#cheap handyman | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theoldsports · 5 months

Text

SOLUTION.

Art Donaldson x Reader | 5k words

SORRY SERIES LINK.

warnings: pregnancy, implied discussion of abortion, a boy groveling on his knees for his family, there’s a dog (a real one, not just Art), talk about Art’s forced weird athletic borderline disordered eating.

okay, i lied last time. THIS is my best work. this is very out of my brain and i hope you love it. holy shit.

Have you ever sat and listened to a leaky faucet? I mean, really listened?

Steady. Like a heartbeat, if you think about it.

Sometimes, though, if the leak is slow enough, it’s more like the kind of heart rate that sends the nurse with the crash-cart sweeping into the room to shock you out of an AFIB pattern. Or however that worked.

[Y/N] was listening to it. The dripping. The kitchen sink. It hadn’t stopped for days. When it began, it was steady. Now, it was irregular. It started the day Art left

Art had been away at an early season tournament. [Y/N] had an impossible work week, so Art had told her he was happy to go for the better part of the week on his own. They both knew Art really did hate to be alone in situations like that. He had always had one of his people there. His mom, Patrick, [Y/N]; one of them was in his corner at these things. This time, he was truly on his own. Art could not stand to travel alone. He had his team of physios and coaches, but not his family. [Y/N] was going to swing by and surprise him at the end, but her boss had leaned into her for trying to take more days off during release season for the big summer blockbusters. Plus, someone did have to watch the dog.

This context about Art’s being away is important. It’s not that Art was the epitome of a handyman, but he really liked to feel like he was contributing to their home’s ecosystem when a lightbulb went out or a switch needed replacing. The man was incredible with the small things. Yet, [Y/N] sat at the kitchen table with a frown on her face, trying to rough in an outline for an article. With the faucet dripping. If Art were there, or if she was with Art three states over, the faucet wouldn’t be dripping against the porcelain basin.

It wasn’t like the wifi signal was strong enough anywhere else on the property for her to up and move either.

drip drip drip. Said the faucet.

[Y/N] was damn near the point where she was going to run upstairs to the bedroom and get the baseball bat Art kept with the express purpose of running down the stairs in his briefs and cracking up on possible intruders. All she could think about was bringing the wood down against the glass and cheap metal on her kitchen counter.

A new house would have a working sink and a bathroom counter that wasn’t too small and a halfway decent wifi signal.

Instead, [Y/N] set her face down upon the cool blue faux granite countertop. The temperature helped ease the feeling of the hyperbolic corkscrew being driven between her eyes. The dripping kept dripping and [Y/N] wanted to cry.

This agony wasn’t all the sink’s fault, though.

[Y/N] saw on the tennis channel before she even got a call from Art that he’d won that weekend. He still hadn’t called. The lack of a call from made her feel ashamed. Not a soul there to celebrate the success with him. She felt an immense sense of guilt slide across her skin because she wasn’t there to witness that smile he got when he won. Sweaty and angry, but relieved every time. He still got that look when he won. Art was a machine on the court, and a competitor not worth counting out at this point in his career. He still looked surprised and delighted every time he, of all people, hit the winner. [Y/N] loved that look. Art loved how she would celebrate with him after a win, too.

[Y/N] prayed Art made his flight without delay that evening. Selfishly, because she wanted her boy back. Also because Art was mortally terrified of airplanes. Planes made him feel out of control due to lack of trust with the pilot. Without that phone call from him, [Y/N] was scared knowing he was out on his own and that he likely felt anxious enough to give a horse a heart attack. She would have no way of knowing if something had happened between the match end and now.

She did know that the sink was leaking.

She also knew her period was two weeks late.

That, Art couldn’t fix on his own. In fact, it was fairly obvious that the delay was more or less Art’s fault.

[Y/N] hadn’t yet taken a pregnancy test at that time. If she took the time to take one, it would make everything the obvious answer a reality she would have to deal with. She had scares before. Ones that she had never, and would never, tell Art about. She would wait for her delayed—not missed!—period and everything would be fine. Like the other times. It had to be fine.

She checked her phone. It was a blue slidephone with small rhinestone stickers she had applied to the back. Still nothing from Art. He said he would call first right after the match, but he still hadn’t actually called, so maybe it was time to call first. It had been hours since he said he’d ring up. It wasn’t a major concern that Art would blow her off. Ideas of danger and uncertainties flooded her head.

“I’m the one that wants marriage so bad. Not Artie. What if he says no? Or not now…?”

[Y/N] sat on the beach with her back against Patrick’s shins. Art and [Y/N] were completing their first year completely post college. [Y/N] and Patrick were twenty-four and Art was almost twenty-four. His November birthday set him behind.

Patrick’s hands were on her shoulders and his body in a beach chair behind her while they both stared off over ocean as the sun set. “You’re actually stupid if you think he’ll deny you, [Y/N].”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to step on his game, or whatever. The guy is supposed to ask. Isn’t this going to be… emasculating or something?”

“Emasculating for Art? For pretty baby? Yeah, okay,” Patrick teased. [Y/N] threw a fistful of sand at him. “Christ, okay, okay. Cool it.” He spit.

Art had run back up toward to hotel to grab his water bottle, while Patrick and [Y/N] stayed at the dunes. [Y/N] wanted to propose to Art by trip’s end. She thought it would be sweet. Art was extremely forward when it came to her her, but he hadn’t been forward about the whole proposal business. He seemed scared about marriage. [Y/N]he would do it herself.

She was grateful for the time alone with her best friend too. Sitting and doing nothing, or partying. Either was more than welcome. “He’s not going to say no,” Patrick continued. His mouth casually leaned close to her ear. “Because it’s insane how whipped you’ve got him.”

“Don’t say that—“

“He wants to have your babies. Ask him. Trust me, he’ll say yes and he will be all the hell over you.” His fingers worked into [Y/N]’s shoulders, feeling the tension there. He took his hands off of her when Art came running down the beach.

[Y/N] heard a click in the lock. Her head flopped to the left, still pressed against the counter, to glance at the door. Her heart rate increased. She was so tired and the speed of the situation so fast, that she didn’t both moving or attempting to defend herself.

Most fortunately, when the door swung open, it was her Art. The sun was going down behind him. He looked a bit ragged and had a racket bag over one shoulder and two duffels in the other hand. She sat upright sharply on the kitchen barstool. “Pretty baby!”

All Art’s gear hit the floor. The door was left open behind him (taking a big chance that their Labrador mix, Cheese, didn’t run down the stairs and bolt out and away). Art walked toward [Y/N], arms extending. His strong arms pulled [Y/N] in close to his chest. She rested her head against his soft gray t-shirt. Her own arms embraced him back and one of her hands tucked comfortably into the back pocket of his jeans. “[Y/N]… I missed you.” Art said into her hair.

“I missed you… I-I… You didn’t call. How did you get here—“

“Final match actually started on time, so I gambled on moving my flight to the earlier one. I didn’t have time to call if I was taking the early one. I should’ve texted. I got nervous with the-the flight. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

[Y/N] leaned back to look at him. There was no more welcome sight in the world than Art Donaldson. Irish genetics saw to it that Art was freckled from the spring sun. With shaggy hair boyishly covered by a baseball cap tipping back dangerously, he practically glowed. Even though he looked like shit. His sunglasses were hanging on his shirt. [Y/N/] tilted her head up, signaling for a kiss. Hungrily, Art leaned forward to take as many kisses as he wanted. His lips tasted like spearmint gum. Like always.

Cheese did run downstairs when Art’s hand climbed up the side of [Y/N]’s throat and when her own hand started to squeeze from under the fabric of Art’s back left pants pocket. Art had to pull regretfully away to grab Cheese by the collar and shut the front door.

Delightedly, Art did gteet Cheese with ear-scratches and a belly rub. Art received the customary licks and a tailwags in return. Cheese was always pretty down when the whole family wasn’t together. He walked and played a bit, but when his dad wasn’t around, Cheese kind of deflated. He had spent most of the time laying flat on Art’s side of the bed. It was obvious the dog was grieving the disappearance of his boy.

When Art bent down to pat his beloved Cheese, [Y/N] stood from her chair and bent at the waist. She pulled Art’s hat off and set it on the counter. Gently, she kissed Art on top of the head. With a scratch not unlike the ones he gave to the canine to the back of Art’s neck, the man looked up at her from the ground with a half-smile.

“Congrats, baby,” [Y/N] said. Art cut his eyes curiously from her to the tennis channel on the TV playing in the next room. That had him realizing where she would have gotten the information of his win from so efficiently. “How was the tournament? I’m sorry I couldn’t—“

“Sure, sure, but I bet Cheese here is pretty glad you were home,” Art said and stood up with one final pat to Cheese’s flank. “The whole thing was great. I… I’m kind of surprised I won, if I’m being honest.” Art said, wrapping an arm around [Y/N]’s waist.

Naturally, her hands flattened against his toned chest when he tugged her towards him. “I’m not. You’re fucking good at tennis, Art.”

His ears reddened in embarrassment as he tucked his face into [Y/N]’s neck to hide his face. Art was used to praise and loved it more than anything, no matter where it came from. Every compliment from [Y/N] was worth a hell of a lot more. Art hated thinking about why that was the case. He knew why, though. She had seen he and Patrick play and even then thought Art was good. Art still won the match when it came to [Y/N] and he would never tell her that.

“Hush…” He mumbled into her neck, planting a biting, teasing kiss there. She laughed. He laughed. “I played against an eighteen year old kid yesterday. He played really well,” Art leaned back to look at her again. “You saw, I’m sure,” he indicated the TV with a nod. “He would’ve won this weekend if I hadn’t won that match. Just… I’m twenty-six. Made me feel old.”

“…Glad you won, then.”

“I said if I hadn’t…”

“Well, if you’re sooooo down on your win then congrats on flying home all by yourself like a big boy.” [Y/N] smirked.

“Oh, you’re gonna be like that, huh?” Art withdrew his hands from his wife’s body and put them teasingly on his own hips.

[Y/N] nodded. “Yeah. If you’re old, imagine how I feel.”

“Ancient, probably.”

Art leaned in for another kiss. She pushed him back playfully. “No! You called me old!” [Y/N] laughed.

She leaned one way, then the other to avoid Art’s beautifully wrinkled nose and smiling mouth. “Please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You’re-you’re not old!” Art said and attempted to trap her with his arms and give her a kiss.

[Y/N] turned hard over her shoulder and ran up the stairs. Cheese gave a woof from the couch when Art chased after her. Art spent his life chasing after her.

“No! You can’t kiss me! Doghouse! Bad Art! Bad!” [Y/N] accused jokingly. Art jumped up the stairs. He took them two and three at a time.

Art backed her against the bathroom door. Nowhere left to run. His rough hands settled on her hips. “Gotcha. You’re pretty fast for an old lady, y’know. Late for bingo, or—“ Art smirked when he leaned in to kiss her.

[Y/N] shut him up with a kiss. She had missed his stupid boy babbling. His mouth was soft against hers. Art put one of his hands on the wooden door beside her face to hold himself up. The other hand found her belt loop, keeping her body close to his.

“I love you,” Art whispered between kisses. “I love you so much, honey. I missed you.”

[Y/N]’s head leaned back against the door with a soft thud. Her breath caught in her throat. “I love you t—mmh!” Art leaned in for another kiss.

The joy of being Art Donaldson’s wife was that he never got tired of touching her, or being physically close. Sometimes, [Y/N] would look over at him while she was writing, or making dinner, and he would be staring, or slowly extending his hand to her and seeing how long it took for [Y/N] to acknowledge his presence. It never ceased to make her feel beautiful. “Can we…” his fingers danced over the button on her jeans.

“Can we what…?” She asked coyly.

