#sun damage repair

[ufukbaran]

MADECASSOL regenerates tissue and stimulates the healing of: ulcers which has been clarified its origin, wounds, fistulas, episiotomies, burns, trauma or surgery, grafting, radioepitelitis, scars shrink and as a prophylactic treatment for keloid scars, in various medical specialties. Venous insufficiency responsible for varicose disease, varicose ulcers, as well as sequels of phlebitis has an action of stimulation on the biosynthesis of collagen in fibroblasts of the venous walls and the dermis, thereby contributing to improved food connective tissue. It acts as a factor regularizante level of scar tissue, through its action in fibroblasts, controls the production of collagen fibers, when cell regeneration is disturbed, deficient, excessive or disorganized   Some spectacular benefits of Centella Asiatica(Gotu Kola are):

Collagen production

reduce fine lines and wrinkles

sun damage protection

sun damage repair

scar care

increase elasticity

anti-oxidant

increase moisture

 scleroderma

 wound healer

 scars

 foot ulcers

[sketching-shark]

The idea that Nüwa is Sun Wukong's mom seems to be a more recent one, but it's also one I've become pretty fond of. So happy mother's day, especially to those who used their own flesh to repair the sky.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

my new thing is obsessing over a funny little guy for a few months before moving onto another funny little guy

[billa-billa007]

Truffoire and Healthy Food Equals Perfect Skin

Healthy foods nourish skin from the inside, making it better apt at fighting environmental damage, stress and premature aging. On top of applying Truffoire skincare like White Truffle Day Cream and Black Truffle Instant Repair Syringe, that nourish your skin on the outside with beneficial blueberries, green tea, avocado oil and truffles, add these ingredients to your diet as well, to maximize the benefits. Invincibly healthy, radiant skin is the results of Truffoire skincare and healthy foods!

[beezelbubbles]

Okay but could people then stop making fun of Texas when we have people die in the cold?

every single year there is some headline like 30 children vaporised into ashes in record heatwave and the most unpleasant person u have ever met is like "they could NOT handle texas 🤣"

[monicascot]

Truffoire combines the power of healthy food with their proven quality skincare products to achieve perfect skin. By incorporating rare and effective ingredients into their formulations, Truffoire offers a unique blend of luxury and nourishment for the skin. With a focus on providing the highest quality products, their skincare range ensures optimal results, making it a go-to choice for beauty connoisseurs and those seeking a holistic approach to skincare. Experience the transformative benefits of Truffoire’s innovative solutions, where the fusion of healthy food and premium skincare creates a radiant and rejuvenated complexion.

[poguehearted77]

Wild Child

summary: after being sent away to boarding school for being a wild child you're finally back and celebrating your return in the only way you see fit.

smut: pool party, ragers, drug use (alcohol, vapes n weed), size kink, Rafe is cocky, mentions of old flings, manhandling, hot tubs, they do it on her parents' bed, rough sex, step-mom slander, reader is such a flirt n a tease, curvy reader, dom! rafe, bratty! reader, skinny dipping, mentions of body shots, choking, spanking (like once).

The morning sun was ascending high into the sky when you finally managed to get yourself out of your king-sized bed, fit for someone of your status and your parents' financial standing.

Your socked feet took padded steps towards your window where you overlooked the hills of figure eight. This was the first time you'd looked out your bedroom window in years. With a deep inhale a soft smile etched its way across your lips. You were finally home, and you had the house all to yourself. Or so you thought.

Your ears pick up on muffled indistinct chatter that managed to travel from the kitchen, down the halls up the elaborate staircase and into your room. Quickly, you headed for the source of the voices and were disappointed to see your dad and his wife plaything, Maria, conversing over coffee at the kitchen island.

"I thought you said the Jet leaves at dawn? What are you guys still doing here?" You try not to sound too curious, arms crossing naturally with your inquiry. With a clearing of his throat, your dad speaks up, "You only just came back two nights ago. Maria and I just don't think it's the right time to leave you alone for the weekend."

You scoff, "Why? You still don't trust me after what happened last time? Get over it, I'm twenty-one now, you can trust me." As you walked over to the fridge for a glass of water, you heard a muted exchange of ideas behind you.

"You can't expect us to forget about all the damage you caused. We still haven't found anyone to repair my crystal vases." You take a long sip, trying to swallow your toxic thoughts with the water.

She thinks she can just waltz up and down the house with that huge ring on her finger and think that her opinion carries any value to you.

You took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile, pitching your voice to become as sweet as honey.

"I can never apologize enough for what I did back then, but how will I ever earn your trust if you don't give me the chance." Your doe eyes land on your father, specifically his weakened composure.

You're about to break him, you can see it.

He exhales, all the air escaping through his nostrils.

Broken.

He glances down at his watch, "Fine, but if you throw another party so help me god Y/n you'll never see grass again." You play it cool, thanking him with a simple hug and completely disregarding Maria before you make your way back upstairs.

It's as though a weight had been lifted off your chest. You needed them out of the house, you'd been planning this party since you got back and made sure all the guests knew to keep it on the down low, just until they were gone.

The hours fly by, and you hardly keep track of time as you and some of your long-time friends set up the house for the party that you shouldn't be hosting, but you're Y/n Sinclair. Parties are your thing.

"Macy, you let the people in, kay? I'm gonna go get changed." The sun was beginning to set and the music was already blasting, vibrating over the marble floors of the house. Every lyric was punctuated with a shaking of the speakers that could be felt even outside.

The neighbours hated to see you coming.

You know your dad's jet was en route to Fiji and he wouldn't be able to reach you until he landed which wasn't for another six hours at minimum but by then the damage will be long done and far too late to stop.

You make your way up the stairs, the bass thumping through the house and vibrating beneath your feet. As you step into your room, your reflection catches your eye, excitement sparking in your gaze.

With a quick flick of your wrist, you reach for the strappy black and red two-piece, slipping it on, the cool fabric hugging every curve just right. Each strap crisscrosses elegantly, bold yet balanced, making you smile at how perfectly it all came together.

Next, you grab the sheer cover-up, wrapping it loosely around your waist so it drapes with a hint of movement, a playful edge that sways with you. You run your fingers through your curls, scrunching them gently to bring out their bounce, each coil framing your face in soft waves. Reaching for your lip gloss, you swipe it carefully over your lips, catching the light with a glossy shine.

One last look, and you’re ready, your heart beating in rhythm with the music below. The speakers are already blaring, the energy practically calling you back down. You step out with a final tousle of your curls, ready to join the night.

The energy crackles through the backyard as you make your way to the top of the outdoor staircase. The sun has slipped beneath the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the massive pool below, illuminated by floating lights that shimmer across the water.

The bar is buzzing with people grabbing drinks, and in the corner, the foam pit is already filling up, laughter and splashes mixing with the heavy beat of the music.

A neon sign hangs across from the bar, glowing boldly against the evening sky: The Queen of Kildare is Back. You grin, amused at the sight of it knowing it was 100% Macy's doing, and take a step down. Conversations hush, replaced by the roaring blast of excitement as heads turn your way. Hundreds of people, from familiar faces to those you only vaguely recognize from your past in Figure Eight, pause and look up, anticipation brimming in their eyes.

As you descend, your cover-up billows behind you, revealing the bold lines of your black and red two-piece. The crowd’s reaction is instant, erupting into cheers, whistles, and applause that echo across the yard.

"Y/n! Y/n! Y/n" They chant and you laugh. Every step closer to the party, you feel the atmosphere thicken, charged with that infectious blend of excitement and admiration. By the time you reach the bottom, someone’s already handing you a drink, while friends rush over to pull you in for hugs and greetings, their voices nearly drowned out by the music and shouts.

"Y/n Sinclair, s'Been a while."

There's a voice all too familiar addressing you from behind, prompting you to pivot to come face to face with a much taller Rafe than your brain could recall.

"Rafe Cameron. Long time no see." He goes in for the hug, your arms reaching over his broadened shoulders while his longer ones wrap around your waist before pulling back. He not so subtly checked you out, his tongue darting out over his lips briefly as he took you in and you did the same.

The buzzed hair sharpens his features, you think. Making his eyes seem darker, more intense, as they focus on you. His open linen shirt falls loosely over his frame, giving glimpses of his toned chest and the subtle gleam of a thin chain resting against his skin.

The shirt flutters with the breeze, barely hanging on his shoulders, hinting at the strong lines of his arms and drawing your eyes down to his relaxed, dark swim trunks.

He’s saying something, leaning slightly toward you, and his voice cuts smoothly through the bass of the party. Your eyes wander back up to his face, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he knows he’s caught your attention.

