| Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (2000s Trailer Park AU)
|trailer park neighbours-to-lovers, meet-cute, fluff, AGE GAP, dilf bartender!Ari, Ari Levinson x OCs, reader x OCs (mentioned), innocent!reader, cigarette use, alcohol, 6’7” Ari, beefy hunk!Ari, soft!Ari, dom!Ari, flirting, nicknames, size difference, sugar daddy!Ari, rockstar!Ari, drunk!Natasha is funny, SMUT - minors DNI, accidental voyeurism: protected sex (p in v), dirty talk, daddy kink, degradation, dumbification, spitting, ends with second hand embarrassment (maybe)
| The sun of ‘06 is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city?
♫ ·ﾟ
/ | 4.67K
/ | and he has arrived !! Yes, there’s cellphones in this “80s” fic, it’s more of a cross between 80s/90s vibes. Get ready for carefree trailer park shenanigans, everyone here is vulgar (except reader) and ofc, major thank you to everyone who sent asks, you’ve all helped me write this fic !! All mistakes are my own. ☼ - ☼
It must be following me, you think to yourself and move once again as the sun beams down brutally. You shift to the side, pressing yourself against the filling station, the blueberry popsicle falling victim to the summer heat in your hand.
Old Ricky’s is one of the many gas stations in the area, but it’s the closest to Flamingo Trailer Park which made it the perfect temporary job, temporary because you doubt you’ll be here next month.
It’s far better than the last one you worked at—Mary Jane’s had broken windows, a busted air conditioner, and smelt an awful lot like stale coffee. The reputation wasn’t the best either, plenty of the high school kids would steal like it was nothing, and Mrs. Jane didn’t bat an eye.
You often felt out of place in that dingy station, at least Old Ricky’s was clean, had a television and radio, and a fully functioning air conditioner. Mr. Ricky was a kind man, he didn’t tolerate stealing or even cursing, “I deal with enough of that foul-mouthed attitude at home, don’t need it here too, honeypie.”
Your heart breaks a little as the blue treat drips down the stick to your hand. Mr. Ricky let you have all the popsicles you wanted, as long as you kept yourself clean and presentable for the customers. At this time of day when the sun is at its highest, the station was drier than a desert, but you didn’t favour sticky hands while working. You feel around your denim shorts for a napkin, but come up empty.
Tires roll on the concrete, and after a quick peek over your shoulder, you spot a big red Chevrolet truck with thick white stripes on the sides. It’s tall, at least two—maybe more—feet off the ground with rolled-down windows and music blaring from the speakers.
You fumble with your popsicle, trying to finish it while not making a mess, god, and you really need a napkin.
The truck stops a few ways away, the door opens and closes as you put your heart-shaped sunglasses over your eyes.
“You sell smokes in there?”
You whip around, eyes wide with the cold popsicle between your lips, “Yes, s’hir.” You answer, mouth still full of the sugary treat as a few drops escape from the corners of your lips. “All kinds—I don’t know what you prefer, but I bet Mr. Ricky’s got it!”
He’s tall, seemingly perfect for his vehicle with his broad shoulders and built stature. His peach flannel is unbuttoned all the way, exposing an off-white tank top and the shiny buckle of his belt. The clean leather is looped in his blue jeans that outline his muscled thighs all the way down to his brown boots.
He seems a smidge familiar, perhaps you’ve seen him down at the Flamingo. And right now, those clothes do nothing to hide what’s underneath, he’s big, thick, and burly, you know that much and are a little ashamed as your mind teeters on the edge of the gutter.
He could probably crush you like a bug.
Your eyes flicker back up to his, and he’s already staring at you. His clear blue eyes trail over your face, and down your sweaty neck.
His dark eyebrows are furrowed from the bright sunshine, and a beard covers half his face but that doesn’t conceal any of his strong, handsome features. Thick eyelashes frame his cerulean eyes, brushing his cheekbones that are only defined by the brown facial hair, complementing his plump pink lips in a way that makes your knees a little weak.
You don’t realize the popsicle has melted down your face until he holds out a napkin.
“You’re making a mess, sugar.”
When he steps closer, your throat tightens. He’s very, very tall, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze.
“What’s your name?”
It’s only three words but his voice strums you just right—deep, creamy and confident, with a twang of an accent you can’t identify.
“P-Pardon?” You manage,
The man chuckles, his big hand hooks in his belt loops as he cocks his hip, “I asked for your name, sweetheart.”
He drops the ‘r’ when he speaks, and admittedly, it’s got you swooning. Your eyes flicker to the waist of his jeans where the denim meets his tanned skin, but you quickly look away as the hem slips a little further down. This man carries himself with nothing less than self-assurance.
The air starts feeling a little hotter, and you suspect it isn’t because of the sun.
You introduce yourself, nervously wiping your chin with the napkin. The white fabric of your shirt is stretched and worn from the blistering heat, and already stained with the last popsicles you had.
The man runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair, licking his lips. “C’mon, kitty cat, fill ‘er up for me, half a tank.”
He leans on his truck, lighting a cigarette as you pump the gas. The humid wind brushes along your slick skin, and you plead for it to take away those lingering nerves, but alas, those stupid shys—as Natasha calls them—are stuck to you like glue.
You can feel his eyes on you, mapping out your features like a fleeting traveller. The last exhale of his cigarette is followed by a low sigh, “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
You finish up pumping the gas and step back to the filling station, “I, uh, usually work closer to downtown.”
He nods and holds out a wad of bills between his ring-clad fingers. His shiny watch catches the light, it doesn’t look like the cheap ones people have tried to sell you, but it does resemble the ones from the pawn shop you used to work at.
“Oh, sir, this is too much—”
“The rest is for you, and it’d be real impolite to deny a gift.”
Clutching the cash to your chest, you peer at the station where Mr. Ricky was asleep at the checkout, work boots kicked up on the counter with his baseball cap pulled low over his wrinkled face. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can call me Ari.” He says easily, “Are you going inside any time soon?”
You shake your head, “Mr. Ricky is gonna call me for my break.”
His blue eyes fall on the station before he starts walking away, his heavy feet thumping on the ground, “Do you like cherries?” He calls over his shoulder.
“Um, yes?” You shout, fingers knotted in front of you, “wait, why—” but it’s too late, the bell dings before the glass door shuts.
You’re tending to another customer when Ari returns. As you half-listen to the older lady curse the blazing weather, he nods at you, setting a colourful little packet and a large plastic cup on that wooden bench by the newspaper stand. The woman is talking your ear off, as he hops into his truck, barely struggling with the height off the ground.
His eyes land on yours before he waves, the ghost of a smile blooming on his pink lips.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t trust a man who drives a Chevy.” The older woman interrupts, big sunglasses taking up most of her face, “All my ex-husbands had one, those things are cursed.”
What are the chances it’s the vehicle, and not the other constant, which would be herself?
You silently wish she didn’t tell you that, because knowing your gullible tendencies, you’ll load every one of those preconceived notions on the handsome stranger. You only spoke to him for a few minutes, nothing more, nothing less.
“You know why they’ve got all that room in the back?” She leans close, bubblegum painted lips in a deep frown, “It’s for the hundreds of hearts they break.”
After what seemed like forever, the older woman finally leaves. She had nearly told you her entire life story, dragging on and on about her ex-husbands and her new, young and fresh fiance living a few miles away.
Now, with slow, hesitant steps towards the station, you find yourself staring down at a bag of assorted gummies, they’re your favourite fruity flavours and next to it is a cherry cola slurpee with a pink straw. There’s a note under the cup, neat handwriting on the small sticky note:
‘Ricky said it’s fine for you to sit out front in the shade. Can’t have you overheating, keep cool, sugar.’
You don’t realize he didn’t even buy any cigarettes until he’s long gone.
“How do you do that?”
Natasha turns to you with that signature red-lipped smirk, “Easy, I make ‘em think I’m interested. Flirting on a Friday night is a game and you’ve got to be the best player if you wanna get your fill.” She adjusts her breasts in her tight dress, flipping her vibrant hair over her bare shoulder.
You make a face, anxiously tugging at the hem of your sundress. It was on the shorter side with a cute bow on each of your shoulders, the ditsy floral design made you stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of denim and leather. But you wanted to wear it because you adored the colour since it complemented your skin, and it was fitting in all the right places. Natasha even let you borrow some of her jewelry to complete your outfit, she wanted you to wear heels too, but you were set on your little white sneakers.
You hadn’t been to this bar before, much preferring the one on 5th Avenue where they had karaoke nights.
For your first trip to The Den, it was going pleasantly. You found comfortable seats at the bar, the music was a little out of your comfort zone but it was catchy, and Natasha let you have a few sips of her free drinks.
“C’mon, I’ll teach you. Watch him for a moment.” She points across the bar where another man was leaning close to a woman, a charming grin on his lips as he made her laugh. Then, almost like magic, after he scoots closer and tilts his head, she waves her hand, beckoning the bartender over.
You gulp, watching him swing an arm around her shoulder and speak into her ear. “Looks like… they’re together.”
“It just looks that way, but I’ll bet that he’s going home with someone else.” Natasha sips on her cocktail, “Maybe if he wanted her, he would’ve offered her a drink.”
By that logic, buying drinks was a ticket to the bedroom. Which only makes it more surprising when a fresh drink is placed in front of you. The glass lands on the wooden countertop as Natasha playfully nudges your shoulder.
You blink down at it, shivering at the thought of getting intimate with a stranger tonight. “Excuse me, I-I didn’t order this.”
“It’s on the house, sugar.”
The bartender stands before you, those familiar blue eyes twinkle under the light fixtures, the yellow glow outlines the high points of his chiselled face and defines the dips and curves.
His hair falls over his eyes, “Did you like the cherry cola? Ricky said those treats were your favourites.”
Andmaybe you pinned the sticky note on your corkboard above your bed, and have spent hours staring at it upside down, daydreaming of the single meeting like it was the beginning of a fairytale.
Tonight, Ari is dressed in a dark blue flannel with the top buttons undone, exposing his brawny chest dusted with thick hair. Your gaze lingers there for a moment too long, your mouth watering at the sliver of skin.
The awkwardness washes over you, practically spreading to every inch of the bar, and you fumble for a response. “I-I, yes, I do—”
“Thank you, she means to say.” The redhead rubs your back, whispering under her breath through her wide smile, “Don’t get the stupid shys, or so help me.”
Someone calls his name, “Well, tell her it’s no problem.”
“Hey, sweetie, the hunky bartender says it’s no problem.”
You’re a mess under his watchful gaze as he laughs quietly before turning to exchange a few words with a blonde bartender. Trying to get a hold of yourself, you grip the glass and tuck your other hand between your thighs, “I heard, Nat.”
She holds up her hands, casually turning to the new woman next to her, her empty glass forgotten on the countertop. Turning on the charm like a switch.
Ari faces you again, his big hands braced on the smooth dark wood, “How have you been? Keepin’ cool in the heat?” His silver knuckles gleam, the chunky skull ring sitting snug on his middle finger.
“Good and yes, um, the hours at the candy shop stretch on a little too long sometimes, but it’s inside and I get freebies every shift.”
“A new job?” He frowns, “you don’t work at Old Ricky’s anymore?”
You sip the drink, it’s delightfully sweet, the berries exploding on your tongue. There’s a slight burn from the alcohol but nothing too strong. “I never have the same job for long. Left the station a week ago, I think.”
He cocks a brow, “Don’t tell me you’re one of them irresponsible gals who fuck in the supply closet.”
You quickly shake your head, “N-No! I’ve, I’ll never do that…”
“Never is a strong word, sugar.”
In the closet? With that old broom and the endless array of tissue paper on the ceiling tall shelves?
Never, you promise yourself, never with any of those customers at the station—well, except for one, maybe.
“I get bored easily, and there are so many things to do in the city, lots of fun shops.”
Ari hums thoughtfully, his shoulders looking broader as he leans forward, “Is everyone kind to you?
Even your old bosses?”
You happily nod with your lips sealed around the straw, loving the array of flavours, “Yes, they’ll even call me if they need some help in the shop and always give me something for the trouble.”
“Do you still work for them?”
“I-It’s just favours.” You briefly consider your actual life choices, they were peculiar, but they were yours.
“That you get paid for.” It isn’t a question, more of an amused observation.
“Not always in money!” You correct, “Sometimes in food, like at that fancy restaurant by the beach, I got free meals for the whole week, or in merchandise. Just last month, Tamera gave me a new kettle after I watched the shop for a few hours!”
Ari nods, chuckling, “Damn, a new kettle? Maybe I’ll have to apply at Tamera’s soon.”
You giggle around the straw, not even noticing your drink is empty until your straw makes a noise.
“Sounds to me that you have jobs all over the city, I’ve always loved women with a work ethic.”
Is this it? Are you flirting with him, or is it just a conversation?
The only thing you’re positive of is that he’s definitely flirting, has been since you got here. You stiffen, staring down at the ice cubes in the glass, and clenching your thighs together, was this his ticket into your bed?
Oh no, you hope he wouldn’t think your floral and lace hemmed sheets were childish, they were your favourite, and they were free after you helped Mr. Brown with his shop a few weekends ago.
You like Ari, you really like him.
“Levinson, Danvers! You’re up!”
“Coming!” He replies, taking the empty glass from your hand. When your skin brushes his, an undeniable warmth tingles through your body, making you shiver on the barstool. And this dark, humid bar feels like it’s on the sun instead of some lost and lively city.
You’re about to speak but Ari cuts you off, “It’s on the house again. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t have to pay for drinks, ever.”
“Curtis!” He calls, waving to the man with the buzzcut on the other side of the bar, “anything she wants, it’s free of charge.”
His friend snorts, smirking as he swings a towel over his shoulder, “it’s coming out of your paycheck, man.”
“Yes, boss.” Ari rolls his eyes, then trails his gaze over your features, they linger on your parted lips. “I’ve got the cash to spare. Don’t be shy, sugar, order whatever your gentle heart desires, got it?”
“Not only did you get free drinks and food all night, but for the rest of your fucking life.” Natasha swings you around excitedly. “From the cherry cola guy! You wouldn’t shut up about him that first day, and I can fully understand why.”
You giggle, “isn’t he a dreamboat?”
“Oh, he’s a fantasy on legs, just like you, baby! I’ll admit, I thought the two of you would disappear into the washroom.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Ah—not in public!”
“Not yet, I know you and you aren’t as vanilla as you let on…” She sings, wrapping you in a tight hug, her sweaty skin against yours as she leans on you for support. “I can’t even take a pinch of credit! You did it all yourself, princess, your mama would be proud of you.”
She would, and she’d ask for all the details about the prince charming in denim. “I just—I didn’t even do anythin’!”
As Ari and Danvers performed, you sat at the bar, fully entranced by their essence and hearty tune. His long hair and shaded eyes captivated you in every way, even from his stool behind the blonde woman who sang a popular rock song. Her voice was undoubtedly gifted and paired with his skilled fingers gliding over the guitar as the soothing, everyone was victim to their show.
People danced to the deep rock ‘n roll that filled The Den, hot touches and heavy kisses exchanged in the booths and on the floor. Between sipping on fruity drinks, and munching on your unlimited supply of french fries and nachos, you couldn’t look away from Ari—at that moment, he was your Mr. Rock ‘n Roll.
Towards the end of the set, he stood up, his shirt fully unbuttoned and fluttering with each rock of his hips, magical fingers playing a rumbling bass that you could feel in your cells.
Right now, you can still feel the lingering effects of his godly talent.
“You feel that?” Your best friend yanks you close, staring down at you with her green eyes. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips as she wraps an arm behind your back, pulling you closer, “Do you feel that?”
You’re trapped and wildly caught off guard, perhaps she had too many free drinks tonight. “Uh, no?”
She leans down, going cross-eyed. “That’s fucking power. And you’re drippin’ with it.” She kisses your forehead before spinning you, drunkenly shouting at the top of her lungs, “My girls finally got a hunky fella to take care of her and I’m gonna fuckin’ cry!”
“What’s this I hear about crying?” A red Chevy pulls up next to you, the driver’s arm hanging out with a burning cigarette pinched between his knuckles. “You two ladies all right?”
A force shoves you forward, and you barely have a chance to stand upright. “Nat!” You scold, “I’m sorry, she’s had too much to drink.”
“Seems like it.” Ari notes, “You two want a ride?”
Yes, a little voice in your head pleads, but you remember the last time you went out with Natasha, your other friend, Wanda came too and her husband picked you all up from the bar. And, Natasha, buzzing with her endless free drinks vomited all over the backseats, narrowly missing your lap.
It was probably best that you two didn’t ruin Ari’s nice truck anyway.
“We’ll walk, it’s only the next block and I think the fresh air will do her good.” You cover your face in embarrassment as Natasha plops on a park bench, neck craned at an angle that can’t be comfortable, she starts singing an off-tune rendition of a Christmas carol.
“You sure? I don’t know if I can let you two be alone this late at night.”
He’s right, even this late on a Friday, the streets are as quiet as a library, and the chances of running into someone were low. Ari wasn’t a complete stranger, but you didn’t feel absolutely comfortable when Natasha was drunk out of her mind. He must sense your hesitance.
Ari ends up giving you his number, whistling low as he types the ten digits into your cute little cellphone. He returns the device and compliments the dangling heart pendant. “I mean it, text me or I’m starting a damn search party.”
Your heart flutters, “I promise—as long as you let me know too. I wanna know when you get home safe.”
“Ain’t that sweet,” Ari murmurs lowly, leaning closer with one hand on the wheel, “You this sweet with everyone in the city?”
You shrug, “sometimes… My mama says kindness is what makes the world go ‘round. Then, my cousin said if the world stopped moving, we’d die.”
A loud laugh escapes Ari’s lips, his cigarette smoke wrapping around you like a warm grey blanket. “Sounds like you’ve got a lovely family, sugar. You know what they say about girls from good families?”
The darkness of the night seeps into Ari’s throat, draping every word in a gravelly, comforting voice that pulls you in like a fish on the line.
“N-No.”
“Usually, they’re family-orientated, and for the most part, those gals are great mothers.”
Your toes curl in your sneakers as he takes a final pull from his cigarette, flicking it off to the side. The smoke floats from his lips slow and steady. “Oh, my parents want me married before having kids.”
“So, I’ve got to marry you first?”
You choke on air, fisting the skirt of your dress. “What?”
“I’m joking, sugar.” He is, sort of anyway. He watches the pensive expression linger on your face and casually winks. “I think your friend needs your help.” He nods down the street.
You follow his gaze and gasp, Natasha is lying half on the bench, her arms sprawled over her head and legs hanging off the side. In a dash, you stumble towards her, calling over your shoulder, “Sorry Ari—Nat, get up!”
She’s muttering to herself when you come closer, and with dazed eyes, she makes grabby hands. “There she is, aren’t you glad you came tonight? He’s tall and sexy, plays guitar and sings, I probably should’ve dragged you along sooner—” She hiccups, “You and Ari really hit it off. If that ain’t true love, I don’t know what is.”
Ari pulls up next to you, sunglasses holding back his long brown hair. “I’ll wait up for your text, sweetheart. You two get home safe.” Then, that red truck passes slowly before speeding up down the street.
Biting on your lip, you watch him turn a corner and disappear, then heave up Natasha, grunting softly as she hangs off you like dead weight. Her hands pull your head closer, pressing your cheeks together so she can whisper in your ear, “Oh, wait, do you hear that?”
You pant, struggling to see through the dimly lit street. “Huh? No?”
“It’s fucking wedding bells!” She shakes your shoulders, drunkenly cackling while spinning the two of you around once more. “I’m gonna be a maid of honour!”
It’s a few days later, the sun is as cruel as ever on the Flamingo Trailer Park. Today, you and Natasha spend the day by the park pool, lounging in the striped chairs until your other friend, Wanda came by with her children. The kids loved the pool, they also loved whenever you brought your floaties.
You fell victim to their adorable pouts and set off on the short walk back to your trailer to retrieve them. You haven’t been home since the weekend because of these dramatically blazing days. Natasha’s trailer was far bigger than yours and had the best air conditioner, she was always stocked with fizzy cherry colas too. You suspected you’d be spending a lot of time in the ‘Widow’s Web’ this summer.
There’s a familiar truck is parked next to your trailer. It’s deep red with white stripes, and high off the ground. The for-sale sign is also gone, and a few plants and lounge chairs sit on the small patio.
As you search for your key, you hear odd noises. Listening closer, you can make out the creaking, slapping skin, moans and groans. Only then do you notice the dull rocking of the trailer—oh goodness.
Your curiosity drags you to the open window and clutching your towel to your chest, you stand on your tippy-toes.
A gasp nearly escapes you, but you slap a hand over your mouth as blood rushes to your face, making your knees tremble.
You can’t see her face because it’s shoved into a pillow, but her skin is glowing. Sticky with sweat and other fluids, the faceless woman is bent over the wide mattress. The sheets are wrinkled and clothes are skewed all over the place, hanging off other furniture.
The long-haired man ruts into her from behind, her hair tight in his fist as he spits profanities. “Fucking whore, you gonna come again already?You like daddy’s cock in your little cunt, fucking those thoughts from your head?”
And just like that, you’re absolutely hooked, biting on the side of your finger as he spanks her ass, shoving her further up the bed.
From this angle, you can’t see much and it almost makes you pout. You can’t catch a glimpse of his cock, but judging from the woman’s breathy moans, it’s got to be hitting all the right places. He’s so big behind her, dripping with glory and dominance as his muscles flex under his taut, tanned skin.
You watch him suck his thumb before bringing it down, and a moment later, the faceless woman whines, greedily meeting his thrusts. Her other hand slips between her thighs, her moans pouring out like fresh lemonade in a glass.
He grunts through clenched teeth, “Yeah, you gonna let daddy fuck your ass too? Split that hole open on my fat cock, make you cry like the stupid slut you are.”
And then, your heart stops. Your ears flooded with something red hot, as your bones transform to metal, melting your feet to the burning ground.
He meets your gaze, groaning deep and heavy. His thrusts get rougher, driving forward with something else—more purpose—and he smirks.
“You like that, huh?”
He draws back, his cock bobbing against his lower stomach, the condom is slick and clinging to his girth. You gnaw harder on your finger, desperately wishing to see him bare, memorize—and touch every protruding vein and feel his weight in your palm, the fat, mushroom tip between your fingers, inside of you in every damn hole. Your bikini bottoms are soaked and sticky, your juices dripping down your thighs.
“That’s it, good girl.” Ari spits down, the saliva lands on his length before he rams forward, sliding deep within the woman while keeping his gaze locked on you, sweet little you. “Knew you were a filthy girl, that innocent little face didn’t fool me. You like that? Tell daddy how much you like that.”
The woman cries a muffled reply, nodding and reaching for a pillow.
He squeezes his fist, pressing her into the plush mattress. Ari’s eyes darken like the night sky, and his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Those words draw you back to the present, and your face erupts in heat, so damn hot you can barely breathe. Your towel flutters to the dirt ground as you drop low, sweeping it up and dashing away. The sound of your flip-flops in sync with that lewd, disgustingly hot sound of slapping skin.
Later that night, you get a text message:
I didn’t know this trailer came with a peeping tom, much less you, sugar.
:and here we go, all aboard the dirty trailer daddy express !!
! Expect the next part soon, but please I don’t have an update schedule, so I’ll just let everyone know the specific date. Please don’t ask !!
As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3
| Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (2000s Trailer Park AU)
|fluff, trailer park neighbours-to-lovers, AGE GAP, bartender!Ari, dilf!Ari, Ari Levinson x OCs, reader x other Cs (mentioned), innocent!reader, cigarettes, alcohol, beefy 6’8” Ari, soft!/dom!Ari, flirting, nicknames, size difference, manhandling, possessive behaviour, accidental voyeurism, SMUT - minors DNI, daddy kink, size kink, innocence/ruined kink, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, spitting, dacryphilia, breeding kink, squirting, cumplay, creampie(s), specific warnings in each part
| The sun of ‘06 is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city?
♫ ·ﾟ
/ | 4.67K
/ | he’s here, dirty trailer daddy is here !! from this post. thank you everyone for sending asks, you’ve all helped me write this fic !! bc this is me, there will be cameos from other cevans/sebstan characters. In this version of the 80s, there’s cellphones and a bunch of other things bc I’m me. Inspired by Lana Del Rey songs (complete list here). No gifs/photos belong to me, found the pics on Pinterest, all credits go to the original creators. And I present, another dirty daddy for the books. All mistakes are my own. [smut=*] ☼ - ☼
AN: This fic is for the lovely @maladaptivexxdaydreaming’s Jardin de Poemas challenge, and who better to use than Ari? My chosen poetry prompt is in bold.
Whilst this definitely can be read as a stand alone, there is a brief nod to this little ficlet I wrote, so that could be seen as a prequel.
I don’t even know what to say. Jen, this was so beautiful The way you set up their relationship and how they respected each other’s time and needs, how honest they were, and how I could feel Ari’s heart aching on that beach before she told him she loved him
This is now one of my favorite fics, it’s so full of heart and comforting and just so so so beautiful, I really have no better word for it. I am in love with Ari and with this fic
And now I’m gonna be:
The second time, you’d just picked up your favourite coffee on your way to work. You were making your way out of the crowded shop when you tripped. In an instant your cup was plucked out of your hand and your body was brought flush against a broad chest, your nose almost pressing into the golden hair protruding out the top of his partially undone shirt. The smell of sand and salty water wafted across you.
me in that moment:
“It’s true! And I know it’s ridiculous, because I don’t even know your real name, but in the least creepy way possible, I can’t get you off my mind.”
It is creepy but idc, kidnap me, daddy, i won’t complain once ❤
Thank you for this fic. Now excuse me, if you need me I’ll be curled up in the corner all up in my feels.
