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tieronecrush · 7 months

Text

BNBG (brand new baby girl)

frankie morales x curvy OF/cam girl f!reader

summary: frankie has been needing distractions from a hurdle in his sobriety, so he ventures to his frequented subscription service platform to take his mind off things. he sees the title of your page, intrigued immediately, and dives deep into your content. catching your attention on a livestream with his confident commands, frankie becomes infatuated with you and an avid viewer before he decides to DM you one day...and then ends up with a brand new baby girl.

wc: 11k

rating: E (very)

warnings: daddy kink!! **cover does not depict anything about the reader, simply vibes of softness**, vague descriptions of reader's body (plush, thick, curves, soft, etc. no definite descriptors used otherwise. picture her as you want but she is mid to plus size in my head 🫶), no age specified (only that reader started out of college, no specifications of when she went to school), discussions of addiction & drug use, childless frankie au, sex work, sex livestream, consumption of porn, unestablished relationship, online relationship, pet names (conejita, baby, babygirl, pequeña, bunny, etc.), gratuitous descriptions of frankie's dick, SMUT, male masturbation, female masterbation, sex toys, both frankie & reader have thoughts about the other (unprotected piv, fingering, oral, etc.), major dirty talk, d/s dynamics, some fluff sprinkled in <3, this might be lowkey problematic that frankie uses porn to cope (esp reader's porn) buuuuut hopefully it's hot

a/n: cover design & dividers by me 💋 this is an unhinged daydream of mine, hope y'all enjoy! huge thank you to my besties @kiwisbell and @northernbluess for beta-reading 💓

The time on Frankie’s phone screen turns over to well past midnight. Bedroom pitched black save for the blue light illuminating his face as he scrolls on Instagram, unable to fall asleep from thoughts stirring. He wants to scratch the itch — to pick at the scab that’s been growing in his brain for over a year. Temptation runs hot in his veins. A craving, deep in his gut. A strong inhale or the rub of his fingertip against his gums. It would be fast. And it would only last less than half an hour — he could manage it one more time, he was sober enough for that, wasn’t he? He indulges himself in other aspects now: drinking, food, lax with his once regimented workout routine.

Frankie can hear the voice of his sponsor, the one he listens to speak at his weekly meetings in the musty church hall. Sure, his sponsor’s got valuable advice for him, having been sober for decades now, but he can’t relate to Frankie. Not really. He doesn’t know the level of temptation he’s consistently faced with, doesn’t know the fucked up shit he’s seen that got him into the substance in the first place.

His sponsor tells him to get into meditation. That it helps him turn his brain off when he has a craving, redirecting the energy into himself and crushing the aching want for it. Or some spiritual bullshit that Frankie doesn’t understand.

And besides, he’s found his own means of meditation.

Exiting the social media app, he opens his browser and types in the website. The light of the phone illuminates his face enough for his saved login to work, bringing him into his plane of piety. Where he escapes at least three times a week, late nights like now and the occasional mid-afternoon or morning on his desperate days off. When the urge is too strong. When he’s formulating a plan of how to get his hands on a tiny baggie, he loses himself — distracts his brain here.

Scrolling through his usual subscriptions, nothing seems to be hitting the spot. One hand grips his phone, thumb gliding along the screen, while the other cups his hard-on through his boxers, palming himself as he searches for something to get off to.

That’s when he sees it — the perfect combination of words that draws him in by the title. Clicking the page, he’s quick to pledge his monthly amount, eager to get access to all that lies beyond the paywall. And what he’s greeted with, pulls a sigh from his lips in the quiet room, his large hand squeezing his cock through the thin fabric elasticated around his waist.

“Fuck…” he mumbles to himself when he sees that there’s a live stream happening. A cosmic intervention for him, he thinks, a sign that he’s meant to satiate his vices with this.

With you.

The screen changes to a vertical view of you in front of the camera, iPhone seemingly propped up against something while you sit on your mattress. It’s so…delicate and soft. Those are the words he can think of to describe the backdrop that he takes in quickly. Billowing white comforter on your bed, pillows surrounding you. The first thought he has is that it looks like a bed he could easily sleep in — much more inviting than his. There are touches of blush pink, sky blue, and more. A complete rainbow of desaturated colors.

It all compliments you. Centered in the frame, the next sound you make drags his eyes back to your form as you move around. Another squeeze to his cock draws a longer sigh from his lips as he combs across the view of your body, scantily clad in a thong and a bra covered in cherries. The cups of the bra push up the weight of your breasts, spilling over the edge. His tongue runs across his lips to wet them, a new craving ravaging his mouth as he wonders what you would taste like with the skin of your tits dampened by his saliva.

The rest of your body is as softly lined and curving as your chest, waist swooping into your hips as you sit on your knees in front of the camera. Thick thighs spread with the press of your calves into the back of them, the inside of them meeting at the apex and providing cover for what he so badly wants to be shown. There’s a line of your stomach above the waist of your panties, supple skin glistening. Delicious, is all he can think to himself. You look so fucking delicious that it floods his mouth with saliva, enough that he feels the overwhelming need to push his boxers down, freeing his hard cock to rest against his stomach until he’s spitting into his palm and starting a slow, languid pace.

The grain of his palm drags against the length of his cock as he keeps a steady flick of his wrist. Not too fast, but not achingly slow. Enough to start stoking the burning coals in the pit of his stomach as he watches you on the small rectangular screen. Puffs of hot air leave his mouth, his jaw hanging open while he watches you shift to reach for something out of frame, the first look at your ass gifted to him. Rounded swell of curves with the fabric of your thong dipping between them. The slight jiggle of your cheeks makes Frankie moan quietly, taking the briefest moment to picture that same ripple in your skin from him fucking you from behind.

“Shit…” he grumbles under his breath, minorly increasing the pressure of his grip to squeeze his cock as his hand moves, desperate to mimic the feeling of someone — apparently you, despite not knowing anything close to your name.

Skin on skin catches on the base of his dick and he exhales sharply with his teeth bared, opening his palm to spit once again. It’s not enough, but he continues the slide of his wrist as he sets his phone down on the mattress briefly, reaching over to his nightstand, pausing once again to dispense a pump of lotion into the palm of his right hand. Wrapping the moistened hand around his cock again, he starts a faster pace before slowing down to drag out his pleasure longer.

Returning into the frame fully, he sees your face for the first time and coughs as his open-mouthed inhale seizes in his throat. His fingers circle the base of his cock, squeezing hard as he takes in your face. Perfectly primped with a layer of makeup, but he can tell you’ve got the kind of beauty that wouldn’t ever need changing or enhancing — effortless. Velvety skin, as silky as the rest of your body but with an added glow. Bright eyes that are shining with mischief and want, and a smirk that’s as playful; he finds himself shutting his eyes again, for a few lazy strokes as he pictures that face, and your plush, pliable body, on your knees in front of him. Eagerly awaiting his cock to fill your mouth.

Fuck, you’re really doing a number on him tonight. He needed this. His desperation for a high of any kind coats his open mouth with each labored breath.

Focused back on his phone, you show off the treasure that you dug for off-camera. A lilac vibrator, one that fits the length of your hand, with a swell of size rounded off at the tip and tapered in at the end. Leaning closer to your camera, Frankie groans when your tits bounce, spilling out of your bra with a tiny nip slip that he catches immediately. And it only makes him want to see more.

“Mm, c’mon, pretty girl, show me something here. M’fuckin’ dying…Necesito la distracción (I need the distraction),” Frankie speaks toward the screen, feeling pathetic as he barters with you in the one-way system.

As if you heard his pleas, you adjust your position, laying back on the mountain of pillows to prop yourself up and letting one leg fall open. Even in the lowered lighting of the room you’re in, presumably your bedroom, he can make out the wet patch covering your folds. He finds himself wondering if the act of getting off in front of a camera, in front of people watching live, is what gets you wet. Or if you have a fluffer like he’s heard they do in porn.

He’d wanna be your fluffer.

Or maybe he’d want to be the one to fuck you in the porno. At least both of you’d get to finish then.

“Think I need someone who knows better than me to tell me what they wanna see.” Your voice is saccharine, the slight fry in your voice jolts his hips into his hand, mumbles of curses slipping from his lips. “Anybody have any suggestions for me, chat?”

A low hum starts when you press the button of the vibrator in your hand, spreading your knees further to open your core to the view of the camera completely. Your opposite hand to the toy hooks into the crotch of your thong, pulling the small bit of fabric, practically a string with the amount it’s covering.

Frankie’s mouth waters as the speed of his hand picks up, the grip of his fingers not nearly as satisfying as the clench of a pussy, but he’ll make do. He has been for a year; you know what they say, no relationships for the first year sober. That, and he couldn’t find anyone that could take his mind off of coke long enough for him to get it up. So eventually he just let it be.

Now, though, he’s painfully hard. The quick movements of his hand send a shock of pleasure up to his brain, veins contracting with the extra effort to keep the blood supply to his cock. Thumb brushes over his tip, mixing in his precum with the other lubrication, a hiss from behind his teeth shot out from the stimulation. His gaze is glued onto his rectangular screen, huffing out deep breaths while you press the vibrator against your clit. There’s a quiver in your thighs that he notices, as if this is your first touch after teasing yourself, or someone else teasing you. Sensitive already.

Biting your lip, your eyes scan the screen as you read aloud, “FiveFingersAtFreddys said ‘Take your bra off please.’ Well, actually he said ‘Take your tits out’ but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, dude, and say that you actually do have good manners.”

He laughs, and it’s a first for him. Laughing at someone’s jokes as he jerks off, alone.

You comply with the request, taking the vibrator away from your clit to reach around and unclasp your bra. Tossing the material aside, you lean back into the pillows again and the next sight nearly makes Frankie come right then and there until he takes his hand away completely. Laid out, legs open and fingers pulling your panties aside, vibrator pushing into your clit and driving a high-pitched moan from your lips. All while you're bare from the waist up, cushioned torso melting into your heavy tits, pert nipples bringing them to a point. The form of a Greek classics statue, one with fleshy outlines carved impeccably from marble.

“La obra maestra (A masterpiece)…” Frankie whispers to himself, the squelch of his lotioned hand working his hard length bringing him back into his body, a moan slipping from his mouth.

“I think I need someone else to tell me how I should play with myself. M’so wet, jus’ wanna touch myself but I don’t know where to start. All seems like—like it’s going to feel so good,” you stutter out when your hips buck against the vibrator, a whimper echoing from your chest as you turn your attention to the chat again, awaiting intriguing instructions.

Maybe it’s sexual frustration, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s the intense fucking craving to replace his need for coke high with a need for an orgasm, but for whatever reason chosen, Frankie finds himself clicking on the comment box with his thumb, typing wildly with one finger. He takes a second to read it for spelling errors before he presses send. Too lost in it all now to care.

Your eyes perk up, smirk growing on your face when you read the influx of chat replies. One must have caught your eye because the vibrator is being left to the side again. Fingers hook into the waist of your panties, slowly pulling them off as you read aloud the comment that caught your attention.

“There’s a new name I see here…Maybe we should do what you want, Mr. FlyingFish. Consider it a welcome gift from me to you.” His heart is pounding in his chest, hand gripping tighter and twisting around his dick as he fucks his fist, mumbles of curses spilling out as he listens to you repeat what he desperately typed not a minute prior. It sounds dirtier coming from you, despite his best efforts at politeness, “You said ‘Please show off how many of your little fingers fit into your pretty pussy. Think a pretty girl like you deserves to fuck her fingers…’ Alright, FlyingFish, you’ve got me blushin’ from that request and that is difficult to do, sir. Thank you for calling me a pretty girl. I promise I’m smart, too. I’ll be sure to count ‘em for you.”

One finger slips into your dripping entrance easily, the other hand reaching for the vibrator and replacing it at your clit while your finger starts to fuck shallowly, “One finger…”

Whines of frustration crack over his small speakers before a bigger moan falls from your lips, a second finger slid into you alongside the first, “Oh, fuck…That’s two. Mm, how am I doin’? FlyingFish, d’you think I can get another?”

Frankie’s wrist flicks rapidly now, the direct address to him driving him mad as the sounds of his arm slapping against his stomach and thigh clap in his room and cut into the sounds your pussy is making as you get yourself off. He types as quickly as he can, strings of curses flowing from his mouth as the heat of his desire burns red hot inside of him. He’s so fucking close but he wants to watch you fall apart at the same time. Wants to be the reason you come.

“Oh, shit—you’ve got a mouth, FlyingFish. ‘I’d hope you can take another, otherwise, you couldn’t take my cock.’ Is that a promise, Fish? You saying you got a big dick for me to take?”

You whimper and he’s edging himself, squeezing hard to stay together when you inadvertently use his call sign. The closest thing you have to his name, and all he can think about is you screaming it while he’s fucking you. He wants to tell you it’s a promise only if you follow through, indulging in the fantasy of actually getting to touch you only for a moment. But instead, his attention is completely drawn to a third finger stretching your cunt in full view of the camera, your wanton moans popping in his speakers and driving his forearm to burn with the strain of muscle as he attempts to fist his cock even harder.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Come for me, baby, please fucking come on those fingers,” he begs no one but himself, a blinding white heat licking the entire inside of his body as he balances on the edge. Waiting for you to fall first.

“Oh my god, fuck…” The last word is drawn out, pitching up at the end as your fingers fuck faster, squelching sounds of your wetness flooding his mouth as his brain pleads for a taste of your cunt. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can get a fourth. M’gonna fucking come—ah! Oh, fuck me, Fish…”

You barely whisper his name, or at least what is his name to you, but it’s singlehandedly what punches out his guttural moan, ropes of warm, sticking spend coating his hand as he keeps moving and spilling onto his stomach. It’s prolonged, the tension in his calves relaxing after he spills the most come he has in a while.

Airy, light, a rush of blood back to his head has his whole body tingling with a high. Satiating his cravings from earlier, dissolving the want, the need, for anything of the sort. Instead, it’s replaced with thoughts of you — the image of you laying fucked out on his phone, adding his own touch of imagination when he closes his eyes to see you as you are but covered with his come the same way he is. Normally, this is when the smallest bit of shame crawls up his spine and sits at the nape of his neck, but instead, he melts into warmth. Faced with your smile as you sit up and lean over toward the camera again, laughing to yourself as you end the live.

“Um, if you’re still here, thanks for that FlyingFish. Felt fucking good…And to everyone else, I’ll stream again on Monday night, same time as always. Night, everyone. Have a good weekend.” All he hears before the sound cuts out is your excited giggles, the brightness of your post-orgasm joy stretching a smile across your face. He’s faced with a black screen, staring back at himself in the reflection with the shit-eating, smug grin he has on his face.

Now he’s got plans for Monday night.

Frankie hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. He’s hooked. Images of your sloping curves flash behind his eyes on the days when you’re not available to watch, his hips fucking his fist in bed, the shower, even on his couch with the blinds all open because he was that needy. Thoughts of you replaced his thoughts of the white powder, chasing after the different high he’s gifted by your voice, your body — all through a screen.

He’s caught himself rasping affections as he pictures you, hissed compliments as he comes and imagining what he’d say if you were in front of him. Letting him use your mouth or your cunt. He’s even gotten into a habit of imagining his head between your legs; the hardest he came is the one time he pictured you sitting on his face and all of the pretty sounds you’d make for him. Fuck, cariño, that’s so good. Mm, bonita, you’re such a good girl. Love doin’ what you’re told, don’t you, baby?

The fact that he doesn’t even know your name but is this infatuated isn’t lost on him. He knows he has an addictive personality, but this feels different. Like he was meant to find you for some reason. His sponsor would tell him it’s a call from the universe that this is all part of his ‘journey to sobriety’, but really, he just thinks that you’re fucking hot. And the tiniest part of him thinks you might like him watching too, even though you have no idea who he is.

Each time he watches you live, his thumb taps across the keyboard, responding to your requests and even adding in some encouragement. Virtually having conversations with you, he quickly became a frequent flyer (your joke, not his). You listen to him. Like the sweet girl that you are. Taking his suggestions — his demands when you beg — and showing off for him, a whimpering mess when he’s done with you.

At times, it feels like he’s the only one watching, or at least the only one that matters to you. With the amount of times his username falls from your lips, it’s easy to fall into a bubble of you and him. You’ve picked up the habit of referring to him as ‘Fish’ and it’s driven him mad, the closest thing to his name that he’ll hear you say. You give him material to think back about for days after. I love a man that knows what he wants, Fish. You can boss me around, Fishie. I always know what you tell me to do is gonna feel so fucking good.