"You look good, too good. How long's it been?" It's hard for you to think with the heat of his gaze on you, but you don't falter, never surrendering to this never-ending game between the two of you.

"About 3 years." He hums, the way he looks at you, casual yet purposeful, makes your pulse quicken, and suddenly, every sound around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the way he looks right at you, but you remind yourself to focus.

Rafe looks around the scene, eyes lingering over the wet t-shirt contest and then the game of chicken being held in the pool while others lounged on the various floaties or indulged in ungodly amounts of alcohol at the bar. As he does so, the pungent scent of weed drafts across your nostrils.

"Your old man know you're hostin' tonight?" You had to laugh, "Oh please, like he would ever let me have any kind of fun while he's in town. He and the skank are in Fiji."

The slight smirk that etches over his perfect lips taunts you. "So the house is yours?" He leans in, a little closer, closing the gap between you. "Until he comes back and banishes me again," You place a confident hand against his chest, pushing him away, "But for now, I'm here to party, and you should be too."

With that said you walk away from him, letting your hips sway with seduction radiating with each step. Rafe lets his thumb and fingers stroke over his jaw, feeling the weight of the pressure you'd just applied.

God, it was good to have you back.

The party raged on, slowly approaching its peak, body shots were going on at the bar, girls were doing lines in the bathrooms and the guys had insisted on a drunk game of volleyball in the pool.

Rafe took a break from the events of the party and watched from the sidelines on the couch, taking another hit of the vape that someone had passed to him, he's not sure he can remember who, and it wasn't relevant anyway.

The only person he had his sights set on is you. Watching you have the time of your life with your friends on the platform in the middle of the pool. Your little group, clearly intoxicated danced carefree while you'd begun to put your hands on the ground and throw your ass in circles.

Rafe choked, sitting up, some smoke coming through his nostrils at the interrupted airflow. He leaves his shirt behind on the couch with the abandoned vape, just as he heads for the pool topped hands him a beer which Rafe accepts before he gets in.

Maintaining a straight face as his body acclimatizes to the cool water he's almost immediately swarmed and roped into a round of whatever the current pool game was.

His icy gaze looks up to the center of the pool where you once were but are now nowhere to be found. "Looking for someone?" Your voice was mocking and he was grinning before he even turned around.

"I am actually." With little ripples in the water, he steps towards you maintaining a respectful distance that was driving you insane. "I was looking for someone to join me at the bar," He puts on a convincing facade but you roll your eyes, feigning innocence.

"Let me know if you find her," He slowly steps towards you and step back, "Don't play dumb with me, Y/n." Your plush lips form a gut-wrenching pout, "What do you mean?" Another step forward, another one back. The cycle repeats itself until he has you backed up against the edge of the pool.

Rafe’s hands find your waist, and before you can react, he’s lifting you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the pool. You're reeling at the slutty display of his sheer strength.

Your legs dangle, brushing against his chest, and he steps closer, slotting himself right between them. His hands rest on either side of you, his arms framing you in as he looks up with that sly grin, every bit as teasing as you are.

“Always out here playin' games, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low, a quiet rasp just for you. “Gotta say, I respect it—always sticking it to your old man, doing your own thing.” He leans in, his gaze drifting down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not many people around here have the guts for that.”

You scoff lightly, though your heart skips as his gaze lingers on you, intense and challenging. “Oh, please,” you tease, rolling your eyes. “Since when do you care about any of this?”

A quiet laugh slips from him as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles along your thigh. “You think I haven’t been paying attention to you all these years?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your neck.

“You might’ve been gone a while, but don't think I forgot all those nights we had our fun.” His words hang heavy between you as he pulls back slightly. Now his hand rests on your waist, his voice dropping lower.

He tilts his head, studying you with that familiar glint of mischief. “Now that you're back, I think we should relive some of our traditions, for old time's sake,” he says, leaning in until his lips brush against your jaw, light and teasing, close enough to make your pulse race. He pauses, his thumb skimming your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting. “But don’t act like you don’t want this as much as I do.”

Before you can snap back, his mouth claims yours, the kiss charged with all the years of pent-up tension and that all-too-familiar heat. His hands slide up to cradle your face as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepens, and when he finally pulls back just enough to catch his breath, he watches you with a smug, knowing grin.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your lips, his thumb tracing your jaw as if memorizing every inch. “That look you get right before we make a mess of things. I knew it—you missed this just as much as I did.”

If only someone could recount how the two of found yourselves stumbling up the stairs towards your room, your soaked sheer cover-up left forgotten somewhere in the house after Rafe pulled it off of your frame.

"Shit-- Rafe," your teeth dug into the flesh of your bottom lip as you reached to open your bedroom door, horrified to see two other people had monopolized it. They hadn't even noticed the door was opened so you quickly closed it.

"What the fuck, I thought everyone knew my room was off limits." With a quick scan, you noticed items were hanging off almost all the guest rooms in the hall letting others know the room was occupied.

"Shit, there's nowhere else to go in here?" You think quickly on your feet before rushing off to get something before returning with a key in your grip.

Rafe pulls you close with a smirk as you clutch the key to your father’s room, the gleam in your eyes daring him to follow. “Breaking all the rules tonight, aren’t we?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with approval. His hand slips around your waist as you unlock the door, both of you glancing down the hall to be sure no one’s watching.

You twist the handle and push open the door, and his hand slides down to squeeze your hip, pulling you against him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he whispers against your ear, his lips grazing your skin, sending a thrill down your spine.

Once inside, you barely have a chance to lock the door before he has you pressed up against it. His lips are on yours, urgent and fierce, his hands roaming over your body with possessive ease. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he breathes between kisses, his fingers tracing the bare skin of your waist as he lifts your top, letting it fall to the floor. “Thought I’d forgotten?” you tease.

Rafe just about growls, dipping down to kiss along your collarbone, his hands sliding lower as he backs you towards the bed. His fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms, tugging them down with a smirk that sends heat rushing through you.

Your heart races as you feel the cool, forbidden sheets beneath you, the thrill of defying every rule and having Rafe look at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide up your thighs, lips trailing down your neck as he leans over you. “You know,” he murmurs, voice heavy with desire as he takes in the sight of you sprawled out before him, “I always knew you were trouble. Guess that’s why I can’t stay away.”

With a smirk, he leans in, his lips brushing over yours as his hands explore, both of you savouring the thrill of being tangled up in each other once again.

"Look at these perfect fuckin' tits." He curses, big hands cupping your breasts, kneading them and rolling your nipples between his index and thumb. Your back arches slightly with a gasp, chest pressing up into him and he laughs.

"Still so sensitive here, angel? Some things never change." He reminisces and you roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Rafe." With the blink of an eye, his much larger frame was caging you in from above, his bulging biceps giving him an erotic juxtaposition in comparison to your head.

Balancing himself on one arm he slinks his palm around the expanse of your throat with a weighted pressure. "Been gone so long you forgot your manners? Mm? That's fine, I'll be sure to fuck some sense back into you."

Your eyes flutter shut at his filthy words as you feel his hand move and begin to work you between your legs. "Your pussy's fuckin' soaked--shit." He hisses, gaze hungry and his body acts on his thoughts faster than you can register.

A particularly loud moan slips from you as you feel his tongue skillfully lap over your folds, splitting you open as the warmth of his tongue protrudes into your core. "Yes, fuck! Please, don't stop Rafe." You moan, one hand reaching down to hold him by the hair and it hits you that he'd shaved it all off.

You let out a frustrated gruff, both hands fisting the sheets while you're forced to feel the vibrations of his sick laugh running through you at your dramatics. Even the tip of his nose had been covered in your slick, your juices running down his chin as he ate you out like a man starved.

He wouldn't be surprised if they could hear you from outside, but he knows everyone is far too high, too drunk or both to hear you. It wasn't long before your legs were beginning to shake and came with his name falling from your lips over and over like a prayer.

Taking deep breaths to recover from debatedly the best orgasm you've ever experienced, Rafe walked over to the far wall, out of sight, doing something you couldn't see before returning.

Without speaking he scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, another shameless display of his strength but it would be a lie to say it didn't drive you crazy. "What-what are you doing?" Your questions are ignored until he approaches the bubbling hot tub.

A wicked smirk curls across his lips as he eases you onto your feet in the warm water, his hands lingering on your waist, keeping you close. He gazes at you with that knowing glint, the steam rising around you both.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, his eyes trailing down your figure, unapologetic. His fingers skim over your sides, sending a shiver through you that’s from anything but the water.

“Are you really just gonna stand there?” you call, feeling the thrill of his attention but wanting to turn the tables, your voice laced with playful challenge.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he chuckles, unfastening his swim trunks and letting them fall to the side with a carefree grin. “I plan on joining you,” he says, slipping into the water and closing the distance between you two with smooth, unhurried steps. You take a hard swallow at his size, you don't remember him being this big.

