation to do what's best for the franchise. If you go down with a season-ending injury like Aaron's, this team is dead in the water. You owe it to them to be honest about your condition."

"Damn, woman, going for the jugular," he laughs, reaching a hand up to brush your hair off of your face. "How about this … if it tightens up more than normal, I promise I'll say something."

You search his face for several seconds before leaning down to give him a kiss. "Thanks," you breathe against his lips, squealing in surprise when he quickly flips you onto your back and crawls on top of you, careful not to crush you with his entire weight. He lowers his head and nips your earlobe before whispering in your ear.

"I gave you a promise … now what are you gonna give me?" he purrs, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ummm, your fav dinner?" you whisper, your pulse rate kicking into overdrive at the look on his face.

"Later." He holds eye contact with you while kissing his way down your body before settling between your spread legs. "I'm gonna have my fav dessert first," he states, giving your clit a vigorous suck before sliding his tongue inside you, his groan of approval tickling your sensitive skin as you bury a hand in his hair and arch up against him.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine

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being-addie · 1 year

Text

Morning Routines

We're all looking at those Instagram influencers who somehow manage to wake up at 5 am, do meditation, journal, do a 15-step Korean skincare routine, and go to the gym. And then they make a green smoothie and avocado toast, get dressed in a Chanel outfit and then sit at their fancy desk with a vanilla latte and a croissant.

This is not realistic. You probably already know that, but it likely won't stop you from trying to change your routine bit by bit to look a little like theirs. That didn't stop me, at least.

But now I've come to realise that no matter how much I try, I'll never be able to have a routine like the ones I see online. Because it doesn't exist. It's all curated for aesthetic appeal and generates a sense of false productivity in the watcher's brain. We feel motivated looking at those videos and never get around to changing our own life because we're too busy living vicariously through our phones.

Here's some things you should add to your morning routine, not to be fancy, but to feel better. This is coming from someone who's tried the unrealistic routines, and I now incorporate all of these into my routine. You can skip or add things according to your schedule.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H: Do your body a favour and loosen up your muscles. Nothing better than having a good stretch that wakes your body up.

Drink water: Before you put anything in your system, drink water. Not coffee, not tea. Plain warm water. And I don't mean lemon water. Some people might not agree, but lemon water strips your teeth of the enamel. It also is acidic, so all that bullshit they talk about it being "alkaline and pH balancing" is nonsense. Warm water is the way to go.

Make your bed: A clean bed should be the first thing you do after you wake up. At the end of the day, you'll thank yourself because it will be clean, and fresh and you can fall into bed immediately.

Hygiene: Wash your face to get rid of crusty eyes and sleep. Do a basic skincare routine (cleanser, moisturizer) so you'll feel fresher. Brush your teeth and hair.

Move your body: It doesn't matter what you do, even if it's for 15 minutes. Go for a walk, do a Zumba workout, or squeeze in a HIIT session. You can find lots of tutorials on YouTube (Caroline Girvan, growingannanas, Chloe Ting). Either way, working out will help you feel more motivated and happier. It's the endorphins.

Clean yourself: Set aside some time for showering, slathering on lotion, and doing your (real) skincare and makeup routine. Pick an outfit that makes you feel good about yourself.

Eat something: ALWAYS make some food. Your body has been famished for hours on end, give it some fuel. Make a healthy breakfast, or prep one the night before. If you don't get very hungry in the mornings, have a banana, and pack a mid-morning snack beforehand so you don't reach for chips.

Do 3 things: Make a to-do list of everything you need to do today. Don't overwhelm yourself. Then, knock off 3 easy tasks from the list that you can do quickly. You'll be filled with a sense of motivation, and it'll be easier for you to complete your list. It can be chores, it could be some assigned reading. Just get it done.

Gratitude or prayer: You don't need to sit for 15 minutes to practice gratitude. You can think of things your thankful for on the way to school or work or practice deep breathing/say a small prayer on the subway or bus. You don't HAVE to do it, but it definitely makes you realise how much you have in life and appreciate it more.

Kindness: Start your day with kindness. Compliment your barista, smile at the old lady on the street, pet the stray cat. There's so much love in the world, and you have so much love inside you, and it's beautiful to be a part of it.