All of this over the last few weeks has built up his courage, which is why he finds himself sitting on his couch with your profile open, the sun barely set outside. A random baseball game plays on his TV, but his focus is completely on his phone, writing and deleting a DM to you about ten times.

It has to be right. Friendly, but not stalker-ish. Flirty, but not creepy. Commanding enough to get your attention among what he imagines are countless messages in your inbox.

After another good ten minutes drafting a message, his thumb hovers over the ‘Send’ button for a few seconds. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lowers his finger and hits the button, anxiety washing over him as he opens his eyes to stare at the blue bubble.

No going back now.

Standing at the stove, water boils over the side of the pot while you pour in the uncooked pasta noodles. A few drops hit your skin, mumbles of curses leaving your lips, “Fucking shit!”

You stir the pasta before reaching for the nearest kitchen towel to wipe the once-scalding water off of your hand. A deep sigh exhales, relaxing your shoulders as the ding of a notification draws your attention to your phone lying on the marble countertop next to you.

What you find on your lock screen sends a shock of excitement down your spine, the warmth of anticipation radiating around your body to tingle your fingers and toes.

[Direct Message:] FlyingFish

Quick to swipe up, the device unlocks with a scan of your face and opens a new notification when you click on it with your thumb. Subconsciously, your opposite thumb has ended up between your teeth, biting down on the skin as you hold back an eager grin while you wait for his message to load.

You’ve never had this reaction to a message before, actually, it was usually the opposite. Rolling your eyes, ignoring the men until the last moment. Only responding to keep them enticed and subscribed — all of which keeps more money in your pocket. That’s really why you started this whole thing anyway.

FlyingFish:

Hey

A puff of air exhales through your nose, a chuckle cutting the otherwise silent kitchen. Shaking your head to yourself, you can’t help but smile at your screen. Heartbeat fluttering, you internally kick yourself for having such a reaction to such a simple message. Not even knowing who this person is, you find yourself typing back a response.

Hey there Fish

Guess I never actually asked if I could call you that

You turn back to your task at hand, continuing to cook your dinner and attempting to put out of your mind all of your assumptions about this person messaging you. You’d guess it’s a guy, an educated inference based on the demographics of your audience, but everything else is a complete mystery. The one time he insinuated he had a big dick stuck in your mind, and based on his behavior, you’d like to assume he isn’t lying. An image of a man sticks out to you each time you whimper his nickname, on camera and that handful of times off camera and alone: tall, solid, and strong. Brunette, only because that’s your type. Rough hands and commanding touches. Someone to bend your stubborn will into submission. He’s confident, at least through the chat, and he seems to know what he’s talking about. Each time you see his username pop up, you can feel yourself start to get wetter. Since you started this whole gig, there hasn’t been anyone quite like him. It’s always people asking for more for them — Show us your tits. Say my name. Turn around so we can see your ass.

But with him, it’s the opposite. He asks for more for you, which you guess is what he gets off to, not that you mind. Bet one more finger would feel even better for you, baby. Curl your fingers, cariño. You reaching that special spot? Gotta get deeper for me, baby. Rub slower, drag it out. Promise it’ll be even sweeter at the end.

Always polite but stern in his demands. Never too much, mostly not enough for your taste. He’s built up an appetite in you that you haven’t had before, a desire to please and to be good for him. All of it doesn’t feel like performing when he’s telling you what to do, it feels like he’s there, deep rasp in your ears as you picture thick fingers in place of yours and tight grips on your plush curves. Fingerprint-shaped bruises left behind and sore muscles in your thighs from holding yourself up as he asks you to come for him over and over and over.

A vibration against the hard surface of the countertop refocuses your gaze from a thousand yards away. Turning to grab your cell, you rub your thighs together in hopes of relenting the ache between them from your daydreams. Wet panties get caught in your folds, discomfort only momentary before you lean over the counter and open your legs, reading the mystery man’s response.

You can call me anything you want bonita

But I will tell you that Fish is pretty close to my name

Fish is close to your name?

What is it? Bass? Salmon? Trout?

Funny

Fish is short for Catfish which was my call sign with my Special Ops team

Ahhh a military man. You know I like a man in uniform

Oh really? :)

Don’t wear it anymore but does it still count if I was once a man in uniform?

Hmm

:( please?

I wanna be liked by you

Showing your cards there Fishie

Not trying to play it cool?

Once you get to know me baby you’ll come to find out that me and cool don’t really go together.

I doubt that’s true

So Catfish is your call sign? Who came up with that?

My buddies on my team

Said I couldn’t grow a beard for shit and that it looked like I had whiskers

So Catfish

Well I don’t wanna call you Fish if it’s mean like that :(

What’s your real name? If you wanna tell me

Are you gonna sell my identity and let someone tank my credit score?

Never

It wouldn’t benefit me much if your card gets declined every month

I appreciate the honesty baby haha

My name’s Frankie

I like your name Frankie :)

It’s nearly an hour of messaging back and forth, flirting intermingled with genuine curiosity about the other’s life, history and background. Frankie learns that you were struggling to find a job straight out of university and needed to make rent, so you figured it couldn’t hurt to try out selling content. You detailed briefly the time that you grew your following, telling him about your Instagram too, which he follows in that instant. The notification makes you laugh and you follow him back despite the profile being completely empty of any information besides his name. Not even a profile picture. He learns that you don’t speak much to your parents anymore, that your siblings live across the country so you don’t get to see them much.

He tells you about his family — no siblings, parents that live in another part of the state and refuse to visit him in the city — and his chosen family, the Special Ops guys. Laughter hiccups from your chest when he recalls a few of the better stories from them, telling you about each other them as if he was preparing you to actually meet them. He has that thought, briefly, about all of you out for drinks. How they would probably like you as much as he does; your charm and sincerity would hook them all just as it has for him. Frankie tells you all about his current hobby, fixing up an old, cherry red 1978 Jeep Cherokee. How the only other time he spends online is searching for car parts, watching Youtube as he works on the vehicle in his garage.

You make a cheeky comment that he must be good with his hands before sending another message immediately:

Would you wanna actually talk? Like on Facetime maybe

Frankie stares at the message, blinking slowly as if it will disappear. You’re asking to talk to him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, if he knew that was an option he would have asked himself…

He wouldn’t and he knows he wouldn’t based on the way his stomach has dropped to his feet, his hands have gone clammy and his throat tightened. Swallowing hard, he whispers a small pep talk to himself to work up the nerve to say yes. He wants to see you, he always wants to see more of you, but the fact that you’d see him as well…he can’t cope.

Heat trickles across the back of his neck and up his cheeks, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as his brain completely wipes any thought to respond. Dropping his phone into his lap, both of his hands reach up, one grabbing the brim of his cap and lifting it from his head while the other runs through his hair to push it back away from his face. In the corner of his eye, he catches his left knee bouncing. Lips press together in a thin line, rolling the flesh between his teeth before he picks up his phone again and sends a message back to you with just his phone number.

Not even a minute later, his screen lights up with a list of digits strung together in an unfamiliar order. As if it were possible, he felt his stomach drop lower than his feet, deep into the ground below and burrowing away along with his confidence.

Shit, this was a stupid idea. He’s going to make a fool of himself and you’ll lose interest and he’ll have to think about you every day for the rest of his life and wonder what you’re doing, how you’re doing, even what your name is—

Fuck, he’s gonna miss the call.

Frankie decides that it is much more embarrassing to miss the call he just sent his phone number for than to potentially come off as uncool, so his finger swipes to the right to answer. Quickly, he turns off his camera before you notice, opting for the level of anonymity to remain.

“Hi, Frankie…” Your candied voice drips with sweetness around his name. He’s been imagining you saying it, trying to get it right in his mind over the past few weeks, but hearing it now he relishes in the fact that none of them were right. None of them sounded like spun sugar, like it did just now.

You fill the frame from your shoulders up, the same bright smile on your face that he’s seen at the end of each live, after he’s had his fun with you, but looking completely different out of that context. It’s a bit shy, demure in the way you're resting in your bed against your pillows, t-shirt on and fresh-faced. You look beautiful. And it makes him feel a bit silly that you can’t see his reaction.

“Hey, bonita. M’sorry I don’t have my camera on, jus’ nervous. Didn’t want you to hang up right away gettin’ a look at this mug,” he says with self-deprecating laughter at the end, watching as your brows knit together with a pout on your lips.

“You don’t have to apologize, Frankie. M’happy to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Besides, if your voice gives me any indication of your looks, you’d probably be making me way more nervous.” Teeth bite into your bottom lip as you hold in a grin, a hand coming into view to nudge at your nose. He’s seen you do it a few times on live, whenever you’re waiting in anticipation. For him, he’d like to think.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” he teases, the smirk playing at his face evident in his flirty tone.

“You jus’ sound…nice.”

“Nice? That’s all? Why would that make you nervous, baby?”

A sigh slips from your lips, rolling your head back as he hears the smallest whine from you. His cock jumps in his sweats, already half hard from the flirty back and forth in your messages.

“God, you’re going to be a problem with all those pet names,” you say exasperated. Frankie laughs at his screen, feeling like an idiot sitting here alone and smiling like a fool. You’re cute when you’re mad.

“You can tell me your name and I can use that instead?” he propositions, licking his lips as he awaits the piece of information he’s been chomping at the bit to have.

“No! I mean, I’ll tell you my name, but…I like the nicknames. Keep them. Please.” Your words scramble out and it makes him grin wider, witnessing you as nervous as he’s feeling. When you give him your name, he repeats it a few times, rolling it around in his mouth, tasting the syllables on his tongue. Delicate, floral, sweet but a slight tang. Smooth as it rolls across his vocal cords, soothing the rising heat he’s feeling with a refreshing chill. Like peaches and cream.

The two of you chat back and forth for a while, pride swelling in his chest when you laugh at his stupid jokes or give him a compliment, despite being none-the-wiser to his looks. He’s quick to make you blush with his comments, telling you how beautiful he thinks you are. And Frankie’s thanking himself for keeping his camera off, because at times during the call, his eyes drift to your chest, blatantly staring at your perked up nipples through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. It grows his hard on, the softness of your breasts bouncing around as you restlessly squirm during the call enticing him to picture getting his mouth on them. He’d guess you’d taste the same as your name.

The next time you move, he watches your chest again before a sight in the background catches his eye, drawing a chuckle from his mouth. A stuffed bunny lays next to you in your bed, messy with age and love. A soft pink color with a red ribbon tied around its neck, he finds the need to ask about it prodding in his mind.

“Is that who films everything for you?” he jokes, watching your face twist with confusion before looking to your side and bursting out in a laugh. Returning your eyes to the camera, you shake your head timidly.

“No, unfortunately he’s pretty limited to cuddling.”

“He? Didn’t know you had a man in your life, baby. Feels like we shouldn’t be talking like this in front of him.” The sound of your laughter quickens his pulse, the melody trilling in his ears with comfort.

“Well, I guess if you could offer me more than cuddling, he could be demoted.”

“I think I can offer more, Conejita.” Frankie watches as something akin to excitement, but burning brighter, flashes in your eyes. You sit up more, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

“What could you offer me, Frankie?” It’s a loaded question. He could be polite, steer the conversation away from where he so desperately wants it to go, to be a gentleman. It would be easy to make a joke, to get you both to move on.

But he always wants to see where this could go. You’re the one who wanted to talk on the phone in the first place. And he would never suggest anything to make you uncomfortable, and he thinks that you know that. It’s like what the two of you do in your lives — a conversation, a back and forth that may end up benefitting both of you.

“Depends on what you’re lookin’ for, Conejita. I’m a man of many talents.” The words are slick on his tongue, silvery with enticement.

“Hm…” you ponder out loud, tapping your index finger against your bottom lip before turning back to the camera, “Can you cook?”

“Decently. Can’t claim I’m a chef, but I feed myself. And m’pretty good at a grill and makin’ some of my mamá’s recipes. Insisted on teaching them to me so they didn’t end with her.”

Grinning warmly, he feels his heartbeat kick up against his chest, thumping hard at the sight of you giving him that look. “That’s so sweet that she taught you. You can teach me, then someone else in the world will know her recipes too.”

Christ, you’re so fucking adorable. He doesn’t know what he wants more in the moment: to keep talking and simply listen to your voice, or to flirt his way into something more.

“She might be a better teacher than me, baby. Would probably be over the moon if you asked to learn since she had to force me a bit,” he laughs along with your quiet giggle, taking a deep breath when you bite down on your bottom lip.

“Are you a good teacher of other things?”

“I’d like to think so. Haven’t I taught you new things already, Conejita?”

There goes his heartbeat when you look away from the camera, smirk lifting your cheekbones as your demeanor goes shy, shrugging your shoulders as you lay back again, shifting to get comfortable.

“You have…And now I’ve learned how sexy your voice is, too. I’ll be picturing everything you type now to be said in your voice.”

Frankie breathes out a chuckle, a heat burning the nap of his neck, trickling down his back. He feels the effects of his blood rushing below his belt, ever-so-slightly lightheaded as he quietly palms his bulge in his sweatpants.

“My voice is sexy?”

“Um, duh. Are you kidding me? You sound all…rugged and raspy and deep. Like you could manhandle me easily,” you admit your thoughts easily, and he sighs quietly at the thought of having you in front of him to throw around his bed and mold you into the positions he dreams of getting you into.

“No tienes ni idea de lo que haría contigo (You've got no idea what I would do with you)...” he mumbles under his breath, hearing a soft whimper from you. One of your arms is slung across your front, pressing your breast into the other and he can take a guess as to what your hand is up to. “You want some help, baby? I bet you’re jus’ feeling so needy, aren’t you? Listening to my voice got you that worked up?”

“Mhmm…I need it, Frankie…” Your voice has the edge of a whine and he exhales slowly as he hears you beg for him. Not his call sign or a username. His name. Him. There’s no one else who’s making you feel this way, no one else striving for attention.

He pushes his pants down, pulling his hard cock out to start slowly stroking. You’ve left him aching, dripping precum that his fingers smear around his length to lubricate as he moves up and down in a teasing pace.

“Use your manners, Conejita. What d’you say?”

“Please. Please, Frankie. I wanna hear your voice, I want you to tell me what to do.” He hisses from behind his teeth as he squeezes his cock at the base, leaning his head back against his headboard before his focus zeroes in on you on his screen, asking for his guidance, his control to get you off. No one else privy to the sights he’s seeing.

“Good girl. Such a good girl for me, baby. Why don’t you take off your shirt for me? Let me see you, bonita.” Wetting his lips with his tongue when you move to prop your phone up on your mattress, an expert at framing yourself perfectly. The thin, worn fabric of your sleep shirt slips over your head, leaving you on full display for him — already pantyless. Whether you started the call with any on is a mystery to him, but now, he settles back to tell you exactly what he wants from you…what he knows will feel good for his conejita.

“Okay, bunny, lean back for me…That’s it, get comfortable. Good girl.” Looking into your camera to your side, a nervous smile plays at your lips, shyness overcoming you as you wait with bated breath for Frankie, who’s still a mystery to you, to instruct you. It’s driving him mad, how trusting you are of him without ever seeing his face. Such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.

“Show me how you like to play when no one’s watching.”

When his phone dings one evening a few weeks later, Frankie pulls himself out from under the hood of his project car. A familiar fizz bubbles over his body, a Pavlovian response that’s been built over the last few weeks he’s been talking to you. There have been text chains, full of flirty sincerity, and more phone calls, all with his camera off but not all ending like that first one. There have been times when the two of you have had long conversations, full of laughter and learning about the other. A few calls have ended with you falling asleep, stuffed bunny tucked under your chin and pillowy lips parted slightly with deep, even breaths.

Admittedly, he’s grown attached. Maybe a bit much for…whatever this relationship or friendship is, but he can’t help the teenage giddiness he’s felt with every text chime, ringtone, or dial that he’s found you on the other end of.

He’s got a crush.

So immediately at the peal of his cell, he’s reaching for the rag on his workbench, wiping his hands clean of grease before reading over your message.

Conejita:

Hiii 😚

Are you busy?

Grinning like a fool at the gray bubble, Frankie begins to type out a response before abandoning the message and clicking the phone button at the top of your name instead. Pressing the speaker to his ear, he runs a thumb across his bottom lip while he listens to the trill of the dial tone. Steps pace him across the garage, counting them in his head as he waits for an answer.

“Hey, stranger.” The line clicks on and your voice immediately draws a smile across Frankie’s face, hearing one of yours in your upbeat tone.

