#Minimum Table Stacks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missarchive · 5 months ago

Text

PORNSTAR ★

spencer reid

summary; struggling under the weight of student debt and barely scraping by on a minimum-wage job, Y/N is desperate for a way out. When an old college friend sends her a link to an unusual job posting—camera operator for a top-tier adult entertainment studio—she hesitates but ultimately applies. The promise of competitive pay and discretion is too good to ignore.

She’s even more surprised to meet Spencer Reid, a nervous and awkward man who she initially assumes is part of the camera crew. Spencer’s stammering and shy demeanour put her at ease, but when she learns he’s not behind the camera but the star in front of it, her world is turned upside down.

cw; 18+ mdni, pornstar!spencer, camera crew!reader, spencer is not straight (neither is the reader), face-fucking, doggy, unprotected p in v, masturbation (f), spencer is still a sweetheart, bodily fluids, cum swallowing, dom!spencer but also dom!reader, reader is not very good at her job to be honest, "good boy", unprofessional relationships, FILTHY NASTY, praise, finger sucking, sub!spencer 🤭, handjobs, "slut", overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), threesome (mmf), filming for porn, whiny spencer, oral (m. receiving), pure filth, cowgirl, cumming inside, slight aftercare, pretty much fade to black

an; lots of love from beyond the grave, im still very ill. i hope you all enjoy this, please do not mind the spelling mistakes! i tried my best to proofread in my current state 😭

wc; 8k

The sharp, acrid smell of burnt coffee weaves through your tiny apartment, clinging to the fabric of your couch and the cluttered corners of the room. It lingers in the air, an unshakable reminder of your life’s current state: stagnant, suffocating, and just a little bitter.

You sit at the wobbly kitchen table, staring at your laptop screen like it holds the secrets to the universe. Instead, it shows a spreadsheet that hasn’t changed in weeks, no matter how many times you open it, no matter how hard you will the numbers at the bottom to magically disappear. $89,563.47.

That figure is more than a debt. It’s an anvil crushing your chest, a constant shadow in the corners of your mind. It’s the dream-crusher, the thing that keeps you up at night, whispering that you’ll never escape. With your minimum-wage job barely covering rent and bills stacking higher every day, every road out seems endless and uphill.

You exhale shakily, pushing your chipped coffee mug to the side as frustration wells up in your chest. The universe, it seems, has no plans to cut you a break. You let your head fall into your hands, fingers pressing against your temples.

And then, out of nowhere, a soft ding pulls you from your spiral.

Your phone lights up on the table, screen glowing with a notification. It’s from an old college friend—a name you haven’t thought about in over a year, someone who faded from your life the moment you both graduated.

“If you’re desperate enough… this is worth a shot.”

The message is short, cryptic, and followed by a link.

You hesitate, thumb hovering above the screen as your mind races. It could be a joke. Or a scam. But the weight of your desperation gnaws at your common sense. Against better judgment, curiosity wins out.

The link opens to a job posting.

“Camera Operator Needed for Top-Tier Adult Entertainment Studio. Competitive Pay. No Experience Necessary.”

You blink at the words, half expecting the screen to vanish in a puff of smoke. It doesn’t. Your first instinct is to laugh, a sharp, incredulous sound bubbling in your throat. But then, you see the salary.

Your breath catches in your chest. The number is real. The kind of real that could actually change things. A few months, maybe a year, and you could obliterate a chunk of that debt.

You sit back in your chair, the idea burrowing into your mind like a persistent whisper. It’s insane. Ridiculous. But it’s also tempting. One word, bold and unyielding, flashes on the screen: Discreetly.

You read it again and again, the weight of it heavy in your chest. That’s the catch, isn’t it? The only thing holding you back.

By the time dawn filters through your dingy curtains, your application is sent.

The sleek office building feels completely at odds with what you imagined. Its polished floors and glass panels scream corporate professionalism, not… this. Even the receptionist greeted you like you were interviewing for a finance job, her tone cool and efficient.

Now, you sit in the waiting area, hands folded tightly in your lap. The quiet hum of productivity around you is unnerving, and your pulse drums in your ears.

When the door finally opens, you glance up.

A man approaches you, clutching a clipboard. He’s taller than you expected, with a mop of brown hair that looks like it has a mind of its own. His glasses sit slightly askew on his nose, and he exudes an awkward kind of energy—nervous but strangely endearing.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice soft and hesitant, with just the slightest upward lilt.

“That’s me,” you reply, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from your shirt.

“Great! Um, I’m Spencer Reid. I’ll be showing you around today.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard. This is Spencer Reid? His name had been listed in the email, but somehow, you’d pictured someone… different. More polished, more self-assured. Less professor who forgot his lecture notes.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, smiling politely.

He nods quickly, adjusting the clipboard in his hands. “Yeah, uh, you too. So, um, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll… show you around.”

Spencer leads you through the maze-like studio, his steps hurried yet deliberate. The place is a whirlwind of activity—bright lights overhead, cameras perched on sturdy tripods, people buzzing with purpose.

As you follow him, he rattles off bits of information about the space, gesturing to equipment and rattling through explanations. His sentences stumble over themselves, his words tumbling out in fits and starts like he’s rushing to get them all out before they escape him.

“So, what do you do here?” you ask, trying to break the tension.

Spencer hesitates, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Oh, um, I work… mostly in front of the camera. But I, uh, know how the equipment works too, so I can help. If you have questions. About cameras. Or lights. Or… yeah.”

You suppress a grin at his stammering, chalking it up to an attempt to make you feel at ease. He must work behind the scenes, you think.

Maybe he interviews the actors or films promotional material. He doesn’t strike you as someone who could handle the spotlight. The thought settles you. At least he’s not intimidating.

The director greets you with a curt nod as Spencer leads you to the main set. Before you can take in your surroundings, Spencer slips away for a moment, leaving you to absorb the controlled chaos around you.

When he reappears, your jaw nearly drops.

Gone are the glasses and sweater vest. Instead, he’s wearing a tailored button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms. His hair is neatly tousled, his posture more confident, though there’s still a faint awkwardness clinging to him.

You blink, struggling to reconcile this Spencer with the nervous man who had stumbled over his words minutes ago. And then it hits you like a freight train. He’s not part of the crew. He’s not here to run the cameras or adjust the lights.

He’s the talent.

Your mind scrambles to process the revelation as you watch him step onto the set, chatting easily with the director. Someone hands him a script, and he scans it with an easy familiarity before nodding in agreement.

Meanwhile, you’re standing frozen, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“Y/N, you ready?”

The director’s voice snaps you back to reality. You nod stiffly, moving into position by the camera, but your gaze keeps flicking to Spencer. He glances at you once, his lips twitching into a nervous half-smile like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. It doesn’t help. If anything, it makes everything stranger.

You grip the camera tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. You thought you were prepared for this job, but nothing could have prepared you for Spencer Reid.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing this. The scene in front of you is far more intense than you had imagined. It’s your first real day on set, and Spencer is working with one of the female talents. From this distance, all you can focus on is the way he moves—sure and confident, his hips snapping rhythmically against his co-star’s body.

You fumble with the camera settings, trying to ignore the wet, sloppy sounds of sex that fill the room. You can’t tear your gaze away from Spencer’s cock, slipping in and out of her pussy like a well-oiled machine. Her hands clawing at his back as she gasps around his cock when he pulls out to force it in her mouth.

He threads a hand through her hair, the movement almost… tender. As tender as you can be for bruising the back of someone’s throat, anyway. She looks up at him, a smile on her lips, before he presses his cock to the back of her throat and lets her work him over. His face tightening, lips curling up into a smirk as she brings a hand up to hold what she can’t fit in her mouth.

Your stomach tightens at the sight of them together. You’re not sure if you should be so… invested in this. But it’s hard to tear your eyes away when he moves like that. You can’t stop watching.

“Focus on the face,” the director’s voice rings out. “We need her face. We need reactions.”

Your head jerks up, camera lens refocusing on the woman’s expression. It takes every ounce of your control to keep it steady and ignore the fact that Spencer is still balls-deep down her throat. It’s surprisingly easy to tune out, at least, until he flips her over, pinning her face-down to the bed. His cock pummeling into the woman from behind, her head turned to the side with glossy lips and tear-stricken eyes.

Spencer leans down, then, and you watch as he murmurs something in the woman’s ear, something you can’t quite hear. Her response is immediate—she gasps, her eyes going wide before her lips stretch into a perfect O. Her fingers dig into Spencer’s back as his thrusts become more frantic, and then he’s groaning, hips slamming against hers as he fills her with his cum.

The moment he finishes, the spell is broken. The camera drops to your side, and you breathe for what feels like the first time since the scene began. The director calls cut, and Spencer pulls out slowly, being careful of the woman underneath him, a small smile on his face as he reaches down to help her stand on shaky legs. He glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes lock on yours before he turns away to clean up. It’s stupid. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But… you can’t help the fluttering in your chest at the realisation that he was looking at you, even if only for a second. You try not to think about it too much as the day goes on, focusing instead on your job and taking in the sights and sounds around you.

It’s far more fascinating than you anticipated—watching the director’s decisions play out, watching the actors navigate their roles with ease.

But then, as the afternoon wears on, Spencer appears by your side again. He’s back in the clothes from this morning, and the awkward, shy energy has returned in full force.

“So, uh, you get a lunch break. And um, I was wondering… if maybe you wanted to grab something together. If you’re not busy. I mean, it’s okay if you are. I just…” His gaze darts to the side, voice trailing off. “I figured maybe we could talk more about your job, make sure you know everything you need.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to do that,” you tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

Spencer shifts on his feet, looking slightly disappointed. But he nods anyway, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

The word slips out of you before you can catch it. Spencer looks over, eyes brightening ever so slightly. “Yeah?”

“Lunch sounds… nice.” Your voice is soft, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him as you say it.

When you finally meet his gaze, it’s the most natural thing in the world to see his lips curve into a small, shy smile.

Spencer Reid is a walking contradiction.

On camera, he’s a vision of dominance and raw confidence—a sex god, to put it bluntly. Every movement he makes is purposeful, controlled, and exudes a confidence that seems almost unnatural. But off-screen? He’s a different person entirely. Awkward, shy, and endearing in ways you hadn’t expected. He stammers, blushes, and struggles to find the right words in nearly every conversation. But every time he does, it only makes you smile. It’s impossible not to be drawn to him.

You sit across from him in a small café just a few blocks from the studio, the warmth of your coffee mug grounding you. The café is quiet, a peaceful haven far from the chaos of the city, where the sounds of honking horns and chatter fade into the background, leaving only the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups.

“So,” Spencer begins, his voice still soft and a little unsure, “how do you like the job so far?”

“It’s… interesting,” you reply, a laugh bubbling up.

“Good interesting or bad interesting?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “It’s just… not at all what I expected. The studio, I mean. It’s so professional. Like any other office.”

Spencer nods, the nervous tension in his posture easing slightly. “Yeah, it really is. Most people think it’s all…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “They think it’s just… sex all the time, you know?”

You snort at the absurdity of it. “Definitely not.”

The thought of Spencer—the shy, uncertain man in front of you—being the confident, sexual force he is on camera is hard to reconcile. You can’t imagine him ever making the first move with anyone. It seems almost… impossible.

“We have contracts with each other,” Spencer continues. “And there are all kinds of protocols to follow for the scenes. It’s actually pretty strict.”

“That makes sense,” you reply. “I guess I never really thought about it like that.”

Spencer shrugs, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “A lot of people don’t. It’s weird, I know, but… it’s still work. And if anything goes wrong…” He trails off, his expression growing darker.

A sudden curiosity prickles in you, but you don’t push for answers. Instead, you ask, “How did you end up doing this?”

He scrunches up his nose, looking almost embarrassed. “It’s a long story, but… my friend convinced me to try out once. And then I just… liked it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. The image of someone convincing Spencer to do something so bold is almost too perfect. It’s exactly the kind of thing you could picture him doing—reluctantly agreeing, then discovering something unexpected about himself.

“I can’t really imagine that,” you say, your laugh light and teasing. Spencer blushes, his cheeks tinting pink as he shifts uncomfortably.

“What, you think I’m too shy for something like this?”

You nod, not hesitating for a moment. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, “I guess I am. I’ve gotten pretty good at switching it off when I’m being filmed. But in my day-to-day life… it’s like I can’t move past it.”

The words linger in the air between you, a strange kind of tension rising. You can’t help but wonder what else he’s been talked into. But before you can say anything, the door of the café chimes as a new customer enters. Spencer glances at the clock, his expression shifting into a look of reluctant understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up. “We should get back. But hey, maybe we can grab lunch again tomorrow?”

You smile up at him, your heart beating just a little faster. “Sure.”

For a moment, you think he might say something else, but instead, he simply nods and turns to leave. You watch him walk away, a quiet disappointment settling in your chest. It’s not what you wanted—not exactly—but there’s something about Spencer Reid that pulls you in, something you can’t quite place.

