#Rustic Chip

[scoutingthetrooper]

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[departmentofinteriors]

[vegan-nom-noms]

Vegan Banana Muffins with Chocolate Chunks and Walnuts

[mebeforeyoumovie]

Raleigh Wood Mid-sized mountain style brown one-story wood exterior home photo with a metal roof

[shesarmed]

Rustic Home Bar - Home Bar

Inspiration for a large rustic u-shaped light wood floor wet bar remodel with raised-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, granite countertops, black backsplash and stone slab backsplash

[rejectedshelf]

Front Yard Natural Stone Pavers Cornwall Inspiration for a medium-sized, fully-shaded, front yard stonescape in the spring.

[loujasna]

Beach Style Landscape in Cornwall A picture of a medium-sized formal stone garden in the front yard of a seaside home in spring.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Teach Me a Lesson, Mr. Miller✨

Bfd/Brat Tamer! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: This has been in the docs for a while, and it’s all just filth. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me get that one sentence just right! This one is dedicated to all the bratty girls who love to be punished, especially @littlevenicebitch69 😈

Summary: Tonight, you planned for beer, loud music, and sloppy sex with one of your hot college classmates. Instead, you get your best friend’s dad putting you in your place.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.7k

Tags: Porn with plot, large age gap (reader is 23, Joel is 46), best friend’s dad! Joel, unprotected piv, brat tamer! Joel, fingering, oral (f/m receiving), no use y/n, pre outbreak! au, switching POVs, dirty talk, edging

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The lights flash like disco balls across the silhouette of the glass windows as Joel enters the front door of his house. His eyes blow wide, eyebrows furrowing when he sees the absolute mess in his large two-story house. 

   The wooden floors are caked in spilled beer, bottles litter the vicinity of his college infested living room. The loud music blares through the speakers, bodies cramming the now made dance floor with the leather couches pushed back out of place. Antique lamps get knocked over, footballs get thrown around by some jocks in the kitchen, chips get crunched and crumpled by careless feet over by the rustic coffee table. 

   He can’t see an end to the madness of this unwelcome house party that was obviously thrown without his knowledge, and he’s fucking pissed.

   He scoffs as a tall blonde football player rams into his shoulder, not even muttering an apology, only yelling “Watch out, old man” as be barrels through with an open beer bottle clutched in his firm hand. That makes Joel burn with hot rage, his jaw ticking as he goes searching for Sarah in a sea of college party goers. 

   He was supposed to be away on a contracting gig all weekend, but he unexpectedly got to come home early after the clients changed the dates yet again. He was going to surprise Sarah by taking her out to dinner, but not anymore. Not after he walked into his house that’s now completely trashed by fucked up college kids. 

   He clamps down on his seething tongue and tastes blood run down the back of his throat, pushing himself through a couple making out by the kitchen entrance, cursing under his breath when almost no one even realizes he’s right there in the midst of it all. A rowdy boy shotguns a beer in the hall, all his friends hollering for him to chug. Joel grabs the aluminum can out of his hand and throws it on the ground, crushing it under his leather work boots while he scowls at the piece of shit.

   “Get out of my fuckin’ way,” he growls, pushing the college kid out of the way and into the wall, stomping down the hall back into the living room when he doesn’t see Sarah anywhere around him. 

   He barrels past a sleazy couple making out by the stairwell, hearing them yell back while he huffs and pushes past them. Fucking college kids.

   Turning and looking up the stairs is where he finds you standing there, nursing an alcoholic beverage from a red solo cup. He clenches his jaw, narrows his eyes as he stares at you, Sarah’s best friend, not even comprehending he’s right there basically at your heels. 

   He growls under his breath, hands balled in tight fists as the loud music booms through his eardrums, cursing when he sees another red solo cup fall to the floor, spilling liquid all over his newly polished floors. 

   Goddamn it.

   He assesses you carefully, flicking his eyes over your too tight little black dress, barely covering the globes of your ass. Your low cut neckline basically reveals it all, cleavage spilling from where your perky breasts tease the boys. He takes in your tanned, toned legs, your slutty outfit making all the guys drool over you. And he knows that’s what you fucking want because you love attention.

   If attention is what you’re seeking, then he’s about to smother it.

   He scoffs under his breath; a jealous anger rises deep in his chest. He equally loves and hates how attractive he finds you. Your long legs could make any grown man weak in the knees, and your pouty red lips are so plump that they drive him absolutely wild. He so badly wants to suck that pretty little bottom lip between his teeth so he can finally hear what your pleasurable cries sound like while they ring melodically through his ears.

   He should be mad, furious that you were a part of putting this party together. He knows you were; Sarah wouldn’t do this by herself. Not his little girl. No. She obviously had some convincing from you. He always knew you were a little troublemaker. 

   And you know what happens to little troublemakers? They get taught a lesson. And that’s exactly what he plans to do.

   “Isn’t this party great? You and Sarah really pulled it off. Didn’t think you could. Bravo,” Kylie congratulates you, tipping her half empty beer bottle to your red solo cup, spilling a little of the mixed alcohol over the side of your cup.

   “Yeah, well this wouldn’t have even happened if we thought her dad would show up. Kinda was hesitant to even help throw it, but guess it worked out,” you sigh with relief, a smile painting over your tinted red lips.

   You relax against the wall, taking a deep breath while the drifting music fills your ears, lulling in the alcohol that calms your racing mind. “Good thing he’s not here, right? That’d be a shit show,” you laugh. 

   After a couple of minutes, Kylie hits your arm and almost screams into your ear. “Wait. Oh no. Isn’t that… is that Sarah’s dad?”

   You stand up straight, pushing yourself off the wall frantically. As you look down the narrow staircase and gaze through the parted crowd, that’s when you see him staring up at you with a clenched jaw and fire lighted in narrowed eyes. 

   Oh shit.

   You swallow a generous gulp of the bitter alcohol, biting the tip of your tongue hard as Kylie disappears and leaves you alone with the hungry panther that’ll surely show his claws to you any moment now. He stalks towards you, climbing the stairs and pushing past party goers, his big lips twitching and glowing eyes glaring your way. 

   Fuck. He’s so angry. You’re in big trouble. 

   He points a thick finger accusingly at you, mouthing your name angrily through his gritted teeth. When he reaches you your eyes blow wide, mouth dropping open, standing speechless in your black high heels. Your red solo cup slips out of your hand, and you gulp when the cup lands on Joel’s tan work boots, spilling alcohol all over the worn leather. Shit. 

   He rakes a hand roughly down his salt-and-pepper trimmed beard, muttering curse words under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs. 

   “Sorry…” you stutter, almost falling backwards before he places a strong hand around your wrist, holding your gaze with his narrowed eyes.

   “So, you and Sarah decided it was alright to throw a fuckin’ party over the weekend I was supposed to be out of town, huh? Thought it was fine to trash my goddamn house?!” His voice is sharp, stern, filled with a deep gravelly tone that almost scares the daylights out of you. You’ve never seen Joel mad before, not like this. You’re in so much trouble.

   “No… I mean, we didn’t mean to…” you mutter quietly.

   “Didn’t mean to my ass. This was planned. Parties don’t jus’ happen. But let me ask you one thing, where is my daughter?” His amber eyes dig into you, a deep scowl forming over his lips while you try to hold your shaky breath. 

   You wouldn’t rat Sarah out, not to her dad. She was busy hooking up with Ryan by the pool, and you did not want her dad knowing that. He would probably take his meaty hands and physically kill the poor guy.

   “I don’t know. Haven’t seen her in a while,” you shrug, pretending like you don’t know a thing.

   He slides his tongue along his bottom teeth, his cold eyes slitting into narrow slots. Oh god, you’re done for. “Upstairs, now!” he yells. He grabs your wrist and drags you upstairs, down the narrow hall, past the occupied bathroom and down to the last room on the right. 

   His bedroom. 

   He throws you inside the room and flips on the lights, slamming the door shut with a bang and clicking the lock into place. No place to escape now. Your wide eyes scan the room, glancing past the corner with his acoustic guitar, taking in the navy blue walls, the collection of stacked albums in the little glass case, eyes flicking over the king-sized bed with clean white sheets and a dark blue blanket thrown neatly on top. 

   You don’t have time to really take in your surroundings because he’s suddenly screaming at you through clenched teeth. “Where is Sarah?” he growls, pacing in front of you with blown out angry eyes, tanned arms crossed over his broad chest.