No longer will I be stuck in a rut. I cannot be confined to being a bitter, unhealthy person when I know there's a smiling, healthy, happy version of me in the future. Deep breaths. You'll get there babe.

#self care #self improvement #self love #level up #level up journey #self love journey #glow up #college #tips and tricks #it girl #that girl #perfect #life #morning #morning routine

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faeriekit · 22 days

Text

Down and Out

phic phight prompts taken from @sillysugargliders and @akela-nakamura

“Technowizard!” Tuck declared, pointing up towards the glass ceiling. The ratty Hack-A-Thon tee-shirt and Star Wars print pants did not an imposing outfit make.

Sam’s avocado-coated face barely even looked up from her phone. “Lame.”

“The Finest Pharoah!” Tucker tried again, glaring straight down at Sam as he posed again— this time, with his other hand.

“Cringe,” was Sam’s bland contribution.

Tucker threw both his hands in the air in sheer exasperation, narrowly avoiding sending Sheila2 flying up into the air with them. “The— oh shoot— the Tech Menace! The Electric Enemy!”

“Makes you sound like a bit-rate villain,” Sam drawled, finishing out her level of tetris with perfect accuracy. She clicked off the phone before she could get suckered in. “Tucker, have you considered any good names? At all?”

Fair revenge was fair revenge, and Tucker didn’t want to waste his own pillow on vengeance. Using Sam’s bamboo-woven pillowcase against her facemask was fair game— and her shriek of rage over the smeared facemask was just desserts.

Tucker eventually lost, of course, smothered underneath the very same pillow he’d assaulted his friend with, but hey; he’d given it his all, and that was what mattered in the end.

Winning would be nice, though. You know. One day.

In the meantime, though, they were squatting in Sam’s greenhouse, reclining on air mattresses on recycled wooden palettes. It was kind of cold— Tucker was glad Sam had thought ahead and brought blankets— but there were no bugs, and there was no rain, even if there were frogs singing bleakly outside glass walls throughout the night.

Sam was good at pretending it didn’t bother her.

Tucker knew it had to, though. Sam was used to having things. Being comfortable. Having her bamboo toothbrush and toothpaste tabs at the ready, with her natural fiber blankets and her desktop computer and a credit card that would solve the majority of her problems.

Instead they had used the cheapest versions of everything at the dollarstore. Abrasive discount soap. Deodorant with added aluminum. They’d brushed their teeth at the spigot where the hose screwed on, and tomorrow they’d wash with the hose the same way.

Card could be traced. Tucker was the only one who’d been carrying cash in the moment.

Man, Tucker thought, tunnelling himself under his blankets. Running away sucked. At least the only thing Tucker had to miss was his parents. And his spare parts.

…He hoped his parents weren’t looking for him. The "proper authorities" had probably already informed them he was infected. They should…they should hopefully know that being gone was safer than being there.

Sam’s black-nailed thumb and green-coated face peeked at him from under the covers. Without his glasses, she mostly looked like a blob, so Tucker just waved. He wanted to be social. He wanted to be happy.

It felt like everything was falling apart through his fingers, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

“Hey,” Sam said. “If you want to charge your tech, I’m out of the plug.”

It was a sweet gesture. “Thanks,” was all Tucker could say. But he didn’t want to leave his cave.

Sam, of all people, knew what level of trust the gesture meant when Tucker gave his phone over to her. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to; it was the same level of trust Sam was showing to him by letting them stay here, together, instead of apart, the way Jazz had originally planned.

Running away properly would have been safer. But here, in this moment, they were warm, and safe, and somewhat fed.

Tucker stuck his face into his pillow and thought It doesn’t get much better than this.

…Man, it was supposed to be roast beef dinner tonight. He was missing out!

“...I still think that Technowizard is a cool name,” Tucker grumbled to himself. Sam shot him a fond, if exasperated look.

“No.”

“Fine, bossy. What did you pick?”

“Foxglove,” Sam replied simply. “Most famous poisonous plant in the Western world. It’s poetic.”

Tucker thought on it. It…had merit, but… “You know people are going to shorten it to Foxy, right?”

Sam paused.

…She set her phone down with clear disgust. “Ugh. I hate that you’re right.”

“I’ll never let you down,” Tucker offered, very seriously. “I’m always right.”

Sam pulled the blanket back down over him until he squawked in indignation.

“Okay,” Sam’s voice came in muffled through their blanket barrier. “Maybe we can both hold off on names until we decide how we’re doing this, exactly.”

This, of course, being their new life on the run— ideally, taking down the GIW and their hold on Amity Park, or in the short run, cutting and ditching in every effort to not get captured. Their plan so far wasn’t much better than “wait for Danny to get home from Space Camp”, but, you know…needs are as they must. Or something.

“How about Cryptid?” Tucker offered, poking his head out of his blanket hovel. His glasses were…somewhere, but no matter where he groped for them, his hands still came up empty. “Short. Simple. Lots of hard consonants. Easy to muddy up in an internet search with other information. They’d be looking for you and find, like, the Entfield Horror.”

Sam gave that thought its due while Tucker found his glasses. “It’s…better than Inviso-Bill for sure.”

Okay, that one was worth the laugh.

“You could try Technomage,” Sam tried out in turn. "It would be like naming a snake 'snake', since you’re going through magical puberty or whatever, but…”

Tucker snorted. Magical puberty.

…But.

She’d been the first to notice when Tucker hadn’t even needed to touch Edna (PDA of the month) to write her new programs in class. She’d taped over his stylus to prove it to him— and Tucker hadn’t even noticed with the weight of a phantom stylus in his hand as he coded telepathically. Realizing he hadn’t been tapping any of the buttons had been. Spooky.

His phone didn’t need a SIM card anymore. He was saving his family a lot on outgoing and ingoing calls, apparently, and the reported number of texts they’d had to pay for was a big fat goose egg.

Also, he was pretty sure someone was emailing him at the moment.

…He wasn’t sure how he knew. But. It kind of tasted like blue raspberry. It was probably Danny’s sister.

So. Um. the magical puberty thing hadn’t been too off track. It had certainly been less subtle than Sam’s newfound ability to speak with plants, but…at least talking to your flowerpots looks normal from the outside looking in.

Apparently lawn mowing day at school gave Sam real trauma, though. Finding her in the nurses’ office with her head buried under her denim jacket had been scary.

“Better than nothing,” Tucker begrudgingly agreed. He left his glasses wherever they were; he’d find them in the morning. “I mean. We technically don’t even need names. If we just start breaking their stuff, they’ll probably name us anyway.”

Sam laughs. The green on her face is gone; she likely wiped her mask off when Tucker couldn’t see. “With you hacking their stuff?”

“And you growing your freaky vines out of their gear,” Tucker added. “The…what’s the one. The one that ate that one house?”

Sam leans her head down onto Tucker’s mattress. Her clean, damp face swims into view. “Oh. The kudzu?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah, I can cultivate that— not here, since it grows so fast. Did you know Kudzu’s supposed to be eaten? People usually take it off the roadside in China for an easy food source. That’s why it overtakes so much stuff here: there’s no one taking on the role of its natural predator.”

Huh. Well, sounded like something Sam would know. Tucker wedged his pillow further underneath his head; Sam’s still had some goop on it, so he gave her his extra blanket instead.

Sam stuffed it underneath her head with no issue. Without her purple lip and filled in brows, she just looked like Sam— just like a girl in his class, who wanted to make the world a better place, and didn’t know how to do it.

Tucker wanted to do better too.

But they wouldn’t do it alone. They’d be better off with Danny than without.

“All we have to do is make it until Danny comes back. And then we can reconvene.”

…And then what?

“And then?” Tucker asked, a little too quiet.

Sam had never backed down from a challenge. She never would. “And then we kick ass.”

Well. When she said that, it was all so simple.

The lights clicked out in the greenhouse, and just in time— the outside started to burst with light and sound as agents tore up the road outside the Manson property.

The door was locked. The daisies at the door and the wispy strings-of-hearts would give them more than enough warning if the agents swept through.

It was bedtime, or good enough as.

Sleep wasn’t restful, but the quality of the night didn’t matter; it only had to get them to the next day.

#phic phight 2024 #danny phantom #Phic phight #tucker foley #Sam Manson #ambiguous timeline when they're on the run from the GIW! 🎉#Danny's fine he's just out of town #'where' space camp. he's on a break #giw as a bad guy with local regulatory power #fill

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