Maybe it’s the awkward energy he exudes, the way he fumbles over words yet still manages to be endearing. Maybe it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or the way he transforms so seamlessly into the confident, dominant figure on camera. Whatever it is, you want more.

When you get home that evening, your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer. His eyes, his smile, the way his cock had moved inside his co-star. You replay the scene in your head again and again until it feels like you can almost hear the sounds of sex, almost smell his cologne wafting in the air.

It takes you a while to realise your hand has wandered down your body, fingers slipping between your legs as you imagine Spencer touching you.

The thought sends a thrill through you. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve gotten off thinking about someone, but… this feels different. This feels real.

You press a finger to your clit, applying a little pressure. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but it’s better than nothing. The image of Spencer’s face appears in your mind, his lips twisting into a pained expression as he comes. You imagine him over you instead of his co-star, his cock sinking into your pussy, his hands gripping your hips as he fucks you.

Your muscles clench at the thought, and a wave of desire surges through you. Your hand moves faster, fingers pressing and rubbing over your clit. You picture Spencer’s lips on yours, his breath hot against your skin as he speaks. You imagine the way his tongue would feel on you, the way his mouth would taste if he kissed you.

You come quickly, the pleasure overwhelming and swift. You barely have time to process it before the orgasm hits you, your body quaking as you climax.

When you open your eyes, your gaze falls on the ceiling. You feel dazed and far away, like you’ve left your body behind for a minute. It takes a while to come back to reality, to process what just happened.

But as you do, a sudden guilt creeps in. It’s not like this is something you’d never done before. But with Spencer Reid… it feels different.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re groggy, still caught in the afterglow of last night. It takes a few moments to remember the job, and another few to get out of bed.

As you shower, you can’t stop thinking of Spencer. The image of him on camera yesterday keeps popping up in your mind—his hips pumping between the woman’s legs, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts. And when he flipped her over… fuck. You can’t believe how much that got you going.

The way his cock disappeared into her, the sound of her gasps as he pounded into her.

You think of him behind you, his cock filling you, the length of him stretching your walls as he thrusts in and out of your body. The feel of his hands on your hips, holding you steady for his pleasure.

The image makes you gasp, and a wave of heat surges through you.

But as you stand there, water pouring down your body, another image pops up in your mind. Spencer across from you at the café, his cheeks flushing pink as he talks to you. His eyes brightening when you ask him a question, his smile growing ever so slightly as he answers.

You can’t help but be drawn to the contrast. Part of you wants to know more about his confidence on camera, to see what it’s like up close. Part of you just wants to pull the awkward, shy version closer and tell him that everything is okay.

There’s a lot you don’t know about Spencer Reid. But one thing is for sure.

You want more.

It takes a lot longer than usual to get ready for work, your mind wandering to all the possibilities. When you arrive, you head straight to the set, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation churning in you. It takes you a while to spot Spencer, and when you do, he’s chatting with the director.

It’s different now, somehow, seeing him in this space. He’s still awkward, still shy, but there’s an air of confidence around him that you didn’t notice before. You wonder what it would be like to be his co-star on camera. What it would be like to feel his hands on you.

The thought is a little startling, but you can’t deny it.

You watch as Spencer finishes speaking with the director, then turns towards you. His steps falter as he catches your gaze, and for a moment, it looks like he might change direction entirely. But then he pulls his glasses off, setting them down on a table near the door. Slipping his button-up over his head, leaving him in nothing but dress pants and an undershirt. He moves slowly, each action deliberate, and his gaze lingers on yours for a moment before he ducks into a nearby room.

When he comes back, his shirt is gone, and all that remains is smooth skin. You try not to stare, but your gaze tracks him anyway, watching as he makes his way to the main set. When he passes you, he catches your eyes again, giving you the tiniest smile.

You try not to wonder what that means, but it’s hard to focus on anything else.

When the director calls places, Spencer steps into position next to the female lead, and you take your spot behind the camera. As you adjust the settings, you try not to think too much of yesterday’s scene, but it’s impossible. The image of Spencer fucking his co-star from behind is still etched in your mind.

The director calls action, and Spencer launches himself at the woman, his mouth descending on hers. But as he kisses her, another man steps into view, and your gaze darts towards him.

He’s not as tall as Spencer, but his body is toned and well-defined, his cock already hard. He pushes Spencer against the woman, then starts to strip his pants off.

Your cheeks flush at the sight, and your mind struggles to make sense of what you’re watching. This isn’t how you imagined it would go, not at all.

Spencer presses his body against the woman’s, his lips moving against hers. He shifts her slightly, spreading her legs so the other man can take position between them.

You fumble with the camera for a moment before your gaze returns to the action. The sight of them all together is almost surreal. The other man slips his cock into the woman’s pussy, starting up a slow rhythm. He leans forward, and Spencer’s mouth drops to his neck, sucking a bruise onto his skin.

The woman gasps, pushing her hips back against the other man’s cock. Spencer shifts her again, and this time, he pulls away slightly, his mouth drifting lower on the other man’s chest. He sucks another mark onto his nipple, and you watch as his tongue teases over it for a moment.

Spencer pulls back then, his eyes darting towards you, before he glances down at the woman. He doesn’t need to say anything—his intention is clear. And without hesitation, the woman turns onto her hands and knees, the other man pulling out and flipping her over in one swift motion.

You shift the camera to capture the new angle, watching as Spencer moves behind the woman and slides his cock into her pussy. The other man moves with him, his hand wrapping around the woman’s neck as he slides his own cock inside her mouth.

The sight of them both fucking her is almost overwhelming. Spencer’s hand clamps down on the woman’s hip, his thrusts growing more frantic as he pounds into her from behind. The other man’s fingers dig into her hair, holding her still as he fucks her mouth. And when they both pause, you feel yourself holding your breath in anticipation.

Then Spencer’s mouth descends on the other man’s, and everything freezes. The sound of their kissing is loud and wet, and you try to remember to breathe, to remember to keep filming as they move together.

The camera shakes in your hands as you adjust it, trying to capture all three of them. You move closer, trying to take in everything at once. The sight of Spencer fucking the woman, of the other man fucking her mouth, of the three of them together. It’s almost too much to take in.

Spencer’s hand drifts down the woman’s back, then reaches up to tangle in her hair. He pulls her head back, and you can only imagine the sensation of his cock stretching her walls as he fucks into her. The other man pulls out of her mouth, then, and Spencer guides her down to take his cock instead.

The image sends a wave of lust through you. You can feel your pussy clenching at the thought of Spencer fucking her like this, at the thought of feeling him inside you. A sudden need surges in you, and before you can stop yourself, you whisper, “Fuck.”

The word is quiet, but it echoes in the room. Spencer’s eyes dart to yours, a look of surprise crossing his face. He falters for a moment, then continues, his hand reaching up to guide the woman’s head back and forth on the other man’s cock.

But his eyes remain locked on yours. And when you don’t look away, he starts to fuck the woman harder, his hips thrusting against her ass.

You’re frozen, unable to move. The camera is forgotten in your hands, your gaze fixed on Spencer as he fucks the woman in front of you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

The sound of his breathing fills the air, along with the sound of the woman’s gasps as he pumps into her. Then, without warning, he pulls out, his cock dripping with cum and precum.

He reaches for her, his mouth crashing down on hers as he pushes her back onto the mattress. The other man positions himself above her, and Spencer moves to kneel at her head. Then Spencer’s lips drop to the woman’s clit, and your gaze is drawn to the sight of him eating her out.

He sucks and licks at her pussy, his mouth moving over her clit. The other man groans, his hips starting up a slow rhythm as he fucks into her mouth. Spencer’s fingers move to her tits, playing with her nipples as he continues to eat her out with fervour.

The sounds of their fucking fill the air—the sound of the woman gasping, of Spencer moaning, of the other man’s breathing growing more rapid. You’re frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from Spencer as he eats her out. He pauses for a moment to pull back and look at you, then his lips drop back down between her legs.

It’s hard not to imagine him like this over you—his mouth moving between your legs, his tongue teasing over your clit.

Your pussy clenches at the thought, and you realize you’re soaked. The sound of your own breathing echoes in your ears, and you try not to look at Spencer, but you can’t help it. He glances up at you, his eyes locking on yours.

The connection between you is sudden and intense. You want to do something, to say something, but before you can, the other man groans. His hips start to pump harder, and Spencer moves back, his body positioning between the woman’s thighs.

His cock is still hard, still wet with precum from fucking her before. He positions himself against her pussy, then pushes in, his body shuddering as he sinks inside her.

The sight of him fucking the woman is almost too much. His thrusts are slow and deliberate at first, but soon he’s pounding into her, his cock moving in and out of her pussy in quick, slick thrusts. His hand reaches down to play with her clit, and her gasps grow more frantic as he rubs her towards climax.

The air is thick with tension, your breath coming in quick gasps as you watch them fuck. You can barely hold the camera still, your fingers shaking with anticipation.

The woman’s gasps turn into a cry, and she starts to come. Her pussy clenches around Spencer’s cock, and his body shudders with pleasure. The other man grunts, his cock erupting in cum as he shoots onto the woman’s chest. And Spencer fucks her through her orgasm, his cock moving faster and faster until he comes with a cry, his cum spilling into the condom.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped filming until it’s all over. The camera hangs in your hand, forgotten as your gaze lingers on Spencer.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath. When he does, his eyes flicker towards yours, Spencer smiles, then ducks into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later with a towel around his neck and his glasses back in place. You try not to laugh at the sight—he still looks like the same awkward nerdy boy from before. But now, when you look at him, you can’t forget the image of him fucking a woman from behind, his cock sliding in and out of her as he sucked bruises into another man’s neck.

And you can’t help but wonder how it would feel to have him do that to you.

It’s hard to get any work done for the rest of the day. Your mind keeps wandering back to Spencer, to his mouth moving on the woman, to his cock fucking her from behind.

When it’s finally time to leave, you grab your bag and head towards the door. But before you make it, a hand reaches out, tugging you into a dressing room.

You stumble as you enter, nearly crashing into the person who pulled you in. But when you turn around, you realize it’s Spencer.

His cheeks flush a deep red, and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I just… wanted to talk to you.”

A small laugh escapes you, and you smile at him. “It’s okay, I didn’t mind.” Then you add, “I guess this is your dressing room?”

He nods, looking around. “Yeah,” he says, “They gave me my own room.”

It’s not hard to see why. The room is small, but there’s enough space for a bed and a bathroom, and there’s a table near the door with a couple outfits laid out on it. You move towards the bed, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress as you look around.

Spencer takes a seat next to you, his fingers picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. The silence grows thick between you, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels strangely intimate.

You lean back, shifting your body slightly so your thigh is brushing against his. He looks up at the movement, his cheeks flushing again.

A smile plays across your lips. “Did you like me watching you fuck her?” you ask.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards yours for just a moment. “Yes,” he says finally, his voice low. “I really liked it.”

You lean in then, your shoulder brushing against his. “You wanted to fuck me instead, didn’t you?”

Spencer swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Yes.”

You smile at him, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He shivers at the touch, and a little thrill of power shoots through you. “You were really hot today.”

He ducks his head at the words, but you can still hear a whisper of “thank you” from him.

You move closer, your arm winding around his shoulders and pulling him against you. His head drops to your shoulder, and you shift slightly, letting your lips brush against his ear.

“I really liked watching you,” you say, your voice soft and low. “Watching you eat her out, watching you fuck her like that. I wanted to be underneath you.”

Spencer swallows again, his breathing growing shallow. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing your legs slightly.

“I wanted to feel you inside me,” you continue, “To feel your cock stretching me open. I bet you’d fuck me hard, wouldn’t you?”

He moans at the words, his fingers tightening on your thigh. You can feel his body shudder against yours, and the knowledge that you’re turning him on like this is intoxicating.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you ask.

He groans again, and this time there’s a yes, yes, please.

You reach up, running your fingers through his hair. “I want you to touch yourself while you think of me,” you say. “While you think of me underneath you, of your cock sliding into me.”

He moans, and you can feel his cock growing hard against your thigh. “And if you’re good,” you add, “Maybe I’ll let you fuck me.”

Spencer groans, and his hips push forward slightly. You can feel him growing more aroused, and for a moment you’re tempted to give in and let him fuck you now.

But then you remember the quiet, nervous boy who took forever to approach you at the café. And the idea that he’d let you control him like this—both in front of the camera and in private—is too enticing to ignore.

You lean back, taking your hand off him. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even let you cum inside me.”

Spencer gasps, his breath catching in his throat.

His eyes drop to yours, filled with a desire. You smile back at him, but you know this isn’t over yet.

“Tell me again,” you say. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

He swallows, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes. “Please,” he says finally. “Let me touch you. Please let me fuck you.”

The words send a rush of power through you, and you have to work to keep from smiling. “Keep begging,” you say instead.

Spencer nods, his eyes wide. “Please let me fuck you,” he says again. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He’s growing more desperate by the second, his fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt tightly. You can hear the whine in his voice now, and you wonder how long he can hold out.

“Please,” he says again.

You watch him for a moment, studying him. He’s looking more and more desperate by the second. You wonder how much it would take to push him over the edge.