   You push all your fears aside and decide to turn on the charm, hoping you can flirt your way out of this one. “I dunno, Joel. Where do you think she is?” you giggle, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers, giving him your best innocent look as you bat your eyelashes up at him, trying your hardest to not turn your best friend in. 

   Something snaps hard in him then. He crowds your space, pinning you against the navy colored wall, his meaty hands grazing against your hips roughly. “It’s Mr. Miller to you. Now look, I ain’t repeatin’ myself again. Now where is she?” He snarls, showing his incisors as his nostrils flare, making his chocolate eyes grow into big black holes. Oh god, he’s furious. 

   “Like I said, I don’t know.” You smile, shrugging your shoulders like you don’t have a clue in the world. He obviously knows you’re lying, and he won’t stand for that.

   “I’m not fuckin’ playin’ around, little girl. Tell me where my daughter is or so help me.” He clenches his jaw, a repressed growl held in the back of his throat. 

   “Little girl, huh? You think a twenty-three-year-old is a little girl?” You scoff, pursing your lips annoyed. 

   “Shut up, will ya? Christ. Jus’ tell me where the fuck my daughter is,” he growls, pinning his broad chest against yours.

   You smirk his way, challenging him with an ounce of liquid courage in your system. “Make me.”

   He digs into the sides of your hips with his thick fingers, making you gasp at the nervous butterflies that flit through your stomach. He gnashes his teeth together, dark eyes blowing wide as he ghosts dangerously close to your lips. “Better be careful there, sweetheart. You’re walkin’ on mighty thin ice,” he warns with the flash of black eyes. 

   “Am I?” you challenge, giggling with a gleam in your eye. He curses under his breath, ready to give you just what you deserve. “I see the way you look at me when Sarah’s not around. The way your eyes peel over me, especially when I was wearing my little pink bikini by the pool. Couldn’t stop staring, could you?” you smirk.

   He clenches his teeth together, groaning curse words as he scowls your way, fighting every ounce of control he has left in him, but he has none. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?” he spits your way, eyes lit like smoldering flames. 

   “Only a brat for you,” you wink.

   “Jesus Christ,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers until he’s looking back up at you with danger written all over his handsome face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

   “Mhm,” you nod, grabbing onto the front of his green flannel, your fingers curling ever so slowly over the soft material. “So, what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Miller?” you ask all flirtatiously, pulling him up against your chest while his big hands hover over the soft fabric of your tight dress.

   He carves his hand over the middle of your cleavage, running a calloused finger dangerously close to your breasts, anger still coursing through those dark eyes of his. “How much have you had to drink tonight? You’re actin’ rather bold, little girl.” His index finger grazes the underside of your breasts, and you hold in a surprised gasp.

   “I’ve had a couple sips, but I’m not drunk,” you promise, watching his eyes flick back and forth from your vision to your spilling breasts that scream to be freed from the suffocating dress.

   He assesses your face, scanning your flustered features while he ticks his jaw, analyzing if you’re really drunk or not. Once he’s satisfied with your answer, he lets out a gruff sound from the back of his throat. “Okay then. You’re not drunk, but you’re jus’ choosin’ not to tell me where Sarah is, and you’re givin’ me a damn headache with the way you’re actin’ like a little brat,” he snarls with gritted teeth. “What’s it gonna take to get you to answer me, brat?” 

   The nickname brat makes a wave of slick form in the gusset of your pretty lace and your insides quiver with need. You know exactly what you have to do now. 

   You take your nails and run them slowly through his greying scruff, watching him clench his jaw and growl through his teeth. He grabs your wrist and peels it off his face, pinning it high above your head while he takes a step forward and leans all his weight into you.

   “Don’t think for one fuckin’ moment you have control, sweetheart. I’m in control here. Now, are you gonna tell me where my daughter is or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?” His eyes blow wide, black pupils taking over your vision as his hardening cock digs into the middle of your thigh. Oh fuck. He’s big.

   You smirk up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Think I can tell you where she is. After you fuck me first, Mr. Miller.”

   He snarls your way and grabs your wrists, pulling you from the wall and throwing you in the direction of his king-sized bed. Before you can even make a move, he's right behind you, spreading your legs and pushing your chest against the soft mattress, slowly hiking your dress above your hips.

   “If you’re gonna act like a brat then I’m gonna fuck you like a brat, fuckin’ tease,” he growls.

   You feel the cool air against your center before you can even comprehend what’s happening. He rips your lace panties in half, shredding the material and spreading you wider while he spits on his large hand and starts dividing your folds, calloused fingers gliding through the slick of your wet pussy. He pushes on your buzzing clit, already overstimulated by his meaty fingers pressing against you, and you can’t help but pull a low groan from your glossy lips.

   “You like that, huh? Dirty little thing, jus’ wait till I get my mouth on you,” he smirks devilish. 

   “Oh, god,” you groan loudly as he curls one thick finger inside your dripping hole, quickly slipping another in to make a delicious burning sensation light your core on fire.

   The room starts spinning as he languidly fucks his fingers in and out, making sharp, deep movements as they scissor inside you over and over again. It’s like he’s kissing the back of your cervix, reaching impossibly deep inside your soul, and his deft fingers are so fucking experienced that you think you see god himself when he curls at just the right spot and presses into the spongy spot that has you seeing twinkling stars before your wide eyes.

   The heel of his palm presses firmly against your clit, and you can’t help the obscene noises that squeak out of you, just like the wet, squelching noises your pussy is making every single time he fucks into you nice and deep. The way he’s finger fucking you is unforgiving and relentless, and you can tell he’s thoroughly pissed that you kept taunting him. He’s trying to teach you a lesson, but it feels so fucking good that maybe you should tease him more often. Maybe he’ll keep being rough with you because you like this more than you should. 

   You buck your hips up, pressing your clit against his rough palm as you reach for that friction you so desperately crave. You’re right on the verge of coming, and you need to feed that burning sensation that almost snaps like a twig inside your core.

   “Greedy fuckin’ brat, ain’t ya? Who said you could come already, huh?” he growls with bared teeth. He releases his drenched fingers from your core, and you feel complete loss when those damn thick fingers stop you from getting your sweet release.

   You whine as he throws you on the silky sheets flat on your back, his large body climbing over yours while he pins his muscular legs against your thighs, spreading you wide to be on full display for him. You gasp and try to break free of his strong hold, but he’s much larger than you are, and his body is as taut as a brick wall. No way you can knock him off.

   You lick your bottom lip in frustration and pout because your clit burns, and you need to get relief before you combust into uncontrollable flames. “Please, Mr. Miller,” you beg, tears pooling in the backs of your glossy eyes.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” he asks, his large stature toppling over your body as his smoldering eyes incinerate the flames a thousand degrees hotter. 

   “Maybe after you make me come.” You puff your bottom lip out and smile through the burn of your core. He’s not going to budge, so you might as well push him to the edge. 

   “You think a little brat like you deserves to come?” he snarls, his eyes blowing wide as they trail like fire down your writhing body.

   He spots your wet center and smirks, ghosting his fingers right over your bundle of nerves, exactly where you need him most. Your voice box dies as you watch his thick fingers skate across your middle region, and you grow mute as a blinding pleasure of need crashes through your bloodstream.

   “I asked you a question, little brat. I expect an answer,” he growls with clenched teeth.

   “Please,” is all you seem to be able to whisper out as the heel of his palm brushes against your over sensitive clit. “I… I need it,” you whine, feeling the bottomless pit your stomach seems to plummet into.

   “You need it?” he chuckles darkly, dipping his head down between your legs slowly. “This pretty pink pussy wants to come?” he smirks as his lips brush dangerously close to your throbbing mound.

   “Mhm,” you whine, panting excessively when his hot breath fans over your clit, sending your carnal need spiraling while his large hands push your thighs further into the slick white sheets. 

   He lets a string of saliva pool inside his mouth, and then he slowly lets it drip down like a waterfall onto your already drenched pussy. “Can never be too wet, little brat,” he grins wickedly. “But look at you, already soppin’ for me,” he chuckles darkly.

   The tip of his thumb slides against your slit, covering drool and slick up to your puffy mound as he meticulously circles over that sweet spot that makes you pant his name uncontrollably. You buck your hips up, begging for more, but he just settles nicely between your legs and lets his eyes lust over with black pits that threaten to eat you alive.

   “Mr. Miller,” you beg like a desperate bitch in heat. You need him, want him, and it’s so fucked up that you want your best friend’s dad. But he’s just so enticing that you can’t resist, like a prized possession you just can’t lose.

