Au where Ford is kicked out with Stan for backing him up and they both become trash gremlins, because well, people throw away so many perfectly good things and it would be waste not to take the things and fix em up. Featuring many startled minimum wage employees who were just trying to throw away garbage and were instead meet with 2 guys on top of trash cans staring at them like raccoons in the dark.
Also mystery trio time when they meet Fiddleford who’s also dumpster diving behind Backupsmore, because some rich college kids moved out and left like a bunch of shit behind. Eventually leads to all three of them moving to gravity falls and building a house that looks more like a death trap with random stuff they keep somehow finding at landfills and trash cans. They make money by selling the inventions Fiddleford and Ford make and then somehow end up richer than the Northwests by their 30s.
oooh, how about "[guide.] sender moves receiver's hand where they need it most" with crossbearers? sounds utterly delicious 🤭
Hi Leah, thank you so much! I wasn't sure entirely what to do with this and then um... this happened? Fuck knows. Hope you enjoy and if it's insane, blame this countries lack of air conditioning.
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A single, thick finger lassoed the smaller man’s belt, dragging him across the kitchen like a dog in heat by its leash.
“Come on,” the workman rasped. The sweat clung to his naked chest as it heaved as bawdily as the cover of a dime-store romance novel. “Don’t play coy with me. I’ve seen how you’ve been staring at me all day. You think I wouldn’t notice a pretty thing like you?”
His boss lowered his gaze, hastily sucking back the drool that glistened across his lips as he let out a desperate whine. Bingo. He allowed himself to be led like a lamb to the slaughter, all the while muttering tiny bleats of barely feigned protest as his hips danced around the table and towards the washing machine. Just before his seducer hit it first, he pirouetted on a dime, twirling the other man with him so he was securely sandwiched between two very, very hard places. That was the idea, anyway, before the workman sent him tumbling into the pointed side of the neighbouring kitchenette with an echoing thud.
“Ah-owch”
“Shit, sorry-”
“No, no. S’okay. Should have expected y’forgot where the washing machine was.”
The seducer shot the giggling, dishevelled imp a pointed look. It was the only time this month he had forgotten that it was his turn to do the laundry, and now even his sacred role-plays had to include it. That was the joy of marital bliss, alright.
A lil spark of his pearly white teeth shone through as the other man nibbled his lower lip, eagerly anticipating his wicked punishment for such a slight against his exemplary housekeeping skills. He did his best to rein it in, but seeing the dark and handsome Byronic hero-turned-plumber furrow his nose like an angry bunny just made him laugh harder. Ben supposed it was a good thing his ego was more bruised than Miles' ribs-
Wait… was it Miles? Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Fuck.
What was his name again?
Ben Mears gave himself credit for a lot of things. Genuinely believed very few of them, but if there was one thing he could rest his hat on, it was that he was creative. It had only taken the length of one shower to come up with this one - The lonely, unfulfilled househusband. The attractive, ripped, definitely competent, and seductive handyman come to unclog his pipes and confess his dark past as they lie in post-orgasmic bliss… Luckily for Ben, creative didn’t necessarily mean original.
But that didn’t mean he was good at coming up with characters’ names, and especially not at remembering them. It was partly why he insisted this innocent, handsome man simply call him ‘sir’, lest Ben once again break the moment and whip his head around to see where this eponymous ‘Lt Keefer’ or ‘Dr Knott’ was hiding. To be fair, it was hard to think of his own name, let alone one he had made up five hours earlier, now that his husband was back in character, staring up at him like a little, lost doe.
Shit.
“Please, I’ll be good.” The dear husband gingerly thrust his hips into the air. Not making contact, no. Miles had gotten too confident in recent years to play that nicely. “It hurts so bad. I don’t know what to do.”
Ben did... Or sir, or whoever he was right now.
Dammit, what was Miles’ character's name again?
Stephen? No. That was his new editor, definitely not going there with a ten ft pole.
Michael sounded right… No, couldn’t be. Too many ‘M’s in his life to add another.