“You have to promise to do whatever I say,” you say finally. “Whenever I tell you to.”

Spencer nods so fast it’s almost funny. “Anything,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

A thrill of excitement shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget about anything other than the power he’s giving you. You could make him do anything—make him get on his hands and knees and beg for permission to touch you. Make him eat you out until you’re screaming and dripping with cum, and not let him stop until you’re satisfied. Make him fuck you until you can’t walk straight, until you’re sore and aching from taking his cock.

You shiver at the thought, your pussy growing slick with arousal. But you don’t stop, not yet. You reach for him, taking his face in your hands and making him look at you.

“You’re mine,” you say. “Do you understand?”

He nods again, his breath coming in quick pants. “Yes,” he gasps. “Whatever you want.” Then he adds, “Please.” The word is a moan, filled with desperation and need. “Please, fuck me.”

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, and you lean in closer. “Say it again,” you say.

He nods, his eyes growing desperate. “Please fuck me,” he says again, his voice a low whine. “I need it.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you move closer to him, your lips brushing against his forehead. “I love the way you beg,” you say. “It makes me so wet.”

He shivers at the words, and you can hear the breath hitch in his throat.

“I can’t wait to feel you inside me,” he says. “To feel you fuck me until I’m raw.” He pauses, then adds, “Until I can’t take it anymore.”

The words are almost too much. You can feel your own arousal growing, your pussy aching with the need to be fucked.

“Maybe,” you say, “If you’re good enough, I’ll let you.”

Spencer whines at the words, his body shaking slightly. You lean in, your mouth moving to his neck. “Will that be enough?” you ask.

“Yes,” he gasps, his fingers clenching against your thighs. “Whatever you want. Just please let me fuck you.” The words are a moan now, filled with need.

The word sends a rush of arousal through you, and before he can say anything else, you pull back. “Good boy,” you say softly.

His fingers tighten on your leg, but he doesn’t say anything.

You smile, reaching for his glasses and pulling them off his face. “Get on your hands and knees,” you say then.

Spencer nods, moving to do what you said. You watch as he gets into position, his hands and knees on the mattress, his ass in the air. You move behind him, running your fingers over his hips, teasing his skin.

“Spread your legs,” you say. “I want to see how desperate you are for my cunt.”

Spencer does as he’s told, spreading his legs for you. And you can’t help the groan that escapes you at the sight. His cock is already leaking with precum, and you know he’s aching to be touched. To be fucked. To have your pussy wrapped around him, to feel him sink inside you until he’s balls deep.

The thought sends a rush of lust through you, and you lean forward, running your hands over his back. You move up to his shoulders, then run your fingers down his arms. When you get to his hands, you reach for the lube on the table.

“Get yourself nice and wet for me, baby,” you say, squeezing out a generous amount on his palms.

He does as he’s told. And when he looks back at you, you nod to his cock. “Touch yourself,” you say. “Show me how much you want to be inside me.”

He nods, and without hesitation, he reaches for his cock, his hand wrapping around it. You watch for a moment as he strokes himself, his movements slow at first. But it doesn’t take long for his hips to start pumping, his hand moving faster and faster as he strokes.

“Mmm,” you say, smiling at the sight. “I like that.”

Spencer moans, but he keeps going, his hand pumping his cock until he’s fucking his fist. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you can’t help your own arousal from growing. Your pussy is slick with need, and all it would take is one touch from his hand and you’d be cumming.

You shift closer to him, reaching out to run your fingers over the small of his back. Spencer gasps, his hips stuttering for a moment. But then he continues, his hand stroking his cock until it’s almost too much.

“Can you cum like this for me?” you ask.

The words are enough to push him over the edge. His hips thrust into his hand, and you can hear his breathing grow ragged. “Yes,” he whines. “God, yes.”

A smile plays on your lips. “Then do it,” you say. “Cum for me.”

He cries out at the words, his cock pulsing in his hand as he cums. The sound of his orgasm fills the room, and for a moment all you can do is watch him in wonder.

When he’s finished, he collapses back against you, his body relaxing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, holding him to your chest as you smile.

“Good boy,” you say. “Just like that.”

And when Spencer nods, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride at the thought of your obedient little slut. You’ll break him in slowly—letting him touch you and taste you until he’s desperate for your pussy. And then, when you’re ready, you’ll let him fuck you.

And once he has your pussy, he’ll never let go. He’ll be obsessed with it, with the feeling of being inside you. With the way your muscles clench around him, with the way your cunt grips him tight as he fucks into you. With the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his hips, with the way your pussy milks him until he cums deep inside you. With the sound of your moans as he fucks you until you’re aching and raw. With the taste of your pussy on his tongue as he eats you out until you cum on his face.

Spencer whimpers against you, and you run a hand through his hair, petting him. “Shhh,” you say. “That was good. You’re doing so well.”

He moans against you, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods, leaning back against your chest.

You smile, your fingers moving to his hair again. “There’s my good little slut,” you say.

He groans at the words, his breathing growing faster. You move your hand to his cock, running your fingers along the length. “Look how hard you are,” you say, stroking him lightly.

Spencer moans again, and you can feel him shudder against you. “Are you ready for more?” you ask.

“Yes, please,” he gasps.

You smile at the desperation in his voice. You pull back, looking down at him as you run your finger along his lips. “Open your mouth,” you say.

He does as he’s been told, and you push your finger between his lips until he sucks it into his mouth. You pull your finger away, smiling at him. Then you reach for a condom, and stand up. “Take off your clothes,” you tell him, tearing open the package.

Spencer’s eyes flicker to yours, but he moves quickly to comply, pulling off his pants and shirt until he’s naked. You take a moment to study him, to study the way his cock is hard for you, the way his chest rises and falls as he breathes.

Then you reach for him, guiding him back onto the bed. You push him down, spreading his legs as you move between them. He whimpers as you pull his thighs up, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him like this.

He’s beautiful—spread out on the bed for you, his thighs spread wide and his cock hard. His eyes are glazed with lust, and he’s breathing hard. You can see the way he’s shaking slightly, and you know how much he wants to be inside you.

A soft smile plays across your lips, and you reach for your clothes, pulling your skirt up around your waist. You can’t help the moan that escapes you as you sink down onto him, the feeling of his cock filling you almost too much to handle.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasps as you sink down further.

You moan at the words, your head dropping to his shoulder as you take his cock deeper. You can feel him stretching you, filling you until you’re almost too full to move. When you’re finally seated on his hips, you pause, looking down at the sight of his cock disappearing into you.

Spencer groans again, his hands moving to your thighs. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “Your cunt is so perfect.” His hands tighten on your thighs, and he pushes up into you, making you moan.

You nod, and then lean down, taking his mouth in a kiss. You move slowly at first, your hips shifting back and forth as you grind down on his cock. But it’s not long before you’re fucking him in earnest, your body riding him until you’re gasping with pleasure.

He’s so good, you realize. He feels so good inside you, better than anyone you’ve ever had. His cock is thick and full, and you can feel the way it’s stretching you until you’re aching. The knowledge that he wants you—wants to fuck you and fill you with his cum—only makes it better.

You move faster, your body grinding down on his cock as you fuck him. Spencer is moaning now, his breath hot against your ear as he groans. His hand moves to your ass, his fingers gripping tightly as he pulls you down onto him.

“Yes,” he moans. “Like that. Fuck me like that.”

You nod, your hips picking up the pace until you’re bouncing on his cock. You can feel yourself building, the pleasure growing with each thrust until it’s almost overwhelming. You cry out as you cum, your body shaking with pleasure as your pussy clenches around him.

Spencer cries out with you, his hips bucking up into you as he cums. You collapse against him as he finishes, his cock throbbing deep inside you. You stay there for a few moments, until the last tremor of pleasure fades away. Then you pull off him, reaching for a cloth to clean yourself with.

When you look back at him, he’s watching you with wide eyes. “Was that…good?” he asks finally.

You smile at him. “It was amazing,” you say, and you mean it.

Spencer smiles back at you, then nods. You can see a little blush on his cheeks, and you can tell how pleased he is with himself.

You reach for his hand, taking it in yours as you smile again. “You were perfect,” you add. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

He flushes a little more at that, but you can see how happy he is. You squeeze his hand once more, then let go. “Come on,” you say. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You help him up, then reach for his clothes. He watches as you hand them to him, and you can still see how aroused he is.

He moves to put his pants on, but pauses when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Not those,” you say. You point to the corner of the room, where you can see his boxers. “Those.”

Spencer pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours. “Okay,” he says softly, and he moves to do as he’s told.

You can’t help the smile that comes to your face at the sight, at the way he obediently puts on the boxers you tell him to.

“Come here,” you say when he’s done.

He moves to you, and you take his face in your hand. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” you say.

His eyes widen at the words, but he nods. “Yes,” he says, his voice soft.

You pull him closer, your lips moving to his ear. “And what do I want?” you ask.

“To fuck me,” he whispers.

You smile at that. “And you’ll do anything I want,” you say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

You run your thumb along his jaw, smiling at the sight of him standing there in boxers and a tee-shirt, waiting to do your bidding. “Good,” you say. “My good boy.”

Spencer moans at the words, leaning into your touch. “What do you want?” he asks.

You study him for a moment, then smile again. “For now?” you say. “Nothing. Just you.” You lean in, taking his mouth in a soft kiss. “I’m so lucky to have you,” you whisper against his lips.

Spencer makes a soft noise, then kisses you back. “I’m the lucky one,” he whispers against your mouth.

You smile at that, then pull back and take his hand. You lead him to the bed, then guide him onto it. “Stay,” you tell him as you pull the covers back.

He nods, watching you as you climb in next to him. You reach for his hand, then settle back against the headboard.

“I don’t have to leave?” he asks.

“No, baby, of course not, ” you reply. “You can stay.”

You watch as a smile spreads across his face, and he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder. You can feel his fingers tighten on yours, and the knowledge that he wants to stay with you like this—that he wants to curl up in your arms and let you comfort him—is so sweet it almost hurts.

You wrap an arm around him, then move to pull him close. “Sleep,” you tell him softly.

“You deserve it.”

He doesn’t reply, but you can feel him relaxing against you, the tension in his body easing as you hold him. He’s warm against your side, and you can smell the scent of soap and lube on him. You hold him for a moment more, then reach to turn off the light.

“Rest now,” you say. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Spencer nods, his fingers tightening on yours one more time. Then he drifts off to sleep, and you stay with him until you fall asleep too. You dream of the next time you’ll fuck him, of the things you’ll do to him until he’s begging for your mercy.

★

#missarchive #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader

1K notes · View notes

gutsby · 7 months ago

Text

Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—��

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

#ENOUGH BULLSHITTING WE NEED MORE GLUCOSE GUARDIAN JOEL ON THE TL NEOWWWWW #🫵🏼😐#i’m begging y’all to write more for this very particular and off-putting dynamic bc i love it dearly #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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nymphaea-blue · 3 months ago

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Period care with Love and Deepspace boys

Info : 2k+ word count, fluff, mentions of sickness (throwing up), talks about periods (obviously), mentions of doctors, our boys being really supportive <3

Note : Oh to have Rafayel warm my tummy and Sylus cook me a meal during my period 😔 Also my reqs are open! I won't always be able to write, but I will do my best on weekends<3

Rafayel

﹒　⁺ Is inexperienced about the matter because of his lemurian origin, but after a bit of googling he got the gist of how to help you. He wanted to help you and make you feel better so he tried his best.

﹒　⁺ He would try not to tease you as much and he would be patient about your mood swings. In a way, he finally realised how you felt about his dramatic antics because you sure were hard to please while you were on your period.

﹒　⁺ Rafayel would have lots of sweets and supplies stacked after you started dating and visiting him more often. He wouldn't be bothered if you wanted to stick with him during the week, in fact he encourages it, especially if you deal with painful cramps, though he would panic a bit each time you expressed any pain.

“Heyy, sweetheart?” No response. Okay then, he would try again, he nudged gently what he assumed to be you all cocooned under his blankets. “Cutie? My love? My lovely bride?” Eventually, you finally lifted the blanket enough to the point he was able to see your eyes. “How are you feeling? I got you some sweets and the medicine you asked for.” He, ever so carefully, set down the tray of food at the table as he sat down next to you on the bed. “Thank you… I feel horrible, to be honest.” You sighed as you managed to untangle yourself from your perfectly made comfort space to sit down and take a bite of the sweets he got you. They were your favourites, everything from treats with chocolate to your weird cravings, but he didn't question it and got them for you. What a lovely boyfriend you had. “No need to thank me, I'm doing the bare minimum. Take your medicine and when you feel better, we can cuddle, how about that?” He offered you a cup of tea as well, to help you take down the medicine and help with cramps. “That sounds amazing, actually.” You agreed to his suggestion and took the medication, even though they were bitter and you hated the taste, you managed to swallow them. He gently praised you and helped you to lay down after you took them. He got behind you, with your head laying nicely on his chest and almost on his shoulder, so he could sneak a few kisses to your neck. After a few minutes he placed his hands on your lower tummy, right where it hurt, and you started to feel a pleasant, warm sensation. “Ooh that feels nice… Like my water bottle, but better and more cuddly.” He chuckled softly as you called him cuddly, he did his best to control his EVOL so it would help you, since he often saw you use something warm on your tummy but sometimes he could see you couldn't really get into a comfortable position, so he thought he would do the job much better on his own. “I'm glad I got hired as your new water bottle. I hope my hands aren't too hot, right? If it starts to burn, let me know, I don't want to hurt you.” “Now, cutie, just try to rest, alright? Or if you want, we can watch something together, hm? I'm free all day anyways.” “Don't you have an exhibition later today..?” “...” “Eh, Thomas can figure it out.”