He was going to destroy you.

You raise an eyebrow, matching his smirk. “Pretty bold of you, Rafe,” you say, your voice teasing as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Just like old times, hmm?”

“Better than old times,” he murmurs, dipping his head so his lips graze your ear, his voice a low rumble. “Because now, nothing is stopping us.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his body up against your back, elevating you a bit so your torso leans over the edge of the tub, granting him easy access to you.

"Fuck, can't believe your ass got even more fucking perfect since last time." His hand raises and comes back down with a loud spank that pulls a sinful moan from your throat. "Rafe, stop teasing." You whine, arching your back and pressing back against him.

His composure already weekend, he decided to let you get away with it this time before he lined up the swollen head of his thick cock with your entrance, "Better grab onto something." That's the last thing you hear before you're being impaled on his dick, your upper half immediately falls forward, and he stills, giving you a second.

You're breathless, it feels like his cock was taking up all the room in your lungs. Some water had splashed over the ledge but that was the least of your worries. Your mind was hazy and focused on Rafe's grunts that escaped him with every snap of his hips.

"Wish you could see how hot you look right now. The Sinclair wild child knows how to take big dick like a champ." His words run straight through you like electricity, fanning the flames of the burning heat that was beginning to form in your belly.

"Shit--This pussy was fuckin' made for me, y'know that?" You moan at his possessive statement. You can only nod, your body had gone limp long ago as he drilled into you. "R-rafe! I'm-" As if you weren't close enough, his fingers begin to rub over your clit aggressively and you jolt with a shriek.

"Oh- fuck, don't stop! Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Please, Rafe." You beg, over and over, arms hanging onto the edge of the tub for dear life as more water splashes around you.

"Wait for me, hold it until I say you can come." You're chewing your lip raw, desperately trying to hold yourself back as he wrecks you from the inside out, his moans getting more frequent, a little more airy and breathless as he tumbled toward his edge of pleasure.

"Cum with me, Angel." Your body spasms as you finish together and he leans his weight against your back, his laboured breathing fanning your ear as you come down from your high.

"Not bad, princess." You couldn't respond and Rafe took note of this, carefully holding you up with one final smug remark, "Hope I didn't wear out the queen of Kildare."

[jellyfishbug]

POP THE HOOD F'ME

pairing. chris x reader genre. smut with plot. MDNI. word count [5.2k]

content; mechanic!chris, flirty!chris, smoking (they share a cig), sex with a stranger ig? semi public, car head (m recieving), face fucking, big dick chris, reader has an eyebrow piercing, use of pet names, dirty talk, swearing

Maybe it was just dumb luck.

My dad has been promising me that his old ford pickup was gonna be mine when I got my license since I was ten. However, not long after my sixteenth birthday, he randomly decided that his promise had conditions.

I had to fix it myself.

I had been putting off working on it for years. I just didn't have the time, and it needed a lot of work. The list of things to be fixed was long, and I knew if I started then, I wouldn't have finished.

Finally, the time presented itself for me to start. I finally had a summer that wasn't so busy, so I decided in May of this year I was finally going to do it.

I was finally going to get my own truck.

So I did; I worked on it for two long months. Two long months spent in the garage on my back under the heavy pickup with my hands covered in soot and oil whilst sweat dripped down my face. Two long months spent fixing the paint job and fiddling around under the hood, my hair tied back to keep it off my neck while the sun beamed through the opened garage door.

I finally felt confident enough to take it out for a test drive today. It was starting fine in the garage, and I'd driven it around the block a number of times without fail.

I excitedly hopped in the driver's seat and shut the heavy door, jamming my keys into the ignition and grinning at the sound of the roar when the engine started. I made it pretty much across town without a single problem, and I thought I was in the clear.

So, maybe it was just dumb luck when not even an hour later, here I am, standing on the side of the road next to said pickup with the hood popped and smoke coming out of the cabin.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was dumb luck when I realized I was only three blocks away from an auto shop, and a guy pulled over to help drag my car there.

It felt like forever when we finally reached the parking lot. The red and white sign that hung over the opened garage doors read 'sturniolo's auto-repair".

For the most part, the slots were empty, except for a 58' baby blue Impala that was suspended off the ground, and a brand new silver Subaru outback that sat right next to it.

As we finally pushed it into the open slot on the far end of the garage, I let out a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat off my forehead with one hand and letting them both rest at my sides.

I thanked the stranger for his assistance and he wished me luck, mumbling about how much a repair on a truck like this was going to cost before wandering off. I scowled at him as soon as he turned away from me.

Walking away from the smokey and damaged shell of a car, I pushed open the clear glass door into the entry-way of the shop, and the sound of the ringing bells that were carefully tied at the top of the door filled my ears.

Near the desk stood two boys, both were brunettes that roughly stood at the same height. The first was wearing a red toyota nascar cap backwards over his brown hair, as well as a black tank top and a navy blue mechanic's suit that hugged his frame. The name patch on the chest of it read "Matt". He was speaking to another customer, flailing the rag around as he emphasized his points with his hands.

The other was standing behind the counter, a gray bandana tied around his head. He wore a navy blue button up that he left completely open with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, making the white tank top he wore under it visible.

The name patch on his chest read "Chris", and a white rag was thrown over his shoulder. A plethora of keys were hooked to a red carabiner that hung around the belt loop of his jeans. The desk hid his lower half below his waistline, and as I stepped closer, I saw a toothpick in between his teeth and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he jotted down words on a yellow notepad with a pencil.

I slowly walked up to the desk, my arms at my sides. He didn't raise his head to look at me, he just continued writing, so I cleared my throat.

His head shot up, and his expression fell into embarrassment.

"Fuck- sorry, I didn't hear you come in. How long ‘v you been standing there?"

I laughed lightly and shook my head. "Not long, I just walked in."

A smile painted itself onto his face as he set the pencil down and put his hands in his pockets just far enough that his thumbs still stuck out. "What can i do for ya?" He asked kindly, the toothpick in his mouth moving as he spoke.

"My truck broke down three blocks ago and wouldn't start. I tried looking under the hood to see the problem, but it was smoking, so I pushed it here." I explained, my hands finding each other and clasping together at my front.

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. "Jesus, you wheeled it all the way here?" He asked, laughing breathily when I nodded my head in response. "Atta girl. What kind of truck is it?"

"A ford pickup," I responded all too quickly, my voice strained as I tried to ignore how my heart swelled in my chest from the impressed look on his face. He nodded as he opened the drawer next to him and pulled out a ballpoint pen, picking up the notepad once again to start writing. "What year and license plate?"

"85', boston plate, the number is 289 BTO. " I watched as he wrote mindlessly, the handwriting barely coherent.

"'M kay, I'll take a look at it for you." he said, setting the notepad and pen back down on the counter. He opened his palm, gesturing for my keys, and I dropped them into his grasp. He hooked the ring that held them together around his index finger.

"Wait here, should only be a couple minutes."

I nodded as he circled around to the end of the desk, walking past me and pushing open the door to the garage.

His absence gave me a chance to examine the decor of the office space. Family and baby portraits crowded on top of the counter below the window behind the desk. A mickey mouse clock sat above the side door, and a large OPEN sign hung in the window.

The wall was crowded with plates and signs. One that caught my eye was an eagle with its claws digging into a hanging mirror, the name HARLEY DAVIDSON displayed in bright orange letters above the eagle's head. Next to the register was a small bell with a sign that said "ring for service" and the words 'don't actually' were scribbled in sharpie above.

Just when I was getting lost in thought, I heard the door bells jingle a second time, and Chris walked back in. The rag was now hanging loosely in his palm as he approached the counter. He stood right next to me, reaching over for the notepad and throwing the rag back over his now bare shoulder, which is when I realized he had discarded his button up. My eyes dart down to see the keys to my truck now hanging on a different belt loop on his jeans.

"From what I can see," he starts, popping the cap of the pen off and leaving it in between his teeth as he spoke. "It looks like a coolant leak. The combination from the antifreeze leaking and the heat of the engine is enough to make it smoke, but it's not enough to cause the engine freeze up." he explains, his eyes meeting mine every couple of words to make sure i understand. "So, it could also be a fuel pump problem combined with the leak."

I nodded, chewing my lip nervously as he went on to explain the time the repair would take as well as the cost. When the words, "not finished until at least tomorrow" left his lips, I huffed in defeat, and tried to make my disappointment less evident as i crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"How long have you had it?" He asked, now leaning against the counter next to us with one elbow, crossing one foot over the other.