   “Now, let me taste jus’ how wet you are, little brat. Maybe you’ll stop runnin’ that smart alec mouth of yours for a minute,” he smirks cruelly. 

   You take a breath, about to spout off a flirty response to mock him, but then his mouth fuses to your pussy, and there’s suddenly no air left in your lungs. He languidly licks a long stripe up your glistening folds, making a shocked gasp escape your mouth while he peels his carnal eyes up at you and fucking smirks while his tongue slowly envelops your buzzing mound.

   Fuck. He’s even better with his tongue than you imagined. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan breathily, mouth agape with drool nearly sliding down your chin. His tongue makes your pussy clench up over nothing, but then he slips two experienced fingers inside your dripping hole and curls up up up until he hits that spot that makes you lose your fucking mind. 

   Another flick of his long tongue and you’re nearly choking on dry air. You try to speak, but his skillful fingers and lapping tongue make you forget every single thought that’s ever plagued your mind.

   “Look at you, all choked up like you don’t know any words. What’s the matter, little brat? Cat got your tongue?” His menacing words cut through the thick air, and his piercing black eyes flash with mischief when his tongue slides along your puffy clit.

   “Y—yes,” you choke, words getting jumbled on the tip of your tongue the minute he plunges his thick fingers deeper inside you. “Oh my god,” you moan, feeling his thick beard brush against your inner thigh, his tongue dancing impossibly fast around your bundle of nerves. “More,” you beg, “please.”

   Joel’s tongue snaps back in his mouth, and one of his large hands tugs you closer, possessively pressing into your thigh like he fucking owns you. “Beggin’ for me now, s’that right?”

   All you can do is nod in response. “Mhm.”

   He chuckles and shakes his head, still skillfully curling his magical fingers up inside you, almost making your vision turn to black. “You gonna behave if I make you come, pretty little slut?” he asks with a snide smirk, fanning his hot breath along your sticky center, right where he’s ruined you most. 

   “Mhm. I’ll be good, promise,” you squeak out, bucking your hips to try to get his warm mouth back on you, but he only digs deeper into your thigh, right to the point of both pleasure and pain mixed together. 

   “Attagirl,” he smiles wickedly, his dark eyes turning back into big black pits.

   In the next second his mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and teasing his tongue along your wet folds, his curved nose inhaling deeply in your curls above your mound, and then his mouth takes your needy clit and sucks. Hard. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, reveling in the feel of his smooth tongue, moaning with every curl of his thick digits that he gives you, relishing the sick, pleasurable feeling of knowing that you finally teased him enough that he gave in. And it’s honestly better than any fake fantasy that you conjured up in your twisted brain. This right here is something you’d be on your knees for every second you could get Joel fucking Miller alone with you.

   Another lick to your center and your fingers fall and twist around his dark greying tousled locks. That elicits a groan deep from within his throat, and he has you panting even heavier the more he ravishes your sticky center. 

   The coil sharply snaps in your belly, and you feel molten lava run down your spine, slipping down your center, your walls clenching tightly around his calloused fingers. “Fuck,” he groans, his tongue lapping up the spilling slick that runs down your thighs messily. 

   Even coming down from your orgasm, the man still sets your core on fire. “You taste so fuckin’ good, little brat. Like fuckin’ cake on my lips,” he hums, licking off your glistening slick that sticks to his plush lips.

   Once you’re coherent enough to form a full sentence, you breathe out raggedly. “Need you, Joel,” you whine, reaching for his flannel collar until he pushes your hand away.

   “Mr. Miller,” he snaps. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mocks, his tongue darting across his bottom lip while he takes his time pulling the top of your dress down. “You want this cock?” he asks smirking, his big hands toying with your now revealed breasts, pinching the pebbled nipples between his fingers, humming happily when a moan slips off your tongue. 

   “Yes, please,” you beg, hoping he’ll give in to your sweet voice that nearly sings each time his warm body brushes against yours. You’re desperate because now you really want him. You want to know what it’s like to be fucked by Joel Miller in the flesh.

   “You gonna tell me where Sarah is?” He leans in and brushes his soft lips against the shell of your ear, gently biting until pain turns into raw pleasure.

   “Yes,” you say shakily. “After you fuck me.”

   His chocolate brown eyes turn carnal, black pits taking over once again as a deep smirk flicks across that warm mouth of his. “If you wanna be fucked like a slut then so fuckin’ be it,” he growls viciously. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

   He yanks the leather belt from the loops of his denim jeans, throwing it quickly over the side of the bed as it falls with a clatter onto the floor. He wastes no time and unzips his metal zipper, ripping his jeans down his legs, his black boxer briefs following quickly after. Your eyes widen when you see just how massive he is, his thick cock hard and pressing firmly against his soft tummy, precum spilling messily over his red, swollen tip that’s begging to be stuffed inside you.

   Your jaw drops, and searing pleasure tears through your core the way his cock twitches when he looks down at just how soaked you are again. You’re like a fucking water fountain with no end of flow in sight. You’ve got it so bad for him, but now all you want is to be fucked by this beast of a man.

   “Jesus Christ. Already wet for me again? Little slut wants to be stuffed full of my cock, s’that right? Well, congratulations because I’m about to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else but me splitting you in two,” he growls cunningly.

   His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, and then he’s driving his cock straight through your damp folds. The breath gets knocked from your body the moment he plunges inside you, his large width literally splitting you in two until all you can feel is him penetrating your tight walls. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as his arms come down around your shoulders, caging you in as he drives in harder, bottoming out each time his hips snap up against yours, making you feel so satiated but also starving for more. You love his cock, and you don’t think you’ll ever have anyone else that can measure up to the god of a man he truly is.

   “Yeah, takin’ my cock like such a good girl,” he purrs, slapping his hips over and over as your mind starts to become numb from the thrusts of his massive cock. 

   “M–Mr. M… Miller,” you garble out, eyes rolling into the backs of your lids, reveling in the pleasure of the way he slides in and out of you, hitting that spongy spot that makes your fingers curl into the now dampened sheets. 

   “‘S’right, sweetheart. Say my name. Look at you all cock drunk. Givin’ you jus’ what you deserve, like the little slut you are,” he chuckles darkly as his tongue darts out and licks ravenously at the nape of your neck. “Lettin’ your best friend’s daddy fuck this tight pussy? You’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he chuckles.

   You don’t know why, but the nickname slut makes your insides tremble and has more slick running down his cock with each brush he gives your center. You’re such a bad friend, but you don’t care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and now you have him. You don’t intend to stop now.

   He bends your knees toward you, folding them until you’re in the shape of a pancake, his cock spearing into you at just the right angle that makes your moans louder and desperate as he drives you to your quickening second orgasm of the night. 

   The head of his cock kisses your cervix, drawing shallow breaths from your lungs until the room is enveloped in amber flames. You’re burning for him, and he fucking knows it, too. “Come on, pretty girl. You know you wanna come on my cock,” he taunts, eyes lit with pure mischief that threatens to swallow your cries whole.

   “Yes, fuck. I’m right there… I’m right–” Your voice is cut off by the deep growl that comes from his throat the moment your walls clench tightly around his cock, and you feel those walls inside you starting to crumble like every single thing around you does. 

   “That’s it, little brat. Take it. Spill for me,” he commands with a deep, intoxicating tone that has you coming just seconds after he speaks. You arch your back and moan his name, your ragged breaths scratchy and dry as you come hard on his cock.

   “Oh, yeah. Fuckin’ messy girl, goddamn,” he growls as he fucks you relentlessly through the high. 

   Just when you think he might come too, he pulls out and leaves you crying from the emptiness that makes you hollow from the inside out. You lay there panting, your center ruined from your dripping cum. He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe; he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks you off the bed, pushing you down until you’re settled between his thighs.

   When you look up from under your long lashes, you see his hard cock shiny with your slick, and his eyes are lustful black pits. “Why don’t you be a good girl and open that pretty mouth, sweetheart. Wanna fuck it. Knock some sense into ya,” he growls.

   Your eyes widen and you try to turn, but he grabs the crown of your head and forces your mouth open with the tip of his thumb. “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” It’s not a question but a demand. And god, you willingly do as he says without a fuss.

   Your hands wrap around the base of him obediently, and then your tongue laps at the underside of his cock, tracing the bulging veins that spread like vines down his shaft. Licking across the swollen tip of him, your tongue whisps against his slit, feeling the hot, salty precum envelop your throat as you hum around him. 