Zayne

﹒　⁺ He knows a lot about it, he's a doctor so he had to study about the women's body but especially after the two of you got together he decided to dive deeper into the topic.

﹒　⁺ Zayne way of helping would include tea, healthy meals and tummy massages, as well as prescribing you medicine or giving you a sick note for work when needed. He was a little worried, even though he was a doctor and he knew it was normal, he still didn't like seeing you in pain.

﹒　⁺ His house would have all the supplies, food as well as spare clothes for you since he much prefers you to spend your period at his house, that way he can ensure you will be in good condition. Zayne doesn't mind putting up with your moods or potential stains, he just wants to see you comfortable again.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” Zayne asked as he saw you laying down on his couch after he came back from work. Unsurprisingly, you were in the same position as when he left you when he went to work, so you slept through most of the day probably, which was good. “I'm doing okay, better thanks to the medicine you gave me. I'm all sleepy though…” You yawned after you gave him a kiss on the cheek when he came closer. The entire day you just wanted to sleep, eat, cry and then sleep again. “That's a possible side effect, but it might also be a way for your body to rest after what happened. I'm glad to see you better, you didn't look your best in the morning.” “You can just say that I looked horrible, Zayne , I felt that way too.” “... I wanted to be more polite. Although, this wasn't the first time that happened, yes? I have a colleague at work, she's a gynecologist, a good one at that. I can get you in contact with her and make an appointment if you wish, you should get your condition checked out, being in so much pain isn't normal.” He proposed as he started to brew some tea, both for you and himself. “Maybe you are right, I suppose it would be better than having to ask you for prescriptions each month.” You sighed, agreeing with him. As much as you dreaded a doctor visit, it was needed at that point. “I don't mind doing that, by the way. Your health is the most important for me.”

Xavier

﹒　⁺ Slightly confused but knows what to do. He does read lots of articles about how to take care of you online after the two of you start dating, but he had a general knowledge before that.

﹒　⁺ Xavier would take naps with you often, in fact, he would force you to nap with him. You can't be moody or in much pain when you are asleep, right? So he just gets you into his grasp, all nice and warm, and he cuddles you to sleep.

﹒　⁺ His apartment didn't have supplies at first as he didn't know which ones you use, but after you ended up staying over when your cramps got particularly bad, he did get you everything you needed to make sure you would be comfortable. After that, his bathroom is stocked monthly, as well as the sweets drawer (both in his and your apartment).

“... Xavier?” You attempted to get out of his grasp, but he just pulled you closer against him. A few hours ago you were supposed to do some reports for work, you might be on your period but wanderers don't stop after all, so you wanted to go to work tomorrow, but a certain someone pulled you to sleep before you could even touch the papers. “Yeah? What's wrong?” He yawned as he snuggled his head into the crook of your neck. “I need to get up.” “Are you hurting?” “No.” “Do you need to use the bathroom? Are you hungry?” “Well, no.” “Then you don't need to get up. Let's rest some more.” Xavier pulled you closer at that, your back against his chest. “Xavier I need to do reports for tomorrow!” You struggled against him again, you wanted to pry his hands off of you but to no avail, all you did was irritate your stomach more. “No you don't, I called in sick for you, capitan Jenna already agreed that we both have the rest of the week off. Now, relax a little, unless you want to hurt yourself more.” Xavier responded in a matter-of-fact tone, as his arms gently eased around you so as to not hurt you when he heard you whimper. “... I don't know if I should be mad or happy about what you did.” “You should give me a kiss and go back to sleep.” “But it's 3pm?-” “So? Still early. We can take one more little nap before I get lunch.”

Sylus

﹒　⁺ He had a decent amount of knowledge and it stayed that way. He knew how to take care of you and he felt confident in his abilities to care for you during your period, but he can be too overbearing sometimes.

﹒　⁺ He would care for you by getting you food, lots of it. Sweets, drinks, full meals made by a chef, whatever you want. You also have Luke and Kieran at your beck and call if they aren't with him on business, and Mephisto always stays with you so Sylus can keep an eye on you.

﹒　⁺ The mansion would always be fully stocked ever since you came into his life, he found out your favourite brand to use and he got you that, you never have to ask since he checks what's left regularly. He has sweets very often somewhere on his desk for you too.

A loud ringing was heard through your apartment for what you guessed was the fifth time today in a row. Annoyed, you decided to get up and finally open, even though your stomach felt like it was cut in half. “Why good morning, kitten. You had a nice nap?” Sylus greeted you with that familiar smirk of his, though at this moment you found it a bit comforting. “Sylus ..? What are you doing here?” You asked, surprised to see him lean against the doorway to your small apartment. You didn't have much time to ponder as he gently guided you inside and closed the doors behind himself. “Mephisto reported that you didn't leave your bed in over 5 hours, so I thought to check on you. I must say, your abilities to ignore phone calls and door ringing are very admirable.” He walked into your kitchen and put down a bag on the table, before he started to boil some water in a kettle. “Sorry, I just didn't feel like existing today..” You sighed as you sat down on the couch, or well, attempted to before your stomach started cramping again and you found yourself almost lying on the floor instead because of the pain. Sylus was by your side in a second and he gently put a pillow under your head as well as a blanket over you, he got you a bowl besides the couch too, just in case, since you looked extremely pale. “Don't worry about that sweetie. I'm here now, so I will help you get back to life. We are going to my base later, but for now I got you some food and medicine. That doctor friend of yours proved to be very cooperative, so hopefully you should get better after taking the pills he prescribed.” “You talked with Zayne..? For me?” “Of course, that man is a doctor and I don't know that much about medicine, unless we are talking about sedatives. I told him that I needed something for you and he did recommend a few things, if it doesn't work then I will need to have a… nice chat with him.” “Now, you just lie back and relax. I got you some tea and sweets, but first you need a meal before I can give you them and the medicine, so take a small nap while I work on that, won't you?”

#lads rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lads #rafayel #fluff #lads fluff #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne #rafayel qi #zayne li #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #sylus x reader

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p0orbaby · 10 months ago

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So Boyfriend

summary: alessia is the poster girl for chivalry

warnings: none!

a/n: the minimum expected behaviour in any relationship, if you ask me

word count: 1.6k

Alessia’s wearing that black Adidas tracksuit again, the one that should probably have its own spot in the wardrobe by now, considering how often it makes an appearance. You’re not sure what her deal is with that thing. It’s like she’s conducting some kind of long-term experiment to see how many days she can wear it before it becomes a sentient being. But, somehow, it always looks crisp, like it’s just been peeled out of the packaging.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, legs spread wide like she’s declaring ownership of every square inch of space. The air around her practically vibrates with readiness, like she’s an overzealous butler trapped in the body of a world-class athlete.

You watch her, knowing exactly what’s coming next. She’s eyeing the cupboard, which is already funny because you’re not even hungry, but you know if you so much as glance at the counter, she’ll be up and rifling through shelves like a one-woman search-and-rescue operation. You could have sworn you saw her measuring the exact amount of peanut butter left in the jar last night, like a tactical mission was involved.

If there’s a minute, microscopic part of her brain that suspects you’re craving peanut butter on toast, she’ll know before you do.

And sure enough, Alessia is up before you can even think of saying, “I’ll get it,” moving towards the cupboard like she’s executing a flawless play. She grabs the jar and hands it to you like she’s presenting a hard-won trophy, her eyes bright with that stupid, beautiful grin. You stare at her, trying to remember why you ever thought her overbearing attentiveness was annoying.

You manage a “Thanks,” which comes out more as a croak because, well, what else can you say when you’re so completely outmatched in the whole ‘being a decent human’ department?

Then, like clockwork, she’s clearing the table. It’s your turn, obviously, but Alessia’s got this compulsive need to do things for you, like it’s a moral imperative. You know it’s coming—the way she’ll rinse the plates with one hand while gently nudging you out of the way with her hip, so casual and practiced, like it’s something she’s been doing her whole life. You’re just standing there, one hand holding the peanut butter jar, the other uselessly hovering in the air, like a mime who’s forgotten their routine. The sound of running water and clinking dishes fills the kitchen, and you’re left marveling at how domestic she makes everything feel, how easy it is for her to slip into this role without a second thought.

And here’s the thing: you should be annoyed. It’s your job to do the dishes tonight. You should be doing something about it, like grabbing a towel or, at the very least, half-heartedly protesting. But you’re not. You’re just… watching. You’ve seen this movie a hundred times, but it’s so ridiculous you can’t help but watch again. You’re transfixed by the way she stacks the dishes like they’re precious artifacts, not remnants of your poorly executed attempt at dinner.

When she’s done, she turns around and hands you your phone. It was on the counter, and you weren’t even thinking about it, but of course, she noticed. Of course, she knew exactly when you’d need it. It’s like she’s a mind reader, but only when it comes to the most mundane, everyday things. Like there’s some part of her brain solely dedicated to making sure your phone is fully charged, your favorite snacks are within reach, and that you never run out of clean socks.

You should say something, maybe tease her a little, but you don’t get the chance. Alessia’s already moving on to the next thing—turning off the lights, checking that the stove is off, securing the perimeter. You half expect her to pull out a checklist and start ticking off boxes. Instead, she turns to you, that lopsided grin still plastered on her face, and before you can even think, she’s pulling you in for a kiss.

It’s not just any kiss. It’s slow and soft, the kind that says, Hey, I’ve got all the time in the world, and I’m spending it right here, with you. You melt into it, feeling every ounce of tension you didn’t know you had drain away.

When she finally pulls back, she’s still smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve just won something. Like maybe you’ve won her, but that can’t be right because it feels more like she’s the one who’s been winning you over, inch by inch, every single day.

Then, because apparently, she hasn’t done enough for one evening, she suddenly suggests, “Let’s go for a walk.” It’s not a question, really. She’s already grabbing a hoodie, even though it’s the middle of summer and the night air is perfectly warm. She throws it over your shoulders, and you know you’re going to sweat through it, but you don’t care.

She makes sure to lock the door behind you, even though you’re only going for a quick loop around the block. Alessia does that—locks up, checks windows, and generally acts like you live in a crime-riddled part of town. Even though you both know the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in your neighborhood is when Mrs. Patterson’s cat got stuck in a tree. And even then, it was a small tree, and the cat was more annoyed than scared.

As you start walking, she naturally takes the side closest to the road, like she’s in some 19th-century novel, guarding your virtue against runaway horse carriages or something equally absurd. You used to roll your eyes at this, but now it just makes you smile, like maybe there’s a small part of you that enjoys being taken care of in this overly dramatic way.

The night is quiet, the kind of quiet that’s comforting rather than eerie. Alessia’s arm slips around your shoulders, her fingers tracing the back of your neck in a way that sends little shivers down your spine. You sigh, and it’s not a sigh of exasperation; it’s the kind of sigh that comes when you’re trying to pretend you’re annoyed but you’re really just a puddle of feelings because she’s doing that thing again—making you feel like you’re the center of the universe.

You keep walking, letting her guide you down familiar streets. She opens the gate for you, then the door to the local café, where the barista already knows your order, thanks to Alessia’s meticulous planning. You’re not sure how, but she’s managed to get everyone on board with this whole ‘make everything perfect for you’ campaign, and honestly, it’s a little terrifying.

You sit down at your usual table, and she insists on ordering for you, even though you’re perfectly capable of speaking for yourself. But there’s something about the way she does it, with that confident ease, like she’s been rehearsing this role her entire life, that makes you just let her.

She returns with your drink, carefully placing it in front of you, making sure it’s exactly the way you like it—extra foam, no sugar, just a hint of cinnamon. You didn’t even know you liked cinnamon until she started ordering it for you.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” you finally say, and she just shrugs, that lopsided grin never wavering.

“I just want you to be happy,” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is, to her at least.

As you sip your drink, you watch her, watch the way she’s always so effortlessly present, always making sure you’re taken care of, and you realise that this is what it feels like to be loved so completely, so utterly, that it’s almost overwhelming.

It’s the little things she does, the way she’s always three steps ahead, always thinking about what you might need before you even know you need it. It’s the way she’s somehow managed to turn your entire life into a series of moments where you’re constantly cared for, constantly looked after, without ever making you feel smothered.

And maybe you’re starting to like it, more than you ever thought you would. Because being with Alessia is like being in a story where you’re always the main character, and she’s the one making sure the plot unfolds exactly the way it’s supposed to, with all the right twists and turns, and just enough drama to keep things interesting.