Art blushed, but smirked and lowered his lips by [Y/N] ear. “Can we fuck? Please?” He asked too politely for as dirty as those words were. Like the good midwestern boy that he was.

She tipped her head back further. Art kissed her neck with all the energy he could muster. “Can I not make you dinner first? You-you a cheap whore as well as old now, too?” [Y/N] jeered. Art snorted a laugh. The warm air from the giggle spread over [Y/N]’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise. “I’m never letting you leave home alone again, then.”

Art nodded against her skin, sucking and licking a spot they both new would bruise dark. The sound she let out was absolutely disgusting and Art loved it. “I would prefer to never be let out of your sight, personally.” He said when he pulled away.

“Come on, house boy… We’re havin’ dinner. And you’re gonna eat some bread,” [Y/N] said, pointing a finger at Art’s chest. He started to put up a fight about the ultra-low nonexistent amount of inactive carbs he was eating during the season, but [Y/N] kept chattering. “Stop talking. Your brain doesn’t work right without carbs. Braindead. Come on, dinner.”

“You’re bad for me.”

“I know.” [Y/N] smiled.

Normally, [Y/N] drank a cup of coffee when the pair made dinner. Art knew the pattern. He made her the cup of coffee every time. It sat mostly unfinished that night, though. She found herself heating and reheating it in the microwave as they cooked. She started to space out as he recapped the tournament in full detail, as she requested. If Art noticed, he didn’t let on. [Y/N] noticed, though. Little stood between her and coffee. She didn’t want to drink it. That was violently unusual.

“Hey, I’m gonna go piss. Can you—“

“Watch the sauce?” Art asked, indicating the creamy pesto she had on the stove while Art cleaned and cut vegetables.

“Mhm.” [Y/N] confirmed. Art slid over to take the spoon from her. He placed a hand at the bottom of her back as she walked away. Art fit perfectly into her life. It wasn’t fair how right he was for her.

She went to the upstairs bathroom instead of the downstairs one. She hoped that didn’t set off Art’s sixth sense about the way-things-had-to-be. Once upstairs, [Y/N] wasted no time yanking open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. It was overflowing, naturally. Makeup, supplements, condoms, hair ties, pill bottles, loose painkillers. It was a disaster. There was also a pregnancy test.

A laughing Art had given it to [Y/N] as a joke the morning after their wedding night and she had hit him hard enough to bruise across the chest. The test sat wrapped and in the box behind the mirror every day since. Just in case.

[Y/N] had officially arrived at just in case.

She gingerly tossed the empty box under the sink so Art wouldn’t see it without looking for it. Then, [Y/N] undid the buttons on her overalls and, well, took the test.

Lacking the time to sit and watch it come back positive or negative, [Y/N] tossed the clean cap on the stick, slid it into the pocket of her overalls, washed her hands and went downstairs like nothing was wrong.

Except she knew something was wrong. Now she felt like she had a loaded gun in her pocket. She was too cautious with her movements due to the fear that the test would slip out of her front right pocket in front of Art.

She was damn near about to step into the pantry and shut the door just to see if the pee stick had one line or two. If he wasn’t already suspicious, that would do it. [Y/N] felt that the anxiety created was easily the worst anxiety she had ever had. Oops.

[Y/N] got quiet. She was talking less and listening more. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she was a chatterbox. Art would notice her blanched face and wrinkled brow eventually, she worried.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Art did. When he sat beside [Y/N] at the counter to eat a bowl of pasta with more inactive carbs than he had eaten in six months, he kept cutting his eyes at her. His bare foot nudged her ankle. Her dish was relatively untouched. “You good, babe? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are being weird because you’re not being you. I’ve barely asked you how you’re doing with all the excitement. Long day?” Art asked, setting down his fork to drag his hand across the back of her shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit.” [Y/N] said. What she meant to say was I have a pregnancy test and I bet it is positive in my pocket right now and I’m so terrified that I can practically smell my pit stains right now, baby. But she didn’t say that.

Art spun to face her, taking in her expression and demeanor. There was that contemplative knot perched between his eyebrows. The back of his hand landed calmly on [Y/N]’s forehead to check her temperature. “Art…” [Y/N] said, pushing his hand down.

“No, hang on.” Art said firmly. He tried to put his hand back on her face. Instead, not having a clue what it said, [Y/N] reached into her front right pocket and slammed the pregnancy test down between them. Art retracted his hand and flinched back a bit at the sudden movement. The test was face down on the counter.

Art’s eyes cut from the test back to her. His face was suddenly very solemn. “Are you—“

“—I dunno. I didn’t-I couldn’t look. It’s been in my pocket for twenty minutes. No idea.”

“Do you think you are?”

[Y/N] shrugged and looked at her bowl. It looked too green. sick sick sick. drip drip drip said the faucet.

“Do you want to know if you are?” Art asked wide-eyed. “I want to know, personally. Do… Do you?”

Again, [Y/N] shrugged. “If we don’t look, it’s not real.”

“…That’s stupid.” Art shook his head.

“You’re stupid.”

Art sighed. “I’m gonna look. I mean, I’m going to turn it over,” his eyes frantically reached for [Y/N]’s. He grabbed her hand with his to get her attention. “I’m going to look. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” She whispered and it was okay.

And she was pregnant.

Two blue lines stared at them.

“Fuck.” [Y/N] said. She felt both elated and humiliated. She wanted so badly to be a mother. She wanted to cry. How could they keep it? The timing was wrong. She hadn’t agreed to this. The two of them had so many fights about it. She barely understood how this happened. She thought they were being so careful. It didn’t make any sense. Every precaution she could think of had been taken at one point or another.

And the fucking faucet was still dripping. She could hear it. drip drip drip. Over and over.

“Fuck.” She said sliding out of her chair and standing unsteadily. That wasn’t the result one should feel when they get something they have spent so long wanting.

Art ran his hands through his hair. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling when she looked so worried. His face betrayed the wide smile he hoped to hide. That’s exactly what he wanted to see. Fuck.

“Honey… Hey, hey. You’re okay. This is awesome. C’mere.” Art said like he was diffusing a bomb. His arm were wide open to hold her.

“Art…”

“No, uh-uh. Just come here. Please.”

Cautiously, [Y/N] made her way into her favorite pair of arms in the world. “It’s not supposed to be like this.” [Y/N] choked out as Art held her.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Art said calmly. His left hand’s fingers brushed her hair away from her face. “But that’s how it is now. We have to accept that and solve for the next move, right?” It was silent for a while after that. [Y/N]’s arms were tightly wrapped around Art’s shoulders and their bowls of pasta were certainly cold. She felt that she had ruined everything.

She glanced at Art’s face. The small smile betrayed him. “Art… We can’t. Not now.” she had told Art not now so many times that it felt forced and rehearsed. Now that [Y/N] that was actually pregnant, she wanted nothing more than to stay pregnant. The timing was far from good. She had articles that were still very due the next day. She had a husband who very much traveled often for work (who she traveled with too). She had Cheese, who was staring at her weird over the back the couch because he didn’t understand crying.

“What do you mean we can’t?” Art said quietly. “We-We can. We… have. We are… Actively.” He fumbled.

“We can. We did! But… You know now’s not a good time, baby.” [Y/N] countered weakly.

Art’s hands never left [Y/N]’s waist. “Let’s run pros and cons.”

“Pretty baby.” She said accusatorially. Good old analytic Art…

“Let’s run pros and cons.” Art repeated unflinchingly. He sprang up off of his barstool to gather a sharpie and a legal pad from some drawer. Art uncapped the marker harshly with his teeth. Cap between his teeth still, he asked: “Do you want it?” while he found a clean, smooth page.

Before she could respond with her head, [Y/N] responded with her heart. She nodded a yes to him immediately. “Do you?”

Art capped the back end of the marker to free up his mouth. “More than anything ever, I think. It would probably kill me a little bit, actually, if… Yeah. I understand and it’s all up to you, honey, but… Yeah.” His hand created a PRO column and a CON column on the page.

Under PRO, Art added the items he knew would cause no trouble in his blocky capitalized handwriting:

FINALLY START FAMILY

NATURAL/EASY START

SEASON ALMOST OVER

[Y/N] HAS FLEXIBLE HRS

DREAM COME TRUE??

WILL BE GR8 PARENTS

[Y/N] nodded in approval. She couldn’t think of more pros, but Art handed her the marker and she started in on the CON list:

OLYMPICS??

ART’S NEVER HOME

EXPENSIVE

SMOKING/COFFEE

CHEESE JEALOUS?

TOO YOUNG!

Art drew the line at giving up stimulants and assigning the dog human traits and struck both of those off the list with a frown.

Frankly, Art thought the cons list turned out rude.

“I haven’t qualified for the Olympics yet,” he protested. “And if I do, imagine how early on that would be. Before all the hard stuff.”

[Y/N] replied with the thing they both knew was the most real problem. She had waited forever to say it out loud. “No offense… You are never home anymore. You’re busy all the time. Which I get. It’s your job. You’re good at your job. But look how excited the fuckin’ dog got to see you because you were gone so long. You are never here. We can’t put a human in doggy day camp all the time. It would be fucking impossible to raise—“

“I’ll quit,” Art said, wincing. He wouldn’t. [Y/N] felt that this was a bluff. He tried in vain to hide his expression of shame. “I’ll quit tennis.” He said. He wasn’t going to.

“That would worsen the problem. No money.”

“I’ll work at the 7/11. I’ll be a construction worker. I could be a fuckin’ coach. I actually have a degree, y’know, I can use it. I’m more than a racket. I don’t want you to feel alone here. I want to be here for all of it, I can—“

“You know I’m alone here a lot, babe. A lot. You don’t… You’re in a position where you’re unable to help constantly. Because you’re gone. That’s okay. I married you knowing that, right? But a baby, Art? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll bail on a season. I will. I just…” Art stared at her. “Please. I’m begging you. See this kid through with me.”

The sharpie was forgotten on the counter along with dinner. Art’s knees landed on the floor before [Y/N]. Art practically lived on his knees in front of [Y/N]. He gathered [Y/N] hands in his. “Please. It’s your call, but hear me out. Because that thing is part of both us. I don’t want you to hate or resent me or the little stinker forever, but you want it. I know that. Hear me out.” His beautiful two-tone eyes stared up at her.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“I will give you anything. Please, my world is you. Not tennis; you. I’m telling you, I-I would leave that behind to be anything you need right now. Just ask it. You’re my fucking priority, you got that? I just.. I… Please? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to keep it too, but—“

“Then what’s the big deal?” Art asked hopefully.

“It isn’t a good time. It’s too soon.”

Art’s mouth trailed kisses across his wife’s stomach and hips and hands and arms. He let this go on for several minutes. “Please,” Art whimpered pathetically into the skin of her wrist. “Please, please, please. I will do anything, my love. I’m on my knees here,” Art looked up at her through thick lashes. “We can do this. Both of us together. I’ll do whatever you want. You know I will. This can be good for us. I’m really sorry we’re here, but here we are, hon. What time’s going to be the right time? Please. I love you.” Art pleaded desperately.

[Y/N] knew this was going to be a disaster. But she wanted to keep it. What time’s going to be the right time? rung in her ears over and over, like the faucet. They had put so much time into arguing about the time and the place that would be right for a family. Now it was right in front of them. Her hand caressed Art’s face. She loved it when he groveled like that. This time, on his knees and everything. On instinct, he nuzzled his face into her hand and looked up at her through long lashes.

“Will you fix the faucet? It’s been dripping all week.”

“Anything.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I’m going to think about it. The baby.”

“You will?” Art’s teary eyes widened.