"I've only started to work on it this summer, but it's been my dads since before i was born."

He nodded. "It's a pretty ride," he confessed. "I honestly expected it to look worse when you said 85', but the conditions not bad. You been workin' on it a lot?"

"As much as I can." I shrugged.

He complimented the paint job, to which i confessed i'd done it, and he gushed. "Christ, you should work here. Matt can't paint to save his life. You could probably get him out of a job,"

Matt sent a glare his way. "Shut up, kid. Dad would fire you over me any day, especially if you keep sleeping in."

Chris laughed, a genuine sound that made Matt's glare turn into a small smile before he went back to rifling through the file cabinet.

He turned back to me, pausing to look back over the notes he'd written down. "If i had to guess, I'd say we can probably have it to you by tomorrow evening." he said, looking away from the paper and averting his gaze to instead look me right in the eye. "That work for you?"

I nodded slowly. Suddenly, the issue of a ride home became extremely apparent, and an anxious feeling started to blossom in my chest.

"Good. Just one more thing. . ." he pauses to take the pen cap out of his mouth and place it back on the pen, tapping it against the curve of his hand and grinning wildly at me.

"i'm gonna need your number to let you know when its finished."

He's just asking because he's supposed to; because he literally has to in order for me to get my car back. But regardless, i felt heat rise to my cheeks as i started shifting uncomfortably in place.

"Right," I said, moving to reach for the pen. He points to a blank part of the notepad, tapping lightly to tell me where to write it.

Quickly and shakily, i write out the numbers with dashes. I hand it back to him, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He rips the sheet off the notepad in one swift motion and folds it in half, placing it in his back pocket.

He glances towards the clock. Its nearing seven. He turns back to me, "d'you have a ride home?"

My eyes went wide. I'm reminded of my attempt to call my dad three times when the truck initially broke down, and how my shoulders slumped in defeat at the sound of his voicemail playing repeatedly.

I glance back over to him, ". . . Not exactly. I'll probably just catch the bu-"

"I can drive you,"

I swallowed, my lips slightly parted in surprise. His grin was still wide, awaiting my response.

It was a sweet offer, really. But considering my house was across town, partnered with the fact that he was literally on the job, i shook my head. "That's really sweet, thank you, but I'm far. And you're working, anyway." He shrugs, glancing at the clock once more. "It's fine, Matt's on desk duty and he's closing tonight. I don't mind."

I chew my lip. I'd be stupid to pass up on a ride, but i barely know this kid, and if my dad sees me rolling up with him and no truck, it wouldn't look great.

And then I think about the hour long bus ride that would be in the near future if I declined.

I screw my eyes shut. "You know what? Why not."

Despite the scenario i was in, my mind was pushing out any and all nerves as I watched Chris collect his things from behind the desk. He pulled his wallet, shop keys and jacket out of a cubby.

The two of us walked back into the garage and over to Matt, who was washing his hands in a sink bellow the tool shelves.

Chris bid goodbye to his brother, who looked at the clock and then frowned, turning the faucet off and reaching for the roll of papers towels.

"You're seriously slacking off? I already covered for you and Nate leaving early last weekend." He complained, discarding the wad of paper towels he'd used to dry his hands into the trash bin below.

Chris shot him a look. "And then i covered your sunday morning shift because you were hungover. You owe me."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just put your tools away when you open tomorrow. It drives me fucking insane when you leave them everywhere."

Chris salutes. "Roger that." He turned to me and winked, gesturing to follow him through the garage with a tilt of his head.

I followed behind him as he went out a different exit; this one leading to a parking lot on the back of the building. A large EMPLOYEE PARKING sign hung on the fence near the driveway.

He fiddled with the many keys on his carabiner before finally finding his and walking towards a car near the opening in the gate.

A blue, four-seater, convertible 65' mustang. The light from the setting sun literally reflected off of it. He mindlessly stuck the key into the passenger side door, twisting and pulling it open with a faint click.

He gestured his hand towards the seat playfully, "Ladies first."

I rolled my eyes, placing one foot on the floor of the car and ducking my head to sit down. "How gentlemanly of you,"

He grinned at me, closing the door and walking around the back of the car before popping into the driver's seat.

"This is.. wow." I mutter, admiring the small details and cleanliness of the car as he closed his door and threw his belongings in the back. "Jesus, this is yours?"

He smiled proudly, his tongue darting out to dampen his bottom lip. "All mine,"

His fingers twisted the key into the ignition and the roar of the engine made the car buzz against my feet. He rolled both of our windows down, the summer air blowing smoothly through the car.

His smile was wider and prouder than ever as he glanced into the rear view mirror, throwing an arm over the back of my seat to glance behind him as he reversed. We pulled out of the parking lot and turned left onto the main road, Chris letting the steering wheel slide back into place under his palm by itself once he'd done so.

"You said you were far," he mumbled. "What area are you in?"

The question pulled me back into reality. I'd gotten so distracted by the way he drove so carelessly, like he was completely relaxed and in control of everything movement the car made, like fear didn't even exist to him as he pressed harder onto the gas pedal with his foot, my eyes choosing to ignore the way the tic on the speed meter start to spike.

His jawline was illuminated in the dim light, and the toothpick that was still resting on his lips stayed moving as he spoke gently, waiting patiently for me to answer.

I started giving him directions, and he listened carefully and intently, glancing over to look at me to make sure he understood my instructions. Once we were on the freeway, he went even faster, lane switching if someone in front of him wasn't going as fast as he'd like them to.

Soft giggles left me as he did, basking in the view of his lips parted into a smile, showcasing pearly teeth between pink lips.

Once he pulled onto the off ramp and we were stopped at a red light, he turned to look at me again, the bright red turning the car a faint shade of crimson.

"What time do you need to be back?"

He asked with a tone of voice he hadn't used till now. The sudden lowness caught me off guard as I shrugged, "'Dunno, not for a while."

He hummed in acknowledgement. "You wanna stay on the road for a bit?"

I pull my knees up to my chest and let my head fall against the headrest, a careless smile on my face. "Definitely."

And we did; we ended up back on the highway pretty quickly, blasting music through a speaker Chris had propped against the dashboard.

His speed only got higher and higher as time went on, carelessly resting one hand on the wheel whilst the other gripped the gear shift. At some point, his hand had mindlessly traveled to rest on my upper bare thigh below the hem of my shorts, cold and partially ringed fingers pressing against my skin.

"Will you do me a favor?"

I raised my eyebrows and hummed in response. He gestured towards the glove box. "Theres a pack of camel blue 99s in the glove box, would you grab em for me?"

I bit my lip. "Depends, you sharing?"

"Duh."

I leaned forward, feeling my stomach flip when his hand didn't much as move an inch on my thigh, brushing against my lower stomach as I lurched forward to fiddle with the glovebox.

I propped it open and grabbed the pack and paused, "d'you have a light?"

He nodded. "Should be one in there."

I learned more forward and reached farther back, glancing around before locking my eyes on a silver flip top lighter and grabbing it. Once i lean back up, Chris is pulling into an empty lot. His hand leaves my leg to push the gear into park, and i try not to frown.

I flick the top of the cig carton open and hastily pull one out, dropping it into Chris's palm.

He places it hazardly between his lips and turns to face me, silently asking for me to light it.

I pop the lid of the zippo open and hold the flam to the end of his cig, waiting to pull away until his expression signifies that its lit enough. His expression relaxes as he breathes in before pulling it away from his mouth with two fingers and exhaling, the smoke filling the car.

"If I'm honest, I prefer marlboro reds." I say quietly in an attempt to break the silence, watching Chris flick the ash out the window lazily with his thumb and index finger. He shakes his head. "Camels are undeniably better."

I laugh lightly and raise my eyebrows in amusement. "No accounting for taste, I suppose."

He takes another drag before holding it in between his fingers in front of my face, and Instead of reaching for it, I place my lips around the filter while it's still in his hand. Our eyes lock while I breath in sharper, the cool feel of the smoke filling my chest.

He licks his lips, and for a moment, his eyes dart down to look at mine, and he's starts he's studying my face. I'm doing the same.

His eyes are bright blue, surrounded by thick lashes, which are barely visible with stray pieces of his hair hanging down below the bandana on his head. Freckles lightly paint his noise, and his pink lips are slightly parted as his eyes scan my face.

"I like your piercing," he finally says, pressing his one hand to his eyebrow as if he had one himself. I breathe out the smoke i'd been holding in my lungs and smile at him. He's still looking at it as he speaks again, "Did it hurt?"

I shrug. "Not really," Because it didn't, but also because I'd feel like an idiot saying it did. "Just a pinch."

He nodded slowly. "Hm."

I take another hit from the cig which he's still holding up to my lips. Our faces are closer now. One of my elbows is resting on the center console as I look at him through my lashes.

"You should get one." I say.

He laughs, breathy and genuine. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Mhm," i reach my hand up to graze above his eye with two fingers. "It would look good on you." He watches my movements. "We'd match, too."

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, finally moving the cig back to his own lips and taking one more long drag before carelessly discarding it out the window.

All too quick, he's facing me again, and he leans even closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest, and a part of me thinks he can hear it.

Before I can even blink, he places his fingers on my chin and tilts his head, smashing his lips against mine hard.

Its all teeth at first, clashing messily as his hand leaves my chin and rests as the base of my neck. My hands are on his face, my fingers messing with the curls at the back of his neck while he grins against my lips.

He lightly bites my bottom lip, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like cherry and camels, and I feel myself whimpering at the contact.

"Fuck," he mumbles into my mouth, and his tone is exasperated, partly because the console between us is making it harder for him to kiss me like he wants to, and partly because his attempts to pull me close enough for our chests to press together have been unsuccessful.

His hands reach down to tug at the belt loops of my shorts, trying to pull me onto his lap. I pull away for a second to push myself over the console, Chris's grip on my hips staying firm to assist me. I duck to avoid hitting my head on the roof of the car, and Chris giggles lowly.

I finally relax once I'm comfortable in his lap, straddling his legs below me. One of his hands is across my lower half, sliding his hand into my back pocket, and the other rests in the middle of my back, holding me in place.

We're kissing again, and this time it's more lips and tongue then teeth, but he's still lightly tugging at my lip.

I'm tugging at his hair as I push myself closer to his lower abdomen, pressing down, which elicits a groan from him. He pulls away from me, and I try to follow his lips with a whine, but he tugs at the back of my hair lightly so he can press kisses from my jaw down to my neck.

I'm already whimpering as soon as his teeth press against my throat, and he digs them deep, kissing the mark once he's satisfied with the shade of purple its turned before finding a different spot to do the same thing.

"Chris, fuck- please."

I can feel him below me, and it's making me crazy. He doesn't budge, even as I continue to whine breathlessly at him.

He only grins as he continues to nip at my skin, and i felt the smirk on his face against my throat. I tangle my fingers in his hair and tug as a silent plea. "What s' it, baby?"

Baby.

I practically keen at the nickname. He finally pulls away, a string of saliva connecting his lips to his previous spot on my neck. He grins proudly at the marks he's left before looking at me again.

"What d'you want?" his tone is cocky and assertive. His lips look red and bitten, and I start to feel embarrassed at the fact that we were sucking face so lewdly in a literal parking lot.

I want to squirm and writhe away under his gaze, but his knuckle tight grip on me won't let me. I fiddle with the neck of his shirt and avoid looking at him as i whisper, "I need you."

He grins madly. "How d'you need me, sweetheart?"

I lean forward and press my lips back against his, and he entertains for a little before tugging my hair lightly to pull me back. His fingers grip my chin, holding me in place to look at him.

"Tell me what you want."

I brush my hand against his belt buckle. "I wanna suck you off,"

It came out in a mumble, but he understood, nodding somewhat cockily with a shit-eating grin on his lips. A groan left him as he tugged me even closer so our chests were pressed together. "Yeah?"

I nod eagerly, another 'please' ready to escape my mouth as my impatience grows. He ducks his hand between the seat and the door to push it farther back, "On your knees, then."

I obliged immediately, sliding off his lap to rest on my knees below him. My elbows rest on either side of his legs as my hands flew to his belt, unbuckling it and tugging at his jeans and boxers.

He lifted his hips lightly to assist me. I pulled them down until they rested around his ankles, and I feel myself gawk.

He's big. Bigger then I expected.

A nervous feeling bubbles in the pit of my stomach, but the way he's looking down at me through hazy vision makes it vanish even quicker, and I wrap my hands around his length.

"You okay?" He asks, moving his hand to rest on my cheek, his thumb soothingly pressed on my temple.

"No- yeah, i'm good." I breathe. I hover myself over him, finally taking him into my mouth. A string of curses leave him in a hushed breath, and his head moves to rest at the back of my head to coax me farther down.

I pull back slightly, wrapping my lips around his tip and sucking lightly. His chest is rising and falling quickly above me, and his labored breathing is music to my ears.

His cock is heavy on my tongue, and its addicting. I take him farther down my throat, hollowing my cheeks to fit as much of him as i can while my hand is in a fist around his base. I bob my head and twist my hand, looking up at him to see his flushed face as he pants.

"Fuck, you look so pretty like this." He babbles, a throaty moan leaving him when I twist my hand faster, swirling my tongue along his cock as my head rises and falls.

I hum around his dick at the compliment, the slight sting on my scalp from him pulling my hair only pushing me to do more. He pushes me down slightly, and i choke at the burn of his tip making contact with my uvula.

I moan loudly on him at the feeling, tears building in my eyes as the vibration from the noises i'm making cause him to throw his head back, a blissed out expression on his face. "Fuck, so good. Just like that, god."

Drool seeps from the corners of my mouth as I speed up all my movements. Chris is a breathy, moaning mess above me, watching me through lidded eyes as I glance up at him.

He moves his other hand to rest on the side of my face, grinning at my fucked out appearance. "Fucking filthy girl, aren't you, baby." He says through gritted teeth. "You love this, don't you?"

I whine at him, furrowing my eyebrows in pleasure to say "yes', and watching as his eyes roll lightly back in his head when i start to suck lightly at his tip again.

My hand falls from his base to lay on his leg, the other holding the bottom of his shirt in my fist. I try to push my head farther down, whimpering faintly at the stretch.

Chris's hips jerk up lightly at the sensation, causing him to push himself down my throat until my lips hit the base. I start to choke, but I breathe heavily through my nose, screwing my eyes shut and hallowing my cheeks out to stop myself from pulling off.

"Fuck!" he grunts loudly, his grip on my hair turning animalistic. He mindlessly mutters out curses and praise as he pushes my head up and down with his hands, 'good girl', 'don't stop', 'takin' me so good, baby' 'just like that' . . .

My hands are resting completely at his sides as he guides my mouth on his cock, slightly bucking his hips to push himself as far as I can take him. His strokes turn sloppy, and I look up at him again to see him looking at me with a broken glance, bottom lip between his teeth. "Fuck, gonna cum," he gasps.

I begin to swirl my tongue around him, moaning messily on him as if to say, 'in my mouth, please', but he's already reading my mind, digging his nails into my scalp as he spurts coats of white down my throat, an incoherent string of "fuck fuck fuck"'s spilling out of him. Im swallowing as quickly as i can.

I pull off of him with a lewd pop, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I know i look completely ruined, but I'm still focused on catching my breath and looking at Chris's flushed pink face above me.

His hand rests on my face again, and his thumb soothingly rubs my cheek. "You okay? Was that too much?" he asks, his expression full of concern as he wipes the tears from under my eyes.

I smile, leaning into his touch. "I'm good, it was really good."

He nods, smiling dumbly. "Good."

He pulls his jeans and boxers back up, bucking his belt before pulling me off my knees and back onto his lap. He presses a soft, passionate kiss on my lips, and then trails kisses down the side of my face, pulling my hair back off my shoulders as we both catch our breath.

We're both startled by the loud ringing of my phone in the passenger seat. I reach over the console, sighing in relief when i flip it over and see my dad's name at the top of my screen.

I put the phone up to my ear, watching as Chris rubs circles into my side with his cold fingers.

"Hi," I breath out. I listen as my dad apologizes for not answering earlier. He tells me he heard my voicemail and asks if I'm okay. "M' fine, I just wheeled it to a shop a couple blocks over. I'm on the bus home now, should only be a bit."

Chris pouts at me, and i roll my eyes at him. My dad talks for a couple for seconds before hanging up, and i leave my phone in the drink compartment next to Chris's forgotten lighter.

"D'you need to get home?" He asked. I nodded, and he frowns. "I was gonna get you off in the backseat,"

part two? :)

thank you for reading! reblogs are DEEPLY appreciated. I hope you enjoyed. links below !

about me ! masterlists ! guidelines / info !

[xo-codbby]

blue-collar!141 x reader

continued

when you managed to get the number to their service from a friend, you didn't expect too much. just 4 men, an ordinary team. and you needed someone to repair the damages to your house, the entire thing needing to be constructed from the start

it's only when they arrived, your friend had failed to mention just how big and broad they were. like walking tanks, their presence demanding attention as you explained while they listened intently. catching a few of their eyes flickering to your lips and then back up as you tried to maintain your composure. they were 100% your type and you desperately wished you had met any under different circumstances but this had to be professional. any other thoughts had to be shut down immediately

soap and ghost work in sleeveless vests, price had his shirt off. you know how it gets, the england sun (no matter how rare) was too hot for him to work in and gaz with his top unbuttoned, showing off his chest. yeah it might've been a little unprofessional but the job was still getting done, did it matter so much?

a pretty thing like you didn't need to offer them anything but they were so grateful for it either way. and they were very professional at first, purely focusing on the task at hand. but slowly when you started to offer them drinks and snacks, letting them wash off the dust and grime off of their bulging muscles, the lines were a little blurred

it was taking weeks, some parts of you wondered if they were doing it purposely. needing four hands for a one man job but you grew to become fond of their company, becoming acquainted to friends.

"s'too dusty f'you to be here, hen" soap's drawl fills your ears as you hold a tray of iced drinks and some food. they were big men, they needed bigger portions of food to eat. you watched them pause on their equipment, watching as johnny leans in to give a side hug. his musk permeated the air but funnily enough you don't mind, not a bit. it makes you hang on a little closer subconsciously and a soft sound from him emanated, his hands squeezing your waist a little before he reached for a drink.

"yeah, don't want you to start sneezing here sweetheart" gaz smiles softly, the back of his finger gently smoothing your cheek for a moment before he holds the tray off from you. dirt marks stain his cheekbones, dust clinging to his skin but you don't think he could look any better, under the sun and sweating. it's hard to take your eyes off the men as you offer a soft laugh, mumbling a response as you avert your eyes. hoping they don't see how flush you look

"y'mind checking on ghost for us, pretty?" price whispers too close to your ear, his hand coming to touch your shoulder. you can feel the warmth coming from his palm, from working or the sun you're not too sure but it makes you feel weak. his lips curved into a gentle smile, looking at you with amusement flickering in his eyes. the little crinkle you've grown to admire everytime as you tried to compose yourself. maybe the sun was doing you more damage than you thought

"of course" your answer came next, blowing out a soft breath when you turned. feeling the gentle touch of his hand against the small of your back, fingers softly stroking the skin for a second but it was nothing, it had to have been nothing

you entered your home, coming up the stairs. about to knock until the bathroom door unlocks and opens. and there, ghost stood in all his glory. the towel hangs dangerously low on his hips, exposing the v line you desperately wanted to touch. you can barely catch your breath, feeling overwhelmed from the sun and their presence. watching his muscles shining with water drops, the steam rising from his skin. the tattoos shining along with the scars he had littered on his skin

"y'lookin' f'me, doll?" his deep baritone voice caresses your senses and your throat dries up for a second, unable to speak. just wanting to appreciate him and his body. his hand squeezes your shoulder so softly, his body pressed against yours for a moment too long. you can feel his palm trail across your waist, his scent sparking heat straight to your core. without all the dust on his face, without the black mask he wore, you get to see all his features and it makes you shiver at how gorgeous he seemed to look. his gaze is much more intimate and he only offers you a half smile, eyes glinting before he straightened up and headed to the other room to change. not before skimming his lips across your forehead, your body tense wanting to follow him to get out of your clothes and feel what you've been aching for all this time

but it was all professional, it had to have been. right?

[supplyity]

Glowing Skin It soothes irritated skin, calming down inflammation and sensitive areas, and helping speed up healing of minor injuries and sunburns. Its antibacterial properties help fight acne and breakouts. Chamomile also acts as a mild skin-bleach, lightening up your complexion and giving you a nice, healthy glow. Links in bio Dr #Salt #Rich #Mineral #Natural #Chamomile #Salt #Soap (2 Bars) buy online #walmart #amazon #ebay #poshmark #mercari #Prevent #Sun #Damage, #Decrease #Inflammation, #Repairs and #Vitalize #Skin #Glowing #Smooth #Healthy #Skin, #Clear #Acne, #Eliminate #Pimples https://www.instagram.com/p/CmCJjXnpbv3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[skbeaumont]

Honey and Whisky | Joel x F!reader oneshot

Summary: You've been watching him for months, orbiting each other as you both try to deal with the demons you should have left behind when you arrived in Jackson. It's only when you see Joel with another woman that the tension between you finally grows into something palpable.

Tags/warnings: smut, explicit content, MDNI, resolved sexual tension, PIV, oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, a little bit of angst but mostly filth, mentions of trauma but nothing explicit, Jackson!Joel, F!reader, reader is not explicitly described, no use of Y/N

Word count: 3.6k

You’ve been watching him for months.

His broad back ahead of you in the queue for work duties; the side of his face in the canteen, strong jaw casting shadows on the tanned expanse of his neck under his open-collared shirt; dark eyes passing over yours as you both line up for the cinema, his kid at his side. He never seems to pay you much attention – never seems to pay anyone much attention – but you’re sure you’ve seen a hint of recognition in his expression each time you cross paths, a sort of unspoken “you again” that passes between you.

You never hold his gaze for long, never make conversation or attempt to get to know him, because you’re sure he’d brush you off. It's not that he’s unfriendly, exactly. He’s gruff and intimidating and more than a little rude sometimes, but he’s also eager to help anyone who needs it, chipping in with repair work and patrols without complaint. He never smiles or passes false niceties like most other folk do, preferring instead to offer terse, grumbled words of advice. He shows the Langstones how to properly repoint the grouting on the damaged side of their house, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the hot summer sun causing sweat to bead in the spaces between the curls on his forehead. He helps old Mrs Lopez with her hanging baskets, carefully raising them into position as she stands below and calls out instructions to him. When he stretches up to secure the last basket his shirt pulls up, revealing a strip of tanned skin and dark hair dipping beneath the band of his jeans.

So, yeah, you watch him. You watch him because he carries tension in his shoulders, unspoken fear in his eyes. There is something cold about him, something that suggests he’s trying hard to leave the man he was on the outside behind but hasn’t quite managed it. It’s a feeling that’s familiar to you, too. Five years on the road hardened you into something you don’t quite recognise in the mirror, the kind of person who flinches if someone gets too close, who can’t stand to have strangers approach from behind even on the safe streets of Jackson. It’s a deep-seated fear that has settled in your bones and seems unwilling to leave. Joel Miller is a man whose ghosts seem to mirror your own, and that makes him hard to look away from.

*****

By late March the snow has finally started to thaw and that’s enough to warrant a gathering in the Tipsy Bison. It’s unofficial, a quickly thrown together occasion that’s passed round by word of mouth that afternoon, but it still seems like everyone in the town is packed into the small tap room. There’s hardly room to navigate your way to the bar, elbows pressing into your sides, shoulders rubbing against your own. The early spring evening light is waning, soft dapples of sunlight casting pretty patterns on the table tops and worn leather seating.

He's at the bar. You don’t see him at first, too lost in your own thoughts, your head filled with the afternoon’s work, hands still sore from the handles of the buckets. But there he is, one elbow propped on the countertop, hip popped out, knee bent. He looks relaxed, for once. There’s an easy smile on his face, his lip curved up to meet the dimple of one cheek, and he’s talking to a blonde woman. Something like jealously flares up in your chest, hot and uninvited.

She’s pretty. Long, sleek hair tied up behind her neck, plump lips, a delicate, pointed nose. You know who she is, vaguely. Rose or Rosa or something, a woman who’s been in Jackson since the start, her eyes unplagued by visions of what you and Joel have both seen on the outside. She lives next door to Joel, a street away from you, though you can see her garden from your bedroom window. She and Joel are talking quietly, their voices lost in the hubbub of the bar, but you still see when she throws her head back and laughs, hand reaching out to clutch at Joel’s shirtsleeve, catching the bulk of his forearm with her slender fingers. His eyes trace the long expanse of her neck, pupils wide despite the bright light of the bar and you know he’s thinking about fucking her, thinking about how she’d look spread out underneath him in his bed, propped up against his pillows.

Then his eyes leave hers and catch yours, and there’s that familiar swoop in the pit of your stomach, that passing glance between you and Joel that always seems to linger. “You again,” it says, sending sparks between the twin points of your pupils, disrupting the reverie of Joel and Rose, pulling him suddenly and violently away from his fantasy.

You look away and hear him clear his throat, feel rather than see him shift where he's stood, imagine the frown that crosses his forehead as he continues to watch you. By the time you’ve got a drink from the bartender – a young guy who can only be a few years older than your sister, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four – Joel’s eyes have left your face and he’s chatting to Rose again, or at least letting her talk at him. Her voice is sweet, like honey and sugar and iced tea, and you almost don’t blame him for wanting to sleep with her, almost understand why he’d let himself be seduced by her niceties, her innocence.

Then you take the first sip of your whisky, feel the harsh, grating pull of it against your tongue, and think no. She’s honey and he’s whisky, and there’s no way you can stand here, in this crowded bar and let her have him when what he needs is the recognition of your own haunted eyes. So you throw back the rest of the bitter drink and slam the glass onto the bar. It startles Joel, despite the busyness and the loud chatter all around, but Rose doesn’t even flinch. Why would she? She doesn’t know that a slammed glass against warped wood sounds the same as the snap of a rifle, that the friction of the contact through your fist against the countertop makes you and Joel both think of the kickback a pistol will give if you don’t hold it square enough.

Rose giggles with something like nerves, all light and high-pitched, her hand smoothing the wood beneath her hand, but Joel’s looking at you again, pressing himself further into the bar top so that he can keep his gaze on your face when Rose leans forwards. And you let yourself turn to him, let the side of your mouth lift up into something like a smile.

Rose’s eyes flick anxiously from Joel’s face to yours. She thinks you’re about to have an argument, you realise, and that makes you smile for real, laughter almost bubbling up in your throat. There’s heat between you and him, and she’s caught between it, feeling the licking flames that in her innocence, her wholeness, she’s misinterpreting as conflict. But Joel’s pupils are blown wide where they hold yours, and he swallows, tongue dipping out from between his lips to wet them. He’s thinking about you, now. You, in his bed, pressed against his pillows, and while the image isn’t as clear as the one he had of Rose, it’s settling deep in his gut in a way that she hasn’t, sending hot coils of pleasure blossoming out to the tips of his fingers.

He’s a lost cause, he thinks. Damaged goods, probably, from the soles of his weary, blistered feet to the ends of his greying hair, but so are you. So it’s easy to push himself away from the bar without a word to Rose, easy to force himself through the throngs of writhing bodies, his broad shoulders turning this way and that to ease his path. It’s easy to pretend he isn’t aware of you following him, that he can’t feel the heat of your eyes on his narrow waist, watching every movement of his hips as you both leave the crowded bar, Rose forgotten behind you.

Outside, the cold is still enough to catch in your throat, but by the time you reach the alleyway that runs between the bar and the first row of houses Joel is crowding you against the wall, pressing himself to you like a man possessed. You let him, fist your hands in the thick expanse of his coat, trying to feel the solid mass of him beneath it. One large hand comes up to your jaw and he tips it to the side, presses his nose into the gap between the hollow of your throat and your jacket and inhales deeply, pulling the smell of whisky from your neck.

“Have me,” you say into the quiet of the alley, and he pulls his head back, looks at you hard, questioning.

“Have me,” you repeat, adding, “not her.”

“You jealous?” He asks, his voice gravelly. He lets his hand follow the curve of your neck into your hair, his calloused fingertips rough against your scalp.

“No,” you lie, “but she should be.”

He chuckles at this, a huffed breath of a laugh that in the cold sends a plume of hazy condensation into the narrow slice of air between the two of you.

“Okay.” He says then, his mouth curving into a grin that he presses against your own lips.

The kiss is rough, needy from the first point of contact. But then he opens up to you, groans into your mouth when you pull his tongue into the wet heat of yours. He brings his other hand up to cup your jaw, huge hand spanning the full length of your face. The air around you is still cold but there’s a fire somewhere deep in your belly, Joel’s chapped lips moving against yours, his broad body pressing you into the rough brick. You jolt against him when he shifts, a thick thigh moving to slide between your own legs. The friction then is delicious, tensing muscle pressing to the centre of you, slick pooling on rough denim. 

It’s a shock as he pulls himself away suddenly, cold air swooping in to replace the heat of his body.

“C’mon,” he says, “my place is closest.”

And then he’s striding away, not waiting for you to follow because he’s so confident you will, disappearing around the corner of the street. You stumble after him, legs weak.

The streets are empty, and that’s probably the only reason he wraps an arm around your waist when you catch up with him. He holds you to him, hard, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip like he’s trying to mark you. Your thighs bump together, his so much larger than yours, coiled strength wrapped up in corded muscle. The walk is only short, and neither of you speak, too set on reaching your destination.

Up the steps, his arm leaving your waist to rummage in the pocket of his jeans and pull out a key tied on a worn piece of string. The lights are all off – his kid is obviously out somewhere – but he pulls you inside without turning them on, the darkness of the evening now fully settled over the town.

Crowded against the front door, you fist your hands into his hair, relish the soft thickness of his curls, the way they glide through your fingertips, his mouth seeking yours out, lips barely skimming your own before pulling back, making you chase him.

“Didn’t think you were interested,” he says into the narrow gap between you, “always avoiding me, seems like.”

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” you tell him, pulling him to you by the nape of his neck, fitting your lips together so that your teeth clash, mouths colliding messily.

He groans into you, pulls away again, asks, “what do you want, pretty girl?”

The nickname shouldn’t make you grin against his lips, shouldn’t send a somersault of ecstasy through you, but it does. You’re not pretty, you know. You’re damaged and rough and so fucking needy. Needy for his hands and his mouth and his lips, that he leans down to press against the column of your throat,  teeth just grazing the skin there.

“Hmm?” he mutters against you, “tell me what you want.”

“You,” You tell him, nails scratching into the delicate skin just above his ears.

When he lifts you, hands gripping the meat of your thighs and pulling you up to rest against his chest you gasp, shifting your hands to link your fingers behind his neck. He carries you up the stairs like that. It’s a little uncoordinated and messy, his hip bumping the banister, your foot catching on the door frame, but then he drops you onto his bed and covers your body with his own, his hands seeking out the flesh of your breasts. He pushes the hem of your top up, kneads at the soft skin there with a practised hand, forefinger and thumb pinching your nipple in a way that has you arching up off the bed.

“This okay?” he asks, voice gravelly and rough, and you nod, but he tsks from between his teeth, “gonna need words, baby,” he says.

“Yes, Joel, please,”

He pushes your jumper the rest of the way up and off, does the same to your t-shirt so that you’re half-naked and writhing under his hands. The sudden hot heat of his mouth over your peaked nipple makes you hiss out a breath, and he chuckles from somewhere deep in his chest, using his teeth to bite down against your skin. Then his hands are pulling at the button of your worn jeans, dragging them and your underwear down off your thighs. He lets them fall onto the rug-covered floor of his bedroom and then his fingers are moving to where you’re wet and needy for him.

The pleasure of his fingers sliding against you is overwhelming and all-consuming, so much so that you hardly notice the way he’s grinding his hips against you, pressing his covered cock into your thigh, chasing friction. You feel him twitch against you as he presses two fingers into the tight heat of you, lips settling at your pulse point, teeth grazing the delicate skin there. It’s enough to tip you over the edge and you come hard, stars blossoming across your vision, limbs shaking with the exertion of it.

“Look so good like this, baby,” Joel says into the side of your neck, “spread out against my sheets like a fucking angel.”

He pulls his fingers from you, drags them up through your folds and then into the heat of his mouth, groaning around them as he sucks your juices from his own skin. Something snaps in you and suddenly you’re pushing him off you, onto his back, straddling his denim-clad thighs and tugging at the buttons of his shirt. The fastenings open easily, buttons worn and shiny with age, revealing a broad chest and softer stomach, a light trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his dark jeans, the scene illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlight outside the window.

He's big; you can see the contour of him against the denim, a solid, thick line that twitches against your palm when you press it into him. You pop the button on his jeans, unsurprised to find he’s not wearing underwear. The jeans join yours on the floor and his cock bobs before you against his stomach, head dark and shiny in the low light, a bead of precum that you kitten lick from him. The movement has Joel bucking his hips, a deep groan rumbling through his chest. When you take him into your mouth he threads his hands into your hair and grips, not pushing you down but just holding you there, grounding himself with his fingers against your scalp. You work your tongue over him, using your hand to cover the part of him that you can’t fit into your mouth and he moans and curses above you.

“Fuck, darlin’, m’not gonna last if you keep going,” he tells you, voice cracking with the effort of it, and you pull away regretfully, moving yourself up to straddle his thighs.

Joel’s hands find your hips and drag you up, up, up so that the head of his cock catches against your clit, slick pooling on his belly as you rock against him. It’s messy and filthy and goddamn incredible, the solid ridge of him pulling against you just right, pleasure building up and up and up so that your thighs tense around him and you’re coming again, Joel’s fingertips digging hard into the flesh of your hips, pain dulled by the pleasure of it.

As you come down he takes the opportunity to roll you both over, slotting himself between your thighs and pressing the blunt head of his cock to your entrance, not pushing in yet, just holding you there, pinned beneath him, dark eyes seeking yours in the relative darkness.

“Please, Joel,” you keen, fingernails scratching a path down the broad expanse of his back.

The kiss he gives you then is soft, almost gentle, but you chase his lips, drag the bottom one between your teeth and bite down hard. He growls as he sinks himself into you, a choked-out moan painting hot air across your cheeks. You’re both lost then, gripping onto each other as heat and pleasure lick a steady flame through you.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room are the hot pant of Joel’s breath and your own breathy sighs. His silhouette is like a marble statue above you, holding himself still on two propped elbows, hard-set jaw working with the effort of keeping himself from thrusting into you carelessly.

“Fuck- Joel, please, fuck me,” you say into the stillness and he dips his head, buries his neck in the space between your shoulder and jaw, rough stubble licking at the skin there.

“Okay, baby,” He whispers, and then he pulls himself out and surges forward again, stretching you around his cock, reaching deeper this time than before.

He sets a punishing pace, one fist gripping the hair at the base of your neck, the other holding himself up so that he can watch where you’re joined. You think about Rose then, wonder if he’d have fucked her like this, fast and hard and needily – no, he wouldn’t have, you decide. This is something that only you and he have a need for, something dark and unrepentant and all-consuming. There’s nothing else in the universe in this moment but Joel’s thick, strong body above yours and the delicious stretch of his cock inside you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, darlin’,” he tells you, “wanna pin you down and keep you here forever.”

He adjusts the angle, shifts his hips so that his cock hits the spongy spot inside you that sends pleasure shooting up your spine and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“Bet you’d let me, too, wouldn’t you?” Joel says, voice hard, hips dragging as he slows his thrusts to press his pelvis against yours, “Let me do whatever the fuck I wanted with you and you’d thank me for it, huh?”

“Yes, God, yes,” Your voice sounds pathetic even to your own ears, high-pitched and breathless.

Joel chuckles darkly, wraps a broad hand around the base of your neck and holds it there, not squeezing but just keeping you in place.

It’s warm in the small bedroom and you watch sweat bead in the creases of Joel’s neck, on the tips of his curls where they rest on the side of his face and forehead. His eyebrows are furrowed, face contorted with pleasure and concentration and when he flicks his eyes up to catch yours there’s that familiar electricity between you. “You,” it says, “it’s always you.” It’s enough to tip you both over the edge. You come hard, cunt clenching and fluttered around Joel’s cock and he lets out a rumbling groan as his hips stutter, his rhythm lost. He slams his hips to yours one last time and then you feel him twitching inside you, painting you with ropes of come. He curses through it, little half-choked mutters of Jesus Christ baby, fuckin’ tight, perfect cunt and then he collapses against you, his sweat-slicked chest hot against yours, both of your gasping in desperate breaths. Joel rolls off of you but pulls you tight to him, arm wrapped possessively around you waist, hand firm on the tender flesh of your hip.

In the aftermath, the orange glow of the streetlight looks like fire against Joel’s white bedsheets. The flames of it lick up the breadth of his chest to his collarbone and you think of a different fire, the one that burned down the last haven you found, over five years ago. You think of the death and destruction of that night, squeezing your eyes tight shut to try to block it out. When you open them Joel’s looking at you, dark eyes holding yours, but his expression is a little distant. The crease between his eyebrows is deepened by the way he’s frowning and you’re sure he’s thinking of his own fire-struck night, his mind perhaps decades away. The sex-sweet haze is already slipping away, but he’s a firm presence beside you and when you take a shaky breath, trying to slow your hammering heart, his arm around you tightens reassuringly.  

Maybe the ghosts can be kept at bay for a while, at least.

[martinsorbit]

Finders Keepers warm up sketches b4 I start designing some character stuff

I missed themm

The DCAs arms/hands keep breaking because of how much they move and do silly acrobatics, pairing that with some leftover water+fire damage, it is one of the things that Y/N has to repair often;

New compatible parts are hard to find + expensive (considering how old the DCAs model is), so Y/N normally has to go to old faztech electronic trash dumps to find something that might work, which is usually pieces of other similar-looking Attendants from some old FAZCO animatronic line. You really hope sun and moon don't know about this, or else things will get awkward

[quotespile]

Here she is, all mine, trying her best to give me all she can. How could I ever hurt her? But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.

Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Okay, I actually really like this. And I can say why.

"But Dana isn't it hypocritical to Like Lunar's 'villain arc' while disliking Nexus's?"

Not really. Because what Lunar is doing is consistent with his character. Which is, entirely selfish motivations as he has always had before, and I'll explain Lunar's motivations and why he makes a better compelling villain arc. And who knows, maybe Lunar will rush back and say he's sorry after one or two episodes when Nexus didn't.

But Nexus/N!Moon grieving over someone he loved, everyone assuming he's evil and them making a heel turn into 'irredeemable evil' I didn't like because it was contradictory to the past year we spent with N!Moon and unintentionally felt like it villainized grieving in an ugly way. And I've expressed the dislike of All of Nexus's worst fears coming true. He believes his family doesn't understand, they treat him like villain immediately. He thinks he's easily replaceable and not as talented as the Old Moon. Old Moon comes back, replaces him, is accepted immediately and was proven to be intellectually superior to N!Moon. He thinks he's broken that he's beyond repair and can't be fixed. Earth gave up on him really quickly despite being aware of his coping mechanisms (lashing out) (even before the "collateral damage" thing) Ruin lied and manipulated him and killed Solar. Nexus never wanted to be manipulated again.... D!Sun put the plans in place that he was the perfect pawn in an interdimensional sacrifice to get the outcome he wanted. Nexus wanted his family to join him and understand him. No one understood him and he died at the hands of his own brother.

Nexus died with all his worst fears and nightmares confirmed true. It's honestly tragic and horrible.

NOw.... Lunar. Getting into this little bean. Has a far more compelling reason to be corrupted by Negative star power. That is consistent with his character and just doesn't replace Lunar with... Lexus or something.

So Lunar was just told recently by Taurus and Gemini, that he has reached the precipice of his training and neither will train him anymore. With his mental block on his trauma and Eclipse and just apathetic to everything, he can't tap into his emotions or power. Understandably, Lunar is frustrated by this and feels no one is listening to him and feels his partner is being demeaning (they're not. And it's not about him. But Lunar is to selfish to get that.)

People often don't understand that Gemini does not try to be intentionally demeaning to Lunar. They do not have human emotions like we do, or even the animatronics do. They operate at a different level beyond our human comprehension, So I don't place Astrals into mortality boxes. And Lunar, is still a very childish and selfish character, and seems to not understand their partner. Even if they do like them a whole lot. They just don't understand them at a fundamental level. It's hard to have an emotional connection to someone who doesn't have human emotions, (or who is just starting to feel emotions in small doses but that's just a theory) and Lunar does not have the patience or emotional maturity to deal with someone who operates like that.

So Rez puts it out there for Lunar to get stronger then they are willing to train him and SO OF COURSE Lunar would jump at that because he feels infantilized and has felt that way by his partner for a long time. Keep it in mind, Gemini does not do this intentionally, and makes this clear to Lunar MANY TIMES over the entire course of the year they have been interacting.

Not to mention, Sun killing Nexus disturbed something across dimensions. It's as I said when Nexus first turned to the dark side. It's like all Moon's destiny is to inherently be doomed by ambition. Lunar included in that. Lunar following in Nexus's footsteps. Because those who don't know their history are doomed to repeat it. And Lunar is the prime example. And this is horrible. Maybe it's hypocritical of me to like Lunar's heel turn into a Sasuke arc. But this is on a path of destiny that needs to break. And that's why I think I find it a bit more compelling from a character motivation and writing stand point. So. Yes. Lunar abandoning his family when they need him. Horray!!!

I think I just like it because it is consistent with all of Lunar's characterization up to this point. And because he did not care or know what was going on with Nexus, he will get corrupted by the NSP too. Who knows, maybe Lunar will gain a new found sympathy for Nexus knowing how Dark Star Power fucks with your head and insecurities.

[yuki2sksksk]

(Bodyguard AU)

After the fire 'incident' in the Fazbear facility, broken and damaged animatronics are sent to a workshop for their repair. Although, it seems like there had been some attempts to destroy the company, by targeting the animatronics themselves. So, what do the upper people do to stop these attacks?

By hiring bodyguards. For their animatronics.

(In a nutshell: Astra gets to protect the twin daycare robots who act like they just didn't get traumatized by something)

" Bodyguard? More like Buddy-guard! " - Sun's attempt at a joke, unsuccessful at making Astra smiles.

(this is one of the oldest draft ideas I have for Astra and the boys)

[Masterlist]