As you leave the café, Alessia’s arm finds its way around your shoulders again, guiding you back home, and you let her, because it’s just easier that way. It’s easier to let her do all the little things she does, the things that make you feel so loved and cared for, because deep down, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you finally get back, she unlocks the door, checks the windows again, and makes sure everything’s in its place. She pulls you in for another kiss, this one a little more urgent, like she’s trying to communicate something she can’t quite put into words. You kiss her back, letting her know you understand, that you get it, and that you’re not going anywhere.

You lie down together, her arm draped over you, and as you drift off to sleep, you realise that maybe this is what it’s all about. Maybe this is what it means to be truly, deeply loved—having someone who’s always there, always ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re happy. And maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe that you deserve it.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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itsabouttimex2 · 3 months ago

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Eclipse Kings

Part Five: Constellations

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: Sweet Little Star) (Part Five: You Are Here.)

(Ask box has been wiped, and requests are open again! Also, my fandom list has also been updated! And, uh , the yandere requirement has been removed! You can just ask for anything now!)

…there are three empty bowls stacked together in front of you, scraped bone-dry and set aside.

The room quiets as the clatter of your empty bowls echoes softly against the pristine walls. MK, still warily munching on only his first bowl of porridge, barely halfway through.

…he’s never seen you desperate before. You had made sure of it. And here you were before him, blatantly broken and weak.

Your breath hitches, hands trembling slightly as you adjust the sleeves of the borrowed hanfu. A flavor of rich sweetness lingers in your mouth, but so does the bitter taste of shame.

You are so well-worn with the veil of sacrifice that having has become foreign, leaving bitter want to settle beneath your tattered skin.

…you want to cry. Or scream. Or gag out an apology to ensure that you are truly in the good graces of these kings.

But the silence stretching on is greater than any word your tongue could manifest, so all stays quiet, uncomfortable and pervasive.

You’ve spent so long carrying unasked and unexpected burdens, wrapping yourself in the notion of necessity as though it were armor to the worst thoughts in your head, yelling at you to abandon or betray or run.

And now, here you are, stripped bare and vulnerable, finally tended to and… safe.

Bathed, patched, clothed, fed.

All in just a day.

Just a sparse day ago you’d be lucky to pick two a week.

Macaque watches you, golden eyes unblinking, his tail swishing, slow and deliberate. Sun Wukong leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. There’s no teasing grin, no sly remark—just the weight of his gaze, heavy and set. The two of them aren’t looking at you with judgment. It isn’t pity either. It’s something raw, something you don’t have the experience to name.

Neither of them- nobody, in fact- dares to speak.

The dread silence turns your stomach, causing the contents to churn and bubble in discontent, thickening the bloat of your skin as the room grows steadily more and more uncomfortable.

The breakneck speed of the day had prevented any true pooling of discomfort, always evaporated by the next urgent thing coming around to keep you occupied, to keep the worst of your thoughts at bay, never able to break for only the fact that every time your mind and body tipped one way, another event came hurtling in to smack you back on beat.

There is no such safety line here.

You are simply tired.

Have you ever been this tired?

Even once? Have you ever been so marked by fatigue that you would sincerely consider resting in front of strangers- demons at that! without covering your throat?

Your fingers curl slightly against the fabric of the borrowed hanfu strung around you, the sensation unfamiliar- not rough or threadbare but soft, clean, smooth. It feels too delicate for hands like yours, hands that have spent too long gripping at survival with bloody knuckles and busted nails.

When have you ever had the chance to rest on a full belly?

There was never a chance for both. You were always hungry and scrounging for the minimum, or somewhat fed and looking for more to take. Even on the rare case that satiation found it's way to you, you simply had one more task to perform, one more resource to scavenge, one more “another” dangling over your head, threatening to overwhelm you, as a sandcastle is swept up and crumbled by the rising tides.

It was not a metaphor that most would've used, casting your efforts as something childish, fleeting and ephemeral. But you were nothing if not your harshest critic, and you had zoned in on a budding "weakness".

The desire to be secure.

And here, in these windingly long and dazzling halls, there was at least some slivers of sanctity to be found, a surplus of supplies to be plundered with, you hoped, relative ease.

"Plundered".

What a strange word.

Had you not made a humble (though distinctly criminal) living for yourself and your brother through plundering? Had it not been through the low brooks of Flower Fruit Mountain's rivers that you had gone, carrying with you what meager portions of bread and rice you could pilfer from the stable? Did you not go scurrying through the thorny bushes wound round the houses of the rich, with their glass-bottled fruit jam and spice-cured jerky? Was it not by this method that you had endured and found your stomach sated?

And was your brother not home, always, an ever-glittering beacon drawing your steps back to the woods, back to that crumbling hut?

Now there was a horde of treasures before your hands, strung just as magnificently through the fur of the stellar kings as it was veined through the marble under your feet.

And you hadn't the stomach to take even a bit of it, for the greatest treasure in the world was sitting before you, lid-eyed with sleepy delight as he worked to sloppily spoon porridge into his mouth.

There had been a changing of the guard, it seemed.

No longer were you to stand tall as the sole guardian of what innocence and softness the darling boy of gold eyes possessed, no longer was his satiation and safety solely held in your hardworking hands.

Now he was a prince, heralded between ecliptic kings.

It was not as severance of family, for there could be no force grand enough to split from you your love of the sweet child.

If he was a thorn in your heart, then you were content to never unweave from him the snag of your fibers.

The thought of losing him to these kings was... unspeakably agonizing. Even though you were tired, full to the point of sickness, verging on tears, -and, frankly a little tired of this awfully gaudy castle!- you were certain that he could not be sundered from your arms.

If preserving the sweet sanctity of his being meant both killing and dying, then you would let bleed and be bled.

With this thought your muscles coil, an instinctual urge to gather MK close, to spirit him away from the opulent and alien warmth, pulses beneath your skin.

You draw deeply in your lungs to steady your breath, but the motion doesn’t come easily. It shudders through your throat, a raw, splintered thing like the fracture of bone. Your grip on the fine silk beneath your finger tightens as you glance again at this boy -your boy- and watch as he softens enough to grin, blissfully unaware of the gnawing dread tunneling holes through your gut.

"I'm done," he says, grinning from ear to ear, proudly presenting his empty bowl.

Your heart clenches, a sharp, involuntary squeeze that sends a jolt of cold comfort trickling down your spine. I’m done, he says, so simple and carefree. Like it’s just another meal, just another day. Like everything about this moment isn’t so earth-shatteringly foreign that you can hardly breathe around it.

MK sets his spoon down with a soft clink, licking stray flecks of porridge from his lips, completely oblivious to the war raging behind your eyes. His shoulders are loose, his golden gaze bright, his tail flicking lazily as he leans back against his seat.

Sated. Happy.

You should feel relief.

You don’t.

Because there’s a weight pressing against your ribs, wrapping around your lungs like a dreadful creeping ivy. The weight of knowing that you have nothing left to do. No next step, no urgent task, no next meal to hunt down, no fire to keep from dying out. Just- this. Sitting in a grand, gleaming room that isn’t yours, swathed in silks that aren’t yours, resting on a full stomach that, if past has say to the future, won’t be yours for long.

Your dread goes unnoticed, or otherwise ignored. Macaque smiles, soft in spite of his extended canines, and leans in close to his son, his baby. Softly he presses a kiss to MK’s scalp, only for the boy to pull away the moment he feels cold lips and colder fangs upon his brow.

Macaque schools his expression almost immediately, but you manage to catch the first glint of a heartrending fracture in the aureate field of the king's eyes, like he's living through the loss of his darling son all over again in just a single second.

Sun Wukong notices too. His tail stills, rounded ears twitching ever so slightly. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, but his gaze lingers on Macaque, reading him the way you read the sky before a storm.

The moment stretches long, a dangerously delicate thing poised on the edge of breaking, right until the sage reaches over to wrap a hand around his mate's.

"We'll get there, Bud," he comforts, sounding for all the mountain like a farmer in the garb of a king. So simple, so soft, so sincere. For a moment he is dethroned and uncrowned, and in the place of that regal man is now only a monkey, gazing upon his dearest mate.

Macaque twitches, just barely, expression unreadable even as his tail tightens around Wukong’s. His free hand remains where it is- limp against the table, unmoving. It's a wonder if the man even realizes he’s holding his breath.

"Maybe it's about time we turned in for the night, Mac. You're tired, I feel like I've been hit by a wagon, the kid needs his sleep... and we have a guest that needs to be shown their room, yeah?

Macaque looks up slow, biting back the wobble of his bottom lip. "Let's-," he starts, voice rough, "-let's lay down. I need- I need to go. Please, Wukong."

The king does not hesitate. He stands, keeping his tail wound around Macaque’s as he offers a steadying hand. Macaque takes it and allows himself to be pulled up. His ears flick back, throat working around words he can't bring himself to say.

You, however, are stuck in your seat, unsure if you even have the right to move.

Remaining still, you watch as the kings stand shoulder-to-shoulder, their hands laced together in a quiet show of unity. The sight should be reassuring. It should ease the tension gnawing at your spine. Instead, it only makes your stomach twist harder.

They belong here.

MK belongs to them, and he's already established enough of a rapport to casually jump up from his over-cushioned chair and kick both feet into his new shoes, reaching out to grip the sleek black of Macaque's robe. Affection on his terms only, not unlike a cat.

In time he would surely grow accustomed to forehead kisses and cheek nuzzles, and assimilate back into the loved little prince that was named for all the little streaks of light strung together through heaven, Qi Xiaotian, the Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain.

But for now he is only MK, sweet "monkey kid", little brother to the mountain's littlest thief, and his hand beckons for you, each tiny finger wiggling like a hooked worm. He's gleeful now, bouncing on the heels of his feet as your own hand awkwardly extends, shifting into the itty-bitty palm before you. With his frail grip as reassurance, you rise from the ornate chair and steady your gait.

It dawns now that the four of you are somehow connected, you to the squeeze of MK's thin fingers, MK to the sleek curtain of Macaque's robe, Macaque to the muscle of Wukong's hand.

A chain by which you are lead, last in line, down to the door of the mess hall and taken down another massive way of black and gold.

You are pulled along carefully, MK sure to never break his grip from you or his father as they trek through these halls, only pausing once when a door- the only door on that side of the hall, in fact- has cast under the inch-tall gap a silvery ray of light that catches your eyes. A treasury, perhaps, or at least the holding chamber for something very important.

Perhaps important enough to be worth a visit, then. It wouldn't hurt to have a little "nest egg" stashed away in your little sash, should events turn for the worse and fleeing became a very necessary course of action.

A scrap or two of gold, of silver, or even a little jewel... it couldn't be so hard to find something small enough to hide in the palm of your hand, could it? Something just small enough to go unnoticed...

You weren't going to be able to sleep, after all. Not with too full of a stomach, too heavy of a heart.

A steady ease settles over you as some measure of peace comes to your heart at the familiar feeling- the weight of a goal, immediately in sight.

They would leave, eventually, return to their own chambers to rest, and you'd be alone for the night, wouldn't you?

Well, how hard could it be to sneak into one unguarded room?

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #MK #Eclipse Kings #Shadowpeach #Sorry this took so long #I made it while working on a tentative piece about the Shadowpeach shipbaiting in seasons 4 + 5

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buffetlicious · 1 month ago

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My youngest brother invited us to celebrate Mother’s Day (母亲节) with a meal at Fu Lee Seafood (富俐海鮮). This year, the tze char (煮炒) stall had came out with a set menu for the special occasion and we decided to go for it.

The very first dish to be served was this Premium Ocean Harvest Porridge (尊贵海洋珍馐粥). It is more like Pao Fan (泡饭) as it consists of rice soaked in broth brewed from pork, fish bones and prawn, served with seafood, and crispy rice. The seafood is just butterflied prawns and clams with crispy rice puffs sprinkled on top but everyone loves it, nonetheless.

This Fish Maw Egg Soup (鱼鳔蛋花汤) was an add on order and not part of the set menu. The starchy soup is choked full of sliced fish maw, mushroom and crab meat. The must have condiments to go with the soup are black vinegar and white pepper. The only complaint was that it was too gooey.

Wasabi Mayo Coated Prawn Balls (芥末脆虾球) are actually whole prawns dusted in flour and deep-fried in hot oil before getting coated in a mixture of wasabi and mayonnaise. The prawns remained crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The sesame seeds and wasabi mayo giving the shellfishes a nutty, spicy and savoury notes. The green and red apple salad added a refreshing finishing touch to the overall dish.

Seafood Yam Basket (佛钵飘香) was also a separate order. It is a mashed yam ring or taro basket deep-fried then filled with separately stir-fried ingredients. The prawn, fish, squid, cashew nuts and vegetables are overflowing from the top. Underneath the yam basket is a nest of crispy deep-fried rice vermicelli.