   “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your tongue is so… fuck,” he moans once your lips are fully wrapped around him, taking him deep inside your throat until he’s bottoming out, making you gag. 

   You pull your lips from his cock, catching your breath as a bead of drool connects from your bottom lip to the tip of him, like a spider web spinning its web slowly and maliciously. He looks down at you with a glint in his mischievous eyes, and it’s so smoldering that it catches you on fire. 

   The pad of his thumb traces gently on your bottom lip, and for a moment you see a glimmer of softness in those dark irises. It’s quickly masked the second he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, pulling you to the edge of his messy cock. “You wanted to be fucked so badly, so let me teach you another lesson, little brat. Wanna shut you up with something else other than my hand.”

   He tugs you forward, and his cock plunges deep into your throat, languidly sliding it in and out, harder and faster with each stroke of his cock. Your eyes water as tears stream down your face, mascara trailing down your lash line with every thrust of his cock. Your cheeks hollow out, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how he humiliates you and ruins you by fucking your mouth repeatedly.

   The chilly air hits the back of your bare ass, and the room fills with obscene gagging and choking noises the more your mouth drowns in him. Drool coats your chin and runs down his thick length, but he doesn’t stop, he just keeps plunging deep into the back of your throat like it’s life or death. 

   “Finally learned how to shut you up,” he teases, ragged breaths growling from his throat the closer he gets to his climax. 

   You can’t talk, only the washed out sounds of drowning on his all-consuming length fill the void. He practically rips your hair out of the base of your skull, tugging forcefully, snapping his hips aggressively until you feel his tip swell and almost combust. A guttural groan leaves his mouth, and with one more snap of his hips he’s finished.

   “Swallow,” he commands. And then he’s spilling his hot seed down your throat. The salty taste makes you moan around him, and a unique taste that can only trademark as his own serenades you, claiming you as his own prized possession.

   He ruts once more inside you and then slowly slides out, collapsing on his back while you fall to the floor with a thud, gasping for breath as you choke on thick air. Your nails dig into the soft carpet, piercing through the thick material as you get a hold of yourself. Carefully tugging your dress up and down over your ass, you push yourself up after a few minutes of trying to decipher all that just went down.

   Joel lays with a large hand shielding his eyes, groaning to himself and mumbling nonsense under his breath. He’s probably regretting this entire night now, but you know you’re not. And you’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

   After a moment of standing there staring, Joel lifts himself up and leans his elbows against his knees, his eyes flicking over your panting form carefully. His stare isn’t kind but condescending, until it melts into something a little softer that you just can’t place your finger on.

   Is he… growing soft on you?

   His eyes flick to yours, his jaw slack and irises golden brown, no more lusting black pits. Something snaps in you, tugging at the pit of your gut that feels a lot like longing, yearning. And you shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend’s forty-six-year-old father, but you do. And nothing could convince you to stay away from him anymore. One taste and you were hooked. 

   You rock on the back of your heels, almost speechless by the aching feeling in your gut that screams from the loss of his hands on your body, his cock twitching inside you, and for a moment you feel sadness that completely shatters your fragile heart. Finding an ounce of courage buried deep in your throat, you fight to find your now meek voice again. “Are we going to make this a habit, Mr. Miller?”

   “Don’t count on it,” he mutters under his breath. “‘S’not a good idea,” he sighs.

   A wave of disappointment comes out of nowhere and just about knocks you on your ass, but you stand tall, your chin high in the air. “Fine. I learned my lesson, Mr. Miller. Guess I’ll go find another man to teach me another,” you mewl, letting the cold chill in your spine settle your agitation long enough to turn away from his clenched jaw and deep eyes that try to glue you to the dark carpet of his room.

   You give him a mocking smile and flip your hair across your shoulder while you sway your hips toward the closed door. Fine, if he doesn’t want you then you’ll just have to find someone else who can fill you as good as Joel did.

   A deep groan falls from his lips, and then you hear him pushing himself off the bed like his life depends on catching you. Joel snatches your waist and spins you around, pinning your back to the wall, just like the position you were in when you first got dragged to this room tonight.

   “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he spits out, onyx eyes flaring with a hint of jealousy and possession, and then his lips fuse to yours, consuming every fiber of your body as his own.

   His plush mouth molds to yours like clay, his warm breath fanning across your swollen lips, and you swear you’ve never craved a man like this, not when his mouth is feasting on you. Parting your lips pliantly, you allow him access inside, his tongue slotting between your teeth and then dancing against your tongue. He tastes like whiskey and smells like sandpaper. He’s intoxicating.  

   Heat bursts through the room as his tongue invades your mouth, making you dizzy and incredibly needy the moment his hands cup the sides of your face, your fingers scraping gently against the back of his neck. He groans in response, deeping the kiss as he swallows you whole. You don’t hear the blaring music down the hall, you only hear his breath mixing with your own, your moans colliding in sync as a symphony fills the room. 

   The kiss ends moments later, and you’re standing there panting raggedly, trying to cool off from that heated moment. Joel steps back and rakes a hand heavily down his greying beard, his eyes in a far off place as he thinks and thinks about the actions he made in this musky, dark bedroom of his. Licking his bottom lip slowly, his chocolate eyes finally flick up to meet yours again. “Think you should go on now, sweetheart. We had our fun.” His eyes are heavy, his lids closing momentarily as another long sigh fills the void.

   “Can I… can I see you again?” you ask nervously, your heels digging deep into the carpet while you wait with bated breath.

   “‘S’not a good idea,” he warns, his nostrils flaring just the tiniest bit until he relaxes his tight shoulders. 

   “I don’t care,” you whisper.

   He looks at you a beat, his gaze trailing over your body, slowly nodding to the door, your cue to leave. You give him a small smile and make your way out, only stopping in the doorway when the door is inched open and loud music fills the room. You turn and give him some words for him to mewl over. “Ummm… thank you, Mr. Miller. For making me feel alive,” you blush. 

   “Jus’ Joel, sweetheart. Jus’ Joel.”

   “Right…” you smile, knowing you won him over. “Oh, and Sarah’s out back by the pool. See you around, I guess. Joel…” Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you turn down the hall, your chin held high knowing you just charmed Joel fucking Miller.

   He’s everything you ever wanted and everything you couldn’t have. But this wouldn’t be the only time you saw Joel Miller. No, you’d see him again.

   Joel topples onto the bed, letting the scent of your vanilla perfume permeate his ruined sheets. He fucking smells you everywhere, and now he can’t get the sight of your pretty, glistening eyes out of his smothered head. He groans, letting the heel of his palms dig deep into the sockets of his eyes. Maybe if he couldn’t see your shredded panties on the floor he wouldn’t be so wound up about you, but he still is, even with his eyes locked shut

   This is so fucked. You’re his daughter’s best friend, and he’s way too fucking old to be playing games with a twenty-three-year-old. But yet he wants to play, wants to teether you to his body until you can’t move, can’t escape from his strong hold on you. He’s got it so bad that he can’t even think straight. All he sees is you. And he doesn’t think he can stay away for long, so he won't. No. He’ll have you again and when he does, he won’t let you leave so quickly.

   He clenches the sheets in his fists and sighs, letting his eyes close as his body relaxes, tuning out the booming music that floats through his door. He lets your sweet scent carry him off into a light sleep, and the last thing he hears is your beautiful voice float through his ears as you call him Mr. Miller before sleep takes him down.

   And when he dreams, all he sees is how fucking wrecked you looked in between his ruined sheets.

   He’s not done with you. No. Not even close.

[potatipejr]

A Forced Sweet Tooth

Spencer Agnew x f!Reader

Summary: You work at a bakery and a frequent customer with a not-so-subtle crush, Spencer, keeps finding excuses to visit the bakery— until friendly visits turn into something more, and he finally asks you out.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: Writing a bunch before the inevitable burn out and ghosting tumblr for two months.

—————————————————————————

The first time Spencer saw you, he was just trying to kill time.

He had arrived way too early for a shoot at the office, his usual coffee shop was closed for renovations, and the hunger was starting to claw at the walls of his stomach. That’s when he noticed the tiny corner bakery with big bay windows and a hand-painted sign that simply read: Crumbs

It looked like something pulled straight from a movie à la Gilmore Girls. The kind with soft lighting and acoustic guitar strumming in the background. The bakery's front windows were fogged slightly from the warmth inside, and golden sunlight poured through in strips, catching on the hanging glass light fixtures above the counter. Light wood counters ran the length of the shop, lovingly worn-in from the years of use. Framed chalkboard menus hung behind the register, hand-lettered in white chalk with delicate flourishes. The display case spread with pastries too pretty to be eaten. There were the scones in perfect rounds, rustic apple tarts dusted in powdered sugar, and a whole row of artisan croissants that looked like they belonged on the cover of a food magazine.

Spencer paused in the doorway, the small bell above the door still chiming faintly behind him. He was first hit with the warmth and then the smell. Not just bread, though that was heavenly enough, but cinnamon, espresso and vanilla. It wrapped around him like a thick knit blanket, and his stomach let out a low, traitorous growl. He immediately regretted the depressing gas station sandwich he’d forced down that morning on the drive to work.

And then he saw you.

You were behind the counter, your back to him as you tied a red ribbon around a small white pastry box with the kind of focus and precision usually reserved for surgeries. You leaned slightly on one foot as you tugged the bow tight, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your apron slightly askew in a way that somehow made you look more put together. A little smudge of flour dusted your cheek, like a detail someone had artfully painted in just to make you more charming. And Spencer was, just for a second, entirely disarmed.

He watched as you handed the box to an older man at the counter, beaming warmly at whatever compliment he’d just paid you. You said something back that made him laugh, and Spencer caught the way your shoulders relaxed, the way you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You were glowing, actually glowing and not in the cheesy, poetic way people wrote about, but in the way real people did when they were in their element. Bright. Comfortable. Happy.

And then you looked up, and saw him.

“Hi! How can I help you?” you said.

Help me, love me, save me… whatever you’ll give me. Your tone was cheerful and oh so warm, it jolted him out of his daze. You didn’t say it like someone being paid to be polite. You said it like you actually wanted to know how you could help him.

Spencer’s brain promptly short-circuited.

There were so many pastries in front of him. He could have gone with the lemon tarts— he liked those. Or the espresso cake slices. Or the salted chocolate chip cookies. Or literally anything else. But something about your eyes on him, expectant and kind, made his brain hit the panic button a hundred times.

“Uh” he blurted, voice cracking a little. “Croissant.”

He didn’t even like croissants.

“Just one?” you asked, already turning to the case, tongs in hand.

“Yup. Yeah. Just one.” He cleared his throat, silently screaming at himself to act normal. “That’s exactly what I came in for.” It absolutely wasn’t. He had wandered in just to kill some time before entering the chaos of the Smosh Games set. But now, somehow, getting a croissant felt like the most important decision of his life.

You picked out one of the perfectly golden croissants, flaky and buttery, and placed it gently into a paper sleeve. “Good choice,” you said, smiling as you slid it across the counter to him. “Ours are made fresh every morning with extra love. They’re kind of our pride and joy.”

He ate the whole thing.

That was Monday.

By Wednesday, Spencer had rationalized, very convincingly, in his own head, that he just happened to be in the area again. Totally normal. Totally casual. Not at all suspicious. It wasn’t like he had driven twenty minutes out of his way during morning traffic or anything absurd like that.

The inside of the bakery was just as warm as he remembered. A soft hum of conversation filled the space, mingling with the gentle clink of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. This time, he got a lemon scone— zesty, sweet, just enough crumble— and a black coffee he didn’t actually like that much, but figured it would make him look more like a “coffee person.” You know, the type that would attract a young, charming bakery employee perhaps.

When you handed over his receipt with the same easy warmth as before, you didn’t even glance at the name printed at the top. “So just a lemon scone and a black coffee, Spencer?” you asked, already moving to make the drink.

Spencer blinked. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, his heart now beating in double-time.

You remembered his name. From Monday. Just like that.

That shouldn’t have made him as giddy as it did; he was a grown man, not a teenage fangirl at the 1D meet-and-greet, but here he was, humming a stupid little pop song under his breath as he walked back to his car, clutching his paper bag and coffee like they were love letters. He even caught himself smiling at his own reflection in the driver’s side window and immediately forced his face into something more neutral. Just in case anyone was watching. He had to keep up the act of the nonchalant macho man that he was.

By Friday, he had escalated. Not in a dramatic, over-the-top way. At least, not in his opinion. But still, it was a step up.

He had invented a fully fleshed out fake story.

“My roommate’s throwing a last-minute brunch thing,” he told you, holding up his phone as if it held proof of this imaginary event. “Asked me to grab some muffins on the way.”

Of course, Spencer lived alone. And his idea of brunch usually involved reheated pizza and whatever was still edible in the fridge. Or that he hadn’t once hosted another human in his kitchen in months.

But it sounded plausible. Brunch was a thing normal people did, right?

You grinned, eyes twinkling. “You’re a good roommate.”

He smiled back, praying he didn’t look as much like a deer in headlights as he felt. “Yeah, I try.”

You helped him pick out a variety— blueberry, poppyseed, a cinnamon swirl one he insisted was for “the picky one”— and packaged them in a pastry box, tying it up with a familiar red ribbon. That ribbon. He had no idea why it made his chest tight to watch you knot it, your brows furrowed slightly as you pulled it into a neat bow. He didn’t need a bow. Hell, he didn’t even need muffins. But he’d take a thousand of both if it meant you kept looking at him with that quiet, amused curiosity.

Which made him keep coming back.

He tried to play it cool. 

He tried not to linger too long near the register when you were laughing with the other barista, a tall girl with bleached blonde hair and a nose ring. He kept his phone in his hand, pretended to scroll, pretended he wasn’t waiting for you to come back. But somehow, you always seemed to drift toward his side of the counter. Your elbows resting on the wood, your fingers drumming absentmindedly while you asked, “Busy day ahead?” or “Did you try the strawberry cupcakes yet? They’re new.” 

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted one day, already sliding a chocolate chip cookie into a paper bag. “I saved the last one for you.”

That one went straight to his heart.

You talked more each time he came in. Sometimes it was casual stuff; your favorite pastry to bake, how early your shifts started, which customers were the sweetest. Other times it drifted into shared stories about weird food combinations, music, and movies. He learned your laugh had this little hiccup at the end of it. You learned he hated overly sweet things but would eat anything you handed him.

Your smile began lingering just a second longer than it needed to.

Your eyes flickered toward the door every time the bell jingled, and more than once, Spencer swears he saw that little moment of recognition flash across your face when you realized it was him walking in.

It made something in him stretch and uncurl— a quiet, cautious kind of hope he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Because maybe… you were hoping to see him too.

One day, on a particularly quiet afternoon, the kind where the sun slanted through the bakery windows just right and the hum of the refrigerator in the back was louder than the handful of customers seated at the wooden tables, Spencer lingered. And he wasn’t pretending to scroll through his phone this time. He wasn’t even pretending to be interested in the monthly special that he must have seen thirty times this week. He just… stayed. Hovering awkwardly near the side counter where finished drinks and to-go bags were set, pretending to be waiting on something, even though his coffee had already been served eight minutes ago.

You, of course, noticed.

Leaning forward against the counter, elbows propped up as casually as you could, you fixed him with a knowing grin. “You’re not just here for the cookies anymore, are you?”

Your voice was light, teasing, but it made Spencer’s entire body jolt like you’d caught him red-handed, sneaking a second slice of apple pie. He felt heat rise up the back of his neck— an alien, crawling sensation that left him awkwardly upright, like he was forgetting how to be in his own skin. 

“Busted,” he muttered, lips twitching into a half-smile. “But can you blame me? Your croissants have… grown on me.”

That made you laugh, a warm, musical sound that cracked the already-syrupy air between you two. “Croissants, huh? I thought you said they were quote ‘buttery sorrow folded into disappointment.’”

Spencer let out a groan and dragged a hand down his face, his embarrassment turning theatrical now. “I was trying to be edgy,” he defended. “Turns out they’re not that bad when they come with good company.”

You arched a brow, feigning suspicion. “Is that flattery I hear, Mr. Agnew?”

He looked at her and felt something hiccup in his usually calm mind. He wasn’t blushing, surely not— but he did adjust his cuff with unnecessary focus. “Only a little,” he said, quieter this time. “Well… maybe a lot.”

You shook your head fondly, reaching for the whipped cream canister behind the counter. “Flattery will get you extra whipped cream.”

He watched as you tipped it with flair, adding a ridiculous, towering swirl to his already-finished mocha. It was lopsided. It was a little chaotic. It was kind of perfect.

“You’re enabling me,” he said dryly.

You laughed. “Consider it your reward for being honest.”

Spencer took the cup from you slowly, fingers brushing yours which was completely unnecessary. You didn’t move away either. Not right away. For a moment, everything paused like the quiet before the beat dropped in a song, and then the bell above the door jingled and broke the spell.

But Spencer didn’t leave. 

He just stood there with whipped cream on his cup and something dangerous, something warm, unfurling in his chest.

Because, yes. He wasn’t there for the cookies anymore.

Spencer started coming in every morning before work. And after. Sometimes in the middle of shoots if the crew took a break. He always had a new reason.

“Needed a writing spot. You have the best light.”

“Was in the area. Again. Funny how that happens.”

“I'm trying to find the best hot chocolate in LA. This is... round six?”

You played along. Always teasing, but never pushing. Something in the air between you had started to shift. How you tilted your head when he spoke. He noticed the playlist changing to Weezer on Thursday mornings which isn't exactly cozy bakery music. He noticed how you would rush helping other customers in order to get to him.

One morning, the place was packed, and you were clearly overwhelmed but handling it like a pro. Still, when he walked in, your eyes met his like clockwork. Your face lit up like always.

“Hey you,” you said, breathless but happy.

He squeezed himself to his usual spot against the wall behind the pick-up station, grinning. “Hey. Need help wrangling croissants?”

“Unless you suddenly became a barista overnight, I think I’m good,” you shot back.

“Wouldn't be my worst reinvention.”

By the time the rush died down, Spencer had stayed almost thirty minutes, sipping slowly, watching you dart around in a pink apron with your name stitched into the pocket.

You finally made it to his corner, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

"You sure you don't want a job here? We pay in cookies."

"Tempting," he said. Then, after a pause, cautiously added, "Although, I think I'd be a little too distracted."

You bit your lip at that. He caught the twitch of a smile. Something about the way you looked at him right then made his palms sweat.

Listen, Spencer wasn’t great at subtlety. Not when he liked someone. He tried, God knows he tried, but it always came out in ways that were just a little too obvious: showing up a little too often, laughing a little too loud when you made a joke, bringing his laptop to work in the corner near the bar even though the Wi-Fi in the bakery was objectively shit. He’d told himself it was fine. Just a harmless crush.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised him, while still brushing crumbs off his hoodie from breakfast, Alice— your fellow barista and now, officially, a known instigator— looked up from the espresso machine and called out, loud enough for every customer in the store to hear:

“So are you guys, like, dating yet or what?”

There was a silence, one like you had never experienced. A thick, punch-in-the-gut kind of silence.

Spencer choked mid-sip on his mocha, nearly dropping it as he coughed and tried to laugh it off at the same time. You, behind the counter, froze with a tray of blueberry muffins in hand. The redness that bloomed across your cheeks was immediate and complete. You went from warm golden to full beet in under a second.

“Alice!” you hissed, your voice squeaky and panicked.

Alice only smirked, completely unbothered as she continued tamping espresso into the portafilter like this was any other work day.

Spencer, for once, had nothing clever to say. He stammered a few half-syllables and backed away from the counter with the grace of an odd horse practicing for its very first show jumping competition, taking refuge near the sugar station and pretending to be very invested in the different options offered to sweeten your drink.

It was nearly an hour later— after Alice gave knowing looks to the pair, after the older man who always ordered the lemon tart and sat in the corner had finally left— that you cornered him near the register. The hum of the café had quieted, replaced by an acoustic song probably sung by some white guy and the soft clink of ceramic mugs being cleared. You stepped around the counter, wiping your hands on your apron, your eyes darting to make sure Alice was far enough away.

“They’re just being nosy,” you said quickly, your voice hushed. “You don’t have to say anything, seriously.”

Your eyes met his. Wide. A little uncertain. But honest.

Spencer looked at you.

Flour dusted your apron, trailing faint fingerprints down the front like ghostly brushstrokes. There was a tiny smear of chocolate near your elbow, probably from those triple-chocolate chip cookies you made every morning. You were flushed from the heat, tired from the shift, and still somehow… radiant.

He opened his mouth and then finally, quietly, said, “Would it be so bad if we were?”

You blinked. 

He watched your brows knit together, a small furrow forming between them as your lips parted, then closed again like you were about to speak but thought better of it. It was subtle, but Spencer caught it— the flicker of surprise, the vulnerable hesitation in your eyes. Like you were trying to process the question and your own heartbeat at the same time, trying to make sense of this unexpected tenderness suddenly blooming between the two of you.

Your gaze dropped to the countertop for a moment, as if grounding yourself, and he saw your fingers lightly grip the edge. You blinked once, slowly, and when your eyes came back to his, they were shining with something soft and unspoken. Not fear exactly, but something cautious.

Spencer held his breath. Because in that pause, in that quiet second, it felt like time had narrowed down to just the space between you, to just the unspoken question hanging in the air: Could this be real? And even though neither of you had moved, something had shifted— something fragile, and new, and impossibly important.

“No,” you said. Your voice was soft. “Not bad. Just… maybe a little scary.”

Spencer nodded, his throat suddenly dry.

Without another word, he reached into the little brown paper bag he’d been hiding in his jacket pocket and pulled something out. It was a small, slightly misshapen… cookie?

He slid the cookie across the counter toward you.

It was a sugar cookie, golden brown and iced with white frosting. On the center, in careful red piping, was a tiny heart.

You looked down at it, then back at him. “You made this?”

He gave a sheepish little shrug, looking down. “It was either that or write you a love poem. Count your blessings.”

You stared at the cookie. Then at him. And the imperfect cookie just cracked something open in your chest— it felt warm and giddy and a little terrified, yes, but also sure.

When you did not respond fast enough for his liking, his eyes flicked up to meet yours. There was expectation there, he wanted an answer. But there was also softness like he really wanted to know the answer, know something more about you.

You let out a laugh.

You actually covered your face with both hands and giggled, the sound muffled but unmistakably joyful. Spencer wanted to be the reason for that sound every day. Your shoulders shook as you tried to compose yourself, finally peeking out from behind your hands to grin at him.

“Okay,” you said breathlessly. “Yes. Take me out.”

Spencer stared at you for half a second, just to make sure you were serious. When he saw the unmistakable yes in your eyes, his face broke into a goofy grin so wide it felt like it might split him open. He couldn’t help it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up the cookie again, held it like it was the most important thing in the world. “Cool. I mean. Great. I’ll text you? Wait—you already gave me your number, right? For, uh… bakery reasons?”

“You asked for it so I could send you a muffin menu. Which we update once every three months by the way.”

He beamed. “Best excuse I’ve ever made. A very subtle move from me.”

You took a breath and nudged him toward the door with mock seriousness. “Now go. I have to finish my shift, and if you keep smiling at me like that, I’m going to burn something. Probably myself.”

He stepped backward, still grinning. “No promises.”

“Spencer,” you warned, pointing your spatula at him like a weapon.

He winked, pocketed the cookie like it was treasure, and finally stepped out into the warm sun with the kind of skip in his step that felt ridiculous to admit.

It was the best day of his life so far after all.

Okay, but maybe taking the cookie back out of the store with him wasn’t his best move.

[scoutingthetrooper]

x

[yesihaveaobsession]

Beneath the Static: Alastor’s Breaking Point

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: Alastor like the reader (you) but never announced it until Mimzy comes around and pokes around the bush.

A/N- This mini request was from @hazbin-collection I did half of it because I might write the other half in another fic, so I hope it's okay! And I hope y'all enjoy :)

You'd always known Alastor—and the bit of a mystery he was. The smooth-talking, always-grinning guy was the very definition of unreadable. While you could feel something in the way his gaze lingered when you laughed at one of Angel Dust’s bad jokes, or how he just so happened to show up whenever you needed help—even if you hadn’t called for him... he never said anything.

That day, you were sitting on the plush furniture in your usual spot, sipping some tea and flipping through a worn book, while Alastor stood a few feet away, speaking animatedly with Charlie and Vaggie—probably about the hotel or something. That’s when the doors swung open with a flair.

“Miiiimzy!” Charlie greeted with a surprised smile.

The platinum-haired flapper floated into the room like she owned it, dripping with glitter and sass. She greeted everyone with a bright smile—until her eyes landed on you. You hadn’t been there since the last time she showed up, and judging by everyone’s faces, you pieced together that they were all surprised she had the audacity to come back.

As Mimzy looked you up and down, her painted-on smile twitched. You weren’t sure why.

“Oh. And who’s this?” Mimzy’s voice was sugary, with a bitter aftertaste. “The hotel really has changed, hasn’t it?”

Alastor’s smile didn’t budge, but his eyes snapped sharply to Mimzy.