“Hey, Conejita. What’s up with you?” Even your presence over the phone calms his nerves, sparking kindling low in his gut that spreads down to his toes and up to the back of his neck. Frankie tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder as he wanders back over to the carhood, shutting it carefully. He retreats inside, washing his hands as he listens to you recount your day.

“...So then I got pissed off and left ‘cause she was being so unreasonable. And then I wanted to talk to you ‘cause, I dunno.” The intensity in your cadence slows down toward the tailend of your story of an argument with a friend of yours; Frankie chuckles, biting his tongue while you sigh deeply and he dries his hands off on a kitchen towel.

“You don’t know why you wanted to talk to me? Don’t get all shy on me now, cariño,” he teases you, receiving a frustrated huff on the other end. “Well, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. She sounds like she has a stick up her ass. And m’glad you wanted to call me, Conejita.”

“D’you wanna switch to Facetime?”

“‘Course, I do. Always wanna see your face, jus’ one sec…” Frankie climbs his stairs two at a time, reaching the landing as his screen lights up with the Facetime request from you. He answers it, camera off, while he changes out of dirty clothes and listens to you chatting about plans for the weekend. He mentions going out with the guys tomorrow night, and you make a jest that gets him laughing, both of you bantering back and forth before he settles back on his bed.

“Y’know, I am content to chat with you like this, Frankie. But I keep wondering what you look like…” In the small rectangle of his screen, you lean forward to fill more of it, cleavage exposed in your bralette. He’s been waiting for this to be brought up again, and feeling so much more comfortable with you, he can’t admit he hasn’t thought about it. But with that stronger connection comes the anxieties. What if he isn’t what you pictured? What if he isn’t your type? What if you don’t like him anymore?

Frankie thinks he’s decent looking enough — he hasn’t had much trouble pulling girls since he was a teenager, but not being the most commanding or charismatic in the room, he has had his bouts of struggle in the relationship department.

“Please, Frankie. S’not fair I get to hear your sexy voice and not know what you look like. Pretty please, I’ll give you something special if you do,” you bargain with a pout on your face, bottom lip protruding and puffy. He wants to kiss it away, bite down on the glossy flesh, work away your frowning moue with his own mouth. Wonderings of what you taste like.

Coming back into himself, he wears a proud, intrigued smirk that you’re blind to except for the way his words curl around his slick, silvery tongue, “Oh, is that right, bunny? What if I wanna know what the something special is to decide?”

“Not how it works, silly. Either you want something special or you don’t.” A stern shake of the head, sitting up straight as you raise an eyebrow at him.

He sits with it for a moment, thoughts warring on the inside. In the end, his realistic side barters that either way could end badly: he doesn’t turn the camera on and you get frustrated, ending it, or he does turn the camera on and you don’t like the look of him, ending it. A phantom whisper of your voice, bubbly and bright, reminds him that it could make everything even better, and that ultimately is what convinces him.

“Alright, alright. You make a convincing argument, Conejita.”

A beaming smile stretches across your face as you draw a leg up to your chest, resting your head on your kneecap while you hold back your excitement and anticipation. Frankie takes in the sight of you, astir on tenterhooks.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself before his thumb is pressing the camera button, illuminating himself on your screen. He sees himself in the smaller rectangle in the corner, grimacing before he laughs softly and grins, awaiting your reaction with waves of solicitude raging inside.

You see him, your Frankie. Filling your phone screen. Finally.

A nearly inaudible gasp leaves your lips, blocked from the mic by your knee. Studying his face, you witness the lines next to his eyes deepening as he laughs, his shy smile growing on his face. Big brown eyes strike your chest, their sincere softness making you want to fall into their warmth and stay there forever. Like the comforting heat of a mug of coffee on a chilly morning. You note that your visualizations were correct, mostly. Brown hair, curling out from under the cap branded with Standard Oil that sits on his head. Wide set shoulders that extend out of frame, a build to him that screams he most definitely can manhandle you around in bed. His call sign makes a bit more sense to you, seeing patches in his short beard, admiring the one on his left cheek that is shaped like a heart. Simply endearing. The image of him in front of you sends a shock to your core, wet spot in your panties growing as you begin to imagine what the rest of him looks like.

Hot is all you can think. Frankie is fucking hot.

His voice cuts through your trails of admiration, joking around to break the silent tension, “So are you gonna ask me to keep my camera off now?”

As you swallow to recover some of your composure, shaking your head back and forth quickly before a genuinely eager smile paints your expression. Leaning closer to see more of his details, freckles across his neck and where his shirt exposes a sliver of his chest, the peak of his cupid’s bow shaded by his mustache, long eyelashes that reach toward his eyebrows. You drop your knee from in front of you, leaning an elbow on the surface of your desk and resting your shin in your palm.

“Frankie, respectfully, what the fuck? You’re so hot.”

A boisterous laugh rolls from his chest, the same shy smile returning with a blush across his cheeks, “Conejita, you’re the hot one between us.”

“No, no, I’m being serious. You’re like — Damn. Your smile. And you have pretty eyes, Frankie. And you’re just like…really fucking hot. I can’t even think of another word. You should be the one doing what I’m doing.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re only seeing my face, baby.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a pretty face…Wanna sit on it.” Your giggle cuts through his speakers, and Frankie groans at the comment. Saliva coats your mouth as you watch the muscles in his neck tense, licking your chops like a prowling lion. If only he was in front of you right now…

“Diablita…eres una problema. (Little devil…you’re a problem.) Do I get my special something now?”

Another giggle and a mischievous smirk make Frankie’s brows stitch together in frustration, your shoulders shrugging as you toy with the strap of your bra, hooked under your index finger, “Actually, I think I wanna move the goalpost. Will you show me what I’m missin’, Frankie? I wanna see more.”

Desire burns bright and wild inside of you, ache building between your legs as your arousal drips from your panties and onto your thighs. You’d been picturing him — all of him — for weeks. Ever since that first message. But now, seeing him on your phone screen, your imagination is running wild with newfound information and attempting to fill in the blanks. He has to be big, thickness would be just right. He’s the quiet type, unassuming in his own looks, which means he has to have a virtually perfect dick. It's the rules of the universe. Undecided if he’s cut or not, but regardless, picturing your manicured fingers wrapped around it and tongue licking at his tip. Watching him come undone from you. Stomach tensing, those long fingers that you sneak a peek of when he adjusts his hat wrapped up in your hair. Rasping moans. What would he taste like?

Frankie shakes his head, a quick tsking drawing your attention back to the moment as he looks on with a teasing expression, “Conejita, I don’t think it works like that.”

“Okay, then no special something for you. Your choice, Francisco.”

He watches as you move the strap back up your shoulder, the soft snap of the elastic against your skin. Huffing out a frustrated breath, he mumbles, “No serías tan valiente si estuvieras aquí conmigo, mocosa. (You wouldn’t be so brave if you were here with me, brat.)”

Uncaring in whatever annoyances he was airing with you, you watch him sit up further in the frame, knocking off his cap and reaching for the hem of his shirt. Despite his words, he lifts his shirt over his head, looking back at the camera, bare shoulders and chest on display, “This is what you get for now, bunny.”

Satisfaction glows from your smile, biting hard into your bottom lip while Frankie watches your eyes search everywhere on your screen besides his own. A stern clearing of his throat breaks your trance, a commanding expression on Frankie’s face.

“You promised me something, Conejita.”

A deep pout replaces your grin, huffing in defiance as you slip your bra straps from your shoulders, “Can’t you please take the rest off? Show me what I wanna see, Frankie. Please.”

“Nah uh. Quit demanding, baby. Y’know that’s my job. Now tell me, what are you gonna do for me to get what you want?” His unwavering voice surprises you, despite hearing it for weeks. With the added heat factor of his looks, you crumble a bit quicker, clenching your thighs as you sigh and nod obediently.

“I’ll do anything, Frankie. Jus’ tell me what to do, I wanna make you happy.”

He grins on the screen, sincere softness peeking out, “Oh, baby, y’know it’s easy to make me happy. Jus’ gotta be a good little bunny, yeah?” He hums, licking his lips as he ponders what he wants from you tonight, a night he wants to fill with another milestone for the two of you. He’s only seen you use a small vibrator or your fingers on the phone with you, but he knows what else you have. He’s watched the video of you using it on your profile only about ten times.

“Get your pretty pink toy for me, Conejita. Y’know the one. And then get on the floor and you’re going to show me exactly how you use it.”

There’s rustling as you follow his instructions, stripping bare and suctioning the toy to your hardwood floors, propping the phone up for him to see it all. The hot pink dildo bobbles from you moving around it, glistening with lube that you applied — even though with one glance at your cunt, both you and Frankie know you wouldn’t need it. Straddling over the silicone, you slowly tease your entrance with it, whining before you make one more attempt to Frankie watching you with a smugness in his smirk.

“Please, Frankie, can’t you please show me your cock? I wanna picture it while I fuck myself. Wanna know if it’s how I imagined…Dream about it a lot.” He can read right through your tactics, but his dick can’t. It strains against his zippered jeans, throbbing under the fabric for some sort of relief. He squeezes his palm over it once, exhaling as he shakes his head, strong in his convictions.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll show you what you wanna see.” No more room for negotiations.

“Yes’sir.”

Frankie’s mouth hangs ajar while his focus trains on the apex of your thighs. Watching you slowly sink down, the bright pink rubbery toy disappears inside of you. Whimpers slip from your lips as you brace your hands on your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin. Need burns brightly in his chest and below his belt, clenching his jaw while he imagines biting the meaty part of you, leaving teeth marks in his wake before settling his mouth at your entrance.

Your hips set a quick pace, desperate for the high you’ve been dripping for since getting on the phone with Frankie. A low growl followed with a disapproving tut clicks over the speakers of your phone.

“Slow down, baby girl. Not a race…” Frankie corrects, and the only response you have is a frantic nod, turning your movements to a drag. The toy fills you up, stretches you the most that you have ever been. Pain heats your feelings of pleasure, intensifying it all in the lightness of your limbs and head. The ridges of the faux veins of the fake cock impress into your walls, the tip of it notching at the spot inside of you that Frankie taught you to reach. It only skates by it, whines accompanying your frustrations.

Frankie, on the other end, listens to the squelch of your pussy around the silicone. The sound drives him to fully cup his erection through his pants, palming himself with heady breaths as your own moans for him drive the iron hot brand of need deeper into his skin. He can see your need for a change, your need to be given permission to chase that feeling that’s within reach.

“Lean back, little bunny. Sit back on your hands and use your hips…Show me more of that pretty pussy,” he instructs, cool and confident while his hips buck up into his hand. Being his perfect girl, you do as he says and change positions, gasping when you sink down onto the toy. Your cunt clenches around it, a satisfied smirk painting Frankie’s face. He knows he’s gotten you to hit that special spot. With the grip your entrance has around the base of the dildo, he wonders if you’ll pop it off of the floor on your next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…Frankie, wish you were here. Tell me—tell me what you’d do to me if you were here,” you beg, your hips still dragging at the new angle.

A groan escapes Frankie at your request, biting down hard on his lip and taking his hand away from his lap to deny himself the temptation.

“You love hearing me say all the dirty things to you, huh Conejita?” Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “If I were there with you, I’d would be—shit—I’d be devouring you right now. Fucking you with my tongue and my fingers, making you squeeze me and getting your come all over my face. Gotta get you ready for me, bunny. After, I’d flip you over. Get your pretty ass up for me, and I’d fuck you senseless. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Turn it all off up there and just let me take care of you…”

Nodding, your hips start to move faster as Frankie speaks to you. He doesn’t have the heart to tease you anymore, letting you start to take what you want for a bit. Your moans pitch up, tits bouncing with your nipples pebbled and the rest of your soft curves twisting as you rock back and forth on the toy.

“Yes, please. I want that,” you mewl, heavy breaths erratic.

“That’s right. My baby deserves it all,” he says with a sigh, his large palm squeezing his hard cock again, slowly unzipping his jeans and slipping his hand into his boxers to grip himself at the base. “I’d fuck you until that pretty little brain of yours was filled up only with thoughts of how good I make you feel. How good you are for me, pretty girl…Look at you go, bouncing on that toy. Rub your clit, Conejita. Slow, at least for right now.”

You follow his orders, supporting yourself on one arm. Slow circles against your clit have you shuddering with pleasure, a twitch of your tummy as you moan. Your eyes flutter shut, face twisting with overwhelming need. Frankie drinks in the sight, indulging himself in a few long strokes of his cock before he hears it.

“Daddy…” you breathe, near a whisper, but it’s audible to him. Lost in yourself, you don’t even notice you’ve let it slip until it comes again, “Oh my god, Daddy.”

The surprise of it shocks your eyes open, stuttering your hips as you narrow in on your screen. Frankie’s eyes grow dark, licking his lips as he holds in a loud moan. His fingers grip the base of his aching cock, holding off at the edge. So close to coming when he heard that word drip from your mouth like melted sugar.

He can tell you’re attempting to gauge his reaction, nervous settling in as you attempt to move on from it and continue fucking yourself closer to finishing. Frankie’s eager to take it in stride, clearing his throat before he gives it right back to you, opening that door that he knows won’t be shut any time soon. At least not by him.

“Yeah, that’s right, baby. Let Daddy tell you what you need, yeah?” He chuckles darkly, satisfaction thumping in his veins while you nod and whimper yes yes yes back to him, “Y’know, if you like that lil’ toy, baby, Daddy’s cock will feel even better. S’bigger than that fucking thing.”

“Oh, fuck, I need to—I need you, Daddy, please!”

“I know, Conejita, I know. Poor little thing jus’ needs Daddy to be filling her up, huh? You wanna know what my cock feels like inside of you, don’t you, pequeña?” He hisses with a buck of his hips into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second.

“Yes, yes, please, Daddy! Please,” you choke on a breath and Frankie can see you twitch at your inner thighs from the full-on view of your pussy, your tell-tale sign that you’re about to come.

“Y’know the rules, Conejita. Better ask before you come.”

“Please, please may I come?” you moan, rubbing faster circles against your clit and grinding down on your toy.

“Oh, bunny, you can ask nicer than that. May I come…?” he leads, smirking devilishly when you nearly squeal from the way he’s holding you out on the edge. Teetering on the verge of that high that he knows well, he can see your legs faltering with a cramp.

“Please may I come, Daddy?” Your eyes open, heavy-lidded and lips parted with shallow breathing. Frankie gets lost in the sight, wrecked from his direction, his words, a sheen of sweat over your skin and the arousal coating your thighs. A fucking dream.

“Mm, come for Daddy, baby girl—” he’s interrupt as you erupt in a high-pitched moan, mouth wide open as you string together mumblings Oh fuck, Daddy, feels so good. Need you so bad…

“Good girl.”

Frankie hums contently, chuckling as a dopey grin finds your face, blinking through the orgasmic haze. Laying back, you slip the toy out of your pussy, leaving it to wobble in place and spreading your legs around it. One arm comes to rest against your forehead, breasts rising and falling with deep, recovering breaths. He’s blocked of the view that would make this moment even sweeter, licking his lips before he speaks up.

“Lemme see that fucked cunt of yours, bunny. Let Daddy see what belongs to him.” You sit up again, popping the toy off of the floor and laying it to the side to be cleaned later. Frankie hums as you part your legs more, the glittering of your come dripping on your thighs and across your swollen pussy. “Eres un buen oyente, pequeña. (You’re a good listener, little one.)”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, a long exhale punctuating the question.

“You’re a good listener, little one.” Frankie grins when you grow shy, inching your legs together before he tsks again, one hand coming into frame to motion for your lower limbs to part again.

“Y’know, it would look even prettier with my come dripping out of ya, baby.”

“Please.”

“What, Conejita?”

“Don’t tease me anymore…Can’t take it, Daddy.” You lips push out in a pout, subtle but he can catch the change in expression.

“Nah uh, no pouting, bunny. Who said that I was teasing? I’m going to make it happen.”

Sweetness slips from your lips in a giggle, leaning over to pick up your phone and hold him closer to your face.

“So, if I was a good girl, doesn’t that mean I get to see what I asked for before?” Wiggling in eagerness, Frankie feigns ignorance, scratching at his beard as he shrugs, acting as if he didn’t nearly come in his pants multiple times in the last few minutes.

“I dunno, Conejita. What did you ask me for? Gonna have to remind me.”

“Your cock. I wanna see it.” Your pout sneaks back, biting your lip. “May I please see your cock, Daddy?”

“I think I could do that for you, baby. Asking so nicely. Such a good girl for Daddy, yeah?”

“Always.” A giggle bubbles up from your tummy, biting down on your lip as Frankie takes you in, shaking his head in subtle disbelief. How the hell did clicking for one subscription get him here, having Facetime sex with you?

He obliges your original requests, moving to prop his phone up in front of him, stripping down his jeans first. The sight of his bulge waters your mouth, pupils widening in want at the outline of his cock. No tricks of the light, no chance of manipulation like some men in your DMs do. All natural.

And Frankie wasn’t lying. He’s big.

The reveal comes when he tugs his boxers down to his ankles, settling in front of the camera again. His heavy length rests against his lower stomach, precum dripping into his dark happy trail. Your eyes drag over the veins ribbing him, leading down to show off that he’s tastefully groomed. Swallowing saliva, you lick your lips as his large hand wraps around, slow strokes that gently shift the foreskin away from his tip. The end of his cock glistens with pebbles of precum, red and aching. Frankie hisses at the contact, the veins in his neck straining against his skin while he starts to fuck his fist.

“You look so pretty, Daddy,” you compliment sweetly, grinning at him as he laughs quietly back at you.

“Such a sweet little bunny. You think you can take me in your tight little cunt?” A long exhales concaves his chest, quiet moans as his hand picks up pace.

You return his regular favor of talking him through it, detailing how good of a girl you’d be for him, telling him all that he would be allowed to do to you. The sounds Frankie makes has you dripping again, getting his permission to fuck your fingers, both of you driving each other to a peak, your second one taking the breath from your lungs as Frankie comes at the same time. Whimpers escape your mouth as you envy his hand and stomach being covered in his release, biting your tongue and crowding the screen as he shows off how much you made him come.

“Wish I was there to clean you up, Daddy.”

“Right back at you, Conejita.”

A few days later, Frankie calls you after one of your livestreams, grinning like a schoolboy when you answer in only your underwear. You laugh as you set your phone down on the surface of your dressing, his childish smirk turning to a pout as he stares at your white painted ceiling. Calling out to him, you ask for one second while you tug a sweatshirt over your head, shuffling around before grabbing the device and relaxing back on your bed, bunny in your lap.

“Hi, baby,” Frankie coos, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile as he drinks in your cozy, drowsy demeanor. Cuddling with the toy against your chest, you grin back at him, curling up onto your side like a cat.

“Hi, Frankie,” you mumble back, exhaustion heavy in your eyes.

“You sleepy, little bunny?” A slow nod answers his question. “Alright, I won’t keep you up for long then. Just had a question for you.”

The vague proposition piques your interest, your eyes shooting open and the camera being brought closer to your face, “What’s your question?”

Frankie works his lips between his teeth, nerves crackling over his entire body. Realistically, he knows you’ll say yes, but there’s still that chance for rejection in the moment. His left leg bounces against his couch, hand running over his face as he takes a deep breath in, “I was wondering if you’d wanna come visit me here in Florida? If you don’t have time—”

“I would love to come visit, Frankie,” you agree immediately, a sincere smile growing on your face. Frankie mirrors your excitement with a goofy grin, the creases next to his eyes deepening and his dimple cratoring his cheek. “I’ll even book my flight right now, that’s how eager I am.”

Shaking his head furiously, he clicks his tongue in a tut, scolding you playfully, “Hey, hey. No, none of that. I’m not letting my baby pay, I’m the one who asked you to come.”

“But—”

“Nope, no buts. Except yours getting onto a plane and coming to see me,” Frankie laughs at his own joke, earning a playful eye roll as you hold back your own chuckle. “Oh, c’mon, that was funny, Conejita. I can tell you want to laugh.”

The two of you go back and forth while he books your flight on his laptop, showing off the confirmation number once it’s all gone through. Both of you wear shit-eating grins on your faces, sitting in disbelief.

Frankie can’t help the rush of anxiety, unable to tell if it’s solely from his excitement. All he can think about is having you in front of him, in the flesh, in person. No screens between the two of you, no broken signals or shitty wifi interruptions. Hearing your voice without the strain of speakers, getting to touch you, taste you, hear you, feel you all over him. There’s the flash of a vision of you laid out underneath him, making your little sounds that drive him crazy and digging your nails into his back…

“Gonna let Daddy spoil you while you’re down here, baby girl?” Frankie smirks as you stretch sleepily, biting down on your lip.

“You’re flying me out, isn’t that spoiling me enough? Shouldn’t it be my turn to spoil you then?”

“Think you know the answer to that, baby. Having you in front of me is spoiling me enough, I jus’ wanna take care of you.”

The simple statement brings a smile to your face, shyly tucking your face into your pillow. The rest of the call relaxes you back to near sleep, listening as Frankie tells you all about what he’ll take you to do. Your drowsiness catches up with you, drifting off on the phone. Frankie chuckles quietly to himself, sitting with you for a moment silently before he goes to hang up.

“Night, Conejita. Can’t wait to see you.”

taglist: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsmando @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @pertinentpostmortem @livingdeadmaria @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @its-nebuleuse @marini03 @piercethevic03 @joeandpedrosimp @kiwisbell @planet-marz1 @txtattoostark @jrosie25 @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @k-k0129 @cartoon-garbage04 @nostalxgic @ravenpoe67

#frankie #writing #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #tw daddy kink #cw daddy kink

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roosterforme · 1 year

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roosterforme's Jake Seresin masterlist (Hangman x Reader)

(hey, who the fuck let Jake in here?) roosterforme masterlist

Jukebox War Jake likes the jukebox at the Hard Deck, drinking beers, and cute girls who are a little bit mean to him.

You're Not My Type You only spent one evening with Jake, but it was enough to leave you wanting more and also have you hoping to never see him again.

Specialty Goods Jake is tasked with planning a holiday get-together. He’s unhappy about it, until you offer to let him sample the specialty goods.

Better Than Revenge You thought you had the interest of one of the aviators who frequented your bar. He always had a soft smile when only looking at you. But when there's another girl hanging on his every word and his arm, Rooster helps you get Jake to come to his senses.

A Formal Reprimand Above all else, Jake prided himself on his spotless Naval record. When his wife inadvertently causes him to be formally reprimanded during a deployment, he plans to give her a fair share of the punishment when he gets home.

Alone With All Your Letters You had been with Jake for so long, he could barely remember himself without you. But he was ready for more, and he was tired of waiting for you to catch up to him. With a few ugly words, he broke your heart. And with one handwritten letter, you brought him to his knees.

You and Me and She Makes Three Jake had feelings for you. And that was a problem, because he didn't do relationships. He was going to have to choose his independence over being with you. At least that's what he thought until he was presented with the opportunity to enjoy you and his freedom at the same time.

Sundays Are for the Boys Football Sundays are a sacred tradition amongst Jake and his friends, and he's quick to make sure you know that. But when the boys discover your favorite drink in the refrigerator, Jake makes an exception to his rule.

This Sunday Is for My Girl Jake can barely remember what Sundays were like before you were part of his football watching tradition. When his team makes it all the way to the Super Bowl, his nervous energy practically has you on edge too, but you formulate a plan to distract him. The results are better than you could have predicted. (A continuation of Sundays Are for the Boys)

Sneak Peek You spent so much time around the boys, they counted you as one of them. You were firmly stuck in the friend zone with Jake, so it was time to move on with a guy who could see past your flight suits. It's not immediately obvious to either of you that cranky Jake is actually jealous Jake.

Adult Education (23 Part Series) Jake ends up sitting in on a college physics lecture purely by accident. He's rewarded with a cute smile and a cheap beer when he defends the professor. But since when is he like Bradshaw, getting turned on by math and college classrooms? (Part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own)

Mr. Right Now (11 Part Series) When Jake picks your ID up from the floor at the Hard Deck, he has no expectation that he's about to be in for a wild ride. But when he learns that you're looking for Rooster and why you're at the bar in the first place, he starts to feel more possessive than he should. You're young and stubborn and about to get yourself into trouble. Maybe he would prefer if you got into it with him instead. "It's a bad idea," he said, and then your lips were on his.

#jake hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine

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themidnightcrimson · 1 year

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nightclub ∗ eo

summary: in which you and your ex, lizzie, catch up in a nightclub bathroom.

words: 5.1K

warnings: top!lizzie, bottom!reader, fem!reader, angst if you squint, strap (r receiving), lots of french kissing, alcohol, really nasty fucking, there may be errors bc i was so feverish writing this

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

The neon blue and purple lights blinded you as you stepped into the club. Loud, pulsing music boomed in your ears as you inhaled the scent of alcohol and mixtures of over-drenched perfumes on the bodies of the crowd of people dancing. It was a warm room compared to the cool, spring night air.

Your friends had goaded you to come to the club tonight. It was a VIP establishment, made apparent by the celebrities and people of notoriety that you had already spotted in the large, luxurious club. Lizzie’s friends were your friends, and as such, you were invited to the after party for the Love and Death premiere even though you hadn’t talked to Lizzie in months. Whatever you had together fizzled away after an accumulation of arguments and misunderstandings. Lizzie was a slippery fish to catch, and you didn’t have the strength or energy to catch her. It was depressing.

They vowed to you that she wouldn’t be there tonight, which you believed independently from their promises because Lizzie never came to these kinds of things. You knew she would attend the primary premiere party earlier in the afternoon across town, but this kind of late-night event was never her thing. Your friends wanted you there not to celebrate her show, but to just be there with them after hiding yourself away for so long.

Still, walking through the crowd, you couldn’t help but dart your eyes around to catch a familiar blonde head or recognizable green eyes. You thought you heard her voice at one moment but realized it was a stranger talking that just so happened to sound like her. It was dizzying, knowing that there was a slight possibility she would be there, that you would face her after everything and face all the words that were left unsaid after your parting.

Relief washed over you when you found your group of friends nearby, who spotted you and waved you over. “Y/n!” they greeted you, giving you extra tight hugs and prolonged greetings.

You were wearing a thin little black dress, strapless at the chest and fading into a sheer skirt that rested above your knees. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was sexy enough to grant you leering looks from various people around. The validation soothed you, if you admitted it.

Your friends, donned in the purple hue of the club lights, knew they had to ease you into the night. They huddled around you in an area of white couches, ordering drinks after drinks and just catching up on life, as much as you could catch their voices amidst the music and voices. A few women and men approached you within the first hour, asking for a dance or to buy you a drink, which you politely declined each time although your friends tried to peer pressure you into accepting them. As recovered as you were, you just weren’t ready for a new stranger yet. You needed the comfort of your friends, of familiar places and familiar voices.

It had been hard to avoid Lizzie the past week, with the billboards and videos promoting the show, but you had managed well enough. Seeing her in a picture or video wasn’t enough anymore to evoke feelings within you, good or bad. She was a stranger now. Just another face you knew in a past life.

In due time, you and your friends mingled onto the dance floor. You were never much of a dancer, but several shots were enough to make you relax and dance to the music. It was freeing, moving your body to the music so loud it drowned out any thoughts your mind could formulate. Your friends danced all around you, holding onto each other, pairing up, sometimes letting a stranger come in and dance with you, grabbing at you, making unwanted advances that you declined by giggling and dancing away back to your friends. Somehow, more alcohol got in your system—some of your friends might have went back to the bar. You were at the perfect sweet spot now, aware and coherent, but relaxed and euphoric.

In a matter of an hour, you desperately needed to sit down and breathe for a minute. Your friends were relentless engines, staying on the dance floor while you struggled through the crowd, elbowing through until you arrived back to the couches and plopped down, catching your breath. You ordered a glass of ice water and chugged it, putting the chilled glass against your hot forehead so you could cool down.

“Taking a breather?” a man’s voice asked, and you looked up to see a guy your age standing in front of you, holding a drink.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckled, wiping the condensation from the glass away from your forehead. “Dancing is tiring.”

He chuckled, and you could hardly see his face under the purple and blue lights. “Well, I was going to ask you to dance, but I guess would it be okay if I took a breather with you?”

You hesitated, setting the glass down and reaching down to your heels that were aching your feet. “Um…” You glanced across to the crowd of dancers, trying to point out where your friends were. You couldn’t see them, but you knew they were close enough because you could hear one of your friends’ goofy laughter. “I don’t know, I think my friends will be coming over soon.”

You didn’t feel like meeting anybody new, or making small conversation that would be pointless by the next morning.

“You sure? I could buy you a drink.” He had a friendly demeanor to him, and he wasn’t being exactly pushy, but you would’ve appreciated it if he just got the hint and moved on.

You smiled politely and waved your hand in the air. “No thanks.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, laughing and casually tucking his hand into his pocket. “Just one drink. Hey.” He lifted his hands in the air. “I’m a nice guy.”

You could have barfed on him right there. Instead, you just sighed and said, “Look, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Or I could get you another water,” he insisted, and you started to feel anxious in your stomach. You glanced back over to the crowd and tried to find your friends, but you couldn’t, and this guy stepped in front of your view. You looked up at him, getting nervous at how close he was now. You tried to think of some other way to reject him, still not wanting to be rude or harsh even though you were getting irritated. Your friend’s laughter was not in earshot anymore, and there was no else in this corner of the club—until your eyes saw someone walking towards you.

She came through the crowd of people almost like a mirage. Even from far away, under the dark purple and blue lights, her eyes shone like glittering moons, the lights casting off the sculpted heights of her face that you could still remember leaving kisses on. Her lips were pursed in neither a smile nor a frown, eyes fixated on you as she floated towards you.

She was wearing a beige suit, as per usual, and your heart broke a little at seeing that her hair was longer now. It went right past her shoulders, effortlessly styled into sandy blonde waves. She was holding a martini as she came and stood beside the man.

The guy noticed that you were staring right past him, so he turned around and jumped upon seeing Lizzie standing there like a statue behind him. “Oh,” he said, and it was obvious that he instantly recognized her. His mouth formed the word, “You’re—” before he stopped and looked back to you. “Oh, my bad.” He must have just then recognized you from old paparazzi pictures. “I’m so sorry.” He looked at Lizzie, whose eyes darted at him as she tightly smiled, and he practically scurried away.

Your throat felt tight as you looked up at her, every inch of you turning into stone as if she had Medusa’s glare. It became hard to breathe suddenly, and your face burned like molten lava.

“Hey,” she said so casually, her pursed lips pinching into a half-smile.

“Hi,” you whispered, knowing that she definitely couldn’t hear your meek voice over the loud music, but she knew what you said, anyway.

“Can I sit?” She gestured to the cushion beside you, but you felt like you were about to pass out. You faintly nodded, so she walked over, taking a seat on the cushion beside you. It was a respectable distance, but you could feel the cushion dip with her weight, so you scooted over a little. She sighed and flipped her hair over her shoulder as she leaned forward and sat her martini down on the table.

Her perfume struck you like a bolt of lightning. That sweet nostalgic smell that you had breathed in so many times, that had stuck to your clothes for weeks after you stopped talking, that you sometimes picked up in the air at random times and in random places, and it always brought back a rushing flood of memories that pained you. You turned your head, pretending to just scratch your nose as you tried to rid your sense of her beautiful but painful scent. It was overwhelmingly suffocating for you.

“I didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” her velvety voice spoke loudly over the music. “When I saw you across the room, I thought I was hallucinating.”

“Yeah, me too,” you mumbled, leaning forward and grabbing one of your friends’ half-empty drink and downing the rest of it. You could hear Lizzie take a sharp breath as she realized what you were drinking for.

“You didn’t expect me to be here tonight? At the party for my own show?” she asked with an edge of humor in her voice. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look over at her.

“You were never one for appearances.” You cleared your throat and wiped your nose again, trying to look anywhere else but her. There were a silent few moments where you could feel her looking at you. God, you hated how her gaze still made you feel like you were under the only beam of sun in the whole world, how it burned through the side of your face and made your nerve endings go crazy.

“You look beautiful tonight,” she said softer, and finally, you looked at her. She was sitting towards you, her legs crossed, hands clasped at her lap. No matter how calm she looked in the face, how much she could tame the ocean of emotions in her eyes, Lizzie’s hands always told her truth. They were fiddling with the ring on her thumb, twisting it around and around. It was funny how she did that without even realizing, and you’d seen her do it probably a thousand times.

“You do, too,” you whispered. She looked magnificent. Her skin was glowing, her eyes were complimented by her dark makeup, her hair looked perfect. She smiled softly, that familiar dimple forming in her cheeks.

A few more beats of silence ensued, but you kept your eyes on her, focusing on keeping your breathing slow and steady.

“I missed you,” she mouthed, and you could only hear the faintest sounds of her voice strings cracking.

“You didn’t miss me until you saw me just now,” you blurted, unsure if it was the alcohol or time between you making you so honest.

Her perfect eyebrows sewed together. “That’s not true.” Her hands stopped fiddling. “I have—I miss you every day.”

It felt impossible to keep looking at her—because you knew she was being truthful. With every second you saw that beautiful face, your breath left you more. You tore your eyes away and stared mindlessly at the table, rubbing your nose again to get her perfume out of your scent.

“Hey,” she said softly, to get you to look at her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. “Y/n.” You felt her scoot closer to you on the couch, her knee touching yours. “Look at me, baby.” That single word wrenched your stomach into such painful knots you almost doubled over.

“Don’t call me that!” you blurted, finally facing her. She looked taken aback at first, but she eased in, reaching out for your face. Her gentle, soft hand cupped your chin, and it instantly eased you. It was one of her old tricks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning in so close she only had to whisper for you to hear her. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I wanted to, but I didn’t know… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

Her eyes trailed over your face, her other hand slinking across the back of the couch so that she had you completely in her corner. Her knee was still touching yours. You caught the slightest twitch of a smirk on her lips as her thumb grazed over your chin, the very edge of it catching your lip so lightly you could hardly feel it. Her touch, her simple touch, soothed your heart. You had missed it, you had missed her so much that you felt imbued with a vibrating energy at seeing her now, at feeling her hand on your face.

“Lizzie—”

“Did I tell you that you look so beautiful tonight?” she cut you off, her lips curling further into a smirk like a cat’s tail. Her eyes were trained on your mouth, and this time her thumb rubbed your lower lip and bent it down a little. Her irises, tinted by the club lights, were flooded by her widening pupils. You wanted to crawl inside there, to drown inside those shiny emerald pools.

“You did,” you remarked, not helping the little smile on your lips.

She touched your lip again, biting her own. There was no air between you now, only her minty breath fanning on your buzzing lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Your immediate thought was yes. Lizzie was irresistible to you. She exuded comfort and seduction in the same beat. There was an undeniable magnetic field between the two of you that drew you together any time you were near each other. That you learned in the very beginning when you first met her and tried to resist her. You just knew that Lizzie was going to be that one ex you went back to time and time again. There was no stopping it, no defying gravity, so you nodded. You would always be hers, anyway.

Lizzie leaned forward and let her lips graze yours, pausing to breathe the same breath, her nose nestled against yours, eyelashes tickling the tops of your cheeks. Finally, she closed in, holding your chin as she kissed you. It was more overwhelming than her perfume. It was gentle, as she always was at first. It was pure and nostalgic, a sort of intimate greeting. Then it grew hotter, and so did your skin. Her lips moved eagerly against yours, tongue teasing your lower lip but not going in. The sound of her breaths getting faster twisted a knot in your stomach, dizzying you in her poisonous kiss as her hand landed on your mid-thigh. You grabbed at her shoulder, letting out a small whine that seemed to break her from her trance.

Lizzie broke from the kiss with a gasp, moving her open mouth to your neck as she caught her breath, her upper body leaning against you now. The air around you was electric as she breathed against your neck, your hand weakly holding onto the shoulder of her blazer.

After a few moments, she pulled away from your neck, looking at you with inebriated eyes. Her mouth half-smiled, the tip of her tongue rolling against the back of her teeth as she stared down at your now puffy lips.

“Dance with me,” she huskily demanded, grabbing your hand and standing up.

You could barely get a hold of yourself as she pulled you up from the couch and led you to the dance floor, realizing that a simple kiss from her had made your knees weak and legs wobbly.

Almost forgetting that you were in a club with dozens of people, you felt shocked by all the bodies that Lizzie led you through until she found an open spot on the floor. Turning to you, she yanked you closer to her by the hand.

The music playing was sultry now, with deep, throbbing bass and incoherent yet sensual lyrics. Lizzie’s hands held your hips as you started to move in rhythm with the beat.

“You’re just as demanding as I remember,” you said into her ear so she could hear you. She only sucked her cheeks and squeezed your hips, keeping you tight against her.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remember,” she said back, to which you playfully rolled your eyes.

“That’s the third time tonight. I’m getting tired of it.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love my praise.”

You eyed her competitively as she smirked, tonguing her cheek deviously.

For a few moments, it was just you, Lizzie, and the music. You looked into each other’s eyes, somehow silently speaking all the words you wanted to say with them. There was no more distance between your bodies, and your arms wrapped around her shoulders as she guided you against her. You and Lizzie didn’t have to speak to have a conversation.

Your body grew hot when she leaned down and nosed her way through your hair to start kissing your neck. The room grew darker and warmer as you felt her suck on your neck, right on the sweet spot she knew you had. Your hand trailed up to her hair, tangling itself in those soft, delicate waves. She was all over you now, consuming you like wildfire. Her kisses grew wet and hard as she trailed them up to your mouth before kissing you again on the lips, biting your lower one and piercing it with her teeth before releasing it. You gasped and kissed her again, just as eagerly as she was.

Lizzie’s hands trailed around your hips, her rings rubbing into your flesh as she grabbed hard at your ass, pushing your hips into her. It was then you felt that she was packing, and through the desire that throbbed through you, you wondered if she knew you would be there tonight or if she had packed for some random stranger she was expecting to take home. Either way, you grinded into her, feeling the vibrations of her growl against your mouth. Her body grew rigid for a moment, pressing desperately close to you, her hand crawling up the center of your back and up your neck until she grabbed your hair and turned you around, pulling you against her from behind.

“Lizzie!” you exclaimed as she pinned you against her, her hand crawling up your throat and gently holding it. The music, the lights, her touch, her voice—it was all just too much. She grabbed your hips and grinded you against her, her piece rubbing right into you.

Her lips came to your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. “I want you, y/n.”

She was bunching your skirt up so she could touch your thigh, grabbing and clawing at it. You hoped to God no one was filming anywhere near, or else the Internet would explode with pictures of Elizabeth Olsen and her ex y/n practically dry humping in a club.

“I need you,” she growled again, her body pressed hot and close against yours so that you were starting to break a sweat. “Please.” She kissed sweetly at your neck, hands on your hips loosening their grip so that she wouldn’t come off as too coercing.

Turning around to look at her, you tugged at the collar of her blazer, watching the absorptive lust in her eyes that was obviously becoming too much for her to bare. Biting your lip, you smirked and nodded.

The door to the club bathroom was practically kicked open as Lizzie burst through it, dragging you in behind her. There were also purplish blue neon lights in the single bathroom that was extremely small and a little dingy for being a respectable establishment. You could still hear the muffled music from inside the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, Lizzie forcefully pushed you against it. The force of your back hitting the door knocked the breath out of you, but she was on you, grabbing your face and kissing you harshly. Her hand trailed down to reach beside you and lock the door.

“You can’t wear things like this,” Lizzie growled, breaking the kiss to look down at your sheer skirt, grabbing two fistfuls of it and pushing it up your hips so she could see your thighs and the little lacey panties you were wearing under it.

“You don’t like it?” you husked, turned on at the way she was looking up your skirt while biting her lip hard.

“It’s something I would’ve never let you wear out alone,” she murmured, looking back up at you as she reached one hand between your legs, cupping your pussy. “It’s just too fucking hot.”

Gasping, you grabbed at her blazer as she started wildly kissing your face and neck, and you could already feel your makeup melting off.

Moving your panties to the side, she pressed her fingers through your folds, instantly moaning at how wet you were. “Fuck, y/n.” The curse sounded like pure sex dripping from her lips.

Leaning forward, you dove your mouth to her neck and started biting her soft skin, inhaling a concentrated scent of her perfume where she had applied it to her pressure point. You almost couldn’t believe she was real, that this was your Lizzie pinning you to a club bathroom door, her hand up your skirt and in your panties.

“I can’t take it,” she whined, grabbing you and moving you to the adjacent wall, pushing you up against it, making sure her hand was cradling the back of your head as she pinned you to the wall.

Lizzie’s breaths were ragged as she fumbled at your panties, ripping them down your legs and kicking them to the side with her heels. She grabbed at your bare pussy, coming back in for another hot and heavy kiss on the mouth. You struggled to breathe, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and trying to meet the force with which she was kissing. She was becoming desperate and needy for you, her tongue shoving its way through your lips and settling into your mouth. She grabbed your face with her free hand and tilted it so she could press her tongue further into your mouth, the tip tickling the back of your throat as she devoured your mouth and moaned into it. Her hand massaged at your clit, relishing all the wetness between your legs that she knew was all for her.

“Fuck,” she cursed again, pulling away from the kiss to catch her breath, your mouths moistened with each other’s. Pressing her face into your hair and inhaling, she reached down to her belt with her free hand.

Desire throbbed through your feverish body, feeling like Lizzie’s presence had sobered you up and then got you drunk again. She tugged harshly at her pants, practically ripping them open and reaching in to take out her strap. She licked her lips and breathed heavily through her mouth as she looked down for a moment. She paused before suddenly wrapping her arm around your butt and lifting you up, causing you to shriek and hook your legs around her hips. She pressed you against the wall, keeping you completely stuck between it and her, her mouth on yours again.

“Lizzie,” you breathed, feeling dizzy at the passion frenzied in the air between you.

Upon hearing you say her name, she stopped, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other holding her cock. She looked up at you with as clear vision as she could through her tainted desire. “Can I? Please?”

You put a hand to the back of her head, tangling your fingers through her hair. Of course, you wanted her to, but you had never seen her quite so desperate for you like this in a long time, and you wanted to draw it out.

“Please,” she repeated, leaning down to bite at your shoulder. She was pressing you so hard against the wall you could barely breathe, let alone move. If she wanted to, she would.

“Please what?” you asked innocently, as if she wasn’t standing there holding her strap towards you in anticipation.

Her eyes flickered up to you, shadowed under the dim neon lighting. “Please let me fuck you,” she begged, nipping at your lips and kissing all over your face, pressing harder into you. “Please, please, please.”

You didn’t want to cut her off while she was hot, so you dug your nails into her back and whispered, “Yes.”

She nearly gasped when you said it, her teeth sinking hard into your neck and making you cry out. However needy she was before, it was even worse now as she tore into your skin and steadied herself, lining the tip of her strap with your entrance and guiding it inside you all at once with one forceful snap of her hips.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out, knowing no one outside would hear you through the music and the thick walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” Lizzie cursed against your neck, adjusting you so that your legs were wrapped tight around her and you were locked between her and the wall. Grabbing at your skirt again, she yanked it up around your hips and held them as she withdrew her hips and then thrust them forward again.

To be honest, you hadn’t been with anyone since her, which you wouldn’t tell her because you knew there was an element of jealousy in the air at the thought that either of you might have been with other people, and Lizzie always packed large. Your eyes squeezed shut as she thrust herself into you hard and fast, giving you no time to adjust.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she exclaimed against your shoulder, her hands moving to your ass and grabbing it hard as she fucked you against the wall.

Keeping your ankles hooked behind her, you tried to spread your thighs wider so it would be easier, but even with that and how wet you were, she was just too big and you were too tight.

“Lizzie, slow down,” you pleaded, grabbing at her blazer and leaning your head back against the wall so you could breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, looking up at you and kissing your jaw gently. She listened as best as she could, slowing down her thrusts, but it was obvious she couldn’t help how hard she snapped her hips each time.

After a few moments, you started to adjust, and she started to lose control again, and the searing pain faded away into unfiltered, throbbing pleasure. You grabbed needily at her as she hammered into you, the strap moving just right against her own clit that she started to moan into your neck.

“I’ve missed your pussy, fuck,” she grunted, and the dirtiness of your words made you realize the dirtiness of the situation. How she was fucking you wildly and desperately, pinned up against the wall, in the club bathroom under neon lights, after having just seen her for the first time in months only some twenty minutes ago.

There was no space between you, only as much as she would allow to withdraw her hips between each thrust, and you thought that Lizzie might crush you to death against that wall.

“Oh, fuck!” she moaned, fucking into you even harder as her heavy breaths filled your ear. You turned your head to kiss at the side of her face, trying to soothe her. It only drew her attention to your mouth, because she turned and caught your lips with her own, shoving her tongue down your throat again. The sound of your head hitting the wall caught her attention, so she lifted one hand away from your ass to cradle the back of your head. You were helpless, pinned mercilessly there against the wall, and all your senses being filled with Lizzie was building a pressure in the pit of your belly. She was so deep inside you, stretching you out, kissing you so hard and deep, your body was overwhelmed.

In an instant, your orgasm crashed over you, walls squeezing around her cock as you practically screamed into her mouth, her moans mixing with yours. You trembled, knowing that if she wasn’t keeping you against that wall with her own body and strength, you would’ve slid right to the floor.

You could tell Lizzie was close, but she was not stopping as she chased her own high, fucking you through your orgasm and making another one quickly build behind it. You were a melted puddle in her arms now, weak and overstimulated, stretched out and used.

Lizzie finally pulled away from your mouth, instead choosing to occupy her mouth with biting your shoulder. “Fuck,” she groaned, her thrusts getting sloppy and unhinged. Her hand on your ass was digging her nails into your flesh and undoubtedly leaving bruises, but you didn’t care. You wanted her to cum.

“Cum for me, Lizzie,” you whispered, scratching at her warm back underneath the blazer. “Cum for me.”

She did, fucking harder into you than before, crushing you so hard against the wall that your back ached and you could barely breathe. You held onto her, holding her head as she trembled and shook and moaned against you for several moments until finally she sighed, putting some pressure off you so you could breathe again. It took her several minutes to come down, and you stroked her hair every minute of it, kissing her cheek as she nuzzled her nose into your hair for comfort.

Finally, she pulled away and looked at you, her makeup smudged and hair wild, with a gleam of sweat on her forehead. “Holy fuck,” she whispered, looking down as she carefully pulled out of you, noticing the way you winced a little. She tucked her strap away and buckled her belt, gently setting you down on the floor. You could feel how bad your back ached now, and how weak your legs were. Knees buckling, you hooked an arm around her shoulder, and she held you up against her, grinning down at you devilishly.

“God, I missed you.”

“Will you pick my underwear off the floor, please?”

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen x fem!reader #lesbian #marvel #wanda maximoff x reader

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tpwk-formula1 · 5 months

Text

Please send in your requests!!

Lando Norris x Leclerc Little Sister!reader

Summary: Lando and Y/N have managed to keep their relationship under wraps until one fateful night after the 2024 Miami GP

Warnings: Light swearing

WC: 1.2k

I’m getting ready in my hotel to go celebrate my boyfriend and his first Formule 1 win. I couldn’t be more excited for Lando but knowing how Lando gets when he is drunk has me stressing that he will tell everyone on the Grid about our relationship.

Lando and I have been together for the past few months and have managed to keep the relationship a secret from the rest of the Grid which had not been an easy task given the fact that I work for Ferrari and Charles is my older brother.

I’m just about ready when I hear a light knock at the door. When I open the door I am greeted with a very excited Lando. He lightly stumbles into my room making it clear he had pregramed with some of the guys.

“I’m so proud of you my love,” I tell Lando making an even wider smile break out on his face. He pulls me in for a hug finally being able to celebrate together.

“Thank you! All I wanted to do was run to you the second I passed the finish line,” Lando tells me excitedly, making it clear that he is still on the adrenaline high from the race that has been finished for hours now.

We spend about fifteen minutes together before Lando heads out to meet some of the guys at the club to start the celebrations. I head out thirty minutes after him once I am finished getting ready.

Once I make it into the club I am spotted by Carlos almost instantly pulling me in for a quick hug before pulling away and dragging me towards the VIP booth that a good portion of the grid has taken over.

Almost instantly Lando’s drunken state spots me and instantly makes his way over to pull me in for a hug.

“You did it Lando! You won your first race in the F1!” I tell him excitedly while still hugging him. He mumbles a quick thank you before pulling away and making his way back to Max knowing if he stood there any longer he would do something that would result in more than half the grid finding out about the secret relationship.

As the night continues and the drinks keep coming, Lando has not slowed down for a second.

I watch from a distance with my older brother while we chat about the amazing race today. I’m always proud of Ferrari when at least one of them makes podium but I can’t help but be even more proud of Lando for finally getting his win. As the drinks continue to flow through my body it becomes increasingly more difficult to keep the secret hidden away.

Towards the end of the night there’s only a few of us still partying away. As I am talking with Max, Lando comes over before pulling me in for a hug and a kiss. The alcohol making both of our rational thinking go out the window. I don’t even register what we are doing until I hear a gasp from Max and a quiet what the fuck in my native language.

The second I hear my older brother’s voice I quickly pull away from Lando before looking around to find my older brother ready to blow a fuse.

“It’s a one time thing!” I quickly huff out trying to cover Lando and I’s ass. But in the drunken state Lando was having none of my lies.

“Babe, why are you lyingggg,” Lando slurs out making my face grow red with embarrassment of being caught.

“Care to explain?” Charles asks clearing sobbing up from the sight in front of him.

“We were gonna tell you eventually,” I tell him back making it clear that this was not so recent development.

“How long?” Is all Charles asks while looking between Lando and I. “Since the new year’s party,” I tell him quietly knowing how upset he was going to be when he realizes I had been lying to him the entire season.

Lando still not picking up on the energy shift of the night whines out, “I wanna go back to the hotel with you baby.”

“You’re not going anywhere with my sister tonight,” Charles calls out which has Max moving towards Lando to help him back to his hotel knowing that the night has come to a crashing end.

“We’ll talk about everything in the morning,” Charles tells me before walking me back to my hotel and making sure I get to my room safely.

“I’m not mad about the relationship. I’m mad you felt like you had to hide it from me,” Charles tells me before placing a quick kiss on the forehead and closing my door as he makes his way down the hall to his respective room.

With the alcohol finally catching up with me sleep takes over. When I wake up in the morning I have a raging headache from the hangover that only worsens when I remember how the night ended.

When I check my phone I am greeted with a dozen messages from different members of the grid as well as my brothers. I chose to ignore all of them other than the one message from Lando asking me what happened last night and why my brother was taking him for coffee.

I quickly dial his number hoping he wasn’t currently with my brother. When he answered me I could tell he was not feeling his best in the moment.

“What happened? I don’t remember much from last night,” Lando tells me sheepishly.

“Well, we aren’t so much of a secret anymore,” I tell him softly which just makes him groan.

“Oh…” Is all Lando says which has me replying back with a soft “yeah.”

We talk a couple more minutes before we both hang up and I start to get ready for the day as well as pack up all of my stuff knowing we will be traveling back home tonight. After an hour goes by a soft knock rings out through my room. When I open the door I am greeted by Charles and Lando. I open the door all the way allowing both of them to step in and make themselves comfortable.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charles asks with clear hurt laced in his voice.

“I thought you would be upset and I didn’t want to ruin your chance of World Champion this year with it,” I tell him and it is clear to both of the men in the room that me hearing it out loud made me realize how silly it sounded.

“Your twin is mad. I dont know if you’ve talked to him yet,” Charles tells me, mentioning my twin Arthur which makes me cringe a little knowing I had intentionally ignored his message this morning.

“I’ll call him later,” I reply back becoming anxious just thinking about it.

“I would never be upset with who you choose to date. Especially someone like Lando. I always knew there would be a good chance you would end up with someone on the grid once you accepted your job, kinda always assumed it would be the other Ferrari driver though,” Charles says making me laugh and slightlly cringe thinking about Carlos and I together.

“I’m sorry we lied,” I tell him.

“You hurt her and we will have problems,” Charles said directly looking at Lando. Lando just nods with a smile on his face knowing he would never destroy his chance with the Lelcerc girl.

“At least my sister is finally dating a winner,” Charles says with a light laugh falling off his lips as he exits my hotel room.

Two days later…

Instagram Post

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc and 19,683 others

Y/NLelcerc: I guess it's time to give my love his flowers! I couldn't be more proud of you and what you did in Miami this past weekend <3

Comments have been disabled

#formula 1 #formula 1 imagines #F1 #F1 imagines #lando norris #lando norris imagines #lando x reader imagine #lando x leclerc imagine #formula 1 one shot #F1 lando norris #charles leclerc #max verstappen

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thelov3lybookworm · 6 months

Text

You Think I Wanted This (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: Breakfast was never this tense

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: aight so i didnt know that Alic was supposed to be dead, and that Halden was the living brother, so now please pretend i never mentioned alic and that the brother had always been halden in this series 🥲 i will be going back to change the previous parts and editing alic to halden to prevent any confusions, but im sorry for and confusion now hehe

anyways, enjoy!

Breakfast was always a quiet and quick ordeal in the royal family.

The day after Y/n's wedding, it was also tense.

Her father seemed oblivious as he scraped up his eggs with his fork and chewed, his focus solely on the reports his second in charge had handed him the moment he sat down. He did not pay much mind to anything other than those papers, and Y/n was grateful for it as she drowned in the fury radiating off of her brothers and husband.

Directly opposite her sat Halden, glaring holes into his plate and occasionally sparing Xaden a glance filled with murderous intent.

Cam was no better from where he was stabbing his sausage with his knife as if it had committed a personal crime against him. His shoulders were almost touching his ears from how tensed they were, his jaw clenched as he kept his stare fixed on Xaden, warning in his eyes.

Y/n sighed lowly, looking at Xaden from the corner of her eyes. He looked... constipated, if she put it nicely.

Before she could formulate another thought, her father's chair scraped against the ground, and she shot up, along with her brothers, as was expected.

Xaden though, he had a death wish. He remained seated, even as the king turned to glare at him. It wasn't until Y/n tapped his arm that he followed suit, albeit very slowly.

The king's eyes were glazed in ice, steam practically coming out of his ears at the blatant disrespect, that too in front of so many guards.

"Y/n. Your husband needs to have some lessons in manners for the royal family, doesn't he?"

Y/n bowed her head.

"Yes, father."

"Make sure something like this doesn't happen again."

"Yes, father."

He left then, and Y/n finally let go of the breath she was holding.

"Fucking bastard." Y/n's head snapped up at Cam's use of the words, her jaw hanging open.

Royal children did not curse. That was an unspoken rule in the family.

Cam cursing would have been punishable had their father heard.

Y/n had no time to do anything but watch as Cam rounded the long table, coming face to face with Xaden as he sneered.

"You will learn, Riorson, because if my father loses his temper on my sister, you will be the one to suffer. You hear that?"

Xaden said nothing, and Y/n turned her body so she could jump in if Cam decided Xaden was not worth warnings and words. Halden had the audacity to sit back down and continue eating, amusement shining in his eyes as he witnessed the scene in front of him.

Y/n shot him a look of betrayal, and all he did was shrug.

"Back off, Aaric." Y/n's eyes shot back to the two men, still going at it.

Cam didn't move for a long moment, the tension in the room becoming suffocating.

But then a muscle ticked in Xaden's jaw, and Cam finally stepped away, smirking.

Xaden stalked away, bumping his shoulder into Cam's, who chuckled. Like this was the most amusing thing in the world.

As Y/n remained standing, watching Xaden walk out the doors, Cam took the seat next to Y/n, seemingly unfazed by Y/n's glare.

"Halden, pass me some juice. I need to refresh my energy."

Y/n sighed, settling down onto her chair.

"You two need to calm down. He is pissed as it is. You are not helping."

They seemed to have gone deaf, for they did not respond or even pretend to have heard her.

"Aaric?"

Cam choked on his drink.

"Um, yeah. I got myself a new name so no one would recognise me in the quadrant."

Halden snorted, shaking his head. "And you couldn't find any better name? You do love to copy everything about Alic, don't you?"

"Die."

Y/n rubbed her brows, deciding to leave the two fools that were her brothers to their bickering and to go find Xaden to see if he was in the mood to bring down the castle. She didn't know much about him yet, but if she knew anything about men, it was that they had overinflated, fragile egos. And Xaden's ego was surely hurt by what happened, and it would be better to calm him down before he lost whatever he had in that skull.

She didn't want anymore drama than she already had to handle, and add to that his upset... butt.

No, she was quite fine with how things were already going. She didn't need them becoming worse.

That, and she wasn't as heartless as she pretended to be. She did care about keeping everyone happy, even when she was unwilling to.

So that meant checking up on her ugly husband, even if she just wished for him to return and stew with his dragon.

Y/n wished she had just sat her backside down and listened to her brothers bicker, because the alternative was not really something she wished to have seen.

There, in the hallway leading up to her own chambers, empty of guards, stood Xaden.

And Violet Sorrengail.

Y/n simply blinked, taking in the sight she had unfortunately stumbled upon.

Interesting. That was the only way she could describe the scene.

The two of them were standing next to the two opposite walls, only a few feet between them, though they seemed to wish to erase the distance, with the way Violet was leaning forward, desperation seeping from every pore of her being.

Xaden looked like a huge hand had slapped him onto the wall like a ball of dough, his head resting back, his eyes closed as Violet screamed at him.

"Are you even listening to me Xaden?"

"Violence, please. Don't make it harder than it already is."

"Fine. I'll leave you alone."

Y/n's eyebrows rose.

"Vi-"

"Trouble in paradise?"

Both their heads snapped to Y/n as she strode towards her room from right between them, fixing her tiara.

"No. We were just talking about how we'll manage our schedules because of our bonded dragons."

Y/n hummed, glancing once at Xaden with one brow raised. "Just make sure you discuss about your schedules in private, because being found screaming in the palace hallways is the easiest way to bring yourself in the line of the king's attention. You don't want to be found talking, especially when our marriage is based on your separation."

She turned to give Violet a look, who turned away, holding her head.

Then Y/n continued on, towards her chambers where her academic work was still pending.

That was all that mattered, really. Her studies.

That was the only way she could stop thinking about anything, really. It brought her peace and calm, even if she hadn't wanted to be a healer.

The day was only starting, and she already had to try to drown herself in studies to keep her headache at bay.

How fun.

Fourth Wing Taglist: @byyalady @gardenofrunar

Xaden Taglist: @sidrapotter @anniiittttaa @pirana10 @harrystylesfan2686 @artists-ally @riddlesb1tch @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @bubybubsters

YTIWT Taglist: @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @wallacewillow0773638

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #rebecca yarros #fourth wing headcanons #xaden headcanon #fourth wing fanfic

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skullchicken · 1 year

Text

I'll see if I can formulate something that's been on my mind for a while. It stems mostly from advice I've given to art students but I feel it can potentially be applied to many other things.

I feel like many people picture achieving success like this:

... but can you see what's wrong with this picture?

Success in any endeavor isn't guaranteed. And even if you are successful, it's not guaranteed it will make you happy.

But even if we assume that this chart is in fact correct...

That's still a long-ass time you're spending being unhappy.

What I told my art students is: try to find a way to make the process of learning and trying and failing enjoyable.

Sometimes you'll need to find a new perspective or do some soul-searching to achieve that, e.g.:

is it really true that you have to punish yourself to deserve enjoyment?

can you find something humorous or funny about your failures? can you make them more lighthearted for yourself?

can you exchange your expectations for curiosity?

is there a way you can make the process fun for you?

To give a non-art example: my family has an oven heated with wood. Every year we had to saw the wood into big chunks, then smaller chunks, then we had to carry them inside, several square meters of it. I used to hate it. Unspeakable stuff gets into your nose. It's itchy. There's insects in the wood. But I think I especially hated it because I was following my older sibling's example, who hated it much more, and loudly.

Then one day I realized it's only like two hours of work, really. And I can talk to my family and make jokes while we do it. And if I put on my mp3 player that means I can move my body to music, which I enjoy deeply. I can even daydream on the side! Suddenly: fun!

Or to give another example: at university I used to hate learning for exams. Until I realized what I actually hated was cramming for exams, it was staying up late and subsisting on energy drinks instead of sleep while the clock kept ticking. But as long as I started two weeks earlier instead of one week earlier, or, even better, just turned the lecture's powerpoint slides into flashcards (which I enjoyed doing because it's a bit of a no-brainer activity I can do on the side) I could just put them on my smartphone and learn them casually on long train rides. And because of the flashcard program, I could see my progress, too. Suddenly: fun!

That's just me and my specific brain, though! Also sometimes things just suck and there's nothing you can do except clench your teeth and get through it, I recognize that.

But if you want to have success to be happy and that's your goal, then having fun while learning means you've already won.

#studyblr #studying #study motivation #motivation #life advice #I mean I guess #I dunno #art advice

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otomes-and-tears · 2 years

Note

Well hello hello dear friend, here i am with request... I am terrible at formuling but hope i read the rules right and that you'll feel like it but here is a request.

It happened to me not long ago but may i ask for one ( or more ) blooming panic babes reacting to mc falling asleep on video call only a few minutes after starting it ? Bonus point for a redface on the keyboard.

♦️MC falling asleep on VC with Nakedtoaster ♦️

► Tags/Warnings: -

► Words: 459

► A/N: HELLO AL!! I liked this prompt so much I’m working on writing for the other love interests 💛

Decided to post Toasty first because… Well, favoritism!

► Masterlist

“Hey, have I ever told you that you need to quit your job?”

Toasty had, in fact, mentioned that. Numerous times, actually.

It’s not like MC disagreed. The insane work schedule, which lead to them working four hours overtime today, often made them feel like they were about to fall over and die from exhaustion, like the protagonist of one of the numerous shitty isekai romance web novels they’ve been reading lately.

It was getting ridiculous, honestly. It was only a question of time before they finally decided to take the leap and quit, but it never really seemed like the right time and MC really didn’t want to screw their colleagues over by quitting in the middle of an important project.

So they endured. Slept three hours, showed up to work by 6AM sharp and tried their best to stay alert by drinking ungodly amounts of caffeinated drinks.

By the time they got home, the only thing they had the energy to do was talk on the server and spend a couple of minutes on voice chat with Toasty, who seemed increasingly more concerned about MC’s health.

“You have, yes. And I will! Eventually…” MC tried to reassure them, but the excuse seemed weak even to their own ears. Whatever, MC was too tired to sound more convincing. “I’m getting really tired of this.”

Mc points to themselves, hoping that their general appearance is enough of an descriptor.

It didn’t do anything to quell their partner’s worry, however. And MC knew that he was about a second away from dropping any and all responsibilities and coming to visit them.

“You just seem tired in general.” Toaster muses

“I should let you get some sleep.”

“No!! Please.” You protest, and toasty pauses before he can log out of the call. “I… I had a long and shitty day and just wanted to listen to your voice for a bit longer. Can you tell me about your day?”

Toasty relinquished— of course they did. Neither of them really liked saying goodbye and having an excuse to delay it a bit longer was always something they’d take.

Their face was bright red as they recounted their activities for the day. The new project they’d been working on, the difficult raid they took part in and a weird experience they had at a restaurant earlier. Mc manages to listen attentively for all of five minutes before their eyes close, their face resting against the keyboard and spamming “g” on one of the channels.

Toasty looked on adoringly, torn between relishing on how pretty his partner was and absolutely hating how they’d been roped into working long hours again and he was too far away to do help them more.

“Sweet dreams, MC.”

#blooming panic #bloomic #nakedtoaster #bloomic toasty #bee’s writing

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honeytonedhottie · 7 months

Text

starting ur fitness girlie era⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌷

starting ur fitness girlie era is actually super easy! its consistency and discipline where most ppl struggle. i hope this post can help make the sustenance of ur fitness girlie era super easy and fun + some fun working out resources to start ✨

FOR CLARITY ;

when starting anything, the most important thing, although cliche is starting from a place of love rather then hate. it feels better and is more sustainable in the long run.

be clear on your goals for ur fitness girlie era. is this something that u wanna maintain in ur day to day life for general health? do you wanna gain/lose some weight? do you just wanna be stronger?

knowing what ur trying to achieve makes finding workouts that target your goal specifically more easy (the more specific the better)

WHERE DOES NUTRITION COME INTO PLAY ;

you should be fueling ur body properly in order for ur body to function well when ur in ur fitness girlie era. if ur goal for example is to gain weight but u notice that u have a habit to eat very little, make a log.

WIEIAD LOG (NUTRITION CONTINUED) ;

i started a what i eat in a day log for a couple reasons. one bcuz i love lists and documenting things about myself, and two bcuz i wanted to make sure that i was eating well and eating good quality foods. bcuz i notice that when i eat well -> i feel well.

eat to fuel your body, dont eat just to eat

include fresh foods

make sure that you eat healthy portions (calling four almonds a meal is NOT healthy, and calling six pizza pies a meal is NOT healthy)

overall just be mindful of what u decide to fuel your body with. an easy drink that helps to be mindful with what u fuel ur body with is with SMOOTHIES.

im so sick of ppl sleeping on smoothies cuz if u dont like to directly eat vegetables or if u want an easy way to intake fresh fruits and veggies smoothies are the way to GO.

ROMANTICIZATION ;

the fun part of the whole journey, romanticization. made a pinterest board for ur fitness journey aesthetic and make it super pretty. invest in cute workout clothes to motivate urself to workout.

formulate a playlist for ur workout, something that gives u energy and motivates you. find a workout class or a youtube channel that you love. dont make working out BORING. get a workout buddy, make some video diary entries about working out/ur workout for the day.

make a blog that records whatever workout that u did. find fun ways to work out, like dancing or going on hot girl walks. create an atmosphere where u can work out and treat the time that u spend working out as a time to nurture and nourish your body.

PATIENCE AND PERSISTENCE ;

motivation isnt going to get u through a sustainable fitness girl journey, motivation can only get you so far. its DISCIPLINE that gets you the results that you want and consistency.

be patient with yourself even if u fall off ur routine and grind, ur only human so let yourself live. as long as you dont make falling off a habit, you'll be okay.

make sure that u emphasize the mind -> body connection bcuz thats super important. working out is not just about working up a sweat; it's about connecting with your body and embracing the mind-body connection.

FUN AND EFFECTIVE WAYS TO WORKOUT ;

le sserafim workout - i've done the le sserafim workout once or twice and it absolutely destroyed me 💀 but in a good way. its challenging but its also rly effective so i recommend.

dancing - if ur into dancing, find a way of dancing that u enjoy to do. some examples include ; ballet, kpop dances, jazz etc

join a sport - join a sport with a friend to make it more fun! but theres lots of different sports that u can play and not only is it good for ur health, but its also super fun

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friendsoup · 11 months

Text

Self Care With The Ladies!

Recipe: Helena, Anne, Vera, and Tracy x Reader (all separate), romantic, headcanons, date night, gn!reader, stressed! reader, they/them pronouns used once, reader is called beautiful and gorgeous, reader has make up put on them, cuddles

WC: 639

Chef's Note: I noticed there wasn't a ton of girls in the idv x reader tag!!! That is a tragedy, and something I aim to fix. I wanted to do something simple and self indulgent today! Hope nobody minds ;w;

Helena

Gets annoyed when you attempt to hide how tired you really are. Tells you off for not taking care of your own needs. She seems rather angry, but it comes out of pure concern for you.

Finds a small nook in the manor for the two of you to hide in, unbothered by the rest of the residents. Has you lay down beside her, resting your head on her lap, while she reads to you.

"It says here that y/n is actually the most beautiful person in the world! Fancy that!" You try to argue with her, and she asks you to prove it. You cannot prove it, as you can't read braille. She smiles down at you, feeling as though she's gotten away with something great.

Will read to you until you fall asleep, then she'll simply sit and enjoy your presence.

Anne

Has prepared a new game for the two of you to play!

She's brought some cookies and hot chocolate for the occasion, and has made sure the room is super cozy.

She doesn't outwardly say she knows your stressed, nor does she push you to talk about it. Claims that she's only doing this to have a fun time.

She explains the rules to you as best she can, though she's so excited to play with you that she can't formulate a proper description. Claims that you'll understand more once the two of you begin playing.

The two of you have friendly banter while playing. She jokes about how badly she's going to crush you, and you try to return her energy.

She beats you the first couple of times, and then starts letting you win.

"You're getting really good!" She could demolish you in two rounds

Ends the night drinking the last of your hot chocolate while looking at the stars.

Vera

Notices something off about you immediately. Can sniff out the fact that you're spreading yourself thin effortlessly.

Her solution? A makeover!

She invites you to her room, and gives you the spa treatment

She goes through her skin care routine, all the while complimenting you for how great you look. Recommends all sorts of tricks for taking care of yourself.

Doesn't use too much make up, just highlights your "natural beauty"

Once she's done, she dresses in an outfit she hand picked for you, doing little bits of maintenance to make sure it fits perfectly.

You can hardly recognize yourself in the mirror when she's done. You look better than you ever had before.

The two of you then head to dinner, and she takes great care in showing you off to everyone you pass.

"Don't they look gorgeous? My, you'd think I was dining with a movie star!"

Tracy

The QUEEN of parallel play

The both of you are the same amount of stressed. She's been working on something that hasn't been going great, and the manor has been playing tricks on your mind. She suggests the two of you just do something to relax.

She leans on your shoulder while fidgeting with a puzzle, and you busy yourself with your own hobby.

When she finds herself getting frustrated, she buries herself in your neck, breathes in deeply, and then returns to her game. The first time it startles you, but by the third time you find it comforting.

Eventually, the two of you grow bored with your respective busy work, and decide on getting a snack.

The entire time she's touching you. Holding your hand, leaning on you, or resting her head on your shoulder. She loves simply basking in your presence.

While eating, the two of you chat about anything and everything. The conversation grows emotional quickly, with the two of you expressing how stressed you've been lately.

"I'm lucky to have you." She means every word

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the-wizard-writes · 8 months

Text

My Monster Roommate: Nylian (Neil) Elsalor

Nylian (Neil) Elsalor: (he/him)

Major: Magical History

Minor: Library and Informational Sciences

Selby Talbot: (they/them)

Major: Poisons Biology and Serums

Minor: Herbalism

From what Selby gather from being a roommate to an elf they has learned a few things...

One, elves hear everything. Of course with those big pointy knife ears of there's they hear almost everything that goes around the apartment. Sometimes he would give little quips about what he's heard.

“You know, if you stop eating out all the time then maybe you would have more energy rather than feeling sluggish all the time.” Nylian cooly comment not looking up from his textbook. Selby snapped their head towards the elf glaring daggers at the elf who didn’t even care about the piercing gaze the witch bore into him throwing away the leftover’s from that orc bbq from last night, “Where did you hear-

“From your conversation two days ago, also maybe try eating a vegetable once in a while. It’ll get your energy up.” The elf coldly cut it. Selby frowned at the elf’s “helpful advice” and rolled their eyes. Selby mumbled some curses under their breath as they sat down their shared little couch next to the elf, living with Nylian has made Selby notice some things about elves that they haven’t known before. Sure there were the common stereotypes of the elf race that they knew from other races passing comments (mainly dwarves) but, Neil was actually pretty far from the more egregious stereotypes of elves. As Selby was about to grab a drink they noticed some crudely pictures on the refrigerator. The pictures were drawn in fun colorful colors with simple shapes, flowers and books with some having pictures of the elf himself along with a book sitting with a group of kids. Some drawings even had “Worlds best librarian!” Written along the top of the card stock paper. Selby turned to Nylian who was coolly sipping on his mid morning tea not paying attention to the witches curiosity.

“Hey Nylian?”

The elf perked his ears up turning towards the witch, “What is it?” The elf mused,

“What ‘s all these?” Selby asked, pointing to the kid picture on the fridge.

“Oh. Some kids from the library made that for me.”

Selby paused and turned towards the elf. Kids? No, Selby has seen Nylian interact with others. Neil was cold and often avoids others Selby has never seen the elf around common areas on campus talking to people then again the elf’s friends that Selby has see seemed to be similar to him as well. Studious, academically involved and stand-offish towards others.

“I…I never knew you even liked kids?” They admitted still confused

Neil closed his book and shrugged, “You never asked.” He simply stated.

“Yeah, but, you…don’t seem like the type to even want a kid.”

Nylian raised an eyebrow his lips curling into a small smile. “Well, I do want kids in the future. I come from a very big family, even for elf standards. I have younger siblings that I took care of when my parents were busy.” Neil explained ruminating on the statement from Selby. “My favorite activity was reading to my younger siblings during bedtime. I have been told from many of people that when I read I tend to formulate stories in away that makes people want to listen. I like encouraging them to read books as well.” Neil said.

The witch nodded along with Neil’s explanation. They never expected the studious elf to be a advocate for kids. “The kids from my assistant library job.” He pointed the pictures on the refrigerator. “They often draw me pictures of the stories they come up with or from stories that I’ve read.” The elf explained with a small smile. Selby was intrigued by the elf’s openness to kids rather than people around him, “Wow, you might as well become a teacher then.” Selby suggested. Nylian gave a light hearted laugh shaking his head, “Oh no, I couldn’t being a librarian is always something that I wanted to do. I want to encourage knowledge and literature to others, not teach.” He said.

The witch shrugged glancing at the pictures again. The thought of the studious elf reading in funny voices to children and helping them color in pages for small activities made them smile on the inside. Though he didn’t want to be a teacher, a librarian was also a really sweet job to help kids learn how to read which was ultimately what he wanted to do.

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teriri-sayes · 1 year

Text

Reactions to Miracle Creator's Chapter 144

TLDR; HD drinks Ron's lemonade. Dead mana is called Black Death Energy. Demon Cult plan to go on a destroying spree. GED meeting begins.

Soos? LSH = ✅ CJS = ✅

HD and Cale's Conversation Continuing from last chapter, HD doubted tsundere Cale's words that he was "perfectly fine." 😂 And then there was the part where Ron served both Cale and HD lemonade, saying that it was Cale's preference... HD took a sip and paused before saying that Cale had a unique preference. 🤣🤣🤣

HD was also aware of Cale's disposition. His Demon Cult members had proposed to make their new benefactor as their "Great Elder," but HD refused, saying that Cale would not like something that was bothersome and tie him down. Aww... Cale and HD only knew each other for a few days, yet they understood each other so well.

Black Death Energy So the Blood Cult called that formulation mixed with dead mana as Black Death Energy (BDE). I won't go into the details, but HD was injected with the highest amount of BDE every year.

Then there's our Cale who goes "If HD has the highest amount of BDE, then purifying the other Living Jiangshis will be easier!" Of course, he earned the silent stares of everyone in the room, including HD. 🤣🤣🤣

Let's Destroy Everything Raon faced HD with sparkling eyes when HD said that he would just destroy everything when dealing with the Blood Cult. 😂 It was HD's quick solution to the Blood Cult problem. Cale was uncomfortable and tried to dissuade HD, but everyone seemed to be on HD's side.

Cale and the Soos We've recently be blessed with Soos content. However, Cale was feeling awkward at how LSH and CJS did not react much upon seeing him cough blood. LSH simply stayed by Cale's side while CJS went off somewhere with CH.

These three who used to be so close are now like this... Perhaps, like in CH and CJS's case, someone should plan for these three to talk it out properly. I don't think those three had a proper talk yet, right? Unless author tells us that they did it off-screen. 😒

Ending Remarks Nothing exciting happened today as this was mostly a chapter focused on planning. Next chapter is the meeting of the Caleism believers GED. I guess we'll have misunderstandings and poetry again. See you all next week to find out how Great Elder Kim Hae-il will handle the meeting!

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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jayteacups · 2 years

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Remedy

Struggling to keep up with your university workload, you fall sick, much to your dismay. Your boyfriend takes care of you, but Levi's spent too much of his life watching a loved-one struggle with illness, and can't help the rising fear within him when looking after you.

Pairing: Levi x fem!Reader

Tags and warnings: SFW, University AU, sickfic (Reader is ill), established relationship, some hurt/comfort. (EDIT: in one line, Reader’s hair texture is implied to be straight or wavy.)

Word count: 2.0k

A/N: I wrote this a few days ago when I first fell ill, and my symptoms have changed a little since then, but I digress. Reader’s got one hell of a sore throat and all round feels kinda bleugh (since then my sore throat has turned into a cough and my energy levels have NOT improved fml). This is your regularly scheduled reminder to get some rest, drink water and eat properly so you don’t end up like me or Reader here lol

The shifting of the mattress underneath you interrupts your slumber, and a small whine of discontent escapes you. You feel oddly disoriented, a film of exhaustion clinging to your eyes.

“Sorry,” you hear your boyfriend whisper quietly from behind you, as he readjusts the cover over your shoulder and slips an arm around your waist. “Go back to sleep.” Nimble fingers slip through your hair softly.

“Mm. Okay,” you rasp, burying your face into the pillow, sighing at the welcome contact of Levi’s chest pressing up against your back. You’d spent the entire day slaving away at the library, desperately trying to force your overworked brain to focus and catch up on uni work, and his touch was sorely missed, and—“wait…”

He kisses the back of your head. “What?”

You just about manage to force your eyes open, focusing on the lamp on the bedside table. You’re in your room, judging by the random paraphernalia placed atop it. Levi’s room, to nobody’s surprise, is much less messy. “How’d I get back here? Was at the library.”

“D’you not remember?”

“… no…” Eyes drifting shut again of their own accord, you sigh drowsily.

“You must’ve been really out of it, then.” Levi sighs, holding you a little tighter to his chest. “You fell asleep at the desk, and Hange phoned me so I could come pick you up, since they needed to stay a little longer. I woke you up and you miraculously didn’t fall back asleep on the drive back, but you were practically a zombie the entire journey.”

“Oh.” His words are starting to sound a little fuzzy, but you just about understand them.

“You need to take care of yourself. I’ve never seen you this out of it.”

“I still need to catch up with work; I’m so behind,” you protest, cut off by a yawn. If you’d been more awake in the moment, hot shame would be running through your veins at just how bad of a student you’d become. You’d always been on top of things, and you’re still not sure how you’d fallen so far behind on lectures, assignments, everything. Struggling to wake up on time, struggling to drag yourself to classes, struggling to care at all; only until you’re hit with the sudden realisation that if you continued, you’d be so far behind it’ll be impossible to even consider catching up to your peers. Hence—the last few days of panicked overworking. But even then, you still can’t work as efficiently as you once could, and it just feels like the more you work, the larger the list of tasks to complete…

You’re too tired to care about it now, though. That’s a problem for tomorrow.

“Wake me up early.” Your tongue feels too heavy to formulate the words properly, but you hope he understands.

Levi clicks his tongue—of course he understands. “Not a chance. You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep at it like this.”

You’re deeply asleep by the time he finishes the final word.

———

You wake up to a dry throat and golden light trickling through your curtains.

Sluggishly, you roll over. The other side of the small mattress where Levi had been is now empty and cold.

Groaning, you wonder why all your limbs feel heavier than concrete blocks. Even your eyes are struggling to open, more so than last night. Feeling an unpleasant, dull ache in your throat, you swallow to get rid of the dryness in your mouth.

Shit. Your throat hurts.

I cannot be ill. Not now.

Against your body’s wishes, you open your eyes (the sun is definitely way into the sky, judging by the light seeping through the curtain gaps), lift an aching arm and turn the alarm clock to face you, bleary-eyed and blinking slowly at the time displayed. Confirming your suspicions, the clock tells you that it is quite late in the morning… much later than you’d hoped to… wake…

When you next come to, you want nothing to bury yourself so deeply into the covers that you fuse with the quilt permanently. A warm hand rests gently on your forehead, taking your temperature.

You call out Levi’s name—or at least, you think you did, but for all you know it could’ve come out as an incoherent mumble instead. Throat feeling worse than before, you can’t help but grimace. Levi’s hand moves away from your forehead, coming to cup your face tenderly instead. His thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek.

“Are you awake?” He ventures.

You open your eyes again, and squint up at him. He’s perched on the side of the bed, his hair falling over his eyes.

“I think I’m awake now.”

He looks down at his lap for a moment. “You look like crap.”

“Yeah. I don’t feel all too sunny, either.” You grouse, lifting a hand to rub at your face.

“That’s what I thought.” Something clenches in his jaw momentarily, before it smooths out. “Feel like drinking anything?”

It is only then you finally register the fragrance of a hot drink. “You didn’t,” you say hoarsely, turning your head to the side. A cup of steaming hot tea sits atop the bedside table. Dragging yourself up into a sitting position with a supportive hand on your shoulder from him, you say, “you’re too good to me, baby, thank you.”

Bashfully avoiding eye contact, Levi squeezes your shoulder before removing his hand. “Your voice sounded a little rough last night, too. At least you don’t have a fever, but… just drink up.”

Beaming at him, you comply. It tastes bright and sweet, just the way you like it—no, sweeter. He’d put a spoonful of honey in it to soothe your throat.

As you slowly sip your tea in bed, Levi disappears, likely to continue with household chores around the flat—chores that you should be doing today, since you and your flatmates created a rota. Currently, two are out of town and one’s been staying over at her boyfriend’s place more and more, so the entire accommodation is yours for now.

Tamping down on the guilt flaring up inside you, you set the empty teacup aside and lumber over to the bathroom, wincing at all the little aches and pains that comes with moving around in this state.

Freshening up takes far more effort than it should, forcing you to shamefully trudge back into your bedroom once you’re done. Flopping on your bed face-first, you moan.

“Hey,” Levi says from your doorway. “I emailed your professors. They’ll send you the material, and if you want, I can go to your lectures and take notes too.”

“You’re a godsend,” you groan from the bed. “No need to go to my classes for me, though. The digital handout will be just fine.”

He sighs. “Okay. Do you want to eat something too? It’s past noon.”

“No thanks, I’m not feeling hungry.” You sigh, clenching the sheets in trembling fists. The hot searing shame from the last few days has returned. You’re so fucking incompetent. “Please, don’t do my chores. It’s okay. I’ll do ‘em later, yeah?”

“I don’t mind doing them.” Levi’s footsteps approach the bed before you feel a dip in the mattress. He smells like antiseptic, the scent sharp and invading your nostrils. “Cleaning is therapeutic for me.”

The guilt comes creeping back in. No wonder he’s also been looking stressed every time you see him—he’s worried beyond grief for you. You don’t know the full details, but you know that his mother has ongoing health issues ever since his childhood, and that there had been a number of close calls and scares. Therefore, it’s not a surprise to you that he’s always been extra anxious about illnesses, mild or severe, or that he takes to intense cleaning sprees whenever somebody in his life falls ill.

You turn your head and crane your neck - he’s wearing a surgical mask over his lower face. “I’m sorry for making you worry,” the words slip from your mouth before you can think. “I promise it’s not that bad, I’m just a weakling… I’ll feel better soon, I swear.” you chuckle half-heartedly, frustrated beyond belief and trying to make the mood light-hearted to distract both of you, but judging by his furrowed brows, Levi doesn’t find any of this amusing. Neither do you, though. There’s absolutely nothing amusing about being such a shitty, undeserving student and girlfriend who fell ill due to her own fault and forced her boyfriend to put everything on hold to look after her.

He shakes his head instead, eyes darkening with sorrow. “Don’t promise me. Just do it. Just… get better soon.”

Wincing, you roll over so that you are now flat on your back and looking up at him properly. “It’s probably just fresher’s flu or something similar, nothing I won’t get over…” Your voice wobbles. “I’m sorry all the same, but please, don’t worry.”

Stormy eyes flutter shut for a moment. His next words sound heartbreakingly strained. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry or that I shouldn’t worry, damn it, you just have to get better, alright?” He swallows, and then moves to get up. Quieter, he adds, “let me know if there’s anything you need from me to help you do that, i-if there is anything I could do at all.”

Tears prick at your eyes. Damn it all—you weren’t feeling emotional at all ten minutes ago. Yet all the shame at your own shortcomings, the exhaustion from what little you did today, and worry for Levi’s sake come bubbling to the surface. The tears leak, and run across your temple and into the pillowcase. Sniffling, you wipe roughly at your face with one hand, and lurch out with the other to grab at his hand.

“Just stay, please.”

He freezes.

Time ticks by slower than a snail’s pace.

His hand closes around yours. Moisture gathers at his lash line, but he refuses to let them fall.

“I’ll stay.”

You smile weakly, shuffling to make room for him on your tiny bed. Cautiously, Levi sits on the edge, noting your wincing.

“You’re in pain,” he observes. “I can get paracetamol.”

“Just a little achey all over,” you sigh. “I’ll take a tablet or two in a minute, yeah? Just… be here with me. Please.”

He tilts his head. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Get on your front. I’ll give you a massage.”

You comply, but not without taking his hand and squeezing it first. “Like I said,” you say as you shuck off your sleep shirt and get yourself in position, “you’re too good to me. I’m going to be just fine, because you’re here, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be like that. It was never about me and I shouldn’t have made it so. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. Just relax and enjoy the massage now.”

“But I can’t help but worry—oh.” Levi’s hands grip your shoulders, rubbing firmly, but not painfully. “Oh. Yeah, keep going.” Burying your face in the pillow, you let your eyes flutter shut. In another context, there would be something undeniably erotic about this entire situation, but now? You just want to bask in his comfort.

“Tired?” Levi asks as your sounds of relief and words of encouragement fall sparser and sparser until the room is filled with nothing but silence.

“Mm hm.” You smile drowsily. “I’m good, though, thank you baby.”

“Get some sleep, then,” he says, as you readjust your arms that were resting underneath the pillow. “You deserve some rest. It’ll help you later with work. Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, unable to open your eyes all of a sudden. There’s still so much the two of you need to discuss later: his anxieties when it comes to illnesses, your insecurities and struggles when it comes to university life. But, you think, being lulled gently by a wave of sleep, that can be discussed later.

Right as you dangle on the precipice of sleep, another question escapes unbidden. “Can I get a kiss?”

You hear something akin to a chuckle above you. “No. Get better first, and then I’ll consider it, love.”

“It’s a deal,” you mumble, and your consciousness fades to the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long, long time.

Masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x mc #levi ackerman x mc #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff #levi x oc #levi ackerman x oc #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #reader insert

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factorialsotherfandoms · 1 year

Text

(Note before I start this one - while most of the everything is the same, this ficlet contains an AU backstory for Missa in which he wasn't always half-skeleton [whatever that means] and the act of becoming one causes both body horror symptoms of rotting and decaying and disintegrating flesh, which in turn causes fluctuating chronic pain. He understands the cause of this to be a curse laid upon his hometown for the accidental desecration of an old temple. The truth... If I play more in this au, maybe someday I'll reveal it.

(Mostly this is just I've been in horrific pain recently thanks to my own disabilities and the weather, so I wrote Missa being a very brave wet cat about it and getting a cuddle and some forehead kisses from Philza. Enjoy?)

Morning comes in a familiar shade of agony. Last time the rot had been this bad, Missa had been living with Roier. Now, however, he is married - governmentally enforced, platonically, for the sake of Chayanne - and he likes to think he and Philza are close. But... They are perhaps not as close as Missa would like them to be, and Philza - brave, strong Philza - seeing Missa destroyed by pain would surely lead to... Missa is not quite sure, but is sure it would be bad.

Certainly, if he had known it was going to be this bad, he would never have stayed the night.

But... If he can just get up, then he can make an excuse, and if he can make an excuse he can hobble back to Roier's house, and if he can get there he can collapse on the kitchen floor in a sobbing heap as his flesh disintegrates at a faster than usual rate and the pain consumes his consciousness.

Unfortunately, any form of getting up is proving impossible. Breakfast must be nearly ready, for there is a knock at their shared bedroom door, and Philza sticks his head around the door.

"Missa? You up yet?"

Missa tries to answer, he really does, but all that he can force from his lips is a desperate, quiet whimper.

Philza, beloved Philza, must hear it regardless; Missa's husband is quickly there, eyes searching as he stands at the foot of the bed.

"Missa?" He asks, more gently this time. "Is everything okay?"

Before Missa can even attempt formulating an answer, little Chayanne pokes his head around the side of the door. He waves a little sign of "good morning papa Missa!" over his head, and a plate of scrambled eggs in the other.

It is just morbid enough that Missa gives a small laugh, quickly turning into pained chokes as the movement shunts his chest.

Philza's face falls, and Chayanne begins to move in a panicked motion.

"Chayanne?" Philza says. "Can you get Tallulah and go see your tio Bad? Don't worry about your papa; I'll take care of him."

Even through the pained haze, Missa can see his little warrior's hesitance. Still, with a little encouragement - and Philza letting him help type the message to Bad that the children would be coming over - sweet little Chayanne settles enough to leave.

Once he does, Philza scoots onto the bed, sitting at Missa's side.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Can I get you anything?"

"I, ah," Missa takes a shape breath, pain rippling with speech and English even harder than usual. "Water?"

"Painkillers?" He asks.

Missa shakes his head; nothing will take the edge from this sort of pain, and he does not want to risk throwing up alongside the rest.

"Alright," Philza looks worried, but scoots back again. "Speak Spanish if its easier; I'll work it out."

Missa is not sure he can speak at all, but has no way to express that as his husband slips out again.

It is too hot and too cold and his very bones are on fire; in a slight haze of forgetfulness, he unties his mask, setting it aside in favour of the illusion of breath.

The motion exausts him; he falls back onto the pillows, landing hard.

The position is hurting his neck; Missa cannot quite find the energy to move.

---

Philza comes back a minute or two later, bucket of water and a drinking glass both in hand. At the door, however, he freezes a moment, before sprinting over to Missa's side.

"Missa?" He calls. "Missa? Fuck, that's - fuck you need milk and potions Missa, not just water. When did you get hit? We need - here I should have some in my backpack. Why didn't you say? We could have-"

Missa does not quite understand the panicked rambling, especially not in English, but he does comprehend the outstretched hand. It hovers as though afraid to touch him - afraid to hurt him - right beside his cheek.

He knows the touch will destroy him; break his heart, increase the pain, speed up the dissolving of his soft tissues. In the moment, however, he does not care - how long has it been since Missa knew such a gentle touch on his skin, let someone touch him without layers upon layers of enchanted protection between himself and them? His soul craves the contact, and Philza is there, panicked but offering, and Missa-

Missa is very, very weak.

In more ways than one.

With another whine he leans over, pressing his cheek to the outstretched hand. Almost immediately the thumb rubs gentle circles across his cheek bone, Philza taking a breath as he shifts from the panicked rambling to gentle cooing sounds.

Missa knows the second that Philza notices the dust shedding under the contact, that Missa's skin crumbles under even that gentle contact.

He tries to pull away, face horrified, but Missa chases the hand.

Catches it with one of his own, skeletal as they are.

Philza looks at the hand as though seeing it for the first time. Something must click, because he stops trying to pull away.

They stay like that for a few moments, Missa stealing what strength he can as he pants and whimpers from the pain.

It is only then that Missa remembers he took off his mask, and realises just what he looks like. There are patches of exposed muscle, some of visible bone, and some where skin mottled in grey and black whereever it has been exposed to the air. Last time he looked there had still been some healthy skin on his face, but it has been a long time since then.

"Your hands," Philza finally asks. "What did they- but they've been like this since we met?"

"/Curse/," Missa manages to stutter out. "/Not… Not from a wither, just withering. Rotting. Today is… bad./"

Philza takes a moment to translate, frowning at this information he didn't know. Still he swings himself to sit closer, reaching and taking Missa's other hand too.

It's a shame, Missa thinks, that his hands feel nothing any more.

"And there's no way to break it?"

Even the gods have failed to do that - Missa knows that Death has tried.

He shakes his head and watches as Philza hesitates, ready for a broken heart. It is not what he recieves, however; instead Philza drops one hand, only to cup his cheek once again.

Despite the curse, despite the dust, despite the crumbling, Philza keeps his hand there. It is so gentle, so kind, nothing at all what Missa deserves. He the action and the tenderness both… what can Missa do but sob?

"Am I hurting you?" Philza asks, as gentle as he can be even as he pulls the hand away.

Missa nods, then realises and shakes his head - yes, yes it hurts, but next to the agony of the day? He would take the comfort for a little more pain. Take what he never has to soothe what is always there.

The other hand slips of Missa's grasp, and he spends a moment terrified - until he sees Philza's now free hand reaching for the asked for water.

"Sit up or a straw?" He asks.

Missa wants to sit up, to drink under his own power, but he knows well how this goes. On days as bad as these, where the curse and his body fight so hard… he gives in, as he always does, and shakily raises two fingers.

"Alright king," Philza pulls his other hand away for a moment, grabbing a straw from a pocket, popping it in the glass, and positioning both that Missa can drink without moving. "I've got you."

The very idea of that brings tears to Missa's eyes again, the streaking trails taking a think layer of flesh with them as they go.

One of Philza's hands moves from the glass to Missa's hair, gently running over it.

"Shhh," he whispers. "We've got this. You're good, you're so good, just a little more then back to sleep?"

A little more? He hasn't had any of the water at all. Missa sobs a little at Philza's touch, before turning his head to drink. Swallowing sends spasms down his throat and tears into his eyes, but still he somehow finishes the glass.

When he finally finds the strength to open his eyes again, he finds Philza close. Holding tight to his hands. A panicked look in his eyes.

Ah. Never good.

Missa attempts to ask him what is wrong, to get up and help; all he manages is a whine and his husband gently pressing on his shoulder, nudging him back to the bed.

Oh, good, his shoulder is not yet dissolving too.

"Missa," Philza's voice is serious, stern almost. "Do you swear to me that you know what this is? And that you don't need a doctor?"

The question would be exhausting in Spanish; in English it takes Missa a long enough to work out that Philza is reaching for his communicator.

Somehow, Missa manages to slap his hand, drawing back attention, and nod.

Philza does not reply, but he pauses. After a moment he gives a huff through his nose - weirdly like a pig for a man made of a crow - before erasing whatever he had been typing, and putting the communicator away.

"Do you need anything else?" he asks instead.

Missa does not care; he shuts his eyes and turns his face back into the pillow, hoping for oblivion.

It earns him a small laugh. He does not expect any more but, after a moment, he feels the bed shift. An arm snakes under him, another over, and he is gently pulled into a warm chest.

And, as he slips into sleep, he feels the press of lips to the top of his head.

---

Wakefulness comes again blurry, tucked protectively under giant wings and held in a warm embrace. Fingers are gently pressed into his neck, and that is his first reminder of what is wrong.

"Philza?" he asks, sleep peeling off him.

"You feeling any better?" Philza sounds tired, but still fond; a hand runs over Missa's hair.

Missa hums agreement, begrudgingly pushing himself up, "time?"

"A bit before dawn," Philza answers. "You can go back to sleep."

His stomach makes its objection to that known; Philza laughs, even as he passes him some avacado toast and his mask.

Missa runs a hand over his face in an attempt to wake up, before taking the mask first. Only once it is securely on his face and he is certain the enchantments are soaking back into his flesh does he risk the food.

Philza, to his credit, manages to stay sitting on the bed. "Bad got Chayanne's tasks done, and Tallulah finished a few days ago. We can take it easy today, if you need it?"

"I'm okay," Missa promises. "It's, ah, calmed down now. I will do whatever you want."

Two of Philza's fingers tuck Missa's hair behind his ear, "I want to make sure you are okay."

The sincerity is a little much - faced with the choice between blushing or blushing and squealing, Missa settles on faceplanting into Philza's chest; objectively more embarassing, but nobody can see him there. It only helps so much when Philza gives a confused chuckle, but gently holds him anyway.

"… Can I ask what the fuck that was… Is? Or is that rude?"

"It's rude," Missa just about manages to mumble. "But, you can ask."

Philza still takes another moment to do it - just as Missa is beginning to wonder if he was supposed to answer, he speaks again. "What is that?"

"I'm not sure," Missa replies, trying to sound a little brighter. "My uncle broke into a ruined temple by mistake, and the curse was developing on him by nightfall. By the weekend everyone else was dead."

"Shit," Philza hugs him a little tighter, as though that would keep him together not make it progress faster. "How long-?"

"Err," Missa really isn't sure. "Ten or fifteen years ago?"

Another kiss is placed atop Missa's head. If it were not for the subject matter, Missa might be delighted by it. "Do you… know how you're alive? Not that I want you dead! Just… God-curses don't usually leave survivors…?"

Missa does, sort of, but he isn't quite sure how to phrase it. Rather than reply directly he wriggles one skeletal hand at his husband.

"Spanish?" Philza offers, one hand leaving Missa to grab the translator off the desk.

Missa nods, but gives him a moment to get it set up. He is not inclined to move, but it should be fine enough. "/Life laid the curse, but Death still had use for me./"

It takes Philza a bit of squinting, and grabbing an actual dictionary, to parse, but he gets there much faster than he did when they first met.

"Lady Death is looking out for you?" he asks

Missa unclenches one hand from Philza's shirt, wriggling the bones of his hand at him, "/how else would these work/?"

"Alright," contrary to most people, Philza relaxes at that confirmation. "Still fucking sucks. How about just a chill day about the wall, then? Chayanne's a bit worried after yesterday, so maybe he'll want to cook. We could walk down to the end of the wall and have a picnic?"

"/I'm fine,/" Missa says, even as he adjusts to press his face into Philza's shoulder. "/But, a picnic sounds good./"

"Alright. A picnic it is. If I turn off my tracker, maybe we'll even get to finish it in peace."

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp au #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #its... platonic-ish?#idk I tried to go for canon vibes and much like canon it doesn't feel as platonic as everyone says it is #between slashes is the Spanish as I'm not trying to translate it with no knowledge of spanish #and slashes is how I mark it up. tumblr makes formatting hard #Roier is safest friend because in this au they knew each other as teenagers #and he lived with Roier after he first got “cursed” already being friends with him and Roier in the city #sorry for the text wall at the top it happens

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