As the server placed the plate on the table, everyone’s attention was momentarily fixed on the stack of Strawberry Glazed Iberico Pork Ribs (黑猪草莓一只骨) pile on high in the plate surrounded by strawberry halves and an edible wafer flower. The sticky meat is tender and savoury sweet, well-liked by all of us. No strawberry taste detected on the ribs unless you ate it with the berries!

The Surf & Turf (富俐双拼) was a combination of crispy prawn fritter and smoked duck breast with sesame sauce. The fritter did not come with whole prawn but minced or chopped up prawn meat with other ingredients mixed inside. The filling itself is nothing to shout about but the extra light and crispy batter is to die for.

The next dish is Golden Silk Tofu with Pumpkin Velvet & Yam Crisps (金丝南瓜豆腐). Silky bean curds deep-fried sitting in a pool of pumpkin sauce and littered with crispy shoestring taro fries. I enjoyed the savoury sweet pumpkin sauce clinging to the soft and fragrant fried tofu punctuated by crunchy taro fries.

Wok Fry Yangtze Nai Bai with Truffle Mushroom Sauce (松露蘑菇酱烩奶白菜) came served with a medley of sautéed mushrooms over blanch nai bai which is a different variation of the bok choy. Also referred to as milk cabbage, it is mildly sweet yet crunchy with dark green leaves and milky white stems. That is how the name "milk cabbage" came about. There was supposed to be truffle in there but I don’t remembered tasting the unique flavour.

By the time the Crispy Chicken with Signature Glaze (风沙香酥鸡) was placed in front of me, I am already quite full. The glaze was not brushed onto the chicken but spread out on the plate. The chicken itself was crispy but bordered on the dry side. That signature sauce seems like a borrowed recipe from the roasted suckling pig’s sauce, popular in Singapore which isn’t bad at all.

When you have fresh fish, the best cooking style is to cook it with minimum ingredients like this Steamed Red Grouper with Garlic (蒜蓉蒸红斑). Steaming it let you savour the sweetness of its flesh and the superior soya sauce imparted it salty flavour to enhance the dish. Both spring onions and crispy garlic served to add flavour and texture to the already delicious fish.

To summarize the dinner, everyone enjoyed it thoroughly and we are already considering coming here for our Chinese New Year reunion dinner next year. The only complaint would be that the dishes were served too quickly one after another and there isn’t space on the table to accommodate so we have to rush to finish the earlier dishes to make way.

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sentryluvs · 1 month ago

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“Between the Stacks” Bob Reynolds (Sentry) x reader

summary: Bob sneaks out for some fresh air and meets you at a bookstore near the old Avengers Tower.

tags: Fluff, Bookworm! Bob, Bookstore owner! reader, Bob is the cutest awkward bean, set after the events of Thunderbolts*

These are chapters three, four and five ! you can find the first chapters here

003. The invite

One rainy evening, Bob lingered around after the store closed, helping you with chores like: cleaning tables, organizing bookshelves, stacking carts ect.

This had become a routine for him: escape the tower and visit you on your shifts, help around when the store was crowded, eat with you on your breaks, bring you the home-made food he would cook. And be overally very involved with you.

These actions slowly made you realize that you may be in love with this cute dork. You two had grown very close these past weeks, you noticed how he became more confident around you, even sneaking flirty comments here and there. He even took you to eat at the restaurant besides the store after one of the many closing shifts you spent together. This made you think and wish deep inside that he felt the same way.

A small blush coated your cheeks as his black shirt lifted while he finished stacking the remaining -but very heavy- chairs like they were nothing. This gave you a view of his well formed abs, a few drops of sweat dripping down as he set the chairs down with a grunt. He palms his hands and turns to look at you

“This should be it��” He said while straightening his pose. He slouched a lot to conceal his presence so you never imagined he would be the type to work out. You didn’t mind though but you couldn’t help to think jokingly What kind of work must he have?.

“ I uhh.. wanted to ask you something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up, curious. “Sure, you know you can ask me anything ” You said sincerely.

“Would you…like to visit the WatchTower? I can get us in. It’s kind of a mess, still under construction, and very chaotic sometimes” He said while thinking about the constant bickering between Alexei and John, daddy-daughter fights between Yelena and Alexei, Yelena and Ava roasting John, John picking on him for the minimum but getting his ass beat in the training room anyways and Bucky constantly breaking the dishwasher for washing his arm in there, seriously, who does that?

“But… it’s special to me.” He finished and waited for your response expectantly.

You grinned. “I’d love to.” Guess you’ll finally see what kind of job has your loverboy ripped.

The next morning, you met infront of the store and Bob walked with you to the Tower. Suprisingly, it was very close. You guys made it in, you noticed how nicely he greeted the receptionists, construction workers and janitors, thanking them for their service, he trully had the kindest hear.

He pressed a random button on the elevator, and you guys arrived at a floor that contained an exhibition dedicated to the old Avengers. He led you around sharing stories about the building’s history, about the heroes and their mistakes. He was very passionate about the whole thing, it made your heart warm.

Bob took you to another floor, through the quiet, echoing halls, now talking about the newer heroes who reside here.

Finally, in a lounge overlooking the city, he turned to you, his voice trembling.

“There’s something you should know. I’m not… just Bob. “ In other circumstances you would laugh, but this seemed like something serious

He continued “There’s a part of me that’s dangerous. I’m Sentry. Sometimes, I’m the Void.” As he said this, you could swear his eyes quickly turned gold, then grey, then back to the dark blue you grew to love. Ah, so that’s it, he’s a heroe. Your heroe. You thought.

Bob took a step foward, now fully facing you, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with something you can’t fully describe.

“But when I’m with you, it’s quieter. I feel… safe. human.”

This time, you took the iniciative and reached for his hand, you tried to ignore how he slightly flinched, aparently not used to skin contact. He was terrified of hurting you, and would never forgive himself if something ever happened.

“You are human, Bob. And you’re not alone. Not anymore.” He was mermerizing

He squeezed your hand, relief and gratitude in his eyes.

After that, you guys went back to the shop, and spent the evening together. And before the sun set down, he had asked you to be his girlfriend.

You said yes, and iniciated a kiss that felt like a thousand fireworks lighting up in the sky at the sound of your love.

He was no longer alone, he never was.

005- Secrets, revealed

Two days later, Bob took you to the Tower to have coffee together in the lounge before your afternoon shift, holding hand and talking about trivial things when suddenly a group of loud people walked in. Two men, The Red Guardian and the US Agent, formerly known as the second Captain America bickering over a football tournament score, two girls who you would assume are Ghost and Black Widow discussing mission reports and a man you could recognize as the ex-winter soldier now congressman James Barnes. You could only guess these group of people are the New Avengers.

Alexei stopped short, eyebrows raised. “Bob? Who is this lovely lady?”

Bob flushed, but didn’t let go of your hand. “This is… my girlfriend Y/N” He looked at you with reassurance and love “She works at Tower View Store.”

You waved, cheeks warm. “Hi, very nice to meet you all”

Ava smirked “So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to.”

Hearing that made Bob’s ears feel on fire “You- you guys knew?!” Now feeling a little ashamed.

“Of course young Bob!” Alexei boomed “We figured you wanted time alone, and so we did not ask before. We did not want to make uncomfortable”

John grinned, patting Bob’s back “Well, it’s about time, Reynolds.”

Bucky just gave you a friendly nod. “Welcome to the madhouse”

Yelena, meeting your eyes with a look of approval, smiled, genuinely.

Bob looked at you, then at his team. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

He smiled

006- Epilogue

Bob Reynolds no longer hid his bookstore visits or his relationship. Tower View Store became your shared sanctuary, a place where he could just be Bob, not Sentry or the Void. Occationally, the Thunderbolts dropped by, pretending to browse while keeping an eye on their friend, or actually buying from your recommendations. Their visits brought more costumes, a win win situation.

One evening, as you closed up together, Bob squeezed your hand.

“Thank you. For giving me a second chance.”

You smiled. “You gave yourself one, Bob. I’m just glad I get to be here for it.”

Outside, the city buzzed with life. Inside, between the stacks and the stories, you and Bob found something steady-a new beginning neither of you had dared to hope for.

The end.

Special chapter is titled “Yelena’s Discovery” and can be read as a stand alone too! Will be published soon. Thank you all for your support🫶🏻.

#bob reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #yelena belova #bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts

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gwenie-creates · 3 months ago

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Petals Of Death

A Landoscar FBI Au

(inspired by criminal minds so there will be similarities lol)

TW - this story will contain mentions of r@pe, SA, & descriptions of violence

Chapter One

Oscar really should have known better than to think today might be a good day.

Not only did his car almost break down multiple times on his way to work but he also got stuck in forty minutes of traffic making him even later.

When he walked into the bullpen of the FBI’s office all eyes turned towards him. Some with disapproving stares while others with mild curiosity or boredom. Scoffing Oscar quickly made his way over to his desk.

What right did they have to judge him!? All they ever did was sit in their office chairs, typing away at their computers while Oscar and his team were actually out there making a difference.

“Ahmm.” Came a voice somewhere behind Oscar, who quickly whipped his head around, almost knocking over the extremely large stack of files on his desk. Silently cursing himself for being so clumsy. Looking up Oscar realized the “mystery” voice was his boss, Lewis Hamilton.

“Yes Sir?” Oscar asked, trying to straighten out his suit jacket to look more professional.

“We have a case,” Lewis said before adding, “And it’s a strange one so prepare yourself.”

“Of course Sir.” Oscar replied, already mentally exhausted for this case.

They had just returned from an four day long awful case about a man who was brutally murdering children and mailing their heads back to their parents. The man had been hard to catch but thankfully Oscar had managed to catch his mistake as he was devolving and figured out where he was keeping the children. Oscar even got to make the arrest of the scumbag.

Sighing Oscar got up and headed to the briefing room, mentally preparing himself for the new horrors to come.

***

“Well looky who we have here.” Max said with a shit eating grin on his face.

Oscar rolled his eyes at him before taking his seat next to Charles at the round table.

Oscar cringed internally at where he found himself. He didn’t have any problems sitting next to Charles unlike he did when he has to sit next to Carlos.

The guy has a major attitude problem in Oscar’s humble and completely unbiased opinion.

But being next to Charles consequently means being near Max, which again wasn’t bad in itself seeing as Max was Oscar’s partner but he and Charles were dating so you either ended up in the middle of their “lovers quarrels” or stuck watching them make heart eyes at one another.

Thankfully they now keep flirting to a minimum ever since Lewis called them out for it when they had accidentally put themselves on speaker while dirty talking.

Both Oscar and the whole precinct of Evan’s County Georgia had been scarred for life after that.

Shaking the thoughts of Charles's “sinful mouth” from his head with a shudder, Oscar focused his attention back on the case they were about to be presented with.

“Alright let’s get started.” Logan, their media liaison and Oscar’s best friend said.

“So this one’s a bit of a… peculiar one…” The American said, trailing off towards the end.

Logan’s confusion piqued Oscar’s interest and he sat up straighter.

Not that he didn’t always care about the cases and victims but Logan’s hesitancy was quite unusual.

“Ok so this,” Logan pointed to a picture of a young man who looked to be in his early twenties. “This is Henry Finchmen. He’s a 23 year old university student who was found dead two days ago in Springwood, West Virginia. He had been missing for two weeks and was found near the town's lake with a… flower crown on his head.”

Logan hesitated before saying flower crown.

At his last few words Oscar felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. Sure flower crowns on the victims heads weren’t the strangest thing he’d ever heard found on a victim’s body but it was definitely unusual.

Grabbing the file in front of him Oscar flipped it open to get a closer look at the pictures of the victims.

He opened his mouth but before he could speak Carlos beat him to it.

“It says here the victims were all sexually assaulted but their bodies showed signs of being well cared for.”

“Yes–” Logan started but was interrupted.

“Wait victims? As in there's more!?” Charles asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes Charlie, which you would have already been aware of if you had actually opened the case file.” Max replied with an exasperated but loving smile.

“Well unlike you I actually like not having nightmares and don’t exactly fancy having any anytime soon.” Charles replied with a pout.

Max opened his mouth to continue arguing but Lewis interrupted.

“Guys, let's get back to the case. You can keep arguing on the plane.” Lewis said with a professional tone but a slight smile on his lips.

“Go ahead Logan.” He said, nodding for the American to continue.

“Right so there's been four bodies found, each one a male in their early twenties.”

“Four!? Why are we only being called in now?” Oscar asked incredulously.

“Because until now no one knew the guys had even been missing.” Lewis responded before continuing, “The bodies only just started showing up over the past two weeks but the first victim's ME report says he died at least four months ago.”

“Four months ago? What the hell is this guy doing with them for that long?” Max asked in disbelief.

“That’s what we need to find out.” Lewis replied.

“Wheels up in twenty we don’t know how long we have until the unsub will strike again.”

Oscar got up sparing one last glance at the board where the body of Henry Finchmen was displayed.

The flower crown laying on his curls catching Oscar’s eye once again striking him of the bizarreness of it all.

It was daisies that sat atop Henry’s blonde curls mocking the innocence the unsub had stripped of him.