“This is Y/N,” Charlie said, still chipper. “She’s been staying with us for a while. Everyone here adores her.”

Mimzy tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “Adorable, sure. She’s got a... rustic kind of charm, I suppose. Like a chipped teacup. Functional, if you squint.”

Your fingers froze around your teacup. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you. You weren’t one to pick fights—especially in a place like the hotel—but the jab stung.

Before you could open your mouth, Alastor’s laugh cut through the room like static.

“Hehehe~! Oh, Mimzy, still as sharp-tongued as ever.”

You glanced up. His tone was jovial, but there was something tight in his voice. Controlled.

“But do be careful,” he added, stepping closer, his shadow stretching oddly long across the floor. “Wouldn’t want that silver tongue of yours to rust with all that petty spite, now would we?”

Mimzy blinked. “Excuse me?”

Alastor’s smile grew wider—maybe a little too wide.

“Y/N has done more for this hotel and its guests than you’ve ever bothered to, my dear Mimzy. She’s clever, warm-hearted, and doesn’t need sequins to shine.”

You just stared at Alastor—and frankly, so did everyone else. He never spoke like that. Certainly never about someone. Especially not about you. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“She’s not here to impress you,” he continued, his voice dipping into something darker. “And I don’t recall anyone asking for your opinion on her worth.”

Mimzy’s eyes narrowed. “Well. Aren’t we touchy.”

Alastor’s grin flickered. “Only when it’s warranted.”

There was a tense silence before Mimzy rolled her eyes and flounced toward the bar. “Whatever. I need a drink.”

Once she was out of earshot, Alastor glanced your way. His voice softened, just a bit.

“Apologies, my dear. Mimzy’s… well. She’s Mimzy.”

You gave a small smile, touched. “Thanks. I didn’t think you cared that much.”

Alastor cleared his throat and looked away, the red in his eyes glowing faintly, though his smile didn’t fade. “I don’t care for rudeness. That’s all.”

But he refused to meet your eyes the rest of the night.

And you knew—he definitely cared more than he’d ever admit.

[vegan-nom-noms]

Vegan Pumpkin Spice Chocolate Chunk Cookies

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Little Ghost Holiday Drabble

Synopsis: Baking during the winters with your kids and husband during the holidays.

A/n: Hi, my lovelies! I know that I have a lot of works to catch up on, I'm a little behind on everything right now as school has taken a toll on me and so has writer's block. I'll try my best to post more consistently, I know most of you who followed me for the domestic content miss it so here is a little something for our favorite family.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

"Momma, look!" You turned your head away from the preheating oven to look at your little sunshine, although she was struggling to mix the cookie batter, her laughter filled the room. Your baby boy coos in your arms as you lifted yourself up.

"Be careful, butterfly. The bowl's really heavy " You smiled at her, she nodded obediently, trying to sneak a taste. "Butterfly, that has raw eggs. How about the chocolate chips instead, hmm?"

Her grin widens, foot stomps like a clumsy, cheery dance on the wood floor as she ran to the pantry. Nothing makes you smile more than the pitter-patter of tiny feet, wherever you were, it was always accompanied by her sugar-laced pitchy voice calling out for you.

She came back a minute or two later, the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips you specifically bought for her sweet tooth. You give her the child safe scissors, your little girl wanting to be more independent nowadays, something Simon was both proud of and heartbroken about.

Looking up at you with a look of asking permission so you nodded, she squealed before shoving her clean hand in the plastic bag to have a handful of the treat, stuffing her little mouth. "Alright, put the rest in and mix it well, butterfly." You told her as she picked up the wooden mixing spoon again, multitasking on her munchies.

Simon came out of your bedroom together after a steamy shower with the towel around his neck, he wrapped his arms around from behind you, his face buried on your neck which caused you giggle and squeal his name in a playful warning when he lightly nipped at a sensitive spot.

"All done, momma!" She said taking it into her own hands to roll the cookie dough and plop it down on the parchment lined baking tray, her blonde hair sticking out in messy little spikes from what used to be a teeny-tiny bun.

She dusted her dress and flower printed apron before you helped her out in placing the filled tray into the preheated oven. Simon, taking your baby boy off your arms and inviting Ghostie onto the playing mat with them.

You watched them, keeping an eye on the oven which made your whole house smell warm and cozy against the snow outside the windows.

With warm cookies and cold milk, you stare at your loves before you, Ghostie practically stuffing her chubby cheeks full of the baked sweet with one hand, light beige crumbs and the sticky chocolate on the same bouncing cheeks while her other hand was offering half a cookie to her dad's lips.

Reminding you of moments during breakfasts and mornings when it was syrup and whipped cream instead of the crumbs and chocolate, when her giggles and birds chirping filled the otherwise depressingly silent rooms. You aren't ready for her to grow up despite your husband being more open about it.

Your baby boy chewing on his blue rubber teething toy as you enjoyed the ambiance of your warm home. Enjoying and savoring every moment you had while your family is complete, while Simon was still home for this time of year..

Within the very home and family that you and your husband built, your heart as full as it could ever be <3

[odoraful]

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐄𝐘𝐄

it was one of the few days zayne had returned home earlier than sunset. he opened the door to the apartment to find you painting your nails. after a shower and some short pleading on your part, he was seated in front of you, hands laid out on the table for you to do his nails.

content: zayne x fem!reader; established relationship; small banter! ; greyson apperance; ~1k words a/n: i've been dipping in and out of writing, so i thought i'd make something short to get me back into practice :)

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“Hand tremors aren’t good for dexterity, you know,” Zayne quipped, gazing at your expression as you applied the polish.

You looked up at him through your lashes and he smirked at the flat stare you gave him. With a slight tilt of his head, he enjoyed how animated your reactions were to his remarks. Towel-dried hair brushed past his brows, framing his discerning hazel eyes. Did he always need to be this handsome while poking fun at you? Your hands weren’t shaky before, but they certainly felt so now.

“Oh hush.”

Putting the brush back in the bottle to collect more polish, you reset your focus.

“Just ‘cause you’re a surgeon, doesn’t mean you’d make a good nail artist,” you retorted, bringing your eyes back to your work.

You were currently on the last nail, painting it a navy blue to match the others you already finished. Zayne’s nails were well kept and trimmed short, making for a perfect canvas for you. Whilst it was rare for surgeons to wear polish, he assured that it wouldn’t be an issue so long as it did not chip. He wanted you to do it for him, anyway. Having your undivided attention on him was a perfect way to unwind after a long day at the hospital.

“And what other qualifiers need to be met besides a still hand?” he asked, teasing giving way to curiousity.

You finished up the last nail with a few glides of the brush. “An eye for aesthetics,” you declared, moving the blue nail polish aside and selecting two more colours among your collection.

“Now, pick the colour for the design.”

You presented two colours to him. A cool silver embedded with fine glitter, and a rustic gold. His eyes flicked between the two. Mind having been made up almost the second you asked.

“Silver.”

You hummed. “An excellent choice.” Shaking the polish, the glitter dispersed throughout. “Perhaps you might consider nail tech as a side job, Dr Zayne.”

Waiting for his nails to dry before you could begin the next layer, you lightly fanned them with both your hands. He chuckled—both at your comment and your cute attempt to try and speed the drying process.

“My primary job keeps me busy enough,” he replied. “Besides, I don’t have much of an eye for aesthetics.”

You were reminded of the palette of his closet. Blacks, greys, browns, and the only splash of colour being a deep green shirt. Though somewhat monotone, it did suit him well.

He continued, “I think I’ll leave that expertise up to my girlfriend.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Mouth opened ever so slightly, not wanting to reveal the way every use of that nickname slipped under your skin and made your heart skip.

You began to draw tiny snowflakes on each of them with the silver polish. Zayne admired the furrowed concentration on your face as you were locked into this task. When the design had dried, you finished by squeezing some cream onto his hands. He let out a soft sigh as you massaged it in, feeling the tension of the day release under your gentle touch.

Once you were done, you stretched your arms out and twisting around to crack your back. You held his fingers in your hands, inspecting them.

“Look how pretty they are!” You bubbled.

Zayne was honestly floored. The level of coordination it took to paint something so small was incredible.

“They’re very pretty indeed.”

You were too enthralled by your own work to see the warm smile on his face at how satisfied you were.

“Now, that’ll be sixty dollars,” you said, looking up at him smugly, placing your hands on your hips in waiting.

Zayne lifted a brow. “Do you accept payment in desserts?”

“Hm… an interesting offer,” you placed a hand on your chin in mock thought. “What kind?”

“Will each flavour of macaron at the shop that just opened suffice?” he replied. The sparkle in your eyes signalled that it was more than enough to cover the cost of your service. Promptly, the two of you went outside to resolve his payment. You walked hand in hand, matching one another with freshly painted nails.

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EPILOGUE

At Akso Hospital the next day, peoples’ gazes lingered a little too long on Zayne. As he handed out folders to nurses and gestured to screens when presenting, eyes trailed on his hands. Now, it wasn’t unusual for doctors to wear polish, but it was unusual for Zayne to have it. Another layer of mystery to unravel about the cardiac surgeon.

Greyson entered Zayne’s office to drop off some documents, sliding them towards him on his desk. “Going to some fancy event later?”

Zayne adjusted his glasses, not looking away from his computer screen. “Unless you consider a seminar at the university as fancy, I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

He gestured towards the keyboard Zayne was typing on. “I’m talking about your nails! Don’t tell me you really just got them done for fun?” Greyson asked, incredulous.

“I did.” Zayne splayed his hand out. “Is that so strange?”

“No! Not at all!” Greyon reassured, shaking his head fervently. “They do look nice though,” he admitted. “Maybe I should get their number so I can get mine done too.”

“She doesn’t take up new clientele, unfortunately,” Zayne said, resuming his typing.

At such a quick defence, Greyson immediately clocked who this person was. He was one of the few that were privy to the relationship between you and Zayne, and he knew only you could make Dr Zayne change up his style.

Exaggerating a sigh, he turned to leave. “A true shame! She sure seems talented.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that on to her,” he heard Zayne reply. Though his back was to Zayne, the smile in his voice as he answered was undeniable.

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[jadeshifting]

— PLACES TO SCRIPT (HOGSMEADE)

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🪼 — THE HOGSMEADE TROLLEY glides through the village on invisible tracks, its smooth wooden exterior adorned with shimmering silver and gold filigree and glowing lanterns that cast a warm, inviting light. Enchanted to give off the sounds of lightly ringing bells, you can hear it coming from a block away, and it carries passengers from one end of town to the other without needing a driver Inside. Riders can sit in cushioned seats to enjoy their journey, or more haphazardly stand or hang off the side while holding onto the bar

🪼 — THE SORCERER’S SCONE is a charming bakery tucked away in a cobblestone corner of Hogsmeade, where the sweet scent of fresh pastries and the soft glow of fairy lights lure passersby inside. The shelves are always stocked with warm, buttery croissants, cakes that shimmer with enchantments, and delicate sugar cookies shaped like miniature broomsticks

🪼 — VELVET & LACE is Hogsmeade’s premier formal wear boutique, offering a dazzling collection of enchanted gowns, tailored robes, and wizarding suits. Each garment is crafted to ensure a perfect fit, making it the most-wanted destination before any dance or event. The shop’s opulent interior, adorned with floating mirrors and soft candlelight, makes every visit feel like a step into a royal castle

🪼 — FLOREAN’S FROSTED FLAVORS is a cozy ice cream parlor known for its enchanted scoops that sparkle, swirl, and sometimes change colors. With a constantly changing menu of magical flavors like Butterbeer Swirl and Fizzing Chocolate Chip, it’s a favorite spot for students and locals alike. The atmosphere is warm and filled with the soft hum of chatter and the occasional laughter from the enchanted toppings misbehaving

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🪼 — THE ENCHANTED EASEL is a whimsical arts and crafts shop where paints shimmer with magical hues and quills sketch on their own. Shelves overflow with supplies from self-weaving yarn to enchanted parchment that animates drawings. It’s a hot spot for creative witches and wizards seeking the right materials for all their different hobbies

🪼 — MAGIC MIRROR is a luxurious shop nestled in Hogsmeade, offering a wide range of magical makeup, hair products, and skincare potions. With shimmering shelves stocked with enchanted creams and shimmering powders, customers can indulge in the finest products, crafted to bring out their inner radiance with a little magical help

🪼 — THE QUAFFLE CLOSET is a cozy, no-frills shop tucked away on a side street in Hogsmeade, offering an eclectic collection of secondhand robes, dresses, and accessories at remarkably low prices. The shelves are stacked with vibrant, well-loved garments from past seasons, with charms used to make them look refreshed. Though humble, it’s a favorite spot for students looking to snag a deal or find something truly unique

🪼 — PRIMWICK’S PIES is a cozy, magical pizzeria in Hogsmeade, where wood-fired pizzas are crafted with enchanted ingredients and topped with a multitude of flavors. The rustic interior is warm and inviting, with bubbling cauldrons of sauce and enchanted ovens that hum with a gentle, glowing heat

🪼 — THE BLOOMING BOUGH is a charming florist shop where blooms thrive in year round, regardless of the season. Enchanted roses change color with your mood, and whispering vines curl gently around curious hands. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and the skill of the florists make it a favorite stop for romantic gestures and seasonal celebrations

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🪼 — SHEAR DELIGHT is a cozy, inviting hair salon and barbershop in Hogsmeade where both wizards and witches come for trims and new styles. The atmosphere is lively and friendly, endless amounts of gossip is spilled between stylist and client, and customers leave looking their best

🪼 — OPAL & ONYX is a charming jeweler’s shop in Hogsmeade, its windows sparkling with an array of enchanted rings, necklaces, and bracelets that catch the light in mesmerizing ways. Each piece is crafted by hand, many are imbued with protective charms. Whether seeking a gift or a personal keepsake, the shop offers something for every occasion

🪼 — MOONLIT MYSTIC is nestled between two towering oak trees at the outskirts of town, draped in rich velvet curtains and flickering candlelight. Inside, an ornate crystal ball rests on a velvet cushion, surrounded by ancient tarot decks and incense smoke that dances in the air. You can pay to have your fortune told here, though it’s still unconfirmed whether the elderly witch is a talented divinator, or a scammer

🪼 — THE SALTY TIDE is a cozy seafood restaurant in Hogsmeade, where the air is thick with the scent of freshly caught fish and magically created ocean breezes whistle through the windows. Its rustic wooden tables and softly glowing lanterns illuminate the walls, which are lined with aquariums filled with shimmering fish. The menu features a variety of magical and muggle-inspired seafood dishes

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[coolpuppy12]

The Lucky Strike Bar & Pool Hall

A build from my Scuffed NYC save. I was not planning on releasing any builds from this save, but the cool kids on YT got me to cave. So, sorry for all the CC. Also, this is my first time sharing a CC build, so hopefully I'm doing this right!

Packs Needed:

For Rent, Cottage Living, Snowy Escape, Eco Lifestyle, Discover University, Get Famous, Seasons, Cats & Dogs, City Living, Get Together, Get to Work, Strangerville, Jungle Adventure, Vampires, Dine Out, Moschino, Laundry Day, Bistro Kit (awnings), Basement Treasures Kit, Country Kitchen Kit

CC List:

Simsplex - Smoking Clutter (Ashtray V1 & Stumped Cigarettes V2)

Myshunosun - Herbalist (Kitchen Cabinet)

awingedllama - Nostalgia Living (standing fan, extension cord, bedroom closet, & coaster)

simadream- Arcade Screen (RoadRival) & Arcade Classic Arcade Machine

sforzinda - Werewolves clutter (ext bar signs, int bar sign, box of bottles, empty bottle crate, crappy ac unit, fuse box, & Greg warning sign)

CharlyPancakes - Maple & S Construction Pt. 2 (windows)

SYB - Cheap & Chipped (bathroom mirror & sink)

budgie2budgie - record store ads

Basemental - dipping tobacco

AnxiousSimmer - SimSudsLaundry Set (flyers)

Nocturne - Rustic Bakery (Today's Special Wall Sign)

Pierisim - Domaine du Clos Pt. 2 (account book) & David Apartment Pt. 2 (bottle of cooking oil?)

UTOPYA - Pool Table & mod (mod not included in folder)

Pluto Sims - Sick Tunes (poster)

Simmila - Record Store Part 1 (poster)

Keloshe-sims x foundaurora - Under the Bed (playboy calendar)

Hanraja - MINI SET 35 (key organizer 02)

Kliekie - Everyday Clutter Set (lighter)

Felixandre & Harrie - BAYSIC bathroom (plunger)

Zulf - functional drum kit

therealofsimblr - small whiteboard

BI+CO - Indochine_Set02 (diamond tile flooring)

amoebae - Starboard IS Paneling

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