A few more cycled through like a Rolodex in his mind, but he discarded all of them between gentle, timid kisses that fluttered against his neck like the wings of a butterfly. He’d promised his husband not to use any names of Mets players, so that was them all out.
Without realising it, Ben’s body grew bored of his deliberating and took control. Entrapping Miles’ leg between his own, he started to rut against the soft material of the apron, causing it to scrunch up against the top of his thigh and pushing Miles further and further into the counter.
Two hands suddenly groped and pawed at Ben’s biceps, as if they belonged to an action hero rather than a middle-aged writer whose vampire-hunting days were long behind them.
A particularly hard squeeze brought Ben back. “You… You’re begging for it, aren’t… you?” he teased.
If Miles had realised that he’d forgotten the name he chose, he certainly didn’t seem to mind as he shuddered.
“Please, sir”, Miles moaned into his shoulder, muffling himself against his bare skin, as though just uttering those words out loud would open the gates of hell and swallow them whole. “I-I can’t think- Oh heavens, Ben never made me feel like this. W-What are you doin’ to me? ”
Within a flash, Ben’s mind went completely blank, a static TV instantly fixed with one great heaving smack that mirrored his cock against the inside of his briefs. They had talked about trying something like this, but to actually hear it spill from Miles' luscious lips?
God, I love you, whoever you are.
Before he could get stuck in his own dumb thoughts again, Ben claimed those same cherubic lips in an all-consuming kiss, devouring every inch of dewy flesh with his own. His whole body crested like a wave against him, rolling their clothed cocks together and dragging the dazed lamb up by his wolf-like teeth to feast upon his virginal, mewling groans.
When finally they gasped for breath, Ben seized Miles by the cheeks, half-growling, half-cooing, “Everything your precious husband isn’t man enough to do to you”.
“B-But Ben, he’s good to me-”
He shushed him with just one finger. Miles instantly went dumb.
“Is he? Does he touch make you feel like this? Can he get you hard, just by looking at you?” He traced Miles’ swollen mouth with his thumb. “Does your precious Ben make you cum?”
Miles sounded just as wrecked as Ben felt. “N-No, sir.”
Ben’s mouth moved without thinking, “Then tell me what you want, Mr Mears.”
Oh, now there's a name that will work. Ben Mears, you’ve done it again.
“Please, I can’t, sir. It’s wrong”, Miles pouted. He had no choice but to hide his smirk in the meat of Ben’s hand, pressing a quick kiss to it.
But if Miles could tease him about the laundry, Ben certainly wasn't’t letting him get off this lightly. He moved his hand, exposing Miles’ smile, and tipped his chin up. Holding it by the same single finger that had the power to drag him by the belt and shush him into complete, reverent silence. “Then show me, baby. Show me where you always wished your husband touched you like the pathetic slut you really are.”
Without wasting another moment, Ben held out his other hand, expecting it to be shoved straight down Miles’ pants to where that juicy, engorged cock was waiting for him. But this wasn’t Miles. This was poor, little repressed Mr Mears.
And Mr Mears turned around oh so slowly and bent over the counter, splaying his legs out even as they trembled. Blindly, he searched for Ben’s hand, grasped it, and brought it to where he wanted it most. Ben’s breath caught in his throat. Even through Miles’ denim he could trace out the soft swell of his plump ass, the firm muscle of his upper thigh, and finally the deep cleft between his cheeks. Miles moved his finger so it pointed right over his tight, clothed pucker.
“Here. Please. I need it.”
And just like that, Ben forgot even his own name. But not to worry, he would only need a few minutes before he would have this dear, sweet househusband screaming it so even heaven itself wouldn’t forget who he was...
Or for that matter, Mr Mears’ poor, ridiculous husband.
Realizing Alec’s birthday is approaching, Jace and Izzy find themselves struggling to come up with the perfect gift.
After much contemplation, they have the *genius* idea of kidnapping Magnus and giving Alec the warlock as a present. (Remember, crack! Not slavery, just two, possibly drunk, idiots trying to do something nice for their brother)
Unfortunately for them, it's really damn hard to kidnap Magnus.