#petals of death #the first chapter of my fic #this is my first ever fic so feedback is appreciated #criminal minds is where I'm getting my inspo 😭#please bare with me #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #lando norris fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #landoscar fanfic #landoscar fic #landoscar #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando norris #oscar piastri #f1 au #my fic

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bandcampsnoop · 1 year ago

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1/28/24.

Minimum Table Stacks has released another gem. Unlike many previous releases, this is a new band, although it sounds as if The Sheaves could be from the early 1980s.

This kind of reminds me of The Fall or Swell Maps. But the vocals recall the sound of the unheralded Herms.

The Sheaves are a Phoenix, Arizona based band.

#The Sheaves #Phoenix #Arizona #Minimum Table Stacks #The Fall #Swell Maps #The Herms #Bandcamp

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overbaked-tkls · 13 days ago

Note

Hey is there anyway you can possibly cook up a lee!chance and ler!Elliot fic?

thanks for the req! just to warn, there is a little mild in-round violence in this one also pre-forsaken chance participating in russian roulette is very briefly implied

(this is a sfw tickle fic! if you don't like it don't read it)

"... Are you being serious right now?"

words: 3,155 (they keep getting longer HHELP)

ler!elliot, lee!chance

summary: chance faces the 'consequences' of his riskiness, courtesy of elliot

After a rather difficult round, almost everyone who had survived got up from the table to get some rest during the intermission. Except for two, who stayed seated. One glared across the table with the intensity of a minimum wage employee, while the other sheepishly grinned back, eyes covered by their shades.

“... So you stopped running from Doe while you were one hit from death, last second… to shoot him? When you could have just kept running?”

“... It was a good idea in foresight.”

Elliot’s glare intensified. “No, no it wasn’t Chance. Not even a little bit.”

He tried another excuse. “Heheh, uh… It looked cool, though?”

“It looked like me having a heart attack, idiot. If I hadn’t had a pizza ready right then, you would have died.”

The sentinel shrugged, and the support facepalmed. “But we still won, didn’t we?”

Elliot made desperate hand gestures, like it would get the message across any better. “You’re missing the point.”

“C’monn… Healing is your job, anyway.” The comment wasn’t meant as demeaning, but rather as a lame justification for a terrible decision.

Elliot’s mouth hung open. “Excuse me?” He laughed, incredulously. “Well, stunning the killer is your job. So why’d you miss?”

Chance laughed, waving a hand. “Pfft, ‘miss’. I didn’t miss, Elliot. My gun just didn’t go off.”

Elliot groaned, taking off his visor and throwing it at Chance as a makeshift projectile. “Same difference.”

They caught it. “Well- I don’t choose whether it does or not, y’know? It’s all up to Lady Luck.”

“And I don’t ‘choose’ to run around all day healing a gambler that puts their life in the hands of a coin flip.”

“Look, I’ll be more careful next time, I promise. Just for you, Ells.” Chance put the visor on top of his fedora. It looked stupid, but it was enough to get Elliot to look away and amusedly huff.

“You say that every time. How do I know you’ll actually honor it?”

Chance thought for a second before speaking. “I just will. Last round of the day is in twenty minutes, anyway.”

Elliot didn’t look convinced, unsurprisingly.

“Do you really not trust me at all?” Chance flashed a confident smile, making the support roll his eyes.

“Whatever. Just… do better, Chance.”

“You got it!”

. . .

Tails. Tails. Tails. Tails.

Chance tried to ignore the weakness that weighed his entire body down while fumbling with his coin. Of course he was down on his luck when someone actually needed assistance. More specifically, Elliot, who had gotten quite low on health. He subtly stalked the chase, peeking around the corners of Pirate Bay while avoiding the small patches of piranha-infested water. Which was… strangely murky to be a habitat for that type of fish.

Chance watched as the chase slowly turned desperate, Elliot pushing past his limit just to run a little longer from C00lkidd. There wasn’t any more time for waiting. Elliot did say to be careful, but… This had to be an exception, right? Even though it wasn’t ideal, he just needed one charge to fire his flintlock. And a prayer that it would work.

Tails… tails… Heads.

After getting a good angle to fire at, a sharp click pierced through the air, followed by a split second of silence. And then a very loud bang, that got both the killer’s attention and Elliot’s.

The shot had backfired right in his face. Chance fell to the ground, trying to get his bearings through the searing pain. Unfortunate. It wouldn’t have been so critical if he didn't have the six weakness stacks, but he couldn’t even think about that as he heard approaching footsteps. Well, at least C00lkidd stopped chasing Elliot. The support must’ve slipped away.

It was quick. “Oh no! That looked like it hurt… You should take a break from playing for a bit.” The red child picked him up by the neck, giggling like it was merely a game of tag interrupted by someone calling a timeout. Chance kicked at him once, fruitlessly. “Hope you feel better soon!” C00l tilted his head and smiled, before snapping the sentinel’s neck.

Chance tensed as he opened his eyes, standing in the cabin. Fffuck. Not their best play, that’s for sure. It was okay, though. Just.. how it goes, sometimes. Seeing as there was nobody else in the cabin, he let his poker face fall. Must have been the first to die.

Without taking his shades off, he rubbed at his eyes– no matter how many times their gun blew up on them, they could never get used to the feeling. Even with the adjustment to how much damage it caused it was still painful, like being smacked in the face with hundreds of needles, all at once, and then being burned. Plus, whenever it happened and he somehow survived, he couldn’t feel anything above his chest for the rest of the round.

It hurt even more knowing his failure to stun the killer could be detrimental to some chases. Chance sighed. Poor Elliot…

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a jab into his lower back, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to startle him. It could’ve been anyone– the other survivors just ‘loved’ poking at him for his attention. But maybe that was his fault for zoning out while wearing headphones and shades. Throwing on his signature grin, he turned around. Speak of the devil. “O-oh.” Seeing who it was, Chance laughed nervously.

“... Heyyy Elliot.”

He was met with a deadpanned expression. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Okay, hear me ou–”

Elliot interrupted him, getting straight to the point. “Did you, or did you not promise you would be careful?”

“Well I had to do something! You were practically on your last breath.”

“Dude, I was doomed either way! It would have been better if you had saved yourself instead of adding another kill to the list.”

Huh. Yeah, maybe it would have been better. Oh well. “Okay fine, I admit I wasn’t thinking clearly. I apologize. Now lay off, will ya?” That was the last round of the day, so he wouldn’t have to worry about being in the sentinel mindset anymore. Gave him the slack to be at his normal seriousness; none.

“L– wh– LAY OFF?”

Chance chuckled, walking away from the other to get a little space before pulling out a coin. It wasn’t the same one he got in the rounds, but practically identical. Worked as a good fidget, when things got too noisy. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

Elliot let the gambler walk away, but still scolded him. “Do you ever think about what the consequences of your actions are?”

Chance did. A lot. Just… almost never in the moment. Only in regret afterwards.

He readjusted his fedora with one hand, flipping the coin in the other as he spoke. “Hmm… Nope! We all just respawn, anyway. Why trouble myself by overthinking if I can get away with everything most of the time?”

Honestly, Elliot didn’t know what he expected. He didn’t know enough about Chance’s backstory to understand why they were so careless all the time, but being around them was enough to get a slice of how little they thought before doing. Maybe he wasn’t worth arguing with– some things you just can’t change. “... Figured.” Elliot took a few steps closer, curiously. “Did you think like that before…” The support gestured vaguely around the cabin, despite Chance not being able to see it. “All this?”

The sentinel suddenly became quiet, keeping his back turned to hide any possible hint he was less than fully confident. Deep down, he knew that being so risky was what got him here in the first place– if he hadn’t been so desperate for thrill, none of this would have happened to him. Maybe it was all a reasonable punishment.

“Yes, but. I’d say it’s more of a lifestyle than a thought process. I mean… Obviously, I didn’t play with my literal life back home, like I do here. That would be, heh. Insane.” Chance hated how even that was a lie. Metal, pressed against the side of his head. The sound of a blank. Sliding it across the table. He quickly shook his head out of that thought. Not right now, focus on the coin. “But I like takin’ risks, y’know? Where’s the thrill in knowing the outcome?”

Elliot became a little worried from the response, even with how predictable it was. “... So essentially, you don’t care what happens to yourself in the slightest?”

“Not enough.” They said it boldly, only faltering when they realized how concerning that sounded. “–In the sense that the effects are minimal when something does happen, of course. Not that I don’t care about myself at all.” He quickly added on.

“Plus, I’m just too lucky for misfortune, what can I say?”

“... Sureeeee…” That last remark would have made Elliot laugh if it wasn’t so stupid. “Strange, coming from the person who died from their gun blowing up on them around ten minutes ago.”

“Well, I guess you should’ve healed me before running away.” Chance commented, cheekily. He didn’t mean it at all, knowing Elliot’s circumstances during the round, but it was still funny. To him, at least.

Damn, this guy was impossible. Elliot muttered a weak expletive. Instead of pointing out the obvious counterargument to the comment, he went directly behind Chance to jab him in the back again since it always seemed to bother him. The audible shift in posture Elliot heard as he walked away was enough, anyway.

Though, he whipped his head around again as the sound of a coin clinking against the floor caught his attention. Evidently, Chance had dropped it. Despite the support causing the inconvenience, the gambler only softly grumbled without any actual worded response, quickly kneeling down to pick up the object. As Elliot watched him pick it up, he couldn’t help but think how strange it was. With so much practice catching his coin while running and the likes, Chance shouldn’t have dropped it. Was he that easily startled, or..?

Elliot backpedaled a bit, curiously repeating the action while the other was kneeling, except slightly dragging his thumbs down Chance’s back before removing his hands.

Not only did the coin fall to the floor again as it fumbled out of Chance’s twitchy hands, but the sentinel noticeably flinched, his entire figure tensing. Reluctantly, Chance left the coin on the ground as he stood up to face the person behind him. “Elliot?”

After a second of staring at Chance, the support smiled, crossing his arms as he mimicked the other. “Chance?”

Chance scoffed, putting a hand on his hip. “Was that necessary?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just don’t think I’ve ever seen you drop that coin before– wondering why you did just now.”

Chance’s expression froze, although still in his natural poker face. So he wasn’t just messing with him for no reason. Now he had to talk himself out of this. Or not, he was too glad Elliot had moved on from the concern to care. “I’m uh. Not as focused outside of rounds.” In his defense, it was half true. But not the main reason.

Elliot’s eyes narrowed in playful skepticism. Finally, something to go off of. “Focused enough to catch it every other time I’ve seen you fidgeting with it here, though.”

Chance yawned, like he wasn’t actively failing to fight how the conversation progressed. “Well, I can’t say you poking me isn’t distracting at all.”

“Why?” The visor-equipped survivor already knew he hadn’t dug his fingers in hard enough to hurt, so it was definitely something else. And he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew what.

“... Elliot.” He was not about to answer that question.

Luckily for the gambler, Elliot would answer it for him. How generous. “Heh. Is it because your back’s ticklish, Chance?”

“Uhhh…”

Huh. They didn’t exactly anticipate being called out like that. He wasn’t nervous enough to stutter, but also not confident enough to come up with a proper response. “Whaaaat? Nooo…” So much for being suave. He blew it, completely.

It was surprising to Elliot– the other sentinels had tried tickling them before, only for little to no response. Well, other than an amused smirk, followed by Chance reciprocating with a LOT more success. Though it honestly made sense that only his back was sensitive. Chance’s entire front was probably octuple-fried by now from all those explosions, even with the magic patch-ups after every round.

Of course, the gambler wasn’t just going to turn around for him, so after taking a second to study Chance's body expression to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable, the support took a step forward and wrapped his arms around the other.

To say the least, it wasn’t exactly what Chance expected. Well, he didn’t expect any of this. Not to die so soon into a round, not to get questioned about his lifestyle, and not whatever this conversation led to. But that’s part of the thrill, he supposed– again, how would anything be fun if he already knew the outcome? Still, about two seconds after Elliot embraced him in what a normal context would be a hug, he suddenly found himself trying to squirm his way out of it.

“Elliot plehease–” He protested, shifting slightly in the other’s arms. To an extent, Chance was kind of stuck– Elliot was being gentle enough that it would have been rude if they shoved him off, but also holding them in place enough that they couldn’t just step out. And he couldn’t decide whether he actually wanted this to stop or was just unused to this.

The support hummed, slowly running a hand down the middle of their back. “Huh?”

“Dohohon’t.”

Elliot snickered. “Please don’t what?”

Chance scoffed, but it turned into a wheezy laugh. “Not falling for thahat.” He instinctively tried removing Elliot’s hands with his own, but the positioning was too awkward. His arms undecidedly switched between being pressed a bit behind his sides and being slightly raised in front of him. If he had been thinking straight, he could have just gotten Elliot back, but. He wasn’t exactly used to being on the receiving end.

“Darn.” The pizza deliverer faked disappointment, tracing out a path underneath the sentinel’s shoulder blades. “Well, if you’re not finishing the request, I guess that means I can continue.”