“Objectively, this is a terrible fucking idea. We both know that. But if it’s really so terrible, why do I feel, like… happy about it…”

Art’s face lit up. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. [Y/N], honestly, found it very hard to say no to Art. His arms wrapped carefully around her thighs while his head rested against her middle as he knelt. [Y/N] could feel his silver ring through the denim of her overalls. “God, I love you. I love you, [Y/N]. We’re not going to regret this. Holy shit…”

“Love you too. We’re gonna… We’re gonna try, maybe? This doesn’t feel real. Does this feel real? I…”

“It feels like a dream is what it feels like,” Art mumbled into her clothes. “I love you.” Art said, pressing a kiss to her stomach.

“I love you.”

“I’m gonna be a dad…” Art almost wept. “If you, y’know, but… Shit. I’m sorry.” Which part he was apologizing for was unclear.

At that, [Y/N] laughed and tangled her fingers in his curly blonde mop of hair. “Yeah, you’re gonna be a fucking dad, pretty baby.” She smiled.

[Y/N]’s next instinct was to say: I have to call Patrick. Then she remembered couldn’t call Patrick.

TAGLIST (ask to join):

@diorrfairy @donaldsonsdarling @muthafuckingstargirl @shysstuff @soberbabes @avylanchce

apologies for tag issues. i’ll dm those it didn’t work for!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #sorry series #father art

1K notes · View notes

bellevuefencing · 2 years

Text

What is the best fence repair near me?

Fence repair near me is a common question among homeowners. It is important to note that some fence repair projects can take longer than the standard one-day service time and require more work in preparation or finish work. For example, new posts may need an extra day to allow concrete to be set before being installed. Some services even offer estimates for projects with greater complexity like decks, composite fences, gates, and swing sets.

#fence repair near me #fence repair near Iowa #fence repair near Des Moines #IA #residential fence repair near me #chain link fence repair near me #wood fence repair near me #cheap fence repair near me #handyman fence repair near me #fence panels

0 notes

idasolonline · 2 years

Text

Cheap and Reliable Handyman Services Dubai

Cheap and Reliable Handyman Services Dubai: A handyman can be employed by the hour to finish an extensive variety of little Handyman services occupations of home change work and repair. You have an always expanding dye rundown of home upgrades like changing out Bedrooms, supplanting missing shingles on the rooftop, and painting a kitchen divider. Sabirmnt Offers Handyman Services Dubai at…

View On WordPress

#cheap handyman service #handyman dubai #handyman services #handyman services dubai #handyman uae

0 notes

philbridges · 2 years

Text

How To Build Mobile Home Steps Cheap

Cheap and easy way to add steps to your mobile home. 00:00 Intro00:22 Starting the steps03:10 Cutting the boards05:10 Follow us 🙏 Subscribe, 👍, it helps a lot!!➤❓/ 💬: [email protected]➤ Follow https://straightarrowrepair.com/pipf ➤➤I get a little for the channel-no charge for you if you use the links:➤➤Shop Amazon https://amzn.to/3CxD1T4➤➤Tool lists & recommended products🧰…

View On WordPress

0 notes

bluecollarmcandtf · 11 months

Text

Which one do you want?

Just off a quiet highway somewhere in the Midwest, you might see James advertising my new product. He used to own this car dealership with his wife, but she's long gone. James hasn't thought about her since I pulled out my pendulum and put him in a trance. He just spends his days standing on the side of the road holding up that sign like I told him to.

You can see I marked him at 40 bucks, which is well over what he's worth, but I like to keep him around to advertise and flag down potential customers. His abs are visible even in the rain, and the neon underwear I put him in is sure to catch every driver's eye.

If you pull into my dealership, I'd be happy to show you my selection you can choose from...

Tyler, here, used to be my brother-in-law, but my sister dumped him real fast after she found the guy was a cheater. Since, he wasn't family anymore, I had no reason not to hypnotize every thought out of his head.

She has no idea I did this to her ex, but it won't hurt to have Tyler out of the picture for good. I like to give him a little punch in the gut every time I pass. It's my form of ongoing payback. He only ever reacts with a stifled groan since his mind is mush, but it's still cathartic to see him in pain.

Tyler will probably go fast since he's so traditionally handsome, but the vengeful part of me hopes a more sadistic client will take him off my hands.

Next is Caesar. This guy used to work at the auto garage next door, but when I saw him I knew I had to have him. He put on a real tough guy act when I introduced myself, but a pudgy working man like him should act accordingly in my opinion.

After introducing his gaze to my pendulum, he practically fell into my arms. I had my fun warping Ceasar's personality to be more like that of a submissive dog, but even that got a bit old. Sure, I made him love and cuddle me like the perfect partner, but he tracked mud everywhere and he always seemed to stink.

I hope whoever pays for him doesn't mind always telling the oaf to hose himself down every once in awhile. I suppose they could just use Ceasar for the cheap manual labor and just forget about his hygiene entirely.

This is Mike. He's a real piece of trash. I caught him trying to steal one of my cars in the middle of the night. He sure was shocked when my army of hypnotized hunks ran out and apprehended him, per my command.

He might look mean, but trust me, Mike's been thoroughly hypnotized and broken in just like every other dude on this lot. He wouldn't be standing there holding that 'For Sale' sign all day if he weren't!

Now, I know that his lack of hair might be a turn off for a lot of folks, so I'm willing to go down on the price. 20 dollars is already pretty low, but I want to make sure you all can afford your own hypnotized hunk. It's not like it's too difficult for me to go out and find a couple more idiots to fill their place. Hell, if you really need it, I might sell you a guy for a dollar!

This boy in blue is Lt. O'Riley. I don't know what his full name is. I'm just going off what it says on his badge. Now, I know that hypnotizing an officer of the law is risky, but O'Riley was being a real pain in my neck, always poking his nose in my business.

I hypnotized his partner too.

I think that guy's name was Brooks or something, but he was real ugly. I would've never been able to sell his fat ass, so I had him hand over his police uniform and turned him into my handyman, who's meant to be neither seen nor heard. He wears an old pair of dirty coveralls now and takes care of all the maintenance work. He's probably off scrubbing my housing from top to bottom right now since it's the middle of the day.

You could do that to officer O'Riley too, if you want, or maybe you keep that precious uniform on him. It's up to you.

This last guy is Don, and I know what you're going to say! I'm a little light on product at the moment, but don't worry.

I'm planning on driving into town real soon and restocking. Maybe I'll grab a few more officers this time. The police department is right down the street from that Halloween store. I could grab a couple more cops and put them in some stupid costumes.

Customers love a themed product, right?

Anyways, Don here didn't do anything to piss me off. He actually stopped in after seeing the sign. He wanted to purchase one of my brainless studs and pimp him out to all his friends for cheap cash. I liked the idea, but Don was far too handsome to just walk off my lot.

I offered to give him a tutorial of my hypnosis, and the guy naively agreed. His car has been collecting dust in the back ever since, and he's been added into the lineup of hot men standing for sale.

So, please come by if you're interested in taking any of these guys on a test drive! Let me know which one sparks your interest!

No need to be nervous.....unless you're a handsome man yourself. Then I might just have to use my pendulum on you!

#gay hypnosis #hypno story #gay mind control #gay ai art #hypnosis #mind control #hypnotized

558 notes · View notes

jayonsg · 1 year

Text

issuu

#Furniture installation services in singapore #Cheap handyman

0 notes

half-oz-eddie · 5 months

Text

Thank you @shieldofiron for passing the baton my way ♡

here's my contribution for the @harringrove-relay-race!

There’s never a dull moment at 1566 Main Street, where Neil Hargrove is a slumlord. He owns a shitty building that’s hanging on by a thread and he’s too cheap to pay for the upgrades. But he wanted that ceiling rent, right? Cheap Bastard.

More often than Billy would like, his phone rings, because this or that is busted and fucked up, and Neil just leaves it all on Billy’s shoulders to get it done, and do it right or else.

He didn’t give a shit that he’d left Billy with such a mess. Their handyman quit months ago, and it was up to Billy as the superintendent to make sure this shit show of a building was running just enough to not end up with an investigative reporter exposing them on the channel 7 news.

Billy sat up, groaning in annoyance when his phone rang again. It was the new tenant down the hall, calling to tell him that his lock was broken.

Billy dragged himself to 3F, knocked on the door, and a preppy, bright-eyed pretty boy answered with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, thanks for coming so quickly. I was afraid I’d have to miss work.”

“Not a problem.” He assessed the lock. “This is a shit building anyway. My old man doesn’t do what he should for the tenants.”

“Well at least you care about the tenants, right?”

“Guess so.” He mumbled back, focusing his attention on the door.

The lock was a quick fix, only taking Billy roughly 10 minutes. Thankfully, he had all the right tools on hand.

“Finished already?” The tenant asked.

“Yeah. Y’mind if I use your bathroom to wash my hands?”

“Go right ahead!” He said welcomingly. “It’s uh—“ He stopped himself with a laugh. “You probably already know where it is.”

Billy nodded, inviting himself down the hall. He caught a brief glimpse into the bedroom, spotting the curtain sheet and mattress on the floor as he passed by.

He washed his hands and headed back to the door, preparing to let himself out.

“I’m right down the hall in 3A, so, if you need anything, you can just knock on my door. Like I said, this place is a shit hole, so…I’ll expect to hear from you again.”

“I’ll probably uh, call first.” He nervously chuckled.

“Whatever floats your boat, Mr. Harrington. See ya around.”

“Wa-wa-wait!”

Billy turned back.

“I’d love to thank you. My friends say I make a mean cup of Joe.” He persuaded with a smile.

Billy shrugged. The neighbors weren’t usually so friendly, so this was a change of pace. “Why not?”

He was offered the only chair in Mr. Harrington’s apartment at a wobbly little table.

A few minutes later, Mr. Harrington joined him at the wobbly table, offering him his only good mug, keeping the mug with a broken handle for himself. He sat on a storage box, his chin meeting the tabletop.

“So, Mr. Hargrove—“

“Please call me Billy. My dad’s Mr. Hargrove.”

“Only if you call me Steve.” He grinned.

“Deal…Steve.” Billy charmingly enunciated his name.

“So, Billy,” he continued “have you always lived in Los Angeles?”

“No. Lived in San Diego most of my life. My gramps left this building to my dad about 4 years ago, and he made me the super.”

“Oh, I see. I kinda moved out here on a whim.” Steve shrugged. “I was staying in a shitty motel for a few days before I secured this place. My dad’s not too happy I’m here, so we’re not on speaking terms.”

“What’s he got against LA?” Billy curiously asked, eyebrows raising as he sipped the surprisingly delightful cup of coffee.

“Nothing, I don’t think. He’s just pissed I didn’t wanna join the family business. I wanted to give modeling a try.”

“Modeling?” Billy snorted.

“Y-you don’t think I can?”

“Pretty boy like you? You could definitely be a model.” Billy nodded.

Steve hung his head down, hiding a blush. “You’re uh…you’re a nice looking guy yourself. You’ve never considered modeling?”

“I did once, but the photographer said I’m…difficult to work with.” Billy smirked mischievously, causing Steve to laugh. “I just don’t like people telling me what to do. Stand like this, stand like that, poke your cock out a bit.” He joked. “Not my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Surfing, swimming, cars, I dunno. If I could do all 3 for the rest of my life, I would. But I’m stuck here, fixing shitty locks and making sure my old man doesn’t get sued.” Billy glanced at his vibrating phone and stood. “Gotta go. Thanks for that…mean cup of Joe.” Billy smiled. “See ya around.”

“Bye!” Steve waved, a wide smile on his face. He let out a happy sigh. Maybe living here wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

A week later, Billy received a call after hours. It was Steve Harrington again.

“Hey. You having some kind of emergency? I’m…sorta off the clock.”

“Yeah I—shit—sorry! Something happened with one of my pipes and now there’s—ah! God dammit! There’s water everywhere. Couldja help me?”

“Be right there.”

Billy sighed and put his shoes back on. “I’m so tired of this shitty fucking building.” He grumbled. “Something’s always fucking fucked up.”

He swung his door open in annoyance, locked it swiftly and headed down the hall.

He gave Steve’s door a harsh knock, his eyes narrowing at the wet idiot standing before him.

“I uh…” He exhaled. “I tried to fix it myself, but I made it a whole lot worse.”

Billy rushed in, groaning. “Jesus, Harrington, What did you do?”

“I-I dunno!” He exclaimed worriedly. “I just—I didn’t wanna bother you after hours.”

Billy was so irritated, but he couldn't find it in his heart to shout at the pathetic, sopping wet dumbass. One look in those shameful, doe eyes behind those dripping bangs, and Billy simply had no fight in him. It was pretty sweet of Steve to think of him by trying to fix the pipe on his own. But jesus, what a mess!

“This place is hanging by a goddamn thread, Steve.”

Billy went to work fixing the pipe, water splashing all over him in the process. It took him twice as long as the lock, but he was able to fix the problem before the kitchen began to flood.

“I’m really sorry.” Steve apologized, handing Billy a towel. "I'll clean everything up."

Billy took off his shirt and rung it out in the sink. “Just…promise you won’t try to fix anything else by yourself, okay?”

Steve slowly nodded, as he was too stunned to speak. His eyes were glued to Billy’s wet, chiseled body, following the water droplets that fell into his jeans.

“Uh—I—yeah. Yeah I promise.”

“Is there anything else you need fixed before I go?” Billy asked.

“N-no. Nothing else. I’ll let you know. I promise.”

Billy gently patted Steve’s shoulder and let himself out.

Billy returned to his apartment and opened up a can of beer, aggressively chugging it as he fought back the tears in his eyes.

Crisis fucking averted. He couldn’t imagine the world of pain his father would bring upon him if Steve’s apartment flooded.

He didn’t blame Steve. It wasn’t his fault. It was all Neil. Neil and his shitty expectations. His shitty demands and his shitty fucking building.

Billy wanted to get out of there more than anything, but his father controlled his life for so long, he didn’t have anything to his name. He barely paid him a decent wage for being the building super. What was the fucking point anymore? Billy was destined to be alone and miserable in this dreary building.

He cried himself to sleep.

Another week passed. There were only 2 repairs needed in the building, and things felt fairly calm these days. Billy and Steve would catch one another in the hallway. Steve would always wave, and Billy would make a joke about Steve swimming in his indoor pool.

One afternoon, Billy was on his way down to check the mail and Steve was waiting for the elevator.

“What’s with the big boxes? Moving out already?” Billy smirked, causing Steve to laugh.

“No, no. I bought some new furniture.”

Billy got a closer look at the boxes. Those were some pretty high end brand names. Looks like Harrington came from money. He wouldn’t have moved to an awful building like this, if he were Steve.

“D’you need some help assembling the furniture?”

“Really?” His eyes widened in surprise. “You gonna charge, like, an assembly fee?”

“I won’t. Just being friendly to a tenant and neighbor.”

They exchanged soft gazes and sweet smiles.

Steve accepted the help. “That’d be great. I really wanna get this table together before my friend comes to town to visit me this weekend. She’s gonna bring her girlfriend and her girlfriend really doesn’t like me.” Steve confessed with a laugh.

“No? How come?”

“She thinks I’m stuck up or something, I dunno. I guess it’s because I was an asshole in high school.”

Billy shrugged. “Yeah me too.”

“I’m gonna bring these boxes down and then we can put together my furniture now, if you can.”

“I don’t have anything else on my schedule. I was gonna grab my mail and binge watch something.”

“Sorry for ruining your plans.” Steve teased as the elevator door opened.

“You’re not sorry.” Billy softly chuckled.

They returned to Steve’s apartment together and assembled his table.

“Finally, it’s not a piece of shit little table like the last time you were here.”

“Yep. An actual decent table with some nice chairs.” Billy nodded satisfactorily. “Looks pretty good.”

“You wanna stay for dinner? A-as a thank you. I’ve got a lasagna prepped, if you’re hungry.”

Billy paused before accepting the invitation. “Sure. I could eat.”

Steve popped in his lasagna and toasted some breadsticks, then made 2 plates for himself and Billy.

“Looks damn good, Harrington. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“My mom was always cooking and baking for charity events and dinner parties so I helped out in the kitchen here and there.”

Billy took his first bite, a moan nearly slipping out of his mouth. “Jesus, this is the best food I’ve had in a long time.”

“Really? I-I’m sure you probably cook quite a bit yourself.”

“I don’t cook at all. No idea how.”

“Really? W—I could teach you, if you want. A-and we could eat a few meals together, if your schedule’s free.”

“I live where I work and I have all my meals alone. It’d be nice to eat with someone for a change.”

“You uh…want some wine? I dunno if you drink or—“

“I drink. I’ll take a glass.”

Steve poured a glass of wine for each of them, and they continued to chat into the late hours of the night. Steve fell asleep on his new couch and Billy washed the dishes before leaving Steve’s apartment and heading to bed.

His heart was racing practically the entire night and he couldn’t understand why. What was so great about the hot neighbor-slash-tenant with his soft, fluffy hair and his smooth voice and his stupid smile. Yeah, okay, maybe he looked sexy in an apron and knew his way around the kitchen and he was like a wife, who could also be a husband and he was every goddamn thing Billy wanted—but what’d that matter? He was damned to spend his life alone in that shitty building until Neil died and he was free to demolish it someday.

Only then would he be free.

A month passed. Billy had dinner with Steve at least twice a week. Sometimes their dinners would turn into movie nights. Steve even invited him over for party games when his friends came into town to visit.

And each moment they spent together, only caused Billy to fall deeper in love.

Steve had to work, so there wouldn’t be any dinner that night. He made sure to give Billy some leftovers from the night before, so Billy heated them and ate them before going to bed early.

He groaned in annoyance when his sleep was disturbed by a late night phone call.

“Another emergency?” He wondered, when he noticed Harrington’s name on the screen. It was 9:52 PM. Did his pipe burst again?

“Hey, Steve, what’s wrong? Is it the pipes?”

“No, but, I do need something repaired. Could you come by for a moment? If it’s not too much trouble.”

Steve was more of a treasure than trouble to Billy. He was the only sense of life in his dreadful world. He would come anytime Steve called, no matter how late.

“No problem, be right there.” He responded cooly, concealing his excitement to see Steve again.

He grabbed his tools and headed down the hall. Steve opened the door before he could knock.

“Alright, show me where the problem is.”

“It’s uh…not something you can use tools for.”

Billy raised a brow in confusion. “What’re you talkin’ about, Harrington?”

“Can—can you fix a broken heart?”

This is what he called me over for?

Billy laughed. “If I knew how, I’d fix my own.”

“Whenever I catch a glimpse of you around the building, you always look so sad and alone. I just…I hate seeing you like that.”

“I’m not like that when we hang out, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does. Because I feel better when I hang out with you too.” There was a long pause as they averted each other’s eyes. They could feel their hearts nearly beating out of their chests. "You like my coffee, you-you laugh at my jokes. You support my ambitions. Even my friends like you!"

"Yeah, your friend's girlfriend seems to like me more than she likes you."

They shared a laugh, and Steve's smile slowly faded as his gaze turned serious.

“W-what I’m saying is...” Steve clenched his sweaty fist “I think…I think I’m falling for you.”

Billy gasped upon hearing the confession. Was this a dream? Was he still in his bed, fast asleep? Maybe he should pinch himself to find out.

“You sure you’re not just trying to get a rent-free apartment?” Billy joked.

“Is uh…is it working?” Steve replied in jest.

Billy nodded. “Yeah. A little bit.”

When Steve gently pulled Billy into his arms, embracing him, Billy knew for sure this wasn’t a dream. He hadn’t been held like this in forever, maybe never. His mom used to hold him tight, but that was familial love. This was…a new and unexpected romantic gesture.

Billy did everything he could to hold back his tears.

Steve gently pulled away, looking into Billy’s cloudy eyes with his own.

“You really can fix anything, can’t you?”

“I dunno if I would call this fixing, but I’m definitely building something new with you.”

Steve kissed him softly, and Billy melted into his arms. For a split second he imagined merging with Steve and never parting with him again.

“One day, you and me, we’re gonna get the hell outta here. We’re gonna do everything we’ve ever dreamed of, and we’re gonna be happy.”

“Steve, this is the first bit of happiness I’ve felt in a long time. I’m almost satisfied with this.”

“You don’t have to settle, babe. We’re gonna have a beautiful life together, and you’ll never have to fix some shitty pipes ever again.”

“I’m holding you to that promise, pretty boy.”

They sealed the deal with another kiss.

And Steve did keep his promise.

Thank you for reading! Please look forward to something incredible from @adelacreations ❤️

#harringrove relay race #ivy.doc #caliscoops.doc

81 notes · View notes

octuscle · 10 months

Note

I'm working on furniture in my apartment and honestly my white collar job hasn't prepared me for this. Can you make me the best handyman around? Wouldn't mind repaying the favor.

You're sitting at breakfast. The white collar freshly starched. The tie knot perfectly tied. The New York Times in front of you on the table next to the smoothie bowl and green tea. The sun is shining outside, it could be another hot day. Good thing your day is fully air-conditioned from your home to your car ride to your office.

"Zmiana planu. Odbierz nas z motelu za pół godziny." What is this strange text message? And who the hell is Kacper? Before you drive off, you need to take a shit. You pick up the New York Post and go to the bathroom. Fuck, that stinks. Must have been yesterday's borscht. Another huge fart, a quick sip of coffee. Then you have to go. Kacper and the others are waiting.

"Tomczyk Craftsman Services of all kinds" is written on the battered pickup truck in your driveway. The air conditioning is broken. And you could also clear out the garbage. But there's no time for that now. Yes, you're the boss, but the idea of the tie was silly. You loosen the knot with your calloused hands and throw the tie into the passenger footwell. Sweat stains form under your armpits. And on your chest. Damn, it's going to be hot today.

Jakub, Kacper, Filip and Szymon are already waiting outside the cheap motel with tools and materials. You load everything up and off you go to the construction site. The boys stink. You roll down your window. The breeze feels good on your bare chest. The radio plays loud Polish hip-hop. The boys are roaring along. Filip in the passenger seat lights a cigarette. You take it out of his mouth. Damn, that was necessary.

You're proud of yourself and your crew. You are hard-working craftsmen. And damn good at your job. The fact that you can afford a house in the suburbs is your sign that you've made it. Yeah, it's a nasty neighborhood. But once you've finished renovating the house next door and the boys have moved in, things will get better. After work today, you'll set up your furniture together. And then you'll fire up the barbecue in your garden. You've even prepared a little firework display. A point of honor on 03 May!

Pic found @tradiem8s

#male tf #muscle tf #inked man #reality change #chronivac #white to blue collar tf #redneck tf

99 notes · View notes

loveroftoomanyfandoms · 8 months

Text

That Summer, Chapter 1

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: M

Story Summary: Frank Castle has been on the move ever since he "retired" as The Punisher after finding out the truth about his family's murder and handing his former best friend, Billy Russo, off to the Feds.

With his new identity as Pete Castiglione, Frank decides to settle down in a small town in Iowa, where he finds employment as a farmhand/handyman for you, a widow who's struggling to keep your farm running by yourself after the untimely death of your husband a year prior.

As Frank grows closer to you, his past -- and true identity -- begin to catch up with him, putting his chance of finding peace -- and both of your lives -- at risk.

Warnings/Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, The Punisher S1 Compliant ONLY, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Frank calling Reader "Ma'am" is it's own warning 🥵

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: This is all Jon Bernthal's fault for looking so damn good in a flannel shirt and jeans.

Title from the Garth Brooks song of the same name.

Taglist: @danzer8705 @carolinaxvz @thepunisherfrankcastle

BangBangBangBangBang!

Frank Castle grabbed his pistol out from under his pillow as a sudden loud knocking on his motel room door startled him awake.

He had pulled into a small town in Iowa around 2 AM and had gotten a room, hoping to get a decent amount of sleep… but apparently there was no such luck since someone was banging on his door at fuck-o’clock in the morning.

He let out a deep breath and relaxed as he realized that the commotion was actually coming from a few doors down, the banging now followed by a woman's angry voice yelling that she knew that someone named Roger was ‘in there with that skank’. Sounds like a lover's quarrel .

He stashed his gun back underneath his pillow then looked at the bedside clock, which read 7:23 AM.

He sighed. Might as well get some breakfast since I'm up anyway.

He took a quick shower then dressed, noting by the silence that whatever had been going on between the angry woman and the allegedly-cheating Roger had apparently already been resolved.

There was a small hole-in-the-wall diner directly across the street from the motel, so Frank decided to just walk over there for breakfast.

He headed in and sat at the end of the counter, groaning when his back cracked.

He pulled out the bottle of aspirin he had bought at a gas station on his way into town and opened it, shaking out a couple of pills before popping them into his mouth and swallowing them dry. He'd certainly slept in worse places than the back of a van and cheap, shitty motel rooms back when he was in the military, but now that he was getting older his joints were definitely preferring a nice, soft bed to sleep in.

The waitress, an older woman whose nametag read Mildred , walked over and poured him a cup of coffee. “Welcome to Sal's, what can I getcha?” she said.

Frank quickly scanned the menu. “Uh, I'll have the bacon and eggs, eggs over easy, please.”

“Sure thing, hon. Coming right up.”

Frank looked around the mostly-empty diner as Mildred shuffled off to go put his order in with the cook.

An old jukebox stood along the far wall -- its choice of music being country ranging from the 1950’s to the 1980’s if Frank had to guess -- while a framed black-and-white photo of the diner sat above the jukebox, the presumed Sal standing proudly in front of the building and pointing to a brand-new sign.

Frank glanced back towards the door, a hand-written flyer pinned to a bulletin board catching his eye.

“You lookin' for a job?” the waitress asked, setting a plate in front of him.

“Uh, yeah, actually, I might be,” Frank replied, still looking at the flyer. He had been considering settling down somewhere for a while and figured that The Middle of Nowhere, Iowa might be just as good a place as any.

He pulled out his phone and flipped it open, only to notice that he had forgotten to charge it the night before and that the battery had died. “Ah, damn, my phone's dead. You happen to know where this is located?”

Mildred nodded. “Yeah, it's down at the end of Route Six, just past Eureka Creek at the edge of town.”

“Mind giving me directions?”

“Sure, when ya leave here head right on Route 3, go down a ways ‘till ya see the sign for the hardware store, then hang a left on the road right past it and go all the way down. Ya can't miss it.”

“Can I take the flyer?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Frank finished his breakfast and coffee then pulled out enough cash to cover his bill and leave Mildred a nice tip before setting it on the counter. “Here ya go.”

Mildred walked over and took the money, counting it quickly before heading towards the register at the other end of the counter to close Frank out. “Thank ya, hon. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Frank took the flyer off of the bulletin board and folded it before sticking it in his pocket.

He headed back across the street and packed his duffle bag before checking out of the motel.

He unlocked his van and climbed in, reviewing the directions in his head before starting it up. Right outta here, left onto Route 6 after the hardware store… past Eureka Creek all the way to the end of the road. Got it.

He turned out of the diner's parking lot onto Route 3 and headed towards the edge of town, turning left past the hardware store down a gravel road with a faded sign that declared it Route 6 .

After a few minutes of bumpy driving he crossed a rickety-looking wooden bridge built over a small waterway (what Frank presumed to be the aforementioned Eureka Creek), which transitioned to a winding dirt road leading to a two-story farmhouse.

To the right of the house was another building that appeared to be a cabin, and beyond that was a barn, an older model truck half-covered with a tarp, a tractor that clearly hadn't run in a while, and a fenced-in pasture whose fence was in dire need of repair.

Definitely seems like there'd be plenty for me to do around here, Frank thought as he climbed out of the van.

He could hear barking coming from inside the house as he shut the door and began walking towards the front porch.

He paused just shy of the front steps as the front door opened slightly and you appeared.

You eyed him warily from behind a screen door, which remained closed. “Yes, may I help you?”

“I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, especially with it being so early,” Frank began as he dug the flyer out of his pocket and unfolded it. “But I was told you were looking for someone to help out around here?”

You nodded, glancing briefly at the flyer in his hands before looking back up at him. “Yes, that's right.”

Frank cleared his throat. “I apologize for not calling first but my phone is dead, so Mildred over at the diner gave me your address. Is now a good time to talk?”

You hesitated momentarily. “Yeah, now’s fine, just give me a minute though.”

Frank nodded. “Sure thing, ma'am.”

He waited as you closed the door, hearing a heavy lock turn on the other side. He couldn't blame you -- he'd be cautious too if some strange person turned up on his doorstep unannounced.

After a few minutes, he heard the lock click again and the door open.

A large black and white dog came bounding out past the screen door, stopping in front of Frank and sniffing cautiously at his boots.

You followed, this time carrying a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses and wearing a much friendlier look on your face. “Sorry about him,” you said as you set the tray down on a small side table and closed the door once again. “He's friendly though, I promise.”

“Ah, that's alright.” Frank squatted down to rub the dog’s muzzle. “What’s his name?”

“Frank.”

Frank chuckled. Guess that's a sign that this was a good idea. “Frank, huh?”

You shrugged. “That was the name he came with. He's a rescue.”

Frank turned his attention to Canine Frank. “Nah, that's a good name, huh boy?”

He stood. “I'm Pete. Pete Castiglione.”

You introduced yourself in return. “Would you like some lemonade, Pete?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I'd love some.”

He walked up the steps to the porch as you poured two glasses of lemonade.

You handed him one of the glasses. “Here, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Frank took the glass and sat before taking a sip of the cool, perfectly sweet drink. “Mmm. This is excellent. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” You took a sip of your own lemonade as Canine Frank settled himself at your feet. “So, Pete, do you have any farming experience?”

Frank shook his head. “Actually, no ma'am, I don't, but I'm a real fast learner and I don't have a problem with getting my hands dirty. And whatever needs fixing, I can do as well.”

Your eyes flicked down to Frank's battle-scarred hands. “Well that's good to know, at least. I'm afraid it's been a bit of a struggle trying to keep up with repairs around this place while also tending to the animals.”

You took another sip of your lemonade. “Where’ya from, if ya don't mind me asking?”

“New York.”

You eyed him carefully. “Long way from home. Running from or towards something?”

Frank chuckled and shook his head. “Bit of both, I guess.”

“Honest answer. That's good. Honesty’s important around here.”

Frank nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Honesty's important to me too.”

You looked out towards the farm, then sighed. “I’ll take you on on a trial basis -- let's say two weeks. If it seems like you're at least starting to catch on to everything then you can have the position permanently, if not then I'll give you the half month’s pay that I'll owe you and we'll go our separate ways. Sound fair?”

Frank nodded in return. “Yes, ma’am, sounds completely fair.”

You stood. “In that case, how about I show you around?”

Frank finished his lemonade and set his glass down on the table. “That'd be great.”

You led Frank towards the barn. “We're a small farm, with just 6 horses and 5 cows, a dozen hens, a couple of bee boxes, and Frankie boy here. We used to be much bigger but… well, it became too much to handle on my own.”

Frank had a feeling there was more to that story, but said nothing.

You tugged on the barn door, grunting in frustration when it didn't budge. “That's one thing on the repair list -- this damn door. It's always getting stuck.”

You tugged one more time, the door finally letting loose with a loud pop and sliding open.

Frank followed you into the barn, which was neat and tidy -- well, as neat and tidy as a barn could be. “I can take a look at that door for you now, if you'd like.”

You nodded and waved a hand at the door. “By all means, go right ahead.”

“Got a ladder?”

“Yeah, just a second.”

You walked towards the back of the barn and unhooked a short folding ladder that was hanging on the left wall. “Will this do?”

Frank nodded. “Yes ma'am, that'll work.”

He waited as you brought the ladder to him then climbed up. “Ahh, yeah, I see the problem right here. One of the tracks is loose so they keep catching on each other.”

He looked down at you. “You got a screwdriver handy?”

“Yeah, there's a toolbox over here.” You walked over to a large tool chest and began rummaging through it, quickly producing a screwdriver. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Frank quickly screwed the track back into place and stepped off of the ladder. “Go ahead and try that door now.”

You walked back over to the door, which now slid easily in both directions. “Ah yeah, there we go. Thanks.”

Frank shrugged. “No problem, ma’am.”

You led him towards the stables. “Alrighty, so here are the horses. We've got Sunshine, Missy, Eclipse, Nutmeg, and Amaretto.”

You stopped at a stable that was further away from the others. “And this is the aptly-named Midnight.”

Frank looked between the jet-black horse and you. “Why is he being kept separate from the other horses?”

“He's not tame yet. I've been trying but haven't had any success.” You paused. “My husband was the horse trainer, I just don't seem to have the knack for it.”

There it is. “Was?”

You nodded. “Tom passed away just over a year ago -- car accident. He was coming back from Des Moines with a load of feed when his tire blew out and he ran off the road. Struck a tree, killed him instantly.”

Frank winced. “I'm so sorry. I know what that's like, though, I… I lost my wife and kids a few years ago too.”

“I'm sorry for your loss as well.”

Next you showed him the cows -- Lulu, Clarabelle, Daisy, Petunia, and Millie -- then the area where you kept the bees. “I usually handle them on my own but there might be an occasion where I would need you to help me harvest honey. You're not allergic, are you?”

Frank shook his head. “No, ma'am. That won't be a problem.”

“Okay, good. Let me show you where you'll be staying.”

You took him back around to the cabin. “Here it is.”

Frank followed you up the steps to the small porch and waited as you unlocked the door.

You opened it. “Come on in.”

He followed you inside and took a look around. To the left of the entranceway was a small kitchen, complete with a stove/oven combo, microwave and coffee maker.

“There’s a grocery store in town if you want to stock up on groceries,” you explained, “but you're also welcome to come have meals in the main house too if you'd like.”

Frank nodded. “I’m not much of a cook, so that would be nice if you wouldn't mind the company.”

“Not at all.”

Beyond the kitchen was a living area that connected to another side porch, then a small laundry room with a washer and dryer. “This was Tom’s and my place before we built the main house,” you explained as you showed him the bedroom and bathroom. “It wasn't much, but it was home while we needed it to be.”

Frank shook his head. “Nah, this is perfect.”

You handed him a key. “Breakfast is at six, lunch at noon, dinner at seven. Work starts tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Alrighty then, I'll give you your privacy, leave ya to get settled in. Let me know if ya need anything.”

“I will.”

Frank went out to the van to get his duffle bag as you headed back to the main house, Canine Frank on your heels.

He headed back into the cabin and unpacked his meager belongings, hiding his pistol in the nightstand next to the bed before plugging his phone in to charge.

He put a load of laundry on to wash, glad to have his own washer and dryer to use rather than having to find a laundromat.

He returned to the bedroom intending on taking a nap when he looked out of the window, spotting you carrying a large square bale of hay towards the barn and looking like you were struggling.

He headed outside and walked towards you. “Here, let me help you with that.”

You stopped and handed him the hay bale. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“No problem. Where we headed?”

“Horse stalls.” You wiped the back of your arm across your forehead. “It's been taking a lot longer than it's supposed to to muck them out because I've been having to transport the hay by hand and in smaller bales ever since that tractor’s been broken, not to mention having to move the horses to another stall instead of being able to let them pasture during the day because of the fence.”

Frank glanced over at the broken-down tractor. “Listen, I'm not really one to sit around and be idle, so instead of starting tomorrow why don't I help you with the stalls then go ahead and get started on that repair list for you? I can fix the fence then maybe take a look at that tractor, see if I can't get it running for ya tonight.”

You nodded. “That would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You quickly showed Frank how to muck out the horses' stalls, and together the two of you managed to get them cleaned and re-lined with bedding in just a few hours.

“Okay, that's the last one,” you said as you finished mucking out the stall you used to temporarily house each of the horses. “Thanks a lot for your help.”

Frank shrugged. “That's what I'm here for.”

You looked at your watch. “It's just about time for lunch, so how about you wait till after we eat before starting on the fence?”

Frank nodded. “Alright.”

You led him to the back of the main house. “Lunch usually consists of something simple like sandwiches and chips,” you explained as you went up the steps of the back porch and took off your boots. “But there's chili cooking in the Crock-Pot for dinner tonight.”

“Both sound great,” Frank replied, taking his own boots off before following you into the kitchen. “I'm not a very picky eater.”

You washed your hands then went to the refrigerator and began to gather the makings for sandwiches. “I've got turkey and ham, cheese, and fresh lettuce and tomatoes from the garden along with some pickles. Help yourself to whatever you like on your sandwich.”

Frank washed his own hands as you set everything out on the counter along with two plates, a bag of chips, and some condiments. “Thank you.”

You made your sandwich and set your plate on the dining room table. “Something to drink?”

Frank nodded as he made his own sandwich. “Some more of that lemonade would be really nice.”

“Sure thing.” You walked back to the cabinet, pulled out two glasses, and set them on the counter, then pulled the pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator. “Go ahead and have a seat, I'll bring this over.”

Frank sat a couple of seats down from you, thanking you as you set his glass of lemonade in front of him.

He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, chewing and swallowing before asking, “What else is on the repair list?”

You huffed out a light laugh and shook your head. “Honestly too much to name, but I can give you a detailed list tomorrow.”

Frank nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, Frank stealing a glance at you as you looked thoughtfully out of the window.

He could see the pain of loss on your face as well as determination to keep the farm afloat and silently vowed to do whatever it took to help you succeed.

#lotmf writes #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #That Summer Masterlist

101 notes · View notes

feeder86 · 2 years

Text

Shame

Greg had been desperately in love with Bill. It was a head over heels, all encompassing, world-absorbing sort of love for him after they had met at a bear bar downtown one year ago. Bill had been older; quite a bit older in fact. However, that hadn’t been the quality that had raised the most eyebrows. Bill’s size, his enormous, giant belly and overall spherical shape had made people question what a good-looking twenty-one year old like Greg had seen in him. Sure, Bill was grumpy and not especially interested in many of the things that Greg was into, but he was good looking and beautifully fat. At almost four hundred pounds, Greg felt proud that Bill was usually larger than most other guys they met. He loved rubbing the enormous gut and admiring the hefty, thick butt on his man.

A ‘chubby chaser’; that was the phrase Bill always used to describe Greg and, for the most part, he was happy to go along with it. How else was a guy in his late forties going to score a sexy young guy like Greg unless he embraced the part of him that his lover found so unrelentingly appealing?

Greg was starting off on his career after college and, for the first time in his life, he actually had some real money in his bank account. He’d gone about dispersing it like there was no tomorrow, spending, spending, spending as much as he could to show Bill how special he was to him. No cute oversized shirt was bypassed when he went shopping and Bill often found himself returning home to find the refrigerator stocked with plenty of delicious snacks for him to eat.

In those days, Greg had been living in a small, tired-looking house at the edge of town. He managed to buy it outright, using an inheritance he’d had some time before, when he’d lost both of his parents in a car accident, back when he was first away at college. That had been tough. But, despite the circumstances, Greg knew he was lucky to have a place of his own at such a young age. Although, the joys of property maintenance were soon to find him. Within a couple of months of moving in, it was clear that the house was goign to need a lot of money spending on it. Greg knew nothing about DIY and his four hundred pound boyfriend was even less interested in helping him out.

Jeff’s add in the local paper had caught Greg’s attention, mainly because of the cheap hourly rate he was offering. When he arrived at the door, Greg could definitely see why. Jeff was barely nineteen years old and trying to make a living in construction and as a general handyman. He had the look of a guy who had been a fair athlete in school; tall, broad-chested and with tight little glutes that pressed temptingly against the fabric of his cute work shorts. Like a dirty old man, Bill had been fast to point out how attractive he thought Greg’s new hired worker was. He sat on Greg’s couch, admiring the handsome boy’s physique as he strutted in and out of the house, back and forth to his van for more tools.

Trying to fight the urge to feel jealous and inadequate, Greg did his best to laugh along and go with it. After all, what harm could his boyfriend’s innocent crush on a nineteen year old straight guy really do? Plus, he had to admit, he’d developed quite the soft spot for Jeff himself, despite being quite some way off his usual ‘type’. Perhaps it was that handsome face, deep voice, pleasant manner and overall skill that he had in working with his hands. Whatever it was, as the time went on and Jeff spent more and more time at the house, Greg couldn’t deny that he’d been thinking about his handyman, rather than his actual boyfriend when they’d had sex on occasion.

Things hadn’t lasted with Bill. For that, Greg blamed himself entirely. Bill had been quite clear when he said that he was fine with his size, but that he didn’t want to get any bigger. However, Greg simply hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d pampered and overcatered for his larger boyfriend until the inevitable pounds came piling on, bloating Bill to almost 450lbs before he finally had enough of Greg and ended things when he got offered the chance for a big career move.

To say that Greg had been heartbroken would have been the greatest of understatements. He remembered not being able to eat, not wanting to go outside and certainly not imagining any sort of future for himself. But time didn’t stop for a broken heart. Those desolate weeks of despair rolled on, turning to months and then years. Greg built his career and was soon thinking about moving from that poky little house he had once loved so much.

Choosing a new place that needed a little work didn’t phase Greg in the slightest. Knowing how well Jeff had worked last time, he hadn’t hesitated giving him a call the moment his offer had been accepted. Sure, the guy’s day-rate had gone up somewhat, given his experience and the demand for him around town, but there was no way that Greg could imagine anyone else doing it. When he turned up, that familiar, breathless attraction that Greg had felt a few years before came fluttering back. It seemed like the physical work had agreed with Jeff immensely. He had bulked up into a more muscular frame. His tight, glutes had morphed into a large, muscular butt and his enormous chest had become defined with bulging pecs and festooned by strapping shoulders. Greg’s eyes flared with interest when he caught sight of the large biceps Jeff had acquired, that pretty face only growing more handsome with age.

Jeff was now well known around town and it was clear that Greg was unlikely to be the only homeowner with a crush on him. When they spoke, Jeff had been sad to learn that Greg and Bill hadn’t lasted long and seemed to remember the days of working on Greg’s first house with some fondness.

“I thought you two were very well suited,” the handsome guy smiled.

“Well, you were the only one then,” Greg chuckled.

“You absolutely worshipped the ground he walked on,” Jeff continued, sympathetically.

“I think that was sort of the problem,” Greg sighed, remembering how frustrated Bill had become towards the end with Greg’s endless fussing and overfeeding of him.

“His loss,” Jeff smiled, giving Greg a quick, friendly slap on his back. “One day, I’m sure he’ll look back and realise how good he actually had it with you.”

Greg smiled too, remembering how his chats with Jeff had always made him feel better about himself. Jeff didn’t say things just to make others like him. As a foster kid, he seemed to relate to Greg better than most, given how they were both lacking in families as adults. Without a comforting safety net of a loving nest to return to when needed, they’d both had to develop that drive and independence that they each admired about the other. They both knew that life was only ever going to be what they themselves made of it.

Jeff had married about two years later. It had been a small affair, although Greg had seen a few pictures of the day online. His new wife had looked stunning, as had Jeff, dressed immaculately in a sharp suit that perfectly displayed his even more strapping and muscular physique. They could have both just strolled off a catwalk, and no doubt that others thought the same. Perhaps that was part of the reason why what happened next was such a shock.

Greg had known for some time that he wanted to get into the rental market. Owning somewhere he could let out just made so much financial sense, so of course he was on the phone to Jeff as soon as the deal was going through on a two-bedroom place downtown. From the moment the handsome guy climbed out of his truck, it was obvious that there had been some rather telling changes to the man’s lifestyle. From out of nowhere, Jeff was suddenly looking very husky indeed. His clothes, the work shorts and t-shirt, were obviously too small for him. The material across his chest showed how ruggedly strong and capable he was, yet it clung, rather unflatteringly, to a meatier middle where a six pack clearly hadn’t been for some time. As for his shorts, well they looked downright uncomfortable, pinching him at the hips and pressing so far in that they gave him lovehandles; actual lovehandles on a guy like Jeff! All the attraction Greg had ever had for Jeff suddenly paled in comparison to the burning lust that he felt now. Only in his mid twenties and already this superb, strong and overfed dadbod had kicked in!

They surveyed the house together, Greg happy to let Jeff lead the way so that he could stare at the enlarged, softer looking glutes; so much different to how they had been when Greg had first met the man. When Jeff bent down, Greg got an eyeful of his buttcrack too. Every item of clothing on his body seemed to be crying out in misery, unable to cope with the most likely thirty to forty pounds of fat that Jeff had gained since getting married.

“So, how is married life treating you?” Greg asked at long last, after all the boring rough costs were drawn up.

Jeff scratched the back of his head and grimaced. “Fine,” he mumbled.

Greg frowned. “You sure?” he asked, sensing from Jeff’s sudden awkwardness that something wasn’t quite right.

“I’m just not used to being part of a couple,” Jeff began. “The wedding, getting married; it was all a bit of a whirlwind. As an adult, I’m not used to someone putting restrictions on what I can and can’t do. I’m used to being my own man.”

“Are you saying you find her a little bossy?” Greg asked.

“Not bossy so much…” Jeff replied, obviously still trying to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I’ve always been a bit of a lone rider. It was how I kept sane as a kid, going from foster home to foster home. She wants me to go to the gym with her all the time and she tries to keep tabs on what I’m eating. I just… I don’t like it. When I get home these days, I just want to crash on the couch and have a few beers; like most guys do.”

Greg nodded. “That seems fair enough.” Suddenly, Jeff's thicker, meatier stomach was starting to all make sense.

“I don’t know,” Jeff shrugged at last. “I know I’m pretty lazy around the house. I’m sure I must be hard to live with too.”

“You’ll work it out, I’m sure,” Greg offered consolingly.

Jeff nodded slowly, but the look on his face was strange; as if he didn’t really care; as if, after only a couple of years, the guy was already taking a step out the door of his marriage.

Having Jeff work on a place that wasn’t Greg’s home was a new experience for him. Jeff had kindly set aside six weeks and Greg planned to pop in each afternoon during a break from work, just to check on progress. He’d learned ways to keep Jeff happy during their previous projects and he arrived each time with Jeff’s favourite creamy latte. He kept a cookie jar in the house and was surprised to see that Jeff was easily going through an entire pack each day, leaving only crumbs in the bottom. No wonder the guy had been piling on the pounds, Greg thought to himself, trying to keep his attraction to Jeff under some sort of control. Having a crush on a straight guy was never going to lead anywhere, Greg knew. But the lust and the affection he’d developed for Jeff over the years was seeming to boil over into a monstrous adoration of him.

It was happening again. Greg’s crush was driving him to the same sticky place that he’d been to with his ex. He’d bought a refrigerator and filled it with sodas so that Jeff would always have something if he was thirsty. An old microwave was taken there and easy meals stuffed into the freezer, along with anything tasty the besotted Greg imagined the handy guy might like. He was being overbearing; he knew he was. But, for whatever reason, Greg just felt like he couldn’t help it. Then, whenever he popped over and saw so many of the supplies had been used up, he felt reinforced somehow; heading over to the store to pick up even more to restock it all.

By the end of the project, Greg noticed that Jeff’s face had seemed to change slightly. His cheeks were puffier and his jawline softer. It seemed like fat was actually spreading into his neck. He’d put on weight, no doubt about it.

“Well, I’m sure whoever rents this place off you is going to love living here,” Jeff stated, looking around the kitchen one final time and giving Greg a good look at his obviously thicker butt and fuller love handles. “This is exactly the sort of place I would have rented before I got married. Somewhere nice and quiet.”

Greg smiled, sensing that Jeff was still longing for that feeling of freedom and independence that he felt he had somehow lost. Perhaps, if Greg hadn’t already found someone to rent it, he may have quietly offered it to Jeff himself. But then again, maybe he would only have been sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

It was about eighteen months until Greg and Jeff spoke next. The guy’s name popped up on Greg’s cell phone as it rang, making his heart flutter with the lust that never seemed to leave him. Jeff had spotted another house downtown that he thought Greg might have been interested in as another rental; offering to meet him there to show him the place.

Like a lovesick puppy, Greg had jumped at the chance, feeling the blood pumping to his penis the entire time he was driving down there. Then, suddenly, Jeff was standing outside the property, waiting for him.

Safely inside his car, Greg growled in lustful appreciation. Jeff now looked even hotter than ever. Although not an extreme amount, it was obvious that Jeff was still continuing to put on weight. His little meaty stomach had seemed to solidify and push itself out more, forming a genuine little gut under his handsome pecs. The protrusion of it was quite clear, especially from the side, where the overall width of Jeff could be fully appreciated alongside the more developed ass on him. It was clear that he hadn’t been on a treadmill in quite some time.

Jeff had been right, the house had been undervalued, but even the rough quotes he was coming up with to do the place up seemed too good to be true. “But, this is at least three months’ work!” Greg gasped when he saw the ridiculously low amount Jeff was asking for to do it all.

“Well, truth is, I’m a little hard up at the moment. I need the work,” Jeff finally shrugged. “Never get married,” he sighed. “The divorce is unbelievably expensive!”

Greg offered his sympathies, although he couldn’t say he was all that surprised. However, it was exactly these types of cases where Greg also excelled, and he was soon launching into a pep talk to Jeff, explaining that he shouldn’t sell himself short just because he was a little strapped for cash. “I bet there are loads of ways we could make your business more profitable,” he went on, getting carried away. That old need to help Jeff wherever he could was always there. Now, as an accountant and business consultant, he really could offer something to the man that most people couldn’t.

“I can’t afford to hire someone else!” Jeff scoffed as he and Greg looked over his books a few nights later.

“You’ll get jobs done faster and it means you can take on bigger projects,” Greg pressed on, having researched, in some detail, the business model he felt would work best for Jeff. “Find someone young and cheap. Someone just getting started. Then you can train them up and give them the sort of opportunity that you would have wanted, back in the day.”

Jeff hadn’t been convinced, but by the end of their second rental project together, another young guy, called Sam, had joined Jeff’s new team. Young, lanky and fresh-faced, the eighteen year old Sam had been surprisingly keen and dedicated to the opportunity he had been given. During that last week, the two of them had worked with incredible speed to get the house finished in time for a new tennant to take the place. That was even with the sweltering summer heat that boiled the rooms like an oven.

Greg, who had been getting twitchy about the looming completion date, had been there every day, restocking the guys’ supplies and checking on progress. Overcome with the heat, a sweaty Jeff had been strutting around without a shirt for most of the week, sipping on the bottomless supplies of soda Greg provided. That firm, ball-like gut on the guy had come such a long way since Greg had first met the man eight years ago. His belly button had some real depth to it; a ripple of fat rolling through his love handles as he plodded lethargically about. It was clear that whatever Greg had assumed to be pecs hadn’t been so for quite some time. In reality, Jeff’s chest was surprisingly coated in fat; his nipples just about to beome more pointed and supple. In this state of undress, it was obvious how the fat was starting to wrap itself around Jeff’s body, spreading itself all over and softening the once athletic physique. Then there was that sweaty sheen all over his skin, the musky lure of an overfed man, hard at work. In other words, Greg had never been more aroused in his entire life.

By taking on Jeff’s financial work, Greg and Jeff were now in regular contact. Despite having so much knowledge on all things to do with building and repair work, Jeff had been missing out on so many opportunities to reduce his annual tax bill by simply just not knowing what he was entitled to. Jeff had been so grateful when his tax return came back in that he’d offered to take on a couple of days repair work at one of Greg’s properties, free of charge.

“I didn’t know you were hiring someone new?” Greg asked, stopping by to pick up some papers from Jeff as they worked on a project in the next town. He tried not to be distracted, watching Jeff eating his enormous sandwich as they returned to his truck for a second. The sight of Jeff eating had always done it for him; those enormous mouthfuls, the way he ripped into things and swallowed it all down with such speed. Back when he was so strapping and lean, it had seemed manly and purposeful. Now, however, it had been unmasked as pure, beautful greed.

“Well, things are going pretty well,” Jeff nodded. He’d developed a stoutness to him and a way of carrying himself that clearly identified him as the boss. His boyishness had gone entirely and the spherical bulge in his stomach seemed to be marching ever onwards. “Sam and I can’t handle all the work we’ve got coming in. Plus, Sam’s not quite as agile as he used to be.” With that, he nodded over at the worker, busily shoveling sand into the mixer. It was obvious what Jeff was referring to; the flabby looking love handles that were sneaking out of Sam’s tight t-shirt and the sweaty butt crack that was coming into view.

“I’m guessing you’ve not had a healthy influence on him then?” Greg joked.

“It seems not,” Jeff agreed, shaking his head with slight disapproval at the wider butt on his employee. “That’s exactly what his mom says as well. I mean, I know I overeat,” he admitted, rubbing his large stomach and ripping into even more of his sandwich. “I have a taste for pretty much everything that’s not good for me. But I was still pretty fit when I was his age,” he grumbled. “Anyway, the new guy seems to be working out well. He’s Sam’s younger brother, so I sort of know what I’m getting.”

Greg nodded, slipping his hand into his pocket to hold down the boner that he knew could potentially press itself against the crotch of his pants. He took the papers he needed and headed back to his car, trying to distract his mind, factoring in the new costs for Jeff’s growing business.

It was amazing how many people seemed to actively try to make Greg feel like a failure for reaching his early thirties and remaining single. He’d stayed fit and toned, so there was certainly no reason why people thought he should still be on his own. Sure, he’d had plenty of flings, but he had never been captured or overcome with love by any of the men he had dated. In fact, it was only ever Jeff who seemed to celebrate being a bachelor, and his enthusiasm for not being tied down in life was almost infectious. Everything he did seemed to be a celebration of being divorced: the way he ate what he wanted on site all day and how he didn’t care how scruffy he looked. He grinned, telling Greg that he was heading home to drink his beer, order take-out and sit on his ass all night watching football; as if he was living the dream.

At some point, Jeff had crossed the point from which he had been simply stout and overweight, to becoming something much more. Perhaps it was the sheer size of his stomach that had changed things; the way he carried the fat around his neck, or the total absence of the muscle that had once dominated his body. Maybe it was the way he walked now, or the constant presence of something tasty in his hands. It could have been the awkward fit of his clothes, or the width of his under exercised butt. But, whatever it was, it seemed like Jeff had become a very large man indeed. No matter the time of year, he wore sweat shorts that showed off his large calf muscles, well used to carrying around his hefty bulk. The lower sections of his belly frequently crept into view when he worked, along with his deep, always sweaty butt crack.

Jeff’s team had grown, in more ways than one. With Greg’s business advice and investment, the big man now hired a team of four other guys. Sam, who had been with him the longest, had become remarkably flabby and soft-looking, as had his younger brother. The two other guys hired by Jeff were both older and with more skills to bring to the business. They were both married and in their early thirties. When Greg had met them initially, he had been surprised by how much their athletic bodies contrasted and highlighted how large and obese their boss had become. Now, however, even they seemed to be getting rather thick around their middles; as if simply working with greedy Jeff led to an inevitable weight gain.

“These books are looking very healthy!” Greg smiled, seeing how much money Jeff’s blossoming business was taking in; even with the very generous wages he paid his workers.

Jeff nodded, chewing on his third doughnut from the box that Greg would always remember to bring with him whenever he met up with Jeff each month. He knew full well that there would not be a single one left within ten minutes, and that he would probably have to hide his crotch as a result. The big man had arrived, showing off his enormous new truck which he hadn’t yet littered with take-out cartons and boxes, nor dirtied with mud and dust.

“So where do we go next?” Jeff asked, mumbling with his mouth full. “All I seem to do these days is price up quotes for people. It’s insane how much work is coming in.”

“Well, that’s exactly what we want,” Greg smiled keenly. “The business needs to evolve like this now. We’re hiring more guys, so it’s time for you to become more of the overseer of things. And, maybe in a few months, we could even hire someone to take over the admin around these quotes for you.”

“Jeez!” Jeff chuckled. “I already take home more money than I ever anticipated each month and now it sounds like I’m going to be able to sit on my fat ass full time!”

“Well, that’s my plan!” Greg smiled, delighted with how far he had helped Jeff take his business in the seven years since he had worked as the business manager. “We want to make sure this company gives you a solid income for years to come and allow you some time to enjoy yourself a little more.”

Jeff paused for a moment. “You know, no one has ever done more for me than you have,” he stated. Greg had been the first person he’d asked to invest in his business and their fifty/fifty shared ownership had been nothing but harmonious. “Your house was the first major project I took on when I was nineteen. I never imagined that we would still be working together after all these years. You’ve really looked after me.”

Greg smiled at the sentiment. “We look after each other,” he offered in return. “You’ve trusted me every step of the way. There’s no way I would have all this,” he explained, looking around the plush office space he occupied, “without all the business clients you sent my way over the years.”

Jeff seemed to consider Greg’s comments. “Yeah, I guess you could say that we have each other’s backs,” he nodded in agreement. Then he smiled at Greg; his friend and best adviser. It was an affection that neither of them had ever before encountered in their work lives.

Having spent the majority of his adult life alone, Greg knew that the time had come for him to settle down with someone. As much as he listened to Jeff going on and on about how delighted he was to be living the single life, the reality for Greg was… loneliness. He felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, counting up his money and coming home to a cold, empty house every evening. For the first time ever, he accepted a work acquaintance’s offer to set him up on a blind date and, when that went well, he suddenly found himself slowly rolling into a real relationship for the first time since he was in his early twenties.

On paper, Steve was the perfect guy for him, sharing all of his interests and sense of humour. He was attractive, athletic, being of a similar age, in his mid thirties, and very much financially stable. Everyone in Greg’s life found him to be delightful. They commented on how well suited they both were, how Greg had seemed to come to life whenever Steve was around. And, for the most part, Greg absolutely agreed, even though he knew that spark hadn’t been there for him initially. In fact, within Greg’s entire circle, there was only one person who didn’t seem to approve of Steve…

“That fat asshole tried to call over and see you before,” Steve grumbled, putting away some of the things Greg had brought back from the supermarket. “Something about how he’s sorted the new digger,” he went on. “Why he couldn’t just message you, I have no idea.”

“He drives by here on the way home,” Greg explained. “He finds it easier to just call in and let me know things like that. I hope you were polite?” he asked, warningly.

“I was… courteous,” Steve considered. “It’s hard though. As soon as he saw it was me answering the door he pulled this face and rolled his eyes. I’ve never come across someone so fucking rude in my entire life!” “He wouldn’t have meant to be rude,” Greg tried. “He was probably just tired.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was tired,” Steve agreed. “I think anyone would be exhausted lugging that massive gut of his around all day.” He shuddered in disgust. “It was even hanging out a little from the bottom of his t-shirt today. Like… does the guy never look in a mirror? Still, at least he was wearing a shirt today, I guess,” he mumbled, pretending to suppress the urge to gag.

Greg grumbled inside. Steve was so great in many different ways, however he seemed to have a strange, zero-tolerance towards those he considered to be not looking after themselves. “Maybe this is why Jeff isn’t very fond of you,” Greg replied, deciding not to be upset that two of the most important guys in his life looked set to clash for the rest of their lives.

“How’s the jerk?” Jeff asked, leaning back against the kitchen cupboard of an empty house he had brought Greg over to see as a potential new acquisition for their shared property rental empire. “You haven’t asked him to move in yet, have you? You know that’s just a slippery slope?”

Greg sighed. He was sick of feeling like the go-between. “We’re not moving in together,” he stated reassuringly for Jeff. He listened a little longer as Jeff explained how rude Steve had been to him the last time they had to be in the room together. It was the complete opposite of the story as told by Steve, but Greg had long since given up trying to work out which of them was lying; deciding that they both exaggerated and stretched the truth. “Look, I know you don’t like Steve and that’s not going to change. But… isn’t it enough for you that I love him?”

Jeff’s face filled with an unexpected smile. “I would be totally on-board if I believed that you loved him. Believe me, I’d be backing you one hundred percent if I thought that was the case.”

“But I do love him,” Greg shot back. “We’ve been together almost a year.”

Jeff shook his head in complete refusal. “No… I’ve seen you in love. I remember how you were when I first met you. You were besotted with Bill in a way that I’ve never seen with anyone else before.”

“I was a naive twenty-one year old!” Greg chuckled back. “Of course I was head over heels in love with the guy.”

“So, what? Now we’re older we don’t get to have those feelings anymore? Now you just have to settle for Mr Generic?”

“He’s not generic!” Greg sighed, sick of hearing Jeff using that word to describe his boyfriend.

“I remember thinking what a lucky guy Bill was. The way you looked at him like he was the centre of your universe. Even when I saw Bill getting fatter and fatter, you were still all over him. You didn’t care about any of his faults, you just loved him for who he was; completely. I thought that I would get that when I got married. But, no, I just got nagged to death and put on one insane diet after another. You never would have done that with Bill.”

“No, but… all couples have different priorities,” Greg tried to reason. “I really don’t think you should use that one experience as a reason to be on your own for the rest of your life.”

“I’m fat, super-greedy and extemely lazy,” Jeff stated bluntly, rubbing his giant stomach at the same time. “When I was younger, I used to think the gym was the best place on Earth. Now I order take-out at least five times a week, I can eat an entire cheesecake to myself in one sitting, currently weigh over 420lbs and dislike most forms of exercise. Who is going to look at me and not want to change any of those things?”

Greg stood silent for a moment. Perhaps it was his weariness at the whole situation that made his inhibitions retreat, but after eighteen years of lusting after Jeff, perhaps it was no surprise. Jeff was right. He didn’t love Steve. Not in the way he had loved Jeff for all these years. “I wouldn’t,” he whispered.”I’d love you no matter what.”

Jeff held Greg’s stare, seeming to appreciate the momentousness of what had been said. He inhaled, then sighed, shaking his head. “I think we’re both just tired,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought Steve up. Let’s just check in tomorrow to make a decision about this place,” he rambled, already starting to walk away; the shoddy floorboards creaking under his massive bulk.

Greg looked down, feeling more dejected than he had even been in his entire life.

“Let’s have a working lunch and thrash out how we want to approach the house purchase,” a surprisingly upbeat Jeff announced, coming into Greg’s office the next day. It was clear from his appearance that he wasn’t working with the other guys that morning, dressed as he was in an overly tight shirt that he clearly hadn’t had the opportunity to wear in the last fifty pounds or so. “Come on. What do you say? I am your most important business partner after all.”

Greg smiled, relieved that Jeff was putting in an effort to make him feel at ease after his confession the evening before. Jeff didn’t need to ask him to cancel his other appointments; Greg would have done anything to settle their awkwardness; absolutely anything.

“I love this place,” Jeff smiled, inhaling the grease in the air and looking around at the dated decor as they sat beside each other at the main counter. “I come here all the time. It’s the best food going.”

Greg couldn’t exactly see the appeal as he looked around the haggard looking restaurant and felt the greasy countertop under his fingertips. “If you love it, I love it,” he smiled, pleased to see Jeff looking so in his element.

“What do you think I should order?” the big man asked Greg, passing over the large laminated menu; the drinks section partially obscured by dried tomato sauce.

As soon as Greg started reading, he could see why Jeff loved it so much here. He started listing off the things he knew Jeff loved and found the fat man’s enthusiasm starting to rub off on him. He poured through the side orders and had suddenly constructed a large combination of dishes that he believed Jeff would enjoy that lunchtime.

“You really think I can eat all that?” Jeff asked, raising an eyebrow.

Greg scoffed. “Who are you kidding?” he chuckled. “That’s a light snack for you!”

At that, Jeff smiled too. A large, broad and genuine smile that filled his fattened, rounded face. “This is Greg, my business manager,” he explained later to an older waitress who came over to collect their order. It seemed that she knew Jeff extremely well from his many visits here, and she showed a genuine interest in meeting Greg. “Marla’s been here for years,” Jeff went on, smiling with affection towards the older lady, as if she had become a long lost mother figure for him.

“Jeff is my favourite customer,” the lady smiled back, putting her thin arm over Jeff’s broad back and rubbing it briefly. She didn’t bat an eyelid at the amount of food he was ordering and seemed to know exactly how the obese glutton would want it all cooked.

“Marla’s great!” Jeff went on after the lady had disappeared into the kitchens. “I used to come here after the gym, even before I got married.”

“Wow, she really has known you a long time!” Greg agreed.

“After I got married, I used to come here a lot more of course, just to get out of the house.”

“That sounds stressful.”

Jeff nodded. “That was when I first started putting on weight. My wife used to hate that. She would point it out all the time to me; try to embarrass me in front of her friends. In the end, I stopped caring. I ate what I wanted just to piss her off. Fuck the six pack and the jawline! What’s the point in making yourself miserable in denying yourself the things that you enjoy?”

“I quite agree,” Gred nodded. He had always found Jeff’s enormous appetite and attitude towards eating whatever he liked to be such an attractive quality.

“It’s quite thrilling you know,” Jeff continued, even as Greg expected him to change the conversation. “Putting on so much fat after training so hard in the gym; losing all that definition… It was quite a change for me.”

“Yeah, I remember…” Greg agreed, remembering how much more attracted he had felt to Jeff once the weight had started to pile on and transform him.

“You can spend months in the gym just trying to pack on just a tiny bit of muscle. But you can gain fat and find your pants don’t fit in just a matter of weeks. I’ve seen it time and time again with all the guys I’ve hired over the years.”

Greg chuckled and nodded in agreement. He’d certainly witnessed that first hand as well.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is… I kinda like being this way,” Jeff admitted, rubbing his large gut tenderly. “And… if I was to ever be with someone again, I would, sort of, want them to enjoy me being this way too.”

A natural pause came in the conversation when some of Jeff’s dishes already started arriving. Greg simply adored the way the fat man’s face lit up when surrounded by food, and he chuckled with admiration.

“Have you ever told Steve how big your ex-boyfriend used to be?” Jeff asked next.

“That was… over fifteen years ago!” Greg mumbled in reply.

“So… that’s a ‘no’ then,” Jeff shot back, sounding disappointed as he threw in another forkful of food.

“I don’t think Steve would… understand,” Greg went on, suddenly feeling very awkward indeed.

“That’s because he’s an asshole,” Jeff stated frankly, pulling no punches. “He’s a sizist. He looks at me like I’m a piece of shit.” He exhaled, grumpily, seemingly cross with Greg. “You should have told him about Bill; about how you like bigger guys. It pisses me off so much that you’re even with a guy like that!”

“Why? What does all that even matter to you?” Greg asked, perplexed and feeling as if he had suddenly been cornered.

“Because you told me last night that if you and I were together, you wouldn’t try to change me!” he roared, sounding as if this had been pressing against his very large chest for a long, long time. “You told me that you would let me be exactly who I am. Yet, there you are, living with a boring guy who you’re not even attracted to and letting him get away with his snide little comments about fat guys like me. You haven’t told him that you’re attracted to larger men because you think it’s weird; because you know he will judge you for it. But I need someone who is all in on this one,” he finished, grabbing a wedge of his belly fat and jiggling it. “Being fat is who I am now.”

Greg exhaled, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his whole life. He felt hurt, confused and deeply misunderstood. “You’re only saying all this because I never told you what actually happened between Bill and I. You seem to be under the impression that I had some sort of epic love affair with him.” He sighed, deciding it was time to say it out loud at long last. “Bill left me all those years ago because I used to overfeed him,” he began to explain. “I tried to convince myself that I couldn’t help it; that I was just spoiling him and loving him too much. But, the truth was, I was enjoying seeing him getting fatter. I liked witnessing his belly growing and being responsible for it. I remember, I even used to put cream in his coffee and butter-up everything I cooked for him. I was… a selfish dick. I was a monser!” he sighed. “And it came back to bite me in the ass. In the end, Bill knew he had to get away from me. That’s why I’ve stayed single all these years. I was ashamed. You’re the only one who has ever brought it out in me since. I only allowed myself to spoil you when you were first getting fat. I made sure you were pumped full of soda and snacks whenever you worked for me. I’ve tried my best to keep a lid on it all this for years. That’s why I have never told Steve about what I did. That’s why I’m even settling for a guy like him.”

Jeff shrugged, heaving a great sigh and lowering his voice, becoming calm and relaxed. “But that’s just it. I don’t want someone who keeps a lid on things.” He turned slightly on the stool and put his large hand on Greg’s thigh. “I want you to be completely yourself with me; like you were with Bill. And, when I get fatter - which I will do,” he smirked. “I want us both to enjoy that.”

Greg smiled and rested his hand on top of Jeff’s, delighted that the man did not recoil, but grabbed it and held it lovingly. “You mean that?” he asked, overwhelmed with the turn of events.

Jeff nodded. Greg suddenly realised that the look of respect and admiration in Jeff’s eyes was actually love. Unbeieveably, Jeff wanted this as much as he did.

“May I touch your belly?” Greg asked, suddenly overcome with lust for the situation and opportunity he found himself in.

Jeff smiled and leaned back; looking around to check if anyone could see them in the incredibly quiet restaurant. Then he lifted his shirt a few inches, grabbed Greg’s hand and made it pinch the blubber that had flowed over the waistband of his pants.

Greg moaned. He couldn’t help himself, and Jeff chuckled, looking around; grinning like they were both naughty school children. “Want to make it bigger?” he asked playfully, seeing Marla approaching them with another of Jeff’s dishes.

Greg nodded and instinctively knew what he was to do. “Can we get some more cheesy fries and another chocolate fudge milkshake for Jeff?” he asked Marla. “Oh, and some more chicken wings.”

Marla took the order and trotted away. Jeff’s eyes were dancing with delight, his smile wider than Greg had ever seen it. As much as the guy had protested about loving the single life, it was clear in that moment that he had actually been waiting a very long time for someone to embrace this hidden side of him.

“Did I do okay?” Greg asked playfully.

“I think you’ll do just nicely,” Jeff agreed, leaning in for their very first kiss.

606 notes · View notes