#and the flannel is brown and cream

[babyblue-mind]

guys if u could see my hair rn youd get sooo much gender envy i got that genderqueer slay .

[eternalsunrise]

home, sweet home.

wolverine (logan howlett) x f!reader

wc: 980 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, no actual smut but super suggestive and gets graphic toward the end

notes! horny . but also v sweet. i pictured origins logan while writing this 💋

“if you keep moving i’m going to start slicing you up on purpose” your threat is empty, wrist away from his face completely, razor pointed the opposite direction. even with his regenerative abilities, you don’t want to hurt him, even if it’s just an accidental cut on his jaw.

logan was fully capable of doing this himself. after all, he’d been shaving his own face for decades upon decades. but there was no way he was going to pass up this opportunity.

he came through the front door after a two week long mission, scruffier than he was when he left. his mutton chops curling up at the tips of his jawline, mustache just long enough to tickle your face. he’d forgotten to pack his razor, and he’d rather use his own claws than use scott’s, or even worse, hank’s.

you were on him as soon as he walked in, leeched to his body, your hands everywhere. it had been too long since the wolverine breathed you in like this, his enhanced senses overstimulated in the best way. you ran your hand over his scratchy cheek, inquiring about his new look. he told you he was planning on cleaning it up but was exhausted. that’s when you offered.

now he’s sat on the toliet seat, and maybe he’s enjoying the view of you on his lap a little too much. he lifted his hips, bouncing you lightly on his legs.

“hm. relax princess, jus’ adjusting.” logan gives you a teasing smile, basking in the bliss he only feels in your presence. your eyes narrow in faux disdain, it’s hard to be frustrated at a guy with shaving cream covering his face. you grab one of his feline quips of hair, using it to tilt his head to finish the task at hand.

“i’m going with you next time, i can’t have you walking around like a caveman.” i missed you more than i can say.

ever the man, the image of you in an x-men suit pops into his brain, the leather hugging your body just right. the thought brings a smirk to his face, but it fades when he hears your sigh. right, no moving.

“yes ma’am. i’ll call the professor and let him know.” i missed you too. felt like i was never going to come back to you.

you lean your body over to rinse the razor off in the sink, logan’s large hands on your thighs keeping you steady. the metal clinks against the porcelain of the sink, shaving cream and dark hair going down the drain.

when you look back, you see your boyfriend in place of the lumberjack that walked in earlier. still scruffy and masculine, after all he is still the wolverine.

logan lifts his hips again, shifting backwards and forcing you to fall against him, razor clattering out of your hand. “whoops” his deep voice carries no sympathy, chocolate eyes locking with yours, giving you that love struck look that makes your stomach turn. the kind of look he saves just for you.

your chests are touching, the closeness sets your whole body ablaze. it’s been too long since you’ve got to soak him up like this. the smell of him makes your head swim; leather, cheap cigar smoke, and that cologne you bought him a few months back.

logan sneaks his hands under his brown flannel button up you’re wearing, delighted to be met by the bare skin of your hips. the metal of his belt buckle is cold against the bottom of your stomach, causing a gasp to leave you.

as he admires you now; sitting pretty in his lap in only his shirt, logan wonders how he had the strength to leave you in the first place.

hands wander over his freshly shaved face, stubble like soft needles against your fingertips. your head has a mind of its own, and suddenly your lips are brushing his. once. twice. a third time. soft and slow.

there’s something new in the air now. your heart is pounding, and you wonder if he can feel it beating through your chest and into his own. there’s a split second of silent eye contact before logan lurches forward.

there’s hunger behind his kiss. a certain lust behind his tongue making its way to yours. your hips swivel in search of friction. hands tangled in his hair, pulling in a way that’s so familiar it makes logan groan into your mouth; already aware of what tonight will bring.

his hands are traveling up your his shirt, rough fingers just barely making contact with your breasts. his touch lights you on fire, forcing you to break apart, head tilting back in a whimper.

logan takes that as his cue, and suddenly you’re in the air. one of his hands on your lower back securing you to him, the other cradling the underside of your knee.

you latch your other leg behind his waist as he walks out of the bathroom. your lips reconnected, eager to make up for the lost time.

you recognize the softness of your mattress against your back as logan lies you down gently. his mouth continues its assault, a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and side of your throat. he can feel your pulse drumming frantically under his lips, and he has to bite back a smirk at the effect he seemed to have on you.

your reaching your hands down to unclasp his belt when….ring. ring. ring. you feel the vibration against his pants and you think you might die if you have to stop right now.

you both pause in your actions. logan let out a gruff “you gotta be jokin’” as he stands up straight, leaving you lying on the bed.

he pulls his phone from his pocket, eyeing the caller id, scott summers. he’d been the third member of the x-men to try and get ahold of him. fuck can’t a guy have a day off?

he looks away from the phone, shifting his eyes to you. you’re sprawled beautifully on the bed. hair fanned around your head, cheeks flushed red with a devious smile to match. his eyes follow your body down to your legs. they’re spread wide for him, and he watches in shock as you let a hand slide between your thighs, swirling a couple slow circles on your clit through soaked panties.

you throw your head back and call his name, and that’s enough for him. logan tosses his phone over his shoulder, leaning down and crawling in between your legs.

“they’re gonna have to come pry me from this fucking bed, doll. i’m not goin’ nowhere.”

god it was good to be home.

[actuallyprobablyafaerie]

Hey i just realized that you guys might not know this about me but i own a plaid flannel shirt in every color of the rainbow and I hang them up in my closet so they're in rainbow order

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital illustration of a scene from episode 25 of The Magnus Protocol featuring Colin, Sam, and Alice. Colin is a thin white man with light brown hair half in a ponytail, with the other half being very short on top. He also has a scruffy beard and mustache and body hair. He is wearing glasses with yellow lenses, a yellow t-shirt, a white button-up, and blue jeans. Sam is a shorter, fat South Asian man with brown skin and short, curly dark hair and a mustache. He is wearing a cream undershirt with a dark brown cardigan, dark red trousers, and brown and gold shoes. Alice is a lanky white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair, and piercings. She is wearing a pink flannel, patchwork flannel skirt, bracelets, and pink cat-eye glasses and nail polish. The entire image is tilted and lit with dark red shadows and pale blue highlights.

The image is from the POV of a computer. A desk with a keyboard mouse, and OIAR mousepad are visible in the foreground. Colin stands with a sledgehammer held over his head ready to swing, tears flying out of his eyes as he stares at the viewer with fury. Sam is attempting to tackle him, shoving himself into Colin's torso. Alice is sitting at the desk, leaning out of the way and holding a hand out as if to keep Colin back, her other arm over the desk, having knocked the computer mouse into the air. She looks like she's yelling out at him. end ID]

~~~~

hi <3 i want to draw this scene one billion times <3 so i went a lil crazy with this one <3

also closeups

[ID: Closeups of the above image. The first image is of Colin and Sam, the second is of Alice. end ID]

[wandasaura]

BENT RIGHT TO YOUR WINDS

summary — visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, consensual free use, established safeword (it’s not used), public play, office sex, groping, nipple stimulation, choking, teasing, semi brat!reader, oral fixation, fingers as a gag, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, slight degradation, making out, nearly getting caught, alludes to aftercare, wanda in a lab coat deserves a warning, men/minors dni

authors note — happy happy happy birthday to @godhatesgoodgirls !!

kinktober

The day had felt askew since you’d rolled out of bed, something amiss in the routine you’d settled yourself into since moving to the small beach town Wanda had secured a promotion in just seven months prior; when the weather had been warmer and the leaves had been vibrant with hues of green. You bristled at the breeze that swept off the shore the closer you got to central town, able to see the rippling high tides if you craned your neck just slightly to the left and peered through the shrubbery that framed an old ice cream parlor named ‘Sprinkles’, but your gaze was fixed on the large brownstone building that you’d initially sought out, your thoughts spiraling as you considered the misleading appearance. The work that was done inside was prestigious, innovative, a true slice of the future right at the fingertips of those that had access to the futuristic laboratories inside, but the outside fit the quaint white picket fence aesthetic of Westview seamlessly. Had you never been inside before, had you not been married to Wanda who left each morning in a wrinkleless white coat, you’d have thought it was just another Mom and Pop shop for tourists to ogle at, but you weren’t blinded by ignorance – for once you were liberated with knowledge and effortless love. 

You smiled softly at Darcy as you stepped inside, finally away from the chill that October had brought with it. The warm nights and blisteringly hot days of September were long behind you, replaced by the unforgiving assault that fall brought upon you and the other residents of Westview. The thick burnt orange and brown flannel around your shoulders did little to keep you warm, but at the very least it provided a sanctuary for your hands to hide away in as you walked the short mile from your two story house to the identifiable brownstone with ‘Romanoff Industries’ pinned to the front. There was a styrofoam jack-o-lantern on the front desk, and a string of harvest leaves behind the counter as well. The touches of decor were soft, delicate, but enough to revive the spirits of those that trekked into work each day; a thoughtful addition that didn’t make the routine of life feel so mindless. 

“Wanda’s in her office.” Darcy’s smile was sweet as she nodded her head toward the elevator despite knowing that you preferred to take the stairs. You wouldn’t call her a friend, but she was always a comfortable face to see when you made the journey into town to visit Wanda during her lunch break. Since April when you’d come to help set up the office space despite Wanda keeping her decor minimal and devoid of heavy personal connection, she’d picked up on your habits, and it had become something of a running bet to see how long it would take for you to give into her quiet pestering. You’d yet to take the elevator, and Darcy huffed quietly from behind the desk as you pointedly avoided the silver plaque with glimmering white buttons to instead enter the stairwell, which was decorated with a wooden pumpkin sign hanging from a single clear command strip. 

Natasha was definitely the one who had decorated, that much was obvious as you glanced at the decorations hung up within the interior of the stairwell. She was a very business oriented woman, that much you’d come to know since getting acquainted with Wanda’s coworkers and all of their unique relationships, and every story she retold of Natasha’s behavior throughout the day led you to believe that while she maintained a no bullshit attitude, there were soft, fleeting moments of tender care hidden beneath her stoic actions and expressions. She always pushed for Wanda to take a full hour lunch break, even though she preferred to eat as quickly as possible before returning to the lab, and on her birthday, which she hadn’t told anyone about, there had been a present sitting on her desk that was admittedly not very personal, but still touching because it meant that Natasha had remembered reading it on her transfer application. The touches of halloween decor was minimal, and honestly, somewhat laughable, but there was a softer message beneath the taped up scarecrow and the wonkily hung jack-o-lanterns. Even if the holidays were of no relevance to Natasha, who you knew worked every holiday that she could because Wanda was always prattling on about her data being changed during the few days off they received for things like Christmas and Easter, she knew that it mattered to her staff, and she tried her best to put some effort into boosting moral around the office. 

When you entered Wanda’s office, the meticulously clean room being just beside the stairwell door, you noticed her lack of presence, which was odd. Wanda was always around when she knew you were coming, not wanting any of her other co-workers to get the chance to report back to Natasha claiming you were snooping through classified files. It had never happened, but the people at her old placement had started that rumor anyways, and Yelena, her boss that had become something of a close friend to you even if you rarely spoke with her grueling work schedule and your lack of genuinely trying, had merely rolled her eyes, but had still been required to scold Wanda for her negligence. Natasha’s hand would be forced the same way if anyone began those rumors again, so Wanda, bless her, had tried to nip them in the butt before they could even truly begin, which brought you right back to your confusion as you looked around the office. The salad she’d made before leaving was sat on her desk, picked through and beginning to wilt, signaling that she’d either forgotten to put the ice pack in her lunch box again despite the pink sticky note you left on the freezer door, or she’d taken lunch early by Natasha’s forcing. You hoped you weren’t interrupting anything important, not aware of your plans being subject to change, but before you could dwell on what she could possibly be doing somewhere misplaced in the large office building, you felt hands wrapping around your body and pulling you backward. 

A soft gasp fell off of your lips when the door was kicked closed, and then you realized what was happening. A breathy whine fell off your lips when fingers pinched at your nipples through the thick material of your shirt, the unbuttoned flannel thrown over your shoulders allowing your attacker to feel the way they pebbled without a bra to conceal them. The flash of white as one hand reached up to hold onto your neck had you melting against her chest, somewhat out of breath from the shock that had rattled you initially. 

“Wanda.” You sighed softly, head lulling to the side when teeth nipped at your neck before passionate kisses were pressed into your skin and trialed downward toward the collar of your shirt. “Wanda, you’re at work.” You tried again, face growing flush as you stared ahead at the open blinds. If anyone was standing across the street, if they craned their head just the slightest bit upward, they’d undoubtedly be able to make out the silhouette of your body being groped. A whine fell off of your lips when a curious hand pinched at your nipples once more, relishing in the way they hardened beneath harsh pressure. 

“Shh, baby. Just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.” She’d have stopped if you really wanted her to. All that you had to do was say a single word, and her hands would be off of you faster than they’d grabbed you to begin with, but the rush of excitement that had your clit pulsating against the seam of your leggings deterred you from making that choice. Wanda clearly knew that her office was safe enough to touch you in this way, and not so secretly, you yearned for the thrill of somebody knocking on the door, forcing the both of you to spring apart and attempt to collect yourself in time for them to not grow concerned beyond the threshold. Another added bonus was the dominance in which she touched you with, leaving nothing up for your consideration, merely taking what she wanted and giving what she wanted you to have. There was something so tantalizing about being at her disposal whenever and however she pleased, and you’d both gone to great lengths to ensure that this element of your sexual relationship was both consensual and comfortable for the both of you, not just her. She wasn’t doing anything that you hadn’t previously agreed to, in fact, you wish she’d do more. You wished her hands would stop toying with the collar of your shirt and wrap around your neck the way that you adored, that her hands would stop fiddling with your nipples overtop of your shirt and seek the price you hid beneath the thick cotton. You wished she’d travel lower, exploit that sensitive nerve between your legs that she knew how to manipulate until you were merely putty in her hands begging for release that she had every right to deny you. You wished she’d stop handling you so softly. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to at least make it worth my while, Maximoff.” You rushed out, eyes closed as pleasure seized your thoughts, pinning you in place as she twisted your nipple sadistically, enjoying the way every muscle in your body tightened before it melted away into bliss that you couldn’t fight. She chuckled darkly against your neck, her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear. 

“Trying to tell me what to do, pretty girl?” She quizzed, pulling you back against her chest with a firm grip around your midsection, her fingers that weren’t taunting your sensitive nipples fiddling with the waistband of your leggings that begged to be slipped down lower until your cunt was exposed to the heat circulating through the spacious office. “When has that ever worked out well for you?” 

“Never.” You gritted through clenched teeth, taking in a large breath when the first instance of getting what you wanted from her presented itself, but you were foolish to think she’d cave to your bratting so easily, and just as easily as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings to pull at the hem of your delicate panties, they were gone and trailed back up your body until they found a comfortable home against your neck. Her fingers squeezed tightly, and the sudden change in air going to your lungs had your eyes fluttering closed as you slumped against her chest, writhing in pleasurable pain as she again pulled at your taut nipples and chuckled whimsically. 

“I applaud your efforts, detka, but you’re not here to make demands.” You gasped when teeth sank into your neck, right above where her thumb rested along the column of your skin, practically burning you with its possessive grip. A deep sense of pleasure rolled through your body when her knee pushed between your legs, her toned thigh sitting around against your clit, further driving the seam of your pants into your intimacy, giving you just an ounce of friction, which you took eagerly, rocking against her clothed thigh as you felt the impression of her pens in the breast pocket of her lab coat digging into you shoulder blade. “So easy, malyshka. Would you let anyone touch you like this? Have you wherever they wanted?” She knows that answer is a firm no, but still she likes to taunt your desperation for her touch, and it only adds to the humiliation that's beginning to pile up on you as you become desperate enough to rock against the thigh between your legs, desperate sounds falling off your lips as you attempt to silence your need. “So noisy, we’re gonna have to do something about that.” 

You’re shoved away from her body like merely touching your skin is enough to burn her, and you can’t help but meekly whimper at the loss of contant. It lasts for merely a handful of seconds, her hungry eyes undressing you as you found your footing and steadied yourself. “Pants around your ankles. I don’t have time for you to look at me like a deer in headlights.” She grumbles, already beginning to move around the office and ensure that the blinds are properly drawn as you push down your leggings and fold yourself over the desk in the way that you know she wants. Your ass sticks out just enough for your glistening cunt to be visible, and a sadistic chuckle warms your skin as she sets her eyes on you already dripping for her. “You like when I take advantage of you, baby? When I tell you to come meet me for lunch just so I can play with your cunt?” It all makes sense now, and you can’t help but cry out in surprise when her palm comes down on the globe of your ass and leaves a stinging sensation in its wake. Another hit follows, this time harder and directed at your lower thighs, but there’s not time for you to respond before she’s pushing two fingers into your folds and setting a brutal pace as she works to have you coming undone. 

She’d nearly been late to work that morning, too focused on obsessing over you to a degree that should’ve made her plans for the afternoon obvious. She’d asked you a few hundred questions, about how you were doing mentally, how you felt being in Westview now that it wasn’t so new, if you were still getting caught between feelings of sadness and longing in moments that you couldn’t have predicted such a strong overcoming of emotion. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now, but as you gathered the full picture, you can see that she was checking in, ensuring that none of this would affect you in any way other than positively. If her hand wasn’t holding your back firmly against her desk, you would’ve spun around to kiss her, but all that you could do now was whine as her fingers hammered into you, curling upward if only to graze that sensitive spot within your walls minimally. She was toying with you, teasing you, seeing how long she could prolong your pleasure until you begged for her to give you more. 

It came quickly, because the overwhelming assault of your love for her only multiplied the pleasure that her fingers were provoking within your core, and the small movements of your hips pushing back against her fingers only gained you so much. “Please! Please! I need more!” You begged, tears blurring in your vision as your moans and whines became too loud, and were quickly silenced by her fingers forcing themselves into your mouth. She pressed down on your tongue cynically, chuckling to herself as you gagged and moaned around her now sodden digits. 

She didn’t try to deny you though, working faster, pressing against that sweet spot within you with purpose now, dragging out every ounce of pleasure you allowed her to take, her thumb falling onto your clit as she guided you towards an orgasm that had to be silent, the sounds of footsteps just beyond the office door reminding you of where you are. 

“Cum for me, detka. It’s okay, you can let go.” She cooed as she felt your walls begin to squeeze her fingers, fluttering and pulsating with each ounce of pleasure she drew out of you. That was all it took for you to fall apart, her fingers in your mouth silencing the whines and moans that attempted to fall into the air, but became muffled and soft sounding as her digits prevented them from fully forming on your tongue. Your thighs trembled as she withdrew her fingers, your brain a jumbled mess of pleasure and submission as you reached for your pants and worked them up your legs. 

You smiled softly as she turned you around in her arms, laying a kiss to your lips that was soft and tender like she always was. “Did you eat?” She checked in, no longer radiating dominance that had your mind whirling with pleasurable incoherence, and just barely did you manage to nod your head before the door swung upon and one of her colleges that you’d heard about stood in the doorway with a beam of pride on her lips, entirely unaware of what she’d almost barged in on. 

“We made a development! Like, a big development!” Kate rambled with excitement, taking off down the hallway and back toward the lab before Wanda even had a chance to reply. 

You batted at the woman's chest, your hand landing right against her breast pocket where three black pens were meticulously pinned, your cheeks flush in mortification. “You didn’t lock the door?!” 

“Whoops?” She grinned bashfully, stealing one last kiss before she was racing out of the office and in the direction that Kate had fled to. “I’ll see you at home, baby! Love you!”

[blackdollette]

Please write anything with Spencer Reid, hopefully fluff that turns into smut. I love your work 🫶🏻🫶🏻

"whip it into a cream." | spencer reid

taco truck x vb. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: sweet, pretty, and filled with white cream...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden

female!reader x spencer

word count: 2.0k

contents: fluffy, baking cupcakes with spencer, unprotected p in v, creampie, very cringe-worthy joke at the end

“c’mon, spence! we’ll never get to put these in the oven if you eat all the batter.”

you take the spatula out of his grip as he slathers a small helping of red velvet cake batter on his tongue once again. he shakes his head, smiling as he licked the decadent mixture off his lips. “you’re one tough lady.” 

you and spencer had made plans to go to the best restaurant in town tonight, but of course a thunderstorm had to hit the streets with raging lightning and roaring thunder. you were bummed, so much that you had gotten back into your pajamas and slumped down onto the couch, letting the evening waste away. but spencer wouldn’t let this storm rain on your parade. so he had come up with the brilliant idea of making your own sweet treat. he truly was a genius. 

he got into flannel-print pajama pants that matched your pants, getting both of you into oversized hoodies as he picked you up and set you on the kitchen counter. he kissed you softly on the nose, staring at you intently with his big brown eyes and promising you the night of your life. then you two got straight to business.

you began carefully pouring the deep red batter into the small cupcake tins that each had a white cupcake wrapper inside of it. spencer stood behind you with a hand on your waist as he watched the oven reach the desired internal temperature, giving you a gentle squeeze as a signal. “let’s get these in the oven, baby.” you filled up the last tin, smearing away a stray drop with your thumb and licking off the residue.

you picked up the tray and spun around, handing it to him. he took it and carefully opened the oven, placing the filled tin inside with great care before shutting the oven. he sighed, putting his hands in the large pocket in the center of the hoodie. “and now we wait.” you looked around the kitchen, pouting slightly. 

“we should probably start cleaning up this mess, huh?” spencer groaned softly, wrapping both his arms around you and letting his head nestle in the crook of your neck. “never thought i’d live to see the day that you of all people would want to clean.” you swatted him on the chest with a scoff, earning a laugh out of him. “...besides, we haven’t even gotten started on the icing yet.” 

you eyes widened with realization. “right, let’s get to that while the cupcakes are in the oven.” spencer nodded, already two steps ahead of you as he dug into the pantry and pulled out all the ingredients in one trip. he set a jar of icing sugar, a stick of butter and a cup of milk on the counter, starting to combine the ingredients into a large bowl as you watched him in action. there was something so enticing about seeing a man in action, or maybe that was just the effect that spencer had always had on you. you were never able to tell.

you propped your elbows on the cold marble, grinning ever so slightly as you watched a sweet, fluffy cream come to life. he lifted up the coated spatula, holding it in front of you. “this look okay to you?” you squinted as you looked at it, frowning as you shook your head. spencer raises an eyebrow. “what’s wrong with it, baby?” 

you pointed at something indistinctable in the icing on the spatula. he brought it centimeters away from his face, trying to find whatever could be wrong. then you pushed his hand upward, getting a white, gooey mess all over his nose. you burst into a laughing fit, spencer fighting back the grin that threatened to spread across his unamused expression.

he set the spatula back into his bowl, only managing to get a little of the frosting off his nose. he shook his head as you giggled profusely, taking you into his arms once again and sweeping you into a kiss, his nose rubbing against yours and distributing some icing in the process. he pulled away, gazing down at you through his eyelashes with a cheeky smile on his face. “well, it looks like we’re both iced now.”

you rolled you eyes, grinning as you got a wet cloth and cleaned the mess off of your face, passing it to him to do the same. he sloppily wiped his nose, only smudging the white cream in the process. you groaned, going on your tiptoes to reach his face. “geez, you just made it even worse, spence.” he picked you up by your thighs, setting your bottom on the counter. “why don’t you help me clean it off then..?” you used your thumbs to get the last bit off his face.

he opened his mouth, licking the frosting off your fingers and humming with approval. you smiled, caressing his face gently with your thumbs as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. his hands had a gentle grip on your bare thighs as his gaze went slightly hazy, like you were the only thing in the world right now.

your hands snaked around the back of his neck, slowly pulling him down to your level until you connected your lips in a leaden kiss, his jaw opening as his lips moved against yours. he hummed quietly into your mouth, head tilting against yours to get a better taste of you. the atmosphere sucked the both of you in whole, the warmth of the room and the sweet smelling aroma from the oven making your nerves stand on end.

spencer quickly got carried away, his tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring it. you gasped softly as he did so, a familiar tingle ringing in your core. your tongues fought a silent battle as spencer started to move against you, his hips rocking into yours as his heart raced in his chest.

he bit his lip, suppressing a groan that nearly slipped from his mouth. his eyes glanced down, seeing where your two bodies connected and the primal beast that had awakened in his pants. his cheeks immediately flushed red as his gaze ran up to your face, taking in your shiny, parted lips and dilated pupils. you wanted him, badly. and there was no denying the desire he had for you. so the only thing to do now was just go for it.

spencer’s hands travelled downward uptil they reached the maroon drawstring of his pajama pants, his shaky hands barely able to undo the simple bow that he had tied to keep them up. his breathing was heavy and shaky, matching yours as your pressed your legs together to stop the molten-lava that boiled inside of you. you were already soaking through your shorts. not wearing panties was an amateur mistake. who knew that you’d ever find yourself in a situation like this?

as spencer finally undid the know, his cock sprung out with a bead of precum rolling down the tip. you looked down at his manhood, taking in the 8-inches of pleasure that would soon be inside of you. you wrapped your hand around his girth, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you stroked his slowly, smearing the precum down his length with your thumb.

he rocked his hips up and down, creating a little more speed and friction against his shaft. his eyes were locked on you, drinking you in like you were a drop of water from a precious fountain. his hands found your waist again, slipping underneath the waistband of your shorts, kneading your bare hips as his thumbs worked their way down to your wet core.

you lifted up your hips a little, pulling down your shorts and kicking them off, letting them lay lifeless on the linoleum floor. you ihaled a shaky breath as the cool air hit your wet pussy, your clit throbbing in response to the sensation. spencer was nearly as red and the batter the covered the bowl a few feet away from you.

he spread your leg apart a little further, slowly sinking down onto his knees until he was face to face with your dripping cunt. he looked at your hole, nearly drooling like a starved dog. he brought his mouth close to you, his hot breath warming up your insides. before digging in, he looked up at you, his voice dropping to a raspy octave. “can i..?” you nodded, sealing your eyes shut.

the feeling hit you like a brick. his tongue began to swirl across your wet pearl, his pink tongue slipping through your gooey folds. you were audibly soaked, the sound of his fingers slipping in and out of your tight hole filling the room, apart from your strained moans and whimpers. short grunts came from spencer as he pumped himself, his cock throbbing in response to his severe arousal.

his groans filled your body with waves of vibration, making you shiver as you rolled your hips against his tongue. “that’s it, baby… use me…” he managed to mutter through breathless gasps. you tossed your head back, his fingers hitting the tight bundle of nerves inside of you repeatedly.

spencer took his hand off of his dick, panting heavily as he rose back to his feet, desperately trying to recollect himself. if he had been down there for a second longer, he would’ve came without even getting to the main course yet. he lined up his pulsing rod with your cunt, teasing your entrance with his tip. you bit your lip, feeling more turned on by his teasing than anything else.

he grabbed your hips, starting to push himself in inch by inch at a time. you slurred out moans in unison, holding onto eachother for dear life until he completely stretched you out, your pussy swallowing him whole. he wasted no time thrusting into you, his hips slapping against your and sending recoils throughout your body.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rubbed messy circles onto your clit, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. he swallowed hard, his cock coming into perfect contact with your cervix with every sloppy thrust. his balls slapped against the base of your hole. the stimulation became two much for you, your muscles twitching as you quickly fell into a state of overstimulation.

“s-spencer..! i-i, i’m gonna cum…” you choked out, your fingernails digging into the plush fabric of his hoodie. he buried his face in your neck, kissing it to hide the whimpers that spilled out from him. he fucked you at lightning speed, your bodies heating up like two stars reaching their supernova. 

your nerves glowed as you felt yourself releasing all over him, your core buzzing with pleasure. as you convulsed around him, spencer shot hot ropes of hot cum into you, his muscles spasming as his eyes momentarily welled with tears. he pulled out of you with a gasp, stray drops of cum gathering at his tip.

he pulled you close to him, using you as a foundation as he hastily recollected himself. you hopped off the counter and in the nick of time, the timer dinged, signalling that the cupcakes were done.

you walked over to the oven, not bothering to put your shorts back on since the hoodie was long enough to hide to the cum that dripped down your inner thighs. you opened up the oven, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling out the cupcakes, the tops of them fluffy and rosy. your placed the tray on the counter that you had just been sitting on, spencer inhaling the sweet aroma. 

he smiled, grabbing the bowl of icing, finally having the chance to add the finishing touches to the cupckaes. he took one last taste of the icing, now shaking his head with disapproval. 

“the icing’s okay, i guess.” he pulled you closer to him, bringing his lips to your ear. “but you, my dear, definitely take the cake.”

author's note: bang bang kiss kiss.

[jolalibrary]

7. honey cream

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.9k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. bad tool names. anxious!reader. an: can i just say a massive thank you to all those who show up EVERY SINGLE WEEK. i adore you so much. thank you. if you're new to the ride, also welcome. even if i loved this story so much, i never expected people to love it even half as much as me, never mind the love i keep getting. so thank you.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Nice forearm in your story.

Thanks, It’s this guy I met in a hardware store? We’ve been kind of seeing one another.

Oh, tell him he has a nice watch.

I’ve been told to tell you that you have a nice watch.

You’re hilarious.

I try to be.

You can say no to this, but do you want me to call you later?

That’ll be nice. I’ll be working late so I'll take a break when you do.

Tomorrow, I just need to grab some bits from the store and then I’ll be with you.

Are you sure you want to spend your day off helping me paint?

I was promised to see you in overalls, so yes.

They’re nice, but please lower your expectations.

I bet they look great on your ass.

Everything looks great on my ass.

Including my hand.

Yes, specifically when you slipped your fingers in my jeans pocket on the way to brunch.

I can’t wait to see you.

Drive safely, Butterscotch.

“I feel bad that your day off is spent painting.”

Flicking the lid off with a screwdriver, Frankie just smiles—eyes looking up at you from under his cap.

When he looks at you, you might as well be a fly irresistibly drawn to the brilliance of it, captivated by it.

He’d come in clothes that were long since paint-splattered. A set, you assume, he wears most times—an over-washed and over-loved flannel over a greying white tee, and a pair of cargos that have more pockets than you know what they could be used for.

It had been more natural when he’d arrived this time. A sweet kiss at the door, a long hug where he walks you in and his heel kicks your door shut. A muttering of 'you smell nice', into your neck—grinning over his shoulder because you’d sprayed far too much of your perfume.

“Don’t—I want to be here.”

“I think I’ll likely apologise another three times, at least, before we’re done.”

Standing, wearing a slightly twinged expression on his face, he steps over the clean trays and folded step ladders. His hand rises, turning the beak of his cap around, before he’s in front of you, staring at you before he kisses you.

Kisses you like he wishes to rid you of your worries and make your guilt wash away. Like he wants to empty your mind of things you’ve once been told, make you forget them, purge them. Fuck, his mouth almost does.

“So, rule of thumb—ceiling, walls and then kickboards, window sills.”

“Did you… Did you really just finish kissing me and immediately talk about painting?”

Grinning, he chuckles, bending down to grab a paintbrush. “Did you want me to linger on why you feel bad, or are you ready to get your hands dirty?"

You hesitate for a moment before taking the brush, fingers brushing over his. “I guess I’ll get dirty, since it’s with you.”

He seems to swallow, gaze holding yours as a soft smile tries to tug at his lips before flattening out to a line. Then, you just watch as he pours the off-white paint into the trays—its thick, glooping contents filling it quicker than you’d banked on, but he took it perfectly in his stride.

The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, forearms flexing as he tilts the larger tub until he appears content with the measurement in the tray.

You know a thumb covered in paint shouldn’t cause your throat to dry, but it does. Your mind thinking up all the places he can leave a stamp of it, a trail of it, turn you into a map showing where he’s been—over a thigh, collarbone, your —

“Race you to the end of the wall?”

Blinking, finding him already readying his roller on the blank, sun-stained wall.

Before you can respond, he's off. The roller glides smoothly across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in its wake. You laugh, shaking your head at his competitive spirit before joining him, your own brush meeting the wall—cutting in.

In time, the room fills with the rhythmic sound of brushes against the wall, the occasional laughter, and gentle conversations. The room transformed over the hours, looking fresher, already a thousand times better than it had this morning with the patches off filled in holes and cracks.

Taking the brush from your hands, you step back to the middle, looking around, not initially aware of how he’s looking at you. Not until you spot a satisfied smile and a glint in his eye.

“We did good, didn't we?”

You shrug. “Think you could do better—put your back really into rolling next time.”

Shaking his head, he throws your brush into the used tray before he’s grasping, tugging, your body connecting with his in an oomph—his reflexes quicker, arms longer than you’d expected—as laughter escapes out as you slide your hand around the back of his neck.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

“Sure,” he whispers, cheek close to yours, fingers on your hip. “Have I told you how good you look in your overalls?”

Rolling your lips, you slowly turn in his hold—all set to turn his cap for him again. To whisper to him that they’re easy to remove too, that he could slide his fingers up, even slant your mouth back over his again.

But you hear his stomach. It rumbles—practically thunderous.

“I haven’t even offered you food,” you confess, words laced with guilt. “I should make you food.”

“You don’t have to…”

Fingers entwining with his, you pull him—finding him happily following, even as he mumbles about cleaning up, that the paint will dry in the tray. You don’t loosen your hold until the two of you are in the kitchen, a hand needed to open the fridge, both required to pull out some ingredients.

“You cooking for me?”

“I’m going to try, if that’s okay?”

He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

“I'd love that, baby,” he says, the affection in his voice making your heart flutter like it keeps doing.

Before you’ve even sliced the first vegetable, Frankie excuses himself—a kiss to your cheek, all domestic, normal. It not feeling weird even as he goes back to the “project room” and you hear him tidying.

Because it’s not odd in the slightest him being here.

A thing you turn over as you continue to prepare ingredients, cutting and marinating. By the time he’s returned, sporting an amused smile on his face, you’re about to begin frying things.

“Can I do anything?”

Shaking your head, you glance at him over your shoulder, finding he’s taken up his earlier spot. “Just keep me company.”

And he does. Asking you things, questions—some about your childhood, your family, friends. Every word spoken, he hangs onto. Staring like he’s making notes in his head, committing them to memory, somewhere inside that beautiful, amazing mind of his.

“Should I get used to you cooking if I come round and help you with your project?” he teases, taking a water from the fridge like you’d instructed.

“You better not get used to it,” you retort, throwing a small piece of bell pepper at him playfully. He ducks, laughing. “I batch cook most of the time—easier when you eat for one.”

His eyes follow as you move around the kitchen with a fondness in his eyes, you focusing on not burning anything. Stomach knotting itself when it comes to dishing it up, placing it down, and watching him slide into the stool.

When he takes the first bite, you swear you are frozen—unable to move, or think. Eyes just focused on his, watching, waiting, until you breathe a sigh of relief at the way his eyes light up. “This is really good, baby.”

You can't help but feel a little proud. “Thank you.”

He raises his water in a toast. “To more cooking then,” he proposes, and you laugh, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As you stick your own fork in, it's easy to find comfort in the shared silence, a contentment you continue to be amazed at. The atmosphere all at ease. There's no need for words as you both eat, side-by-side, a relatively normal thing for most, but not for you.

But, none of it feels weird, awkward. It never has—even if part of you continues to wait for it. If anything, it continues to be comfortable, right.

Even as the food effortlessly vanishes off both of your plates, it's not until you've reached your fill that you clear your throat.

“So, how often do you have Luca?”

Chewing his food, he puts down the remainder—wiping his fingers on the napkin. “It’s a weird rota. But it works? I’ll have him in the week for two nights and then overnight on a Saturday one week and then one night in the week the following and then Friday to Sunday, and then I’ll have him for three nights in the week the following. Sometimes, extra if I have time off or I want to take him to see family.”

Nodding, you take a sip of your drink.

“Does that… bother you?”

“No! No, of course not,” you grin. “He’s the most important, in all of this. It was just curiosity, I couldn’t… I couldn’t work out the pattern.”

Chewing his cheek he smiles. “You trying to work out when I’m free?”

Shrugging, you look away, aware of the heat warming your cheeks. “Well, someone did post about brunch on their Stories…”

“I remember someone else posting my forearm on theirs.”

Smiling, you plate your cutlery down. “It’s a very nice forearm.”

Shoulder nudging you, Frankie chuckles—cutlery lined up on his plate, your hand moving to take it. Sliding around the kitchen as he begins debating what part of him will appear next, a thigh, an ankle.

“I can include all of you next time, if you like?” Hand testing the hot, soapy water filling the bowl.

“Yeah?”

Licking your lips, you smile. “I don’t cook for anyone, Morales.”

Shifting to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “Is that right, Rainy? I must be pretty special then.”

“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper but the words carry an immense weight, one you suspect has snuck out, and embedded itself into him.

You're quick to turn your back to him, hide the heat and shyness, as you carefully rinse off the dishes. Only hearing the stool shift at the last moment, the sound of his sock-covered feet padding around until he's standing behind you.

His presence is unmistakable, more so when he places his hands on your hips. “I think I'm beginning to,” he murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn to face him, the plates forgotten in the sink. Looking up into his eyes, seeing a reflection of things fluttering in them.

“You better,” you say, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek, “because I'm not planning on posting anyone else’s arm for a while.”

His grin widens at your words, his hands pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against each other. "Good, because I don't plan on trying brunch with anyone else."

And as he leans down to kiss you, he pauses, mouth hovering over yours. “Speaking of…”

Narrowing your eyes, you retract your head, soap suds sliding off your wrists.

“My friends… they want to meet you.”

His words catch you off guard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Meet...me?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

As soon as he confirms with a simple nod, you feel a tightness in your chest. An explosion in your mind. A vortex of thoughts, all overwhelming, non-stop.

Each second you try to breathe, the knot in your chest tightens, sitting, carving a bigger hole where your happiness had just been—

“Yes,” he confirms, his hands soothingly rubbing circles on your hips as though noticing your sudden tension. “I think, maybe, I’ve talked about you too much?”

Running your teeth over your lip, you feel a piece of skin. One sticking up, not as smooth as the rest. Lip balm would solve it, fix it—but you pick at it anyway, pick, pick, pick—

Running your teeth over your lip, you notice a stray piece of skin, protruding slightly, disrupting the otherwise smooth surface. Lip balm would fix it, effortlessly smooth it out—but despite knowing this, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to pick at it. Listening to him as he explains, hearing names, a day suggested. As you compulsively pick, pick, pick—

Until he says your name.

Soft. Gentle. So cautiously spoken it makes your heart do a double take as you taste copper on your tongue.

“Are you sure? I mean, I want to. I just… don’t want to intrude or anything,” you reply, and you know it’s left your mouth shaky, bathed in nerves.

Attempting to shake the suds from your hands, hoping to fling off the worries with it, you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. Mind a flurry, a snowstorm of ifs, buts and maybes.

Because meeting his friends is a significant step—a thing you’re happy about, pleased he feels the same way. Yet, you're also terrified.

Digging your hip into the counter because of it, rooting yourself as you flex your fingers.

“Hey.” His fingers gently lift your chin, forcing you to look up at him; eyes full of warmth and reassurance. "You wouldn't be intruding, baby. They're… they’re like my family and… I want them to meet the person I can’t stop thinking about.”

Shoulders sliding down from your ears, you move to rest your hands on his waist. “You really talk about me that much?”

Scrunching his nose, he smiles. “A bit.”

“Okay,” you agree, your voice sounding more confident than you feel. “I'll meet your friends.”

“Great,” he grins, his relief evident. He pulls you close, hugging you tightly. “Benny—the one who fights—that's who we'll be supporting.”

“When?”

He frowns, but vanishes it away as though realising you hadn't been listening. “Not this weekend, but next. They’re going to love you, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you whisper into his chest, your heart rate trying its best to slow down.

I need you to tell me what I need to do with the office room, if your friends happen to not like me. They’re going to like you. But if they don’t. Rainy, they will. Introducing you is more so they don’t think I’ve made you up. You have a habit of making up people? No. But apparently, the way I talk about you makes it seem like you’re made up. Why? Because you’re perfect. I am not. You are, but let’s have that battle another day. What are you worried about?

It sits there, in your fingers. The answer to his question.

Foot kicking out at your kitchen island, laptop light illuminating your face as you roll your tongue over your lips.

Foot kicking out nervously at the kitchen island, the harsh glow of the laptop casting an eerie light across your face, you roll your tongue over your lips.

A nervous tic. One you find yourself repeating—letting it trace over the same path again and again, desperately seeking a sense of calm that seems perpetually out of reach.

The question doing its rounds, spinning and swirling: What are you worried about? What are you worried about?

Like a bell has been wrung, it blares out. The answer.

It vibrates through your bones and comes back to you in an echo. Almost a chorus: That I’m not good enough.

A thing you’ve done well to ignore, to stuff down. But now, it's crawling up out of its boxes, the tape having barely kept it down, flapping about in the whirlwind of worries in your head.

As your phone screen dims, memories flood, recalling the evidence. The words flung at you, feelings you’ve wrestled with in bathrooms at loud parties and brutal quiet nights; arguments in places that don’t feel like home and tears against brick walls that cut shoulders.

Unlocking your phone, you tighten your jaw because he's not like them. He's good, kind. A sudden unwillingness to bend to insecurity roaring inside of you as you list every good thing about him; not willing to let a good thing be ruined by things that could never happen.

Sliding your fingers over the screen, you type words that seem easier, less difficult to confess:

Living up to the stories you’ve said. No stories, just a mention of your name and apparently a smile they’ve not seen in a while.

With a mouth-closed grin, you purse your lips.

Reading over the message again and again as your teeth sneak out to bite your lip, thumbs darting out over the phone’s keyboard.

Would it be okay to pick you up? You want to pick me up? I do. Yeah, sure. I was going to offer to pick you up. I think I’d like to pick you up, and if I don’t make a fool out of myself, would you like to stay over? I’ll pack your robe.

As soon as he throws his bag into the backseat and slips into your car, you feel at ease.

The drive over to grab him had been a combination of whispered mutterings about how it was going to be fine and a mind full of all the ways it wouldn’t be.

It’s further helped when his lips press to your cheek, allowing hands to loosen on the steering wheel, and when that low voice sweeps over you as he greets you—as other words hang there unspoken.

You almost say it on sight, I've missed you.

Because you have. A week and a half of messages and phone calls sufficing, but you’ve missed his presence, his face, the chance to brush your fingers over his cheek.

“You look nice.”

Eyes widening, he stares down at himself, palms brushing out over his thighs. “Me?”

“No, the ghost you brought with you—of course, you.”

Snorting, he fastens his seatbelt. “Says you, hermosa.”

“Smooth talker.”

The drive to the fight continues with similar, gentle teasing, all comfortable conversation filling the vehicle. He begins to fill you in on the new developments in the saga of Luca’s newfound love for blanket forts rendering the living room a disaster and you about the sign-off on the work you'd been worked up over.

As you navigate the roads, excitedly sharing about how you've picked a wallpaper you like, Frankie's warm hand finds a home on your thigh, his thumb idly tracing patterns over the fabric of your jeans as he continues talking.

No smirk, nothing. Just the usual smile, as if he'd done this before.

Yet, he hasn't. Unfamiliar sensations surge through your body, catching you off guard, body all ill-prepared for the way it warms you. It almost urges you to shuffle in your seat so his hand rises north; Electricity crackles along your veins, accompanied by a tightening in your abdomen that refuses to dissipate. And, it only worsens when he coughs and his hand grips you a little tighter.

As more of the cityscape flits past your windows, you steal glances at Frankie. His profile illuminated intermittently by the passing street lights, shadows highlighting the rugged contours of his face.

By the time you're pulling into the parking lot, you wish the drive had been longer. Momentarily, you press your thighs together, for reprieve. Only doing so when his hand moves to open the door, the liveliness and music spilling out onto the sidewalk as he comes around the vehicle to take your hand.

“So, where will your friends be?”

Frankie tightens his hand on yours, leading you, holding the door open. “They’ll be in the locker room. Will is Ben’s non-official trainer.”

Nodding, you smile, letting him lead until the two of you come to a stop at the bar—him asking you what you’d like, giving you a look that says please don’t fight me as he takes out his wallet.

“You not needed there?” Shaking his head, ordering drinks as he faces his head forward but his eyes slide down to you. “And what are you, what's your role?”

“His other non-official, less present trainer.”

“You slacker.”

Shrugging, he shakes his head, paying for the drinks. “I know, so much free time to do it too.”

Grinning, you follow him to a spot out of the line, sliding your arm around his back, curling into him—the ice cubes in your plastic cup colliding in the fizziness of your drink.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Because you missed me?”

His mouth opens, parts—the tip of his tongue peeking out as you feel his chest expand before relaxing. “Yeah. Nine days was too long.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you slide your hand under his jacket, it taking a moment, more awkward than full of ease before you can fan your fingers out against him.

“Technically, it was five—if you count me half-waving to you when I came in to get a screwy.”

Almost spluttering as he takes a sip, he clears his throat, staring down. “You can’t call it a screwy?”

Narrowing your eyes, smirking away. “And why not, Morales?”

“Because suena mal... dirty,” he argues, trying to suppress a laugh.

Your eyebrow raises in question, but before you can retort, his lips are on yours, effectively silencing you. The place around you is all of a sudden silent, muted—as if no one else is around at all. The ring, the lights, and all of the people blurring into nothing, not as your fingers tease over his chin, as your mouth reminds itself what his feels like.

Pulling back, mouth hovering close to his. “So, what do I need to know about your friends? Outside of the obvious.”

The obvious is that they all served together. Frankie had explained it one night as you cooked for yourself, him on a shelf—face filling the screen as you sliced and brewed on the stove.

It was clinically given, top-level you'd been sure. Just the need to know—the need to understand.

“Well, Ben is loud—but he’s gentle. Will is a bit protective, especially since we've all been through a lot together," he begins, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But they're good people. They're upfront and honest.”

“Does Harold like them?”

Tutting, he pauses as he lifts the plastic cup to his lips. “The only person Harry likes is you. And his own family.”

“I’ll be sure to drop that in conversation then. Show them I’m one stamp approved already.”

Tilting your chin up, he licks his lips—slowly, intently. “You have nothing to worry about, alright?” You nod, trying to take in his words. “I mean it.”

“Okay.”

Kissing the top of your head, Frankie keeps his arm around you. Even when Benny's name is shouted and the crowd goes wild.

I think they like me.

Are you texting me from the bathroom?

Maybe. But, I think it’s going well.

Baby, are you peeing and texting me?

No! I dried my hands and then messaged you.

So you’re leaning against a dirty wall texting me.

Are you grinning like an idiot at your phone?

Don’t answer I can see it.

Shut up.

If that’s the grin you wear when I message you, no wonder they wanted to meet me.

Basta!

You're cute when you're flustered. Can see the red climbing up your neck from here.

Come back and keep me company.

Grin a bit more and I might.

Rainy.

Fuck you're handsome, Butterscotch.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: while the meeting happens off-paper (haha wanted to say off-screen) all meetings won't appear like this 👀. we knew they'd love her, and in time we'll see how much. also, her texting him in the bathroom may be my fave thing she's done off her own accord (i am merely just a body and fingers when rainy begins talking to me)

[pinksturniolo]

Biggest Fan: Part One

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: The one in which a fan gets rear ended in a car accident by none other than Christopher Sturniolo during her stay in Los Angeles.

A/N: This is my first series I will be publishing on here! There will most likely be 3 or 4 parts. I hope you like it and I’m really excited to share with you all. :)

Content Warnings: smutty smut, oral receiving/giving, penetration, slight degradation, fingering, teasing, overstimulation, swearing, brief mentions of blood, head injuries, mentions of a car accident

side note: there is no smut in this part, but it will be coming soon I promise! ;) It's pretty long because this is part of a series so I like to develop the plot and use a lot of dialogue, but I will be doing shorter stories, like one shots in the future as well! enjoy <3

word count: 3,076 😮‍💨

I was inspired by this song:

𐮙ღ✰☾✿ღ𐮙

Summer 2023

Your toes sink into the sand, the warmth of the sun beaming down on your skin, as you take a cold sip of the cheap wine cooler you bought before you came to the beach. You and two of your closest friends from college decided on a whim to take a road trip from your hometown to Los Angeles, California. You all had the next week off for summer break and getting drunk and sunburnt on the West Coast sounded like a pretty great idea. You watched dozens of people walk along the coastline, several enjoying the water and others playing in the sand, some groups playing volleyball. You can’t remember the last time you went to the beach or even on a vacation. The last two years, you have been completely immersed in your studies, barely having time to relax, let alone have any time to yourself.

Los Angeles was the perfect getaway. Tonight, you had all agreed to splurge and go out to eat at a restaurant in Hollywood, just to get the full experience. Maybe even spot a celebrity or two. Your mind briefly thought of the idea of running into the Sturniolo Triplets, who you were obsessed with recently (which your friends were painfully aware of). But of course, that was delusional and the odds of seeing them were one in a million.

After a couple hours of enjoying the sun and sand, you headed back to your hotel to get ready for dinner. You chose to wear a pair of cute mom jeans, a tube top and cardigan, and a nice pair of sneakers. You didn’t want to dress up too much as you already felt tired from the beach and planned on crashing out in your bed right after dinner. You all went to eat at a gorgeous Italian restaurant, thoroughly enjoying the night, laughing and talking over good food and wine.

Once you got back to the hotel, you told your friends goodnight and went to your separate room, immediately hopping in the shower and changing into a comfortable pair of flannel pajama shorts and an old band t-shirt. You had talked about going out to a club or bar but you felt exhausted. This was your first day of vacation and already you had been stressing about your classes. Your friends forced you to leave your computer at home so that you weren’t tempted to do some extra credit for your school work. Sometimes you found it hard to just relax and take a break. You were trying to learn to simply live in the moment and stop thinking so hard about what to do next. Still, your mind raced as you lay in bed, attempting to sleep. Rain pelted the window of your room as it started to storm outside. You loved when it rained, the calming sound of thunder and raindrops on the roof usually coaxed you to sleep quickly. But tonight, you couldn’t stop tossing and turning. You were wide awake. You had the sudden urge to get up and do something – anything – to entertain you that hopefully would tire you out enough to finally go to sleep.

You got out of bed and slipped on your converse, not bothering to change your pajamas. You had decided to just go to the drive through and get an ice cream. A midnight snack would be just the thing you needed.

These were the events that had led up to you now in your car halfway down the street from the Wendy’s you stopped at, vanilla frosty in your hand, the other hand on the steering wheel as you stopped at a red light. The radio played softly as you ate your ice cream, streetlights illuminating the dark streets. There were only a few people on the road being that it was nearly one in the morning. The palm trees swayed slightly with the breeze, rain still coming down although not as hard as before. This is nice, you thought. This is my vacation. There is no time for stress. Once I get back to my room, I’ll get some rest. Tomorrow, me and the girls will go out sightseeing. Maybe even go to the–

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang behind you as you felt your body jolt forward harshly, you frosty dropping out of your hand, vanilla soft serve spilling all over your lap and steering wheel. Your air bag went off, a piece snapping painfully against your forehead. It happened so quickly you barely had time to register it. After a good thirty seconds, you realized you had just been rear ended. Great. You thought. This is the last thing I needed. You looked out of your rear-view mirror to see a Kia attached to your bumper. The culprit, from what you could see through the tinted window, looked to be a boy around your age with long brown hair. You sighed in frustration, leaning your head back against the headrest. You hated confrontation, especially in situations like these. Not to mention you’d have to file this with insurance and that was another headache in itself. Reluctantly, you opened your door, stepping out into the wet street.

Fuck. You didn’t have an umbrella with you. Talk about the fucking cherry on top. Luckily the rain had significantly got lighter than earlier, and it wasn’t thunder and lightning anymore. You closed the door, walking towards the other car but stopped dead in your tracks once you recognized the person that had crashed into you.

There was absolutely no way. Had you actually fallen asleep in your hotel room and were currently dreaming? Because there was just no way that you were standing in the middle of the street, rain currently soaking through your pajamas which were also sticky with ice cream, staring at Christopher Sturniolo who had rear ended your car. Who also happened to be in a yelling match with Matt and Nick at the current moment. You had to be dreaming.

Your feet were frozen to the ground as you stood there, physically unable to move. How does one even go about approaching them? Oh, hey funny to see you guys here. I know you just crashed into my car but don’t worry about it. I’ll just be on my way back to the comfort of my bed so I can completely avoid this insane situation and also avoid making a complete idiot of myself….

“Chris, are you fucking serious?!”

“This is the last time I ever let you drive, you’re obviously incapable.”

“Will both of you shut the fuck up! I can’t find my phone; I think it went under the seat.”

“Oh, you can’t be serious. He just hit another car and the kid is worried about his phone.”

“I’d be more worried about the insurance and how much we’re gonna have to pay for this!!”

“Oh my God! I said shut the fu-“

They didn’t seem to even notice you, too caught up in their bickering as you had slowly walked closer, your voice quiet and timid.

“Uh, hey… Don’t worry about insurance or anything. If you don’t wanna claim it, I’m cool with that.”

You interrupted, trying to hide your visibly shaking hands and crossing your arms.

All three boys halted their conversation, turning to look at you with wide eyes as if they almost forgot there was another human being inside the car they had just hit.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Excuse my brother, he actually has half a brain and apparently the inability to drive.” Nick said, an apologetic look on his face and then turning to glare at Chris.

Chris glared back at him, finally finding his phone from underneath the seat. He made eye contact with you, his glare turning into a sheepish look. He ran a hand through his hair, his mouth opening to speak to you, but Matt stepped in front, approaching you.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m actually the one who owns this car and I have great insurance so I promise it will all be taken care of.” He says, with a nice smile. You smile back politely, still holding onto your arms and trying not to freak out at the fact you’re actually conversing with these people right now.

“Are you sure? I mean, the damage isn’t that bad. I wont mind just forgetting this happened and calling it a night.” You laugh nervously, glancing at the busted bumper on your car. In all honesty, it actually wasn’t too bad. You would need a new bumper for sure, which might put a dent in your wallet but at the current moment you wanted nothing but to get the fuck out of there.

“No way! It wouldn’t feel right if we just walked away from this. Matt will get all the details and take care of it.” Nick chimed in, an identical smile to Matt’s on his face that made you feel just a little more comfortable.

Meanwhile Chris leaned up against the car, unusually quiet and with a look of stress over his features, stealing glances at you every now and them. He definitely felt guilty for causing the accident and he knew he would never hear the end of it from his brothers. He stared at his shoes and tucked his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, waiting while you exchanged information with Matt.

You typed your insurance information into Matt’s phone handing it back, while he handed you yours. You suddenly felt a twinge of pain on your forehead and winced, reaching up to touch it. It was then that you noticed there was about a 2-inch gash from the airbag snapping in your face. It didn’t feel too deep, but it hurt. Matt and Nick both noticed and Nick instinctively reached out to grab your arm. “Are you okay? It looks like its bleeding.” He said in concern. Chris then snapped his head up, his attention fully on you now. He walked over to Nick and Matt, a look of pure terror on his face as he stared at the cut on your head.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve had worse, I promise. I just need to get back to my hotel and clean it up.” You say reassuringly. But they were not buying it.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should call an ambulance? I really don’t want anything bad to happen.” Chris says.

“An ambulance? Don’t be dramatic, Chris. Maybe she just needs to sit down for a while.” Matt responds quickly. He looks at you like you’re an injured puppy, concern filling his eyes.

“Yeah, I agree. Let’s have her sit in the car for a bit. It’s not helping that we’re also standing in the rain like idiots.” Nick quips, guiding you to the back seat of their car.

You laugh nervously again, taking a seat. They crowd around you, looking at you like you might fall dead to the ground.

“Look, I really appreciate that you guys are being so helpful. But I’m not gonna lie, I’m freezing right now, my clothes are wet, and I just wanna get back to my hotel and go to sleep. Also, no offense, but I know you guys from your YouTube videos and this is a very awkward situation for me.” The words spill out in a rush, and you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“Oh! I’m such an idiot. Here, take my hoodie. I have an extra one in the back.” Chris says, seeming to completely ignore the fact that you admitted you knew who they were and reaches around you to grab his dry hoodie from the back seat. He hands it to you, and you hesitantly take it, your eyebrows raised in confusion at his nonchalant response. “So you can at least warm up a little.” He smiles, trying to make you feel more comfortable. You do nothing but grip onto the soft hoodie and look over at Matt and Nick who also seem to not care a thing about what you just said. Matt says, “I’ll go look at your car if you don’t mind and make sure its safe for you to drive and then once you warm up, you’ll be free to go!”

He makes his way towards your car and Nick climbs in on the other side of the back seat next to you. “Sorry again for everything. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.” He says. You then find yourself genuinely laughing for the first time tonight and start to pull the hoodie on, grateful to feel something warm over your wet clothes. “Yeah, definitely not what I expected.” Chris climbs into the passenger seat, turning back to look at you. “This is where I normally sit.” He states with a cheeky grin and you giggle, feeling a slight blush creep onto your face. He really was just as attractive in person, if not more, you realize as your nerves slightly settle down. “But I guess you already knew that.” He adds, his grin turning into a smirk. “Yeah and it’s gonna stay that way, you idiot.” Nick interrupts, making you erupt into more giggles as Chris’ smirk turns into a glare. “Shut up.” He mumbles, turning back around in his seat as Matt walks back towards their car, opening the driver door and getting in. He has a serious look on his face now, turning to look at you in the back seat.

“So… there’s an issue. It looks like Chris’ dumbass rear ended you so hard that your rear tire is flat. And I really doubt any tow truck is going to come at this time of night. Even if it does, it will take a while. And I wouldn’t feel safe letting you go alone. It looks like the best option is to drop you off myself at your hotel and have them tow your car in the morning. We can push it to the side of the road so there’s no issues.” Matt says, your heart sinking and you lay your head in your hands in frustration before he even finishes his sentence. Nick frowns and sighs, putting another reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. We’ll pay for all of it, I swear.” He says. You look at him with a smile and turn to Matt, ready to just agree with him so you can be done with this night already before Chris interrupts you. “Why don’t we just take her to the house? It’s literally 5 minutes from here and we don’t know how serious her head injury is.” He suggests.

Chris knows this is a crazy suggestion. First of all, you’re a fan, and you just met not even 30 minutes ago. You could be a psycho killer for all he knows. But Chris likes to believe that he has a strong intuition, especially when it comes to people and he just knows you’re not the type. To be quite honest, he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since he first saw you. Even with the rain completely drenching you and what looked like to be some sort of frozen dessert staining the front of your shirt and shorts, he thought you were beautiful. He already felt horrible for fucking up your car and causing you bodily harm. The least he could do was take you to his house and attend to your wounds. Only to make sure you didn’t drop dead on some random hotel carpet. Right?

Everyone looks at him like he has three heads. His brothers exchange concerning glances, awkward silence filling the car. Since when did he just invite random strangers into his house?

“Uhh.. Are you sure? I mean, how do you feel about that..?” Matt asks, looking at you with hesitation. You didn’t respond just yet, still adjusting to the fact Chris Sturniolo is voluntarily inviting you to their home.

“I don’t know…. I think I agree with Chris. I don’t wanna be responsible if you go back to your hotel alone and end up with a concussion or something. No offense.” Nick adds, shrugging his shoulders.

You scoff, extremely surprised at the fact that they’ve taken it this far. “No no no, look. You three have been really nice to me over this whole thing, but its just a little cut. I promise I’ll be fine. My hotel isn’t that far either. I don’t want to intrude and-“

Chris suddenly reaches out and lightly touches your forehead, blood still trickling out and starting to run down the side of your head. You wince in pain and recoil from his touch, your head starting to throb. “See? It’s not just a little cut, is it? You’re actively bleeding, and it obviously hurts. I know you’re just being modest, but I promise I just – we just- want to make sure you’re okay.” He says, his eyes trailing down your face, admiring it briefly, his fingertips ghosting over your jaw before he pulls his hand back. You remain frozen in your seat, butterflies swarming in your lower abdomen from the light touch he left on your face. “Unless you really do feel uncomfortable, then I understand. We can take you to the hotel. But like Nick said, we just don’t want anything bad to happen.” He added softly, turning back around, raking a hand through his hair. Nick and Matt exchange looks again, noticing the obvious tension.

You take in a deep breath and pull Chris’ hoodie tighter around you. “Fine. I guess I see your point. You can take me to your house but once I get this stupid cut on my head cleaned up, I’ll call my friend to come pick me up.” You finally say, buckling your seat belt. You can’t help but notice a small, smug smirk on Chris’ face through the passenger side mirror.

Once they pushed your car to the side of the road, Matt takes off with you in the backseat, your head leaned against the window.

I must be dreaming right? I’m definitely in my bed right now and this is not happening. You think to yourself, the intoxicating smell of Dior Sauvage cologne filling your nose, as you press the sleeve of Chris’ hoodie to the throbbing wound on your head.

[skzdarlings]

part i: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the next decade.

Companion series to my sharing the bed one-shot. Follows the relationship between reader&felix from beginning to end. It will be a multi-part series.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

-

One of your father’s disgruntled bodyguards shoves you for walking too slowly.  You have enough tenacity to glare at him when you stumble, but even at fourteen years old you are smart enough refrain from retaliation.   You know your father will not take your side as you are already in trouble for sneaking out last night.  You met with some school friends and attended a house party like a normal fourteen year old, a punishable offence because your life is anything but normal. 

You just hope this punishment is a physical one.  A few smacks might sting but you’ll get over it, whereas you don’t want to lose your already limited phone or computer privileges. 

You walk into your father’s office with the expectation you will be alone, so you stop short when you see the back of a stranger’s head. 

Your father’s guests are usually suited old men or pretty young women, not a beanie-wearing teenage boy.  He’s kicking his legs like he’s in an ice cream parlour and not in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in the country.  Your father is behind his desk, hands steepled and attention determinedly fixed on you.  Punishment time is the only time his attention is so rapt. 

The door closes behind you, the guard outside slamming it shut.  The boy in the chair looks over his shoulder at you.  He has a soft face, much too soft for a place like this, his cheeks sweetly freckled and mouth like a pretty pink bow.  He has dark eyes, his eyebrows the same shade of dark brown.  His hair has been dyed a strawberry blonde, bangs sweeping out from under the beanie.  He has to flick them out of his eyes as he looks you over.  

You stare at him.  A change in routine does not bode well for you and this is a massive change. 

The boy just smiles.  It is disarming in its sweetness and it petrifies you.  You know how to behave when an ugly brute glares at you but a pretty boy smiling is unnerving. 

Your father clears his throat.  You and the boy both look his way, the boy dropping his gaze in a subservient way while you glare. 

“Daughter,” your father says coolly.  He gestures to the free chair beside the boy. 

Some days, when you are feeling especially petulant or when your father is distracted with his phone even while meting out punishment, you will stomp your foot and refuse him.  Maybe it is your stunned bemusement, but today you oblige without argument. 

Your gaze drifts to the boy as you approach your seat.  The boy does not look at you.

He looks like a normal teenage boy, wearing a hoodie under a flannel and blue jeans ripped at the knee, but you know better.  There is always a flaw and this one is immediately jarring: his shoes are army regulation boots, the same as your father’s guards, albeit smaller.  You have no idea why he would need them.  He looks about your age and is a slender, delicate thing. 

“Sit,” your father says.   You realize you have standing there, staring.  You look at your father and obey, sinking into the other chair.  “Good.”  Your father folds his hands on his desk.  “My loving daughter,” he says dryly, “It has occurred to me that your present circumstances are not the most conducive to your development and well-being.”

You cannot help but scoff.  Talk about understatement of the century.   

The security teams?  The constant surveillance? The knowledge that your wealthy father has accrued so many enemies that you can barely step outside without feeling threatened?

The fact you desperately want something bad to happen, because at least it would be different than the bad in here? 

Your father just frowns.

“Don’t test my patience,” he says.  “Especially as I have constructed a compromise according to your whims, young lady.” 

Your brow furrows.  You have no idea where this is going but you know you won’t like it, because you never like it. 

“I only want what’s best for you,” your father says.  “You’re my daughter, after all.  My only child and my only heir.  I want you protected but I want you capable, and you can’t be expected to thrive with the company of my men constantly surrounding you.” 

Your heart kicks up with hope even while your brain knows better.  Your father is not a generous man and he is clever with his words.  There is a reason he has reached the heights he has reached.  No one is better than your father and your father settles for no less than the best in turn. 

You are an agonizing disappointment, but you lash out because you would be a disappointment regardless.  Your father does not want a human daughter but a plastic doll that he can lock away until it has use, at which point he expects unending gratitude for your very existence.    

This might sound like a concession of freedom but you know him better than that.  The vice is tightening, not loosening.  You will never be free. 

“I have a gift for you,” your father says.  “This is Felix.” 

You and the boy, Felix, look at each other.  Felix smiles again.  He has the audacity to wave at you, a little salute and cutesy tip of the head. 

Your nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath.  You look at your father. 

“What is this?” you ask, so much wrong with this scenario that you don’t know where to start.

Your father smiles for the first time since you walked in the room.  He needs to be in the position of highest power and that is obtained through making everyone else small.  The more visibly uncomfortable you are, the more at ease he feels.  He slouches comfortably in his big chair as he stares you down.  You feel trapped in the little seat across his desk.    

“This,” your father says, “is your new bodyguard.” 

You look at Felix again.  He is once more looking at your father like an obedient little puppy.  It’s for the best as you are certain your expression is betraying every single thought.  You are angry, confused, frightened.  The confusion worsens your other emotions. 

“Bodyguard,” you repeat.  “He looks like he’s twelve.” 

“I’m fourteen,” Felix says, startling you with a deep voice that does not remotely match his face.  The rounder sounds are accented with an Australian twang.   “Same as you.” 

You look at each other again.  You hide your confusion under a piercing glare.  Felix draws his mouth into a flat line, not quite smiling, not quite frowning.   He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair, a mismatched rhythm, some song only he can hear.   His leg bounces. 

You look at your father. 

“Fourteen,” you say.  “And short.  And skinny.  Look at him!  I could throw him out a window!”

“You could try,” your father says, drole.  “You wouldn’t succeed.  Oh, hush.”  He swipes a hand through the air when you open your mouth to speak again.  “Felix is more than competent, believe me.”  

Your father would not hire a second rate bodyguard, but there is simply no way this Felix kid is good for anything.  You just can’t believe it.  This is a test of some kind, maybe a mind game. 

Your hackles are up and they won’t come down.  Felix flicks some hair out of his eyes and the motion makes you jump.  He doesn’t comment.  He clears his throat and sits a little straighter, looking like every goody-two-shoes keener you ever gave a sneer. 

“You will no longer require a full security detail,” your father says.  “Not at home or at school.  No where, barring certain occasions under my discretion.”   

This has your heart racing again.  Currently, your father has guards posted in several places around your school.  No one but the school administrators know they are for you, but that doesn’t matter because you know.  You know they are not general security, that they are specifically watching your every move.  If you skip a meal or eat too much, they know.  If you talk to one person and not another, they know.  If you forget to do homework or flunk a test, they know.  If you put on more make-up or roll up your skirt, they know.  If you fall, if you laugh, if you flirt, if you breathe a little too hard, they know, and they report it all back to your father. 

It doesn’t end there.  They keep you on a schedule for your “protection” and if you stray from that agenda, they are on you.  That means no chatting too long after class, no extended bathroom breaks, no stopping to smell a fucking flower.  In the car, out the car, through the doors, at your seat, at your locker, upstairs, downstairs, fuck, fuck, fuck.  How you’ve lasted this long, not even you know. 

You spend all day suffocating under the extension of your father’s eyes, then you return home, flanked by bodyguards, only to be stuck with supervision until you are finally permitted to go to bed.  Naturally, this is the easiest time to escape so you are in the habit of breaking out at night.  You’re good at it too.  Most nights you move without any detection, having memorized all the chinks in the mansion’s high-tech security armor.  Last night was the result of some bad luck. 

Now you are here, your heart racing, your breath catching. 

It must be a trick.  You look at Felix then your father, trying to hide your eagerness and your suspicion. 

“In exchange, you will have Felix,” your father says.  “He will attend school with you as a classmate.  He is in all your classes and extra-curriculars.  You are to keep him with you at all times of day.  He will accompany you everywhere at all times of day.”  Your father leans in.  “Do you understand that?  At all times of day.”   

It does not sound too different from the security team other than the obvious fact there is only one of Felix.  Even if Felix is the most skilled bodyguard in the world, he is still just one person.   It seems too good to be true so it must be.   Your father is waiting until you are comfortable so he can rip the rug out from under you, to put you in your place, which is flat on your back like a stupid, helpless, needy baby.    

You will not give him the satisfaction.  Curtly, you say, “I understand.”

“Good,” your father says.  “I’m having a new bed installed in your bedroom as we speak.  It should be ample space for two people without your privacy being overly encroached.  When you get home, you will clear a space for Felix to move his things into your room.” 

Despite your effort to remain neutral, obvious surprise blinks across your face. 

“Wait, what?” you ask, darting forward in your seat.  “What are you talking about?”

Your father tips his head as if perplexed with your outburst. 

“Did you think you were getting away with something?” he asks.  “Constantly sneaking out at night, evading my men.  Do you know every time you pull a childish stunt like that, it endangers me and my business just as much as you?”

Your anger bubbles to the surface as quickly as his, cold laughter punching out of you as you say, “Oh! Your business!  Of fucking course!”

“Don’t use vulgar language with me, child!”

“Don’t call me a child!” you snap back with as much fervour.  “I’m fourteen years old!  I’m not a little kid and I don’t need some other idiot kid babysitting me!  I don’t need anyone fucking watching me!” 

Felix is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father.  He says nothing.  He just sniffs and scratches a little circle on the exposed skin of his knee. 

“You are my daughter, this is my house, and I will do with both as I please,” your father says. 

“Then maybe I don’t want to be in this house!” you shout. 

“You want to leave?” your father asks.  He smacks a vicious hand down on his desk, rattling his computer.  “Go ahead.  Pick yourself up and walk out that door.  Where are you going to go from here?  You have no money and no skills and no protection.  See how long it takes someone to pick you up off the street.  You don’t want to be my daughter?  You want me to ignore you when they put a gun to your head?  The least they will do is kill you, you stupid little thing.  But go on, since you’re so wise and brave and all grown-up.  Walk out that door.  I dare you.”      

You sit on the very edge of your seat, your hands balled into fists.  You long to swing them at his smug face but you can only sit there, vibrating with rage. 

“Do you have something more to say?” your father asks. 

You kick his desk, the adrenaline forcing it out of you.  He smacks a mug and it smashes on the floor.  Felix still does not react, though his gaze does linger on the broken mug. 

“What about him!” you shriek, pointing at Felix.  It draws his attention back to you, his eyebrow lifting at your pointed finger.  “You’re going to leave me alone with a boy?  In bed?”  You imbue this exclamation with all the suggestive horror you can.  “I can’t share a room with a boy!  What if he’s a pervert!   What if he takes pictures of me!  What if he rapes me!  You really trust some random boy to be alone with me?!”

The silence that follows is somehow more shrill than the yelling.  Your father stares at you, resolutely focussed with such a cold glare that you shiver. 

Felix shuffles in his seat.  His mouth opens and he looks contemplative, weighing his words, but your father speaks before he can. 

“Felix,” he says, “put your hand on the desk.” 

Felix delays only seconds, more surprised by the order than reluctant.  He obediently rests his hand on the desk, palm facing up. 

Without looking away from you, your father grabs that hand and flips it over.  Felix jerks, his feet planting, but he manages to restrain whatever instinct rattled him.  He looks at his hand, at where your father pins it to the wood. 

You look there too, fuming, then you look at your father.  He is still glaring at you, even when he reaches into his desk.  Your brow furrows when he retrieves an enveloper opener, a sleek little knife, shiny and sharp.  He smacks it onto the table beside Felix’s hand.  It makes you jump.    

Felix just looks at the knife, tipping his head as if only mildly curious.   

“Felix,” your father says. “Pick up that knife.”  He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms, his expression bland and uncaring as he looks at you.  You shake less from fury than fear, looking from your father to Felix. 

Felix picks up the knife with his free hand.  He looks at it, his expression revealing nothing. 

“Thank you,” your father says. 

He has not looked away from you even once, asserting his knowledge that Felix will obey without his supervision.  You try to be as steadfast as him.  You act like you couldn’t care less about the unknown boy and his freckles and beanie.  This is between you and your father.  You glare just as fiercely.  

“Now, Felix,” your father says, “I am going to count down from three, then you are going to drive that knife into your hand.  All the way through to the desk.  I trust you know the spot that will do the least lasting damage.” 

Your gaze whips from your father to Felix, staring at him wide-eyed as the stupid boy doesn’t even flinch.  He just turns the knife over.  His brow briefly pinches as he rests the tip of the knife against a soft spot on the back of his hand. 

Your horrified brain is already several paces ahead, picturing his bloodied hand pinned to the wooden desk.  You taste bile and it is only partially for the gore.  The rest is for the fact Felix does nothing more than blink at his hand. 

“Three,” your father says.  “Two.” 

You scream, “Stop!” at the same your father says, “One.”

You tackle Felix.  The adrenaline flies out of you the same as that kick.  The knife clatters to the desk and both your chairs fly out from under you. 

Felix is fast.  He flips you around so he takes the brunt of the fall, your head pillowing on his stomach when you land in a tangled heap on the floor.  His beanie falls off when his head hits the ground.  He barely winces, looking down at you. 

You stare back at him, breathing hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you ask.  Tears fill your eyes, much to your horror.  You try to suck them in because there is nothing you hate more than crying in front of your father.   You don’t even know what is prompting the tears.  Maybe it’s the forced recollection of how thoroughly his guards have invaded your life, the revelation that you will be forced to share every living moment with another intruder, or the fact he almost maimed a fourteen year old boy just to make a point. 

Or, maybe, the fact you fell for it like you always do.  Just a stupid little girl, high in her emotions, vulnerable and weak and in need of intervention. 

You push away from Felix, directing all your emotions at him. 

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” you say, spitting when you talk.  “What did you think you were doing?  Freak.  Do you think you’re brave?  You’re an idiot.”

Felix props himself up on his elbows, just staring back at you.  His gaze flicks up when your father stands.  That awful man circles the desk to look down at you. 

You refuse to look up.  You wipe your arm under your nose.  Tears blur your vision.

“Felix,” your father says, “there is a car waiting outside.  Take my daughter home.  She is not to leave the house tonight.” 

You wrench your arm away when Felix tries to help you up.  He says nothing to your glare but at least he’s smart enough not to smile again.  He gets up and dusts off his pants, then retrieves his beanie.   You clamber to your feet and march toward the door without looking back or waiting.  Only when your hand is on the doorknob does your father call your name. 

You freeze, wanting so badly to ignore him and storm outside, but once the coldness settles in your veins you cannot move. 

“Come here,” your father says.  As if under a spell, you can only move when he demands it.  You turn, facing him as he approaches.   You hold still, your eyes full of tears and fists curled at your side. 

Your father walks up and swiftly strikes you across the face.  Tears spill over and you grab your cheek, heaving with frightened breath as your useless new bodyguard just stands there and watches. 

Your father sighs. 

“You’ll learn,” he says.  “One way or another.  If I have to chip at you with an axe until you take my shape, I’ll do it.  You’ll thank me one day.  Felix.  Take her home.  Now.” 

You let Felix take your arm and guide you out of the room, too drained to fight him.   

-

You refuse to be accommodating.  If you’re unhappy then you will make Felix unhappy too, and if Felix is unhappy then maybe he will leave.  Then your father will be unhappy and you finally won’t be.     

You glare at the massive new bed taking up space in your room.  It is still a big room otherwise, with plenty of space for two people, but your things are spread out everywhere and you have no intention of moving them.  Instead, you empty out a single bedside drawer and point to it. 

“There,” you say.  “That’s yours.”

Felix is standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a backpack.  He looks around the room, not sneering at its lacey, ivory princess-ness but not looking too enamoured either.  He is passive as ever, quietly receiving his surroundings.  He closes the door behind himself and shrugs the backpack down to the crease of his elbow. 

“Kk,” he says.  He puts his backpack on the floor by the bed then takes off his beanie and puts it in the drawer.  He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap.  He stares at the wall. 

What a weirdo. 

You stare at him until he looks at you, then you scoff and roll your eyes.  You dump your things on your desk and stalk over to your private bathroom door.   

“Can I go pee without your supervision, or do you need to hold my hand?” you ask sarcastically. 

“I don’t need to,” Felix says, “but, uhhh, I guess I can if you need help.  But if you have a problem with doing it by yourself then we should probably take you to a doctor.  I know first aid but I can’t really help with incontinence or like the opposite. Lol.” 

He says the word lol out loud, a single grating syllable.  You do not dignify his weird humour with a response.  You stomp into your bathroom and slam the door shut.   

There are bars on the bathroom window now.  You grab the nearest bottle of soap and chuck it there, furious when tears spring back to your eyes.  You feel violated even in your privacy, glaring at those bars as you shower and wash away the day. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror, touching where your cheek feels tender from your father’s strike.  He usually doesn’t hit your face or anywhere someone could see swelling or a cut.  You suppose today’s slap was more personal than strategic.

You put on a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants.  When you step back into your room, the weirdo is standing at the window with his hands behind his back.  He is wearing just his ripped jeans and a t-shirt, plus those ugly army boots.  He looks at you when you open the door, giving you a brief assessing stare before he smiles. 

It would disarm someone more naïve.  You just glare. 

“Where are your things?” you ask. 

He tips his head like an inquisitive cat.  “Huh?” he asks.

“Your things,” you say venomously.  “Aren’t you moving them in here?” 

“Uh, I did,” he says.  He turns and points to his side of the bed.  “You gave me a drawer, remember?”

This kid unpacked a beanie. 

Maybe it’s a good sign he isn’t fully moving in.  Maybe this whole charade is just your father threatening you.  He will torture you with this invader until he thinks you have learned a lesson, then things will go back to normal.  Felix probably isn’t even a proper bodyguard, and how could he be?  A skinny, pretty fourteen year old boy?  He’s probably an actor or model or something. 

You give him a derisive smirk and shove past him.  He just shrugs and approaches the bathroom door, pausing before entering.  He looks back at you.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” he says, then walks into the bathroom and closes the door. 

You exhale sharply.  You had no intention of going anywhere, honestly too exhausted to do anything but putter around on the computer, but fuck this kid.  He’s your father’s paid actor or some other nonsense, so who does he think he is to give you any orders? 

You storm out of the room with the intention of marching around outside, but you stumble when you enter the upstairs corridor.  

The huge house is eery in its silence.  You shudder as you look around.  

Even when your father is not home, the security team is here.  Someone is always awake, at least one person keeping guard in the corridor, the rest of them scattered in the house and guest house.  But they’re gone.  They’re all genuinely gone.  And because it is late evening, all the housekeepers and cleaners are gone too.  You have not been in a house this empty your entire life.  It feels uncanny, ghostly even.  It completely halts your half-baked plan to leave, not that you planned on going much further than the pool-house.

You stand still, suspended in the unfamiliar emptiness.    

“Whatcha doin’?”  Felix’s freaky deep voice is suddenly right beside you.  You jump away from with a startled squeak.  He just stands there, his mouth in that stupid flat line, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing when he tips his head. 

“Nothing,” you snap, annoyed that he scared you.  “I’m just going to the kitchen for a snack.  Is that against the fucking law now?”    

“It’s not really healthy to eat this late at night,” Felix says, “but it’s not illegal.  That would be weird.”

“I hate you,” you say.  His even temperament has been driving you insane, so it is satisfying to see a flicker of genuine surprise on his face.  “Just leave me alone.” 

“Sorry,” he says, recovering quickly.  His voice is steady.  “Can’t do that.  Sort of my job, you know?”

You roll your eyes then turn and stomp all the way down the stairs.  Felix trails behind you without protest, not making much noise despite the boots but he is impossible to ignore regardless. 

You go to the kitchen and open the fridge.  You aren’t hungry but you feel like you have to eat something now just to prove a point.  

Felix ambles up to the counter and perches himself on a stool.  You look over your shoulder at him.  He waves. 

“I’m not making you anything,” you snap. 

“That’s fine.”  He folds his hand on the counter.  “I’m not hungry.  Thank you.” 

You reach into the fridge and grab an eggplant out of the produce drawer.  It is a ridiculous response, but you decide to out-weird the weirdo, making eye contact as you bite in the raw eggplant.  You try to hide your displeasure, chewing the thick vegetable slowly.  Felix tips his head very far then straightens.  His eyes narrow. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s toxic,” he says. 

You stop chewing. 

“Yeah,” he says.  “Eggplant, yeah.  I think when it’s raw it’s like not good for you or something?  I think there’s like a chemical in it.  Maybe it’s only if you eat a lot of it, uhhh, I don’t know.  Just in case, I wouldn’t eat it like that if I were you.” 

You stare at him with a chunk of raw eggplant still on your tongue.  He could be bluffing.  He could be playing mind games.  He could be telling the truth, since he delivered each sentence so uncertainly.  Maybe he’s just bad at mind games.  You’re good at them.  You’ve been playing them since you were a child, so you just stare him down, swallow the eggplant, then take another bite. 

His brow furrows.  You are pretty sure your displeasure is a little more obvious now, your mouth partially open as you chew.   Felix did not balk at stabbing his own hand but he looks very scandalized right now.   You consider it a success. 

“Stop it,” Felix says. 

You take another bite, ripping into it with a ferocious tear. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.  “What? Are you trying to commit suicide by eggplant?”

You just shrug, chewing with your mouth wide open now.   His stool scrapes the ground and you brace yourself, shuffling in the opposite direction when he circles the kitchen island. 

“Spit it out,” he says. 

“No,” you say, spitting eggplant as you say it.  You very nearly choke. 

“Seriously,” Felix says.  “This isn’t funny.” 

You chew obnoxiously big in his direction and he pounces, smoothly intercepting your escape.   He cages you in against the counter, blocking you when you try to move. You drop the rest of the eggplant and push at him, dribbling mushy vegetable and cursing through your mouthful. 

“Spit. It. Out,” he says, putting his hand under your mouth like a mother to a baby.  You shove that hand away, then try to shove his face away.  He clearly doesn’t want to get too physical with you, but eventually he grabs your chin and holds you still, your face pinched in his hand.   You stare at him, breathing hard through your nose.  “Stop it,” he says. 

The house is empty.  The house is genuinely, seriously, completely empty.   Your father trusts Felix that much. 

Who is this fucking kid? 

You spit the eggplant at him.  It spatters on his shirt and wins you an eye roll.  It’s the first expression from him to make you smile. 

“Bed time,” he says, stepping back to brush the mess off his shirt. 

You cross your arms and lean against the counter.  “No,” you say. 

“No?” he asks.  His deep voice fractures with a higher-pitched sound of surprise.   “Why not?” 

Because you hate your father and everything he puts you through.  Because petty victories are your only victories.  Because there is something seriously wrong with Felix if this is his life situation, and there is something seriously wrong with you for the same reason. 

So you shrug.  “Make me,” you say. 

There is a beat of silence.

Then the world is upside down because Felix picks you up and slings you over his shoulder.  You cry out, slapping his back as he marches to the stairs.  Where is he even hiding this strength? 

“Put me down!”  You pound on his backside while he carries you up the stairs.  “When my father hears about this—”

He puts you down on the landing, swinging up a step to afford him an extra foot of height over you.  He holds your wrist in his hand and looks at you very seriously. 

“What?” he asks.  “When he hears about me doing my job?” 

You try to tug your hand back but Felix holds it tight.

“Are you serious right now?” you ask.  You continue to squirm your hand in his grip.  “Who the fuck are you?  What do you even get out of this?” 

“What do you get out of this - this - everything?” he asks.  

“I get my life,” you snap.  “In pieces and only for a little bit, but mine.”

“Me too,” he says. 

A breathless silence follows.  You realize you are holding his hand, having twisted and turned so much that he clasped your fingers with his.   You both look there then at each other.  You abruptly let go. 

“Can we go to bed?”  Felix asks, softening his voice.  “Please.” 

Your lower lip wobbles.  You look at the stain on his shirt.  You think about his hand on that desk. 

“And what about my other question?” you ask. 

He tips his head again, but his expression is no longer neutral.  He wears his confusion openly, briefly but substantially. 

“What?” he asks. 

“My other question,” you say, blinking back your tears.  “Who are you?” 

“You tell me first,” he says.  “Who are you?” 

It’s easier to fight and scream than plainly express yourself.  No one ever listens, so you are not practiced.  You have Felix’s undivided attention but it suddenly feels like too much.  You do not have it in you to glare anymore.  You meet his pained gaze with your own and join him on the next step. 

“I’m tired,” you say.  “Let’s go to bed.” 

He goes to check the security system while you get ready for bed.  You are already nestled under the covers, shivering despite the thick layers because the house sounds so quiet and you are honestly scared.  You jump when the door opens and Felix enters, your eyes meeting in the dim light.  He looks away first, going about his own routine.  You turn your back to him. 

The bed is big but you still feel it dip when he gets inside.  You look over your shoulder.  He is laying on his back with his eyes closed.  He is clearly still awake but the semblance of sleep accentuates the natural innocence of his face.  You have seen the flicker of a few deeper emotions, none of them childish, but he looks his age while laying there. 

His eyes open.  He glances at you.  You wonder what you look like to him. 

“Good night,” he says, shattering the terrifying silence. 

You don’t argue it.  You just nod then turn away, closing your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing lull you to sleep faster than usual. 

[n1ghtfurys]

Cream

I saw this idea on tiktok and I don't know where I found it but I had to do something with it so if anyone knows who posted the original idea please tell me so I can credit them :)

Second part

Keegan being flirty↓

You hated parties, always have, always will but your roommate, and best friend, loves them. She has one almost every week, sometimes it's university friends, sometimes work friends but this time it's a party for all of the people in your building.

You hate it, it's loud and annoying and people keep trying your locked door. Probably so they can come and hook up on your bed, fucking animals. It's not even like you dislike the people in your building, you just hate parties.

It's moments like these that make you curse your minimum wage job, if only you could have a mini fridge. You wouldn't have to go out there to get the lemonade you so desperately wanted. You've been arguing with yourself over it for a good twenty minutes.

You tried texting your roommate, then calling but she's probably borderline dry humping some guy in the middle of your living room right now. You kind of respect her ability to do that, envy it sometimes. And anyway, you'll probably hear about this guy's sexual skills tomorrow over lunch.

When you finally come to the conclusion that you're doomed to have to leave the sanctuary of your bedroom, you reluctantly open the door. The noise is worse out here. It's shitty club music and the bass is so hard that the cups on the table near the speaker are shaking. Like you expected, your roommate has her tongue down someone's throat, the girl from the floor above actually. She has short brown hair and so far, in your three years of living here you haven't seen her not in a flannel. Upon a quick look around you find that most of your younger neighbours are here.

You almost drop your phone when your eyes land on Keegan. Not only is he so rarely home, because of deployment, you also never took him as a party goer. Equally you find him incredibly attractive and have made a consistent fool of yourself around him, he's always friendly but you assume that's because your best friend is hot and also a bit of a psycho. The last time you saw him, you walked into the door of the lift and your friend simply told him that she knew where he lived, he grinned but nodded and kept his laughter to a minimum or at least he tried to.

You turn so quickly that you walk straight into the boy who lives across the hall from you. He's sweet really, you apologise and hope that Keegan didn't see that because that would be yet another time you made a fool out of yourself, and in your own house. God all you wanted was lemonade.

You look down at the floor and try not to come off as embarrassed as you feel, you just want to get back to your room as fast as you can. When you finally make it to the fridge you grab the lemonade but notice that you've still got left over whipped cream. Your roommate convinced you to get some the last time you went shopping, you can't really remember why but it's there now.

You can't resist it, so you tilt your head back and squirt some into your mouth. As you go to replace the cream you're stopped by a voice, a voice you can place immediately. One that makes your knees weak.

“Got any left?” Keegan looks down at you, his mask concealing all but his steely blue eyes.

“Um what?” You heard what he said but you're frozen and it's like your brain has gone into low power mode.

“Whipped cream.” He clarifies, looking between you and the canister. You stare at him, you probably look like such an idiot.

“You want some?” You ask as if you don't know, as if it's not incredibly obvious.

“Yeah, just squirt some in my mouth.” You try to ignore how dirty that sounded and also try to stop your mind from drifting to how he would sound saying other things.

He pulls his mask up just over his nose. “Um okay?” You reach up but the angle is awkward, you haven't really processed how much taller than you he actually is. “Sorry you can just…um.” You hold the whipped cream out for him but he shakes his head.

You give him a confused look and he lowers himself onto his knees in front of you opening his mouth.

You stare down at him utterly bewildered, a smirk plays on his lips as he looks at your expression.

“Better?”

You stare, glued to the spot and completely frozen for a moment before you come back to reality and conscious thought.

“Um yeah..”

He opens his mouth again and you press down on the nozzle until the cream fills his mouth. You try desperately to keep your thoughts from wondering. You hope he doesn't know how much that affected you but the flush on your cheeks probably does nothing to hide it.

“Thanks princess.” He smirks as he gets up and rolls his mask back over his lips. You take a moment before putting the whipped cream back just to regain your motor control.

The image of him on the floor in front of you with a mouth full of whipped cream will be burned into your retinas for the rest of your life and did he just call you princess? Fuck, now you needed to go back to your room but for a whole different reason.

[serialseance]

How to: dress like Will Graham

Basics: plaid shirts, double pocket button up shirts, slacks, dress shoes, blazers, waterproof jackets, grey T-shirt and boxers as pajamas. Glasses, watch, other accessories

Materials: leather, polyester, cotton, flannel, wool

Colours: all muted cool tones, with some pops of brown, green, and red. Mainly blue, grey, and cream

Brands: gap, Dr marten, L.L. bean, dickies, Forbes, Steve madden. Some vintage and some modern brands not added, but some accessories can be found in simple google search

Glasses: tortoise oval small frames, can be found in vintage sourced shops, or on firmoo, zenni, etc.

Watch: leather strap watch, vintage or modern and can be found in simple searches

Other accessories: wool or natural fibre frabric gloves, scarves, and beanies

This took like 4 episodes of Hannibal to create

[freesia-writes]

Ch 26: Confrontation

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.2k

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Song: “Already Gone” by Sleeping At Last (Cover)

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The afternoon was beginning to lose its battle against evening as Hunter wove his way through the trees, his gut protesting each step along the familiar path. His mind was racing so quickly that he was utterly lost in it all, instead trying to simply focus on where he was going rather than what he would do when we got there. He pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, then pulled them back down, then tugged at the waistband of his brown pants. As the sound of the sea grew louder, he emerged from the densely wooded forest into the meadows that sloped toward the cliffs above the ocean. The rickety white fence greeted him with its crooked posts grinning in a cruel smile, and he pulled the gate open with more force than he intended, stalking toward the cottage and trudging right up to the front door.

He knocked, three hard blows that sounded as angry as he felt. 

No response. 

He listened intently for any trace of motion or sound within. 

Nothing. 

He turned abruptly and walked around the side of the house, scanning the backyard and garden until his eyes settled on her form, bent over some vegetable plants as she pulled weeds without a care in the world.

Without a care in the world.

Hunter took a deep breath, setting his jaw with deliberation to avoid letting his emotions get the best of him. Strategy, he reminded himself. Everything came down to strategy. There was no point in abandoning reason, no matter how relentlessly the pain churned his stomach. He approached slowly, making a point to step on some dry twigs to announce his presence. Lyra stood up, shifting the basket on her arm as she glanced around the yard. Her brown hair was in a loose braid, her soft form covered by a rather shapeless cream-colored dress with a long brown cardigan on top. 

Then she saw him. 

The basket almost slipped from her elbow, but she caught it with a white-knuckled grip as she stared at him, mouth falling open slightly as a myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Hunter was surprised to see how they mimicked his own, and the sheer amount of thoughts and feelings attacking all at once created a sudden wave of nausea. He came within a few paces of her and stopped, keeping a healthy distance between them as his hands fidgeted at his side before he stopped them with tightly-crossed arms. 

“What are you doing here?” he growled, a million critical thoughts besieging him immediately at his question.

“I live here,” Lyra pointed out, eyebrows drawing together. “But you’ve got a lot of nerve just tromping right into my backyard… after what you did.” Her anger felt brittle, a thin veil over the sadness that threatened to spill out along with the tears in her eyes.

“What I did?” Hunter echoed, dropping his arms to his side as he stared at her in disbelief. “What I did?! That’s rich. Why didn’t you just turn me in from the start? Why drag me to some other planet? Why just me, and not all of us?” The questions were flowing freely now, and his frustration at his own lack of control made it all feel that much worse. “You call it in and then disappear, like a coward… Couldn’t stand to watch the consequences of your own actions?” 

“What?” came her dumbfounded retort, and the shock in her eyes gave him pause before the dragon in his chest rose again. 

“Now you’re going to play dumb?” he challenged, relishing her flicker of hurt before charging onward. “Came back to finish the job and you’re still pretending like you don’t know what’s going on?”

“Hunter, you left me!” she exclaimed, eyes glistening. “I cared for you, let you in… And you turned around and sold me out without even knowing all the facts!”

“Sold you out…” 

“Were you just waiting all along until you could get both of us? How long did you know?”

“About what?” he challenged, anger and hurt battling for center stage as he stared at her beneath hard brows.

“Never mind. I can’t believe you’re turning this around on me,” Lyra said, voice cracking with emotion. She turned away, shoulders hunched in despair as she quickly wiped her eyes. 

“Are they coming here next?” Hunter continued, taking a step closer.

“Who?” she asked, whirling back to face him. 

“Whoever you thought you could make a quick buck from,” he muttered, fighting back the lump rising in his throat, furious at its mere existence. “Is that why you came back? The Empire isn’t very forgiving when you don’t deliver. Must have been a real bummer that I got away, eh?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, face contorted with despair. “I came back to the hotel to find it swarming with Imperials. They were looking for us. They knew I was there. Breslin, too. I heard one of them say ‘they’ll be back, he said so.’ What does that sound like to you?” 

He took a breath, mouth open and mind racing, but the words didn’t come, so he snapped his jaw shut, pressing his lips together in a thin line as he stared at her. The complete impassivity on his face hurt her more than his sharp words ever could, and Lyra turned away again, throwing her basket on the ground nearby. Hunter’s brows furrowed more deeply, and he rubbed his face with a hand before starting again. 

“You’re a traitor to the Republic,” he said quietly, every word laced with vitriol. “It’s not my fault they found you – you probably gave yourself away trying to turn me in.” 

“Turn you in for what?!” she yelled, kicking the basket before whirling back to face him.

“Why are you still pretending to be innocent? That you don’t know?” Hunter said, voice rising to match hers. All sense of strategy had flown out the window, and he found himself wanting to hurt her, to exact revenge for every single moment she’d tricked him into thinking he could be happy. “That we’re clones, wanted by the Empire, harboring fugitives, on the run?” Each inflection was a verbal stab, but instead of any kind of dark revelation at being exposed, Lyra’s expression grew increasingly shocked with each admission. 

“Clones…?” she repeated, face scrunched in disbelief. Her befuddlement seemed so authentic that Hunter was beginning to feel as though he were the crazy one. But what other explanation was there? He continued to glare, emanating rage and indignation as he watched her like a hawk, scrambling to make sense of the conflicting information from her words and the events that had transpired. 

“Why else would the Empire have called an entire squadron on our hotel room, right after you conveniently disappeared? After you…” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “After you kissed me on the forehead and said you were sorry. Sorry for what?” The pain was threatening to overtake the anger, but he clenched his fists at his sides.

“Sorry for keeping things from you,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks now. Her resolve was melting by the second, chipping away at his own fortified defenses. “About my past… About Breslin… The truth about all that had happened. I thought I could leave it behind.” 

Hunter took a deep breath, glowering at her as though it could drive the answers out into the open. It didn’t. The two of them stood in the garden, each one rooted in angry confusion and insulting misunderstanding. Lyra was slowly wilting, unable to look at him. When the discomfort grew to an unbearable pressure, she began to speak, exhaling her story in miserable resignation. 

“I thought I was working for a simple political office on Coruscant. But I found out they were doing some weird experiments. Totally unethical and downright cruel… something about cloning or DNA stripping… I tried to expose it; I gathered some evidence and took it above my boss’s head. I thought I was doing the right thing… But I went to the wrong people. They were in on it too.” 

She stopped, grief overtaking her for a moment as she sniffed, looking to the sky and willing the tears to stop. Hunter waited, motionless. 

“So they threw me in prison to make sure I wouldn’t talk anymore, spun some story about how I was a traitor, and the Republic became the Empire overnight. I’d given Breslin the evidence and made escape plans for her with a friend before they took me away. I was in jail for weeks, and I started to see how other inmates would just vanish without a trial or anything… So when some shady pirate dressed as a guard came by and offered me a chance to get out and disappear, I took it.”

Now it was she who paused for a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes again, still unable to meet his gaze. 

“I tried to find Breslin, but her transport had been attacked. Our friend was killed, and I had no idea where she ended up. The pirate conned me out of almost everything I had, talked me into some ‘deluxe package’ to keep me safe. Turns out it was a load of Bantha fodder – a pile of cheap weapons and explosives. What was I supposed to do with that? But he found a safe place for me to live, and I was able to get some long-range communications equipment so I could keep looking for her.”

“What, so you could get the evidence back?” 

“No,” Lyra said, finally looking up at him in offense. “Because Breslin is my daughter.”

Hunter stared wordlessly. 

“I had her when I was young and dumb. We almost grew up together. Then all of this happened. I felt horrible for dragging her into it. I never should have given it to her. I put her in danger too. And then I lost her… for years,” her voice cracked, and she clamped her mouth shut, turning away as her shoulders shook with irrepressible grief. “I would change a million things about it if I could. So many stupid decisions. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Seconds ticked by. 

“Apparently, Breslin settled down on Keytoll,” Lyra continued, lifting her chin to the horizon. “She changed her name to Neon, shaved her head… Made some friends, got a good job in data encryption. When she dug into the evidence I’d given her, she realized it was nothing she wanted to be caught up in, so she hid it and moved on. Claimed that her hobby was playing around with radios, technology, and communicators while she tried to reach me. But we hadn’t had time to set up any kind of code or whatnot. She was the smart one who broadcast a message with some childhood memories disguised as an audioholo that I picked up. Anyway… I found her… I thought we could come back here and be safe… just live simple lives without the constant fear of looking over our shoulders…”

Hunter hated how much that same yearning resonated deeply with him. 

“I don’t know how they found us, if it wasn’t you,” she said softly, turning back to face him with a scrutinizing expression. “We hid on Keytoll for the last few months, came up with a plan. Well, Breslin did. She had some contact that turned out to be the same pirate who helped me escape from prison. He had quite a... bold... personality. Tried to con us again, but she was smart enough to catch it. So with his help, we faked our deaths, published it to the right sources… Then I came back here in the hopes of moving on once and for all.”

“And Breslin?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“More secrets?” His eyes narrowed.

“Why would I tell you?” Lyra retorted, her anger returning. 

He remained silent, the deep hurt of betrayal and loss of trust muddied by the utter confusion and sheer overload of information. 

“Besides,” she continued, advancing on him now. “What’s all this about you? You’re a clone? A fugitive?” 

Hunter shifted on his feet, furious at himself for having revealed his hand in a moment of recklessness. He still wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. It sounded like a plausible story, but he’d been so shamefully fooled by her entire facade that it could be yet another cover-up, a ploy to let his guard down again for whatever else she needed. Perhaps she wanted to protect her own place of safety by taking him elsewhere for capture. He shook his head, rattling the thoughts out of the way, and met her gaze. Two pairs of brown eyes locked in hurt and outrage. 

“There’s all kinds of stories out there. Same as you… Lies of the Empire to get rid of any opposition.”

“Oh, now you’re gonna be vague?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. 

Lyra looked down at her basket, its contents strewn across the ground, then wrapped her arms around herself as though barely holding it together. She glanced back up to him with a single, profound look. 

“Take care, Hunter.” 

And with that, she turned toward the house, picking her way through the garden beds with slow, defeated steps. Hunter’s eyes darted back and forth across the ground in front of him, lips twitching, then he crossed his arms again. 

“Just giving up and running away?” he called after her, despising every word as it came out. 

Lyra stopped, head hanging low, and he watched her shoulders slump beneath the weight of his cruel accusation. She began to turn, but hesitated, tightened her arms around herself, and continued into the house, disappearing inside without a backward glance. 

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Song: A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera – Say Something Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

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[ryegarden]

get these things off of me!!!! trying to raise £7,500 by July this year so I can get rid of these fuckers by the time I graduate. Big goal! Maybe more possible with help?

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[ID: a digital drawing of Frankie, a young white transmasculine person with short bleach blonde hair with dark roots showing. He's drawn in three poses: one standing in a brown sweater and dark grey trousers with a dotted line and scissors drawn over his chest, one sitting cross legged and facing away in brown trousers and a brown t-shirt, and one of the shoulders up, his face in one hand and looking to the side, wearing a flannel shirt over a black roll neck. The image is drawn in neutral brown tones on a grey background with cream coloured sketchy stars, and in the upper right corner in block capitals it reads "let's get Frankie's tits chopped off!". End ID]

[smok3r7]

Christmas Getaway // One-shot

Joel Miller x Softball coach F!reader

Explicit, 18+

My series Masterlist & My Main Masterlist - My Ao3

Summary: You met Joel by coincidence. You picked up a little side job to be a high school softball coach for fun, and Sarah was one of your top players. Sarah introduces you to Joel after the first game and both of you hit it off immediately. The three of you grow closer throughout the year and end up spending the holidays together on a getaway trip. Joel treats you to a nice night.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Age gap (28/40), NO outbreak AU, sexual tension, dry humping, oral (giving), fingering, possessive dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cream pie, squirting 2x, overstimulation, porn w/ plot, mutual pinning

—Hi babes🩷 I hope every one has a wonderful holiday season, I love you all! I’m thankful for you all who have given my writing a chance and I’m so thrilled to be putting out more for you guys! Hope you like this little personal piece I had😚

—

“GO ALL THE WAY SARAH!!” You scream as you frantically swing your arm in a circle telling her to not stop, second and third base are loaded and Sarah just hit a line-drive between second and third base which whizzed by shortstop AND the left-fielder. The two girls on base run home and Sarah is halfway to third when you hear a deep southern voice boom from your right, “GO BABY GO!!”

Too focused on Sarah to look at the mystery man, you notice an outfielder throwing the ball to the pitcher and Sarah just rounded third base. You’re sweating from the nerves and from the scorching Texas sun just beating down on you. The girls in the dugout behind you are incoherently screaming, the pitcher releases the ball to the catcher at home, however, Sarah is the fastest on the team! “SLIDE! SLIDE” you scream but there’s an echo to it, it’s the same smooth voice that makes you weak in the knees.

Sarah slides into home base and collides with the catcher, you wince as dirt and dust are all that’s visible to the naked eye. The cheers have turned into dead silence, the heavy breaths of players and family members is all that could be heard. All your team needs to win is this one run, Sarah’s run, otherwise it's a tie. Your heart is about to lunge out of your chest, you’re repeatedly muttering to yourself, “you got this girl! You so got it Sarah! You’re safe!”

The Umpire puts his hand up as he swats the cloud of dirt away from the air, you see Sarah’s body on the plate with the catcher on top of her but the ball isn’t in her hand, you smirk as you see the ball on the ground next to the catcher's head. The Ump swipes his hands and grunts, “SAFE”.

The crowd behind your players start to hoot and holler, your whole dugout roars and runs out to Sarah. But you’re the first one to her, as she stands up and throws her helmet to the ground next to her, “WE WON!” She shouts with almost a disbelief tone.

You pick her up in a hug and spin her once then set her back on her feet, “BECAUSE OF YOU SARAH!” She’s smiling ear to ear as she looks at you, by now the whole team is surrounding Sarah. The mixture of laughter, tears, and shrieks erupts from the team of teenagers. The first game of the season is off to a pretty good start, your body is warm on the inside as you see your players bounce with excitement.

“SARAH, SARAH, SARAH.” A chant echoes behind you, you turn and see the family of your girls entering the field with smiles and claps, but this one man in front sticks out to you. He’s wearing a fitting Texas Longhorn football T-shirt, that looks worn, with an orange & black flannel unbuttoned over it, a pair of dark blue jeans with what look to be work boots, but what catches your attention is his beautiful face. His short but curly chocolate and silver hair and his thick but kinda patchy beard, with his trademark brown eyes match together almost too perfectly.

“DAD! I DID IT!” Sarah breaks away from her teammates and sprints towards this man who you’ve been eyeing, and she practically knocks him to the ground as she jumps and wraps herself like a monkey around him like he’s a massive tree. “Yes you did baby girl! I’m so proud of you!” You hear him chuckle as he hugs her tightly, you don’t realize that you’re staring and smiling. Until Tiffany, one of your players, booty bumps your hip and whispers, “That’s Joel, Sarah’s dad. You two would be pretty cute together.” You laugh at her and tell her to knock it off, now turning and looking at your girls you yell, “Okay all my ladies, meet me in center-field!���

After praising the girls about how well they played today, you reminded them that the season will be tough and to not let today make them cocky, but to continue to learn and have fun with it! “RedHawks on three! ONE, TWO, THREE, REDHAWKS!” The huddle of the team yell in unison with their hands in the air! The girls all scatter to their belongings then to their families and as you’re walking back to the dugout to collect your things, you hear Sarah yell, “Hey coach! Wait up!” You turn around and see Sarah with Joel, Sarah wasting no time introducing you, “Coach this is my Dad, Dad this is my coach!”

“Nice to meet you…Sarah’s Dad” You reply with a chuckle, you reach your hand out to shake his, the large hand completely covering your small hand as he shakes and smiles, “It’s nice to meet you Sarah’s Coach!” And you two have hit it off since that moment in the middle of February, at your first game of the season.

—

It’s now mid December, the twenty-third to be exact, you and Joel have been officially dating since July. You still have your own apartment, which you rarely stay at now since Joel and Sarah begged that you stay with them, but you insist on having it available because you like having your own space once in a while, but you also want to have a backup just in case. Joel has brought up the idea of selling it but you refuse, only because this relationship is fresh and you don’t want to be stuck with nothing if it goes bad.

Especially with the holidays coming up, which always seemed to be the downfall for you. For example; Thanksgiving was boring like the last five years, until Joel and Sarah invited you over for their celebration with his family. You felt so loved, which you haven’t felt from your own family since they discovered you dropped out of college. They were not thrilled to hear that, you immediately became the disappointment of the family, even though your brother, who’s five years younger than you, had just had a baby out of wedlock. But somehow you still took the cake as the awful child, you didn’t care at this point, they were all pieces of shits anyway.

“What do you think darlin’?” Joel’s voice breaks your train of memories, you got so distracted you honestly don’t know what he and Sarah were just discussing. “Um, say that one more time, I'm sorry!” You reply as you take a sip of hot chocolate and set it on the table next to Joel, Sarah just made it for you all after Joel put dinner away. “We were talking about how we should go out to Tommy’s lake house for Christmas weekend, we’ll have to leave tomorrow, just so we can get away!” Sarah chirps from her seat on the other end of the couch from you and Joel, who are snuggled underneath a warm quilt blanket.

“Yes we so should! I’ll just have to stop by my place and grab some things!” You happily smile at Sarah, who is now jumping from her seat with joy. “YES! Finally another girl I can hang out with there!” The three of you laugh for a minute and she quickly says, “Wait…I’m gonna go pack!” She sprints upstairs before either of you can say anything. “That girl, she is something else.” Joel chuckles to himself as he takes a sip out of his navy coffee mug.

“Just like her father, always up to something.” You reply with a smirk as you lightly elbow his side, “Makes sense why you fit right in with us.” He whistles right back with no hesitation, that’s one thing you love about Joel, how he can come back with jokes and not be offended. You hum as you move in closer to his side, he lifts his free arm and puts it around your shoulder as you lean into him.

Looking around the living room, you feel fuzzy on the inside, almost like a little girl during Christmas. The decorated tree is filled with Sarah’s baby ornaments, Joel’s favorites, and now, with Joel and Sarah insisting, some of your own favorite ornaments. Your eyes then move to the fireplace and mantle, you were proud of yourself, Joel wasn’t much of a decorator, so you took the opportunity to spruce up his house more than just a tree and some lights.

You put a light blue cloth over the top of the white wooden mantle, a little over a dozen little trees in a couple clusters in each corner, and a string of white lights - this little touch made the fireplace and living room feel more festive, Joel and Sarah loved it.

“I think a getaway isn’t a bad idea,” Joel states, you two still looking at the tv which is playing a rerun of an SVU episode, “Tommy’s got a pretty cool spot about two hours out of town, he bought it for himself on his twenty-sixth birthday.” You’re looking up at him now, you love when he talks about his family, it makes you happy that he still talks with them.

“Well,” you start as you sit up and swing your leg over his hips so you’re now sitting on his lap and looking into his eyes, “If you insist,” even though you already decided to go in your head, you wanted to play with Joel a little bit, “I do have a hard time saying ‘no’ to you Miller.” You’re playing with the curls on the back of his neck as he wraps the blanket behind your waist and it’s so big that Joel has some draped by his legs.

His hands are resting on your thighs while his thumbs rub small circles on the inner part close to your purring pussy, causing drops of arousal to soak your panties, “Why would you want to say ‘no’ to a fun time?” Joel’s words flow out of his mouth like silk, you hate that he knows the effect he has on you, yet you couldn’t ask for anything better.

Your face heats up and you slowly roll your hips onto his cock, Joel chokes back a moan - honestly you had the same effect on him, which you loved. His eyes are locked on your covered cunt that is grinding on his restrained cock, you tug his face up by his hair and kiss him with teeth and tongue. “Dad do yo-“ Sarah walks around the corner and sees you two practically going at it, “Get a room you guys, jesussss.” She blinds her eyes with her hand and laughs as you scramble off Joel’s lap, almost falling onto the floor before Joel catches you.

“Weren't you packing?” Joel questions with a half serious, half joking tone to it as he pulls you back onto his lap, but now you’re laying on his chest. Sarah starts to rebuttal but Joel cuts her off and you can’t help but laugh at the situation, she just just caught her dad and he is slowly losing his patience. His hands are stroking your back which tells you, he wants you, bad.

“I was just gonna ask if we’ll be there just for the weekend or the week?” Sarah scoffs as stands there, “Just the weekend, the two of us still have jobs dear. Now go finish, we’ll watch a movie in a little bit.” Joel responds as he looks at her with a painful grin across his face, you can tell he is struggling to hold it together. “National Lampoon's??” Sarah chirps up, you look at her and go, “Duh!” She does a fist pump and a little ‘yessss’ as she runs away to her bedroom.

“Really? Lampoon’s?” Joel chuckles as he looks down into your eyes, “It’s only the best Christmas movie ever…besides the Grinch.” You remark as you put both hands flat on his chest and rest your chin on them and continue to talk about each movie. You honestly loved Lampoon’s and the Grinch, you grew up watching them and as you’ve gotten older, they’ve become a lot funnier.

Joel, still stroking your back, just looks at you as you rave about these two hilarious movies, you don’t notice but he’s in complete awe of you right now. In his mind he’s thinking about how you’re the one, the one for Sarah, and the one for him. You have him wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even notice it, Joel would do just about anything for you, he really does love you. He’s gonna make you his little wife someday, a mom to Sarah, and who knows, maybe a baby of your own with Joel.

“Hellooo?” You’re now waving your hands in front of his face, “Is Joel Miller in there?” You laugh at him staring into space, after you were done explaining your thoughts you had asked Joel what was his favorite, but all he did was stare at you when you asked. “Sorry darlin’, just got lost in thought. What did you ask?” He asks as he moves a piece of hair behind your ear, his warm touch on your face makes you melt. God you love this man so much, and he doesn’t even know the half of it.

You laugh as you ask him, “I asked what’s your favorite Christmas movie?” He throws his head back onto the couch and chuckles, “You’re gonna laugh, Sarah thinks it’s ridiculous.” You now wrap your arms around his torso and turn your head to listen to his heartbeat, “So what? I just went on and on about mine. I still wanna know yours.” You mumble as you take a whiff of him and you smile, he smells like a mix of hot chocolate, cinnamon, and sweat. You are actually addicted to the way he smells, you wish you could smell like him all the time, so everyone knows who you belong to.

“Well, I love the original Charlie Brown: Christmas. It was Sarah’s favorite when she was a toddler, it was on repeat all the time, so it’s just got a special place in my heart for my little girl, who’s not so little anymore.” Joel confesses with a hint of sadness towards the end of his sentence. Your smile fades a little bit at the bittersweet memory, but you still chime out, “I think that’s precious. We should watch it while we’re away, all three of us.”

Joel now has his muscular arms wrapped around your body and his lips on top of your head, he leaves a couple kisses then mumbles, “I would like that, more than you know.” You leave a couple kisses on his chest and you softly reply, “It’s a date then.” Joel hums in your hair and you two stay latched on to one another for what seems like eternity, both of you slowly putting each other to sleep by the rhythm of your breathing.

—

“Are we there yetttt?” Sarah drags out with a groan from the back seat of the truck, you roll your eyes and chuckle at her for, yet again, asking how much longer. The three of you are about ten minutes away from Tommy’s lake house, but Sarah has asked throughout the entire trip which ended up taking longer than two hours because of Christmas Eve traffic, but you can’t really be upset, she’s just really excited.

Joel, on the other hand, was getting very irritated each time she asked, only because he knows that Sarah has been here many times and knows how long it takes, even counting holiday traffic. You could obviously tell he was upset but Sarah had no idea just because she never sees her dad upset, what a blessing that is. “GPS says about ten minutes left until we’re there! You can wait just a little bit longer girl!” You turn around in the passenger seat and inform her before Joel lets out the irritation that now has turned to anger, out on Sarah, you understood his frustration but she doesn’t need to feel the wrath of it.

Sarah cheers and then puts her headphones back on and goes back to doing whatever she was doing on her phone, you chuckle under your breath and turn back around. “Thank you.” Joel mumbles as he puts his calloused, yet still soft, hand on your inner thigh closest to him, still looking out at the road in front of him. “Of course.” Is all you say as you stare out your window at the beautiful woods you’re driving through - you’re absolutely floored by the beauty of it all, you honestly didn’t know Texas had parts that looked like this. The last couple minutes of your drive are silent other than the radio playing random Christmas songs, you’re so excited to get away from the city for a weekend, the holidays even.

Joel makes a final right turn down a steep dirt track hill, which is bumpy to say the least, but it’s surrounded by the tall trees you’ve been enthralled with. Your stomach is in knots, you’re not sure why, probably just really excited for something out of your norm. “Well darlin’, welcome to the Miller family lake house.” Joel smoothly tells you as he makes a slight left turn and you finally see what these two have been raving about. “Holy shit.” Is all that comes out of your mouth, which drops at the sight of this magnificent home in front of you.

It’s almost like a fucking mansion, no it IS a mansion, it looks like it could be four homes in one. The beautiful dark gray paint and matching roof with cream colored shutters and gutters that match together perfectly are what initially draws you in, but what makes it, are the windows. The massive floor to ceiling glass throughout almost the whole home nearly brings tears to your eyes, It's so beautiful. You’re still breathless as Joel parks the truck and you step out the passenger seat, you strut down the couple steps in front of the house and walk down the dock that has a pontoon boat with two jet skis next to it.

You reach the edge of the dock and gaze out at the beautiful water that now starts at your feet and you catch how the sun setting casts a reflection that is just breathtaking. The sky is a mix of purples, pinks, and oranges that mix like a Bob Ross painting, it almost doesn’t seem real. A cool breeze blows by, making you wrap your lace black shawl tighter around yourself, not the best idea to wear shorts and a tank top.

Turning your head to the right, you notice there’s even a little section of beach that looks to be on Tommy’s side of the property. There’s a line of lake houses on either side of his, but this one was the only one that stuck out to you. You can't believe that Tommy bought this, or even that you’re allowed here.

Suddenly, a pair of hoodie covered arms wrap around your waist and a familiar scratch of a beard cradles in your neck, you lean back into the known touch and hum. “What do you think?” He asks between warm kisses to your soft spot, “It’s- I’m-,” still at a loss for words on how this is possible, you stutter, “This place is incredible.” Joel’s warm breaths on your neck from him chuckling sends a shiver down your spine, the tiniest things he does have such an impact on you. “I’m glad you’re able to be here, I love that Sarah and I can share this with you.”

You open your mouth to thank him for being so generous to you, but before you can, Sarah’s loud voice from the house behind you yells, “You two love birds gonna come help or what?!” You look up at Joel and you both start to die of laughter, Sarah always had this timing, every damn time. In your fit of laughter he ends up turning you around and deeply kisses you, causing your laughter to come to a halt. You kiss him back with intensity, so much so that your mind convinces you that you two are the only things floating in space right now. You truly love this man, you love everything he does to and for you - Joel is everything you’ve been looking for.

Joel pulls away from your lips with a pop, leaving you feeling dizzy and hungry for more. Staring into each other's eyes and foreheads resting on the others, Joel coos, “We should probably go help before she gets bitchy with us.” This makes you throw your head back and laugh, “Fucking teenagers.” Joel puts his arm over your shoulder and you two walk back towards the truck to unload the gifts and your luggage. “Fuckin teenagers is right my dear.” He repeats your words with a chuckle in his chest that echoes across the top of the water.

—

After the three of you emptied the truck of your belongings and you all picked which room to stay in, you had made dinner. Sarah put in a special request for your classic breakfast for dinner, cinnamon french toast with sausage and bacon, something so simple but delicious. You had the time of your life cooking, the kitchen was actually insane, the white marble countertop made your knees weak, the tall white cabinets that matched the drawers on the island made you drool. The sink and stove was a stunning stainless steel with gold trim, this place was literally your dream home.

Dinner had been made and put away, Joel cleaned up the kitchen while you and Sarah put simple lights on the tall tree that was in the spacious living room. It was around two AM by the time she was satisfied with how the tree looked with the lights and presents underneath, you three decided to plop down on the white leather couch and turn on “A Charlie Brown Christmas”.

After the movie finished, you notice Joel and Sarah smiling ear to ear. “Good idea on watching this dad, definitely a good one. But I’m gonna go out on the beach for a little bit before bed,” Sarah announces as she gets up from the couch, “Love you guys and Merry Christmas.” She kisses the top of your head then Joel’s, you can’t believe it. “Love you too.” Joel and you both repeat in a heartbeat as you turn your head to look at her, she’s smiling at you as she opens the slider and walks outside.

“Did you hear that?” Your ears perk up from the voice next to you, you smirk as you turn your attention back to Joel, getting nose-to-nose with him and you whisper, “She said it!” His large hands are running up and down your thighs that lay over his perpendicularly, still staring down one another and giggling, he swiftly picks you up bridal style and starts to head for your guys bedroom for the weekend.

—

Joel’s leaving kisses to your neck as he climbs the white oak staircase and rounds the corner, his beard scraping that sweet spot that makes you crave more as he passes the bathroom and reaches the dark brown wooden door. He smoothly turns to his side and pushes the door open, you’re greeted with the smell of cinnamon and a woodsy kind of scent which makes you feel right at home. “Now,” Joel starts as he sets you down on the firm mattress, pulls his black tshirt off, and stands between your legs, you’re now eye level with his cock - mouth salivating as you see how hard he is for you.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” Joel seductively asks as his right hand grips your chin and makes you look up at him. “Yes sir.” You purr as you set either hand on his thighs, just starving to get a taste of him in any way. He bends down, still gripping your chin, and plants a needy kiss on your lips, but before you can reciprocate, he pulls away and stands back up now letting go of you, “It’s all yours then darlin’.”

A smirk grows on your cheeks as your hands leave his thighs and onto his belt, you excitedly undo it, his jeans unzipping and falling to the ground not far behind. Only his dark green boxers hold his throbbing cock from your watering mouth, you glance back up to his face and Joel has this smirk where he looks like he’s gazing at an angel. Knowing that he’s looking at you like this, makes your pussy flutter and arousal drip into your panties. Still sitting on the bed and looking up at him, you slowly move your head closer to his cock and leave kitten kisses along the outline, causing him to jump and let a moan crawl out his throat.

“Quit playing games sweetheart.” He threatens under his breath, you leave one more kiss at the tip which is peaking above his waistband, causing a shot of pre-cum across his slit. Before he can say anything else, you slide his boxers down his thick thighs and watch as his cock bounces onto his tummy, his pre-cum leaving his happy trail wet. You spit into your palm and softly grab his leaking, red-flushed cock letting a big drop of spit fall from your mouth onto his tip and you start to stroke him. “Mhmm” Joel hums above you, you love when he’s vocal, gives you a boost of confidence in yourself.

After a few strokes, you put your hot mouth centimeters away from his pleading cock, you slowly bring your other hand underneath to lightly jostle his balls at the same time you slide him in your mouth. Causing whimpers to escape Joel’s mouth, your jaw having to unhinge so he can fill you completely, drool is spilling from the corners of your cock-filled mouth. “Oh yeah- that’s my pretty girl. Taking all my cock like the good girl she is.” Joel moans as he starts to rock his hips into your face, his cock now hitting the back of your throat which makes you gag on him, but that doesn’t stop you or Joel. Tears start to fill your eyes and roll onto your cheek, but from pure pleasure, you love when Joel fucks your face and uses you however he wants.

Both of your hands back on his thighs to steady yourself as he fucks your mouth and groans, “Love when you’re stuffed with my cock, makes you dumb in the head afterwards.” After a few more pumps he drags himself out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your plump lips to his throbbing tip as you pull away. You are in a complete daze, Joel was right, you are dumb in the head afterwards.

“Look at you, cock-drunk just off of that.” Joel taunts from above, you tilt your head up while leaning back on your hands and you bark back, “Is that right sir?” Before you finish your sentence, Joel is on top of you, ripping your tank top off of you and your bra right after, then his warm mouth is smothering your tits with bites and kisses. Your moans echo off the walls in your enclosed bedroom, both of your legs bent to allow Joel to slide your panties and shorts off.

Your hands search for any part of Joel so you can scratch or pull something, you want to leave reminders of tonight on his skin. “Look at you. My pretty girl is all wet for me already, does sucking me off turn you on that much?” Joel growls as he brings his fingers to your slit, he swipes two of his fingers starting from your asshole and ending at your clit. This gets you every time, your body does a slight shake from the sudden contact on your pussy. “Fuck!” You cry out as your back arches off the sheets under you, “Yeahhh…you love it.” Joel huffs as he brings his fingers back to your throbbing cunt, he circles your clit, then his middle and ring finger tease your pulsating hole.

“C’mon baby, I need you so bad.” You plead with him as you look in his eyes over your warm face and bring your hands to scratch his beard. Your hips are thrusting into his fingers to try to get him deeper, but Joel chuckles at you and goes, “That’s what you get for teasing me sweetheart.” You groan out of frustration at him and not being filled by Joel. You’re about to whine some more until your walls suddenly feel full as Joel’s fingers spread you open, his fingers hit deeper than your own ever could. “Yes. Yes.” You whisper over and over into his mouth as you hold his face to yours, Joel just smirking as you crumble into pieces in his hands.

As Joel continues to work his fingers in your tight cunt, you get this sudden urge to pee, you start to panic a bit, “Baby, stop - I think I’m gonna pee.” But Joel doesn’t let up, you're trying to claw away from him but his hold on you is too strong. “Joel - FUCK!” You sob when all of a sudden you arch your back and tilt your head back, you feel this gush release out of you and Joel is still working his fingers as clear liquid flies all over. You’re crying from the pleasure but also the pain from him circling your clit slowly, as he purrs, “That’s my girl, look at you. Making a mess on my fingers.”

Trying to catch your breath you laugh, “Holy fuck…I’ve never done that before..” Joel laughs with you as he rubs your skin from your thighs to your neck, “I’m gonna have to get you to do that more often.” Your ears are ringing as you hum in agreement, not being able to answer Joel with words. You lay there with your eyes closed trying to recoup yourself, as you hear him chuckle, “Woww, my girl is calling it quits already?”

One thing about yourself that Joel loves, is how cocky you get in bed, you always talk the biggest game yet, you’re usually the first one to tire out - you never quit though. Your eyes shoot open and you see his face inches away from yours, “I am not a quitter.” you confidently bark. “I didn’t think so.” Joel kisses you tenderly, you both moan into each other.

Still sensitive, you jolt as you feel Joel lineup his pulsating cock to your spent cunt, “A little jumpy huh?” Joel, drunk on your scent, says, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you darlin’.” Your fingers dig into his skin leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as he splits you open with his cock, you shout at the sudden intrusion in your sore pussy. “Oh sorry, did I say care?” Joel grunts as he finds a rhythm, which is a pounding kind of rhythm.

There’s so much you want to tell him but you physically can’t, all that leaves your throat are mixed whimpers and moans. “You like when I use you like a toy, don’t cha darlin’?” Joel bites as he grabs one of your peaked nipples and starts to pinch it, this causes you to yelp and that sensation creeps back into your body, your walls start to squeeze his cock. “Ooh, someone likes it, I feel your tight pussy suffocating me baby.” Joel growls and he brings his other hand between your bodies, stopping right above your aching clit. “Let me hear you say please, then you can let it all out sweet girl.” You hate when he does this, because he knows a part of you physically can’t speak, but you’ll be damned if he wins this time.

His cock then hits your cervix in a way that makes you holler, “please baby, please! Let me cum, pleaseee!” His fingers immediately fall to your clit and he rubs small yet effective circles, that’s all that it takes for your orgasm to rip out of you. Your voice breaks and your body goes stiff as liquid spills out of your cunt again,“That’s my gi-“ Joel chokes as he cums with you in your velvet walls. Joel’s body slumps on top of yours as you groan from his weight crushing you, “Get off meee.”

Joel laughs into your chest and rolls over on his side of the bed, as he catches his breath he jokes, “What? You don’t like being crushed?” You slap his chest and tell him to shut up, he chuckles as he gets up, puts his boxers back on and walks over to your side of the bed with his arms out. You just look at him, unable to speak from the two orgasms he pulled out of you, he shakes his head and coo’s, “C’mon darlin’, get you to the bathroom while I change the sheets.”

Grabbing Joel’s hands, you almost fall over as your feet hit the wood floor but Joel is right there to grab you. “Don’t even say it.” You sternly say to Joel, who is smiling like a kid with candy. He brings you to the bathroom connected to the bedroom, sits you on the toilet and walks back out to grab you a shirt to wear to bed. He walks back in with one of his shirts and slips it on you, he kisses your lips and walks back to the bed to change the sheets. You begin to pee, and you lean forward with your elbows digging into your thighs and your hands hold your intoxicated head up as your eyes close and a smile grows on your face as you sit there waiting for Joel to bring you back to bed.

Joel clearing his throat makes you open your eyes and you see him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed with this loving look on his face. You show your teeth with a big smile, put your arms up, and playfully whine, “Hi babyyy!” He just shakes his head and laughs at how cute you are after sex, “Hi sweetheart, you ready for bed?” You hum in agreement and nod your head, ready to lay in his arms again. Joel walks over to you, helps you stand, and walks with you to the bed with fresh gray sheets.

You slide in and get right underneath the comforter as Joel slides in next to you, he then pulls you in between his legs as you lay on your stomach with your head on his chest and your arms wrapped around his torso. He starts to stroke your back with his soft fingertips, his heart beat calm and finding the rhythm with yours, “Merry Christmas beautiful. I love you entirely.” Joel whispers into your hair with a kiss, you smile and somehow muster out, “Merry Christmas Joel, I love you more.” You feel his chest flutter from your words to him, you smirk as the two of you fall into a deep sleep.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Three digital drawings of Sam and Alice from The Magnus Protocol on gray backgrounds. Sam is a fat South Asian man with warm brown skin, short curly black hair, and a mustache and chin scruff. He is wearing small black earrings, a black cardigan, cream turtleneck, dark red trousers, brown and gold loafers with cream socks, and a lanyard with a white and red card on it. Alice is a lanky white woman with pale skin and freckles, fluffy light brown hair with faded pink tips, and crooked teeth. She is wearing snakebite lip piercings, three pairs of silver earrings, bright pink cat-eye glasses and painted nails, a black wrist cuff and a red and gold bracelet, a pink and grey flannel shirt, a black zip-up hoodie, a tiered flannel skirt with different colored tiers, dusty pink converse and brown socks, and a lanyard with a white and red card on it. The first two images are drawings of a bust and full body of both Sam and Alice respectively.

The second image is a drawing of Sam stumbling while Alice leans back over him, resting her head upside down on his shoulder with her arms crossed. In this image, Alice is wearing a pair of ripped jeans and berry colored socks instead, and Sam also has a pink and grey bracelet visible on his wrist. Both of them are smiling. end ID]

~~~~

it is time for the thems <3

[loveshotzz]

tell me about older flower shop owner steve leighanne. pls. i would be going in REGULARLY to buy fresh flowers for my apothecary uses 🫣

He wears thin rimmed tortoise shell glasses, hair always a little bit messy from both his hands running through it every time he steps back to look at a freshly built bouquet. He’s always got some kind of flannel button up with the sleeves rolled up, top few buttons undone so you can see the peek of chest hair that sneaks out the top of the tank top underneath. The apron he owns is a cream canvas, silver buckles and dark brown straps. There’s always stains of red and pink that mix with green smattered all over it.

You’ve been coming in once a week buying fresh flowers for your boss's office for almost two months now, always a little shy when he greets you with the kind of smile that makes your knees weak. He notices it more when he’s got a salt and pepper five o’clock shadow.

He searches for any trace of a wedding band everytime you come in, noticing the way your visits start to get longer and longer as the months go on. Fingers touching gentle petals as you look and smell everything he has to offer.

Steve finally works up the courage after months of small talk to ask you if your boyfriend gets you flowers since you never get any for yourself. He does his best not to grin like an idiot when you turn into a stuttering mess, your lashes fluttering against your heated cheeks when you admit you don’t have one.

It’s the best news he’s heard, because now he can get the pretty girl he thinks about non stop the flowers she deserves.