“Nononohoho–” Chance objected again, his shoulders raising as he felt Elliot’s fingers glide downwards. Maybe having to endure frigid round weather wasn't the only downside of having such a suit with such thin fabric– this was a little embarrassing.

“Didn’t you say, like. Seven minutes ago, that you don’t care enough about what happens to you?”

“I wahas tahalking abouhout the rohounds!”

“This is about the rounds.” Elliot sighed, annoyed.

“Whahat?”

Did he forget? “Pfft- obviously I’m still mad at you for what happened, asshole!” Elliot slightly tightened his grip on the other, and slipped his fingers underneath where Chance had his arms pressed against the sides of his back. He didn’t do anything at first, just to make sure Chance wouldn’t writhe away from him, but then he started raking them up and down and occasionally alternating which side he did it on.

“It’s just that now, you’ve given me an opportunity to get you back for it. Kind of you, by the w–”

Chance practically barked out a few laughs, before covering his mouth and pressing his face into Elliot’s shoulder. He grabbed the support’s other shoulder, pushing a bit before stopping himself.

Elliot tilted his head to the side a bit to accommodate the movement, chuckling a little. “You realize that does absolutely nothing, right? You’re laughing, like, directly into my ear. Quite loud, by the way.”

Mistaking the remark for a genuine complaint, Chance turned his head slightly away from Elliot’s in response.

Elliot noticed the attempt, glancing at the gambler in his peripheral vision as he continued to lightly scribble around. “Oh, I don’t mind. I was just saying.”

The sentinel let his arms fall from his mouth and the support’s shoulder respectively, leaning over so he was almost falling in the support’s hold. “EllihiOT IhIM soHoRRY–”

That was… a little hard to believe, for obvious reasons. “Areee you now? Or are you just saying that to get out of this?” Noticing how Chance seemed to stop pushing at him and pulling away, Elliot figured he could probably use both hands. Though, he held off from it temporarily.

Seeing as they only responded with breathy, loud chuckles, the support assumed he was right, and the sentinel wasn’t going to admit it. “Yeah, that’s what I th–”

“BOHOTH” … Spoke too soon.

Elliot stuttered in disbelief, both at the nature of the response and what he said. “D- Did you just interrupt me? Again?” He brought both his hands to do what seemed most effective before, gently but quickly dragging his fingertips right against where Chance’s back met his sides.

Chance hiccuped in between helpless fits of loud cackles, keeping his face pressed into the support's shoulder. The bit of hair in front of his face would probably be messed up after this. “I wAHAS JuHUST ANSWEHERING ThEHE QUEHESTION!”

Elliot tsked, slightly increasing his pace every time the other spoke. “Exactly, you weren’t supposed to.”

“UNFAHAIR.”

“Uh, no. Watching you die earlier was unfair.” Elliot paused his hands in between sentences, just to hear Chance’s voice rise and fall in volume.

“CaHAN’T wehe coMPROHOMIHISE?”

Ah, yes. Compromise, like that had gotten either of them anywhere. “Yeah, the compromise was that you would be careful.”

“OkAHAY! I sWEHEAR NEHEXT TIME IHILL DO BEHETTER–”

“... Somehow, I doubt that.”

Elliot’s hands stopped again as he felt Chance clutching his work uniform. Was he… hugging him back? Ehh, maybe he was just fidgety. Who knows.

He resumed, continuing to try and find any place Chance’s gun had spared the nerves of, until the sound of chatter from the next room spilled into the main one. The round had ended, and it was honestly surprising that nobody else had died other than them. Maybe it was just good fortune.

“Heheh, lucky you.” Elliot stopped, quickly rubbing Chance’s back a little before gently pushing him away. As soon as he did, Chance quickly leaned over himself and quieted as best he could, putting his hands on his knees.

Eventually, some of the survivors walked into the main room, a few of them giving concerned glances over but nothing more. 1337 walked over.

“Is Chance alright?” The question was directed to Elliot, even though Chance ended up answering it.

“Ahall good, soldier! Just a… little tired from the round.”

Elliot and Guest both gave him a look (although of different sentiments), but neither said anything.

“Played too risky.” Chance added, smiling as he picked up his coin off the floor.

#ler!elliot #lee!chance #forsaken tickles #sfw tickling community #I feel chance would literally only be ticklish on his backside.#like his body probably adjusted to being blown up so many times :(#dw tho elliot coming in clutch with the classic tk hug! savior

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fairestwriting · 5 months ago

Text

title: next time you’re free

ೀ pairing: vil x gn!reader

ೀ summary: With the end of the school year approaching, you begin to reconsider whether you’ve truly been living up to your role as Ramshackle’s dorm leader, eventually deciding your future juniors deserved better than a broken down mess of a dorm— And while fitting the renovations into your already packed schedule wouldn’t be easy, you’re sure you could manage, you’d just have to try a little harder…

ೀ word count: 4,364

⋆˙⟡♡ commissioned by a really sweet person who wanted to stay anonymous! i’m still really honored to be the first person you buy from TvT thank you so much for the support!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ if you’re interested in my commissions you can read my guidelines here ! ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Setting down the stack of notes in your hands, you lean back on the couch of the Ramshackle common room. That really took a lot more writing than I thought, you think, slight aches poking at your wrists and neck — The couch is old and kind of saggy, not providing much support to your body, but you welcome the feeling anyway. Besides, you think, we should be getting a better one very soon...

“Grim?” You tentatively raise your voice to call for him, looking towards the hallway his room was located in. “Are you still up?”

You wait one, two, three seconds. Then more, eventually losing count.

“I guess not…”

Murmuring to yourself, you let out a sigh. Well, it’s not like he would have helped much, but…

Your mind wanders as you glance to the side, at the big window on the wall showing the pitch black of the night, then at the ceiling. One of the lights flicker a little bit, struggling to fight against the sheer weight of the night, you notice. It blurs on the corners that are farther away from it. You hadn’t noticed that earlier today—

Frowning, you take your planner back from the coffee table.

You take that extra note, fitting it at the bottom of a page. When you close it, swallowing your growing unease, it snaps shut neatly, making a satisfying click noise. The royal purple cover stands out among the muted colors of your dorm.

You take the moment to just stare at it. So fancy, you think as your fingertip runs over the firm cover, feeling the texture of the metallic arabesque designs on the corners. It’s essentially just a notebook like any other, and yet...

Well, it couldn’t really be a notebook like any other. It was a gift, first of all.

It’s only been a few days since you started using it, receiving it directly from Vil after a meeting with all the dorm leaders — The meetings always left you feeling restless, like you should be doing more than you actually are. But this specific time, the determination you got was way stronger. Special, really...

You’re not even sure if you could consider him a friend, you never guessed he thought of you at all— You two did speak semi often, since you’d visit his club to help out every once in a while, but besides that, not much. So, to think he would be the one person to take interest when you brought up Ramshackle needing renovations…

It’s not like you had ever been a slacker in the first place, but you weren’t really keeping up with everyone else either. You helped out with many clubs, you were very involved as a student, but as the year came close to ending, you started to feel the weight of your role as a dorm leader, too.

Fixing the dorm was the bare minimum. Your possible future juniors deserved more than just that— And now you knew, too, that you weren’t the only one who believed this, either. You’ve heard it from Epel, you knew what catching Vil’s eye meant… more or less.

╰┈➤ you can read the rest on ao3 here!

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #lis writing #commissions tag

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techav · 1 month ago

Text

On Celebrating Errors

Isn't it beautiful? The lovely formatted tables of register and stack contents, the trace of function addresses and parameters, the error message ... it's the most beautiful kernel panic I have ever seen.

Why on earth would I be so excited to see a computer crash? What could possibly be beautiful about a kernel panic?

This kernel panic is well-earned. I fought hard to get it.

This kernel panic came from a current NetBSD kernel, freshly compiled and running on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. It is the result of hours upon hours of work reading through existing code, scattered documentation and notes, writing and rewriting, and endless compiling.

And it's just the start.

As I've said before, a goal of this project has always been to build something capable of running some kind of Unix-like operating system. Now that I finally have all the necessary pieces of hardware, plus a good bootloader in ROM, it's time to give it a shot. I'm not that great with this type of programming, but I have been getting better. I might just be able to brute force my way through hacking together something functional.

It is hard.

There is some documentation available. The man(9) pages are useful, and NetBSD has a great guide to setting up the build environment for cross-compiling the kernel. There are some published papers on what some people went through to port NetBSD to this system or that. But there's nothing that really explains what all these source code files are, and which parts really need to be modified to run on a different system.

I had a few false starts, but ultimately found an existing 68k architecture, cesfic, which was a bare minimum configuration that could serve well as a foundation for my purposes. I copied the cesfic source directory, changed all instances of the name to wrap030, made sure it still compiled, then set about removing everything that I didn't need. It still compiled, so now it's was time to add in what I did need.

... how ... do I ... ?

This is where things get overwhelming very quickly. There is documentation on the core functions required for a new driver, there's documentation on the autoconf system that attaches drivers to devices in the tree, and there's plenty of drivers already to reference. But where to start?

I started by trying to add the com driver for the 16550 UARTs I'm using. It doesn't compile because I'm missing dependencies. The missing functions are missing because of a breaking change to bus.h at some point; the com driver expects the new format but the cesfic port still uses the old. So I needed to pull in the missing functions from another m68k arch. Which then required more missing functions and headers to be pulled in. Eventually it compiled without error again, but that doesn't mean it will actually run. I still needed to add support for my new programmable timer, customize the startup process, update hardware addresses, make sure it was targeting 68030 instead of 68040 ...

So many parts and pieces that need to be updated. Each one requiring searching for the original function or variable declaration to confirm expected types or implementation, then searching for existing usages to figure out what it needs ... which then requires searching for more functions and variable types.

But I got something that at least appeared to have all the right parts and compiled without error. It was time to throw it on a disk, load it up, and see what happened.

Nothing happened, of course. It crashed immediately.

I have no debugging workflow I can rely on here, and at this stage there isn't even a kernel console yet. All I could do was add little print macros to the locore startup code and see where it failed. Guess, test, and revise.

I spent a week debugging the MMU initialization. If the MMU isn't properly configured, everything comes to an abrupt halt. Ultimately, I replaced the cesfic machine-specific initialization code and pmap bootstrapping code with functions from yet another m68k arch. And spent another day debugging before realizing I had missed a section that had comments suggesting it wasn't for the 68030 CPU, but turned out to be critical for operation of kernel memory allocation.

Until this point, I was able to rely on the low-level exception handling built into my bootloader if my code caused a CPU exception. But with the MMU working, that code was no longer mapped.

So then came another few hours learning how to create a minimal early console driver. An early console is used by the kernel prior to the real console getting initialized. In this case, I'm using the MC6850 on my mainboard for the early console, since that's what my bootloader uses. And finally the kernel was able to speak for itself.

It printed its own panic.

The first thing the kernel does is initialize the console. Which requires that com driver and all the machine-specific code I had to write. The kernel is failing at its step #1.

But at least it can tell me that now. And given all the work necessary to get to this point, that kernel panic data printing to the terminal is absolutely beautiful.

#troubleshooting #coding #os development #netbsd #homebrew computer #homebrew computing #mc68030 #motorola 68k #motorola 68030 #debugging #wrap030 #retro computing

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xtra7s · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I love your writing!! It’s so awesome to see more people writing about reneè!!! Could i request one where the reader is sick with a migraine and reneè takes care of them and it’s super fluffy and cuddly!

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

Pairing: Renee Rapp x gn!Reader

Synopsis: Y/N wakes up and makes breakfast for them and Renee, ignoring a raging migraine.

Content: Migraines, thats about it. FLUFFFFF

Word Count: 1.3k

masterlist

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, a gentle ray of sunlight catching her across the face. A soft smile lit up her features as she turned, gazing at the sleeping figure nestled beside her - Renee. But the smile faltered almost instantly. A dull ache throbbed behind her right eye, radiating towards her temple like a tightening vice. A migraine.

Y/N knew the familiar signs all too well. Usually, such mornings meant curling up in a cocoon of blankets, darkness, and silence. But today, she had promised Renee pancakes for breakfast, and reneging wasn't an option.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gently disentangled herself from Renee's sleeping form, careful not to disturb her. Determined to surprise Renee with a delicious breakfast, Y/N pushed through the pain, hoping the aroma of pancakes would distract from the discomfort. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she brushed her teeth hastily, pulling on a large t-shirt over her bra and heading to the kitchen.

The kitchen became a symphony of hushed sounds - the soft click of the kettle, the gentle sizzle of batter hitting the pan, the faint hum of the refrigerator. Each movement was deliberate, and every sound was kept to a minimum. Even the aroma of the pancakes was slightly muted, replaced by the intense throb in her head.

But as the batter bubbled on the griddle, a quiet joy started to bloom within Y/N. The act of creating, of nurturing, was something Y/N loved to do for Renee. Each pancake flipped was a small victory, a testament to her determination not to let the migraine win.

Renee, still blissfully unaware of Y/N's struggle, entered the kitchen with a sleepy smile. "Good morning, love," she greeted, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind.

"Morning," Y/N replied, attempting to muster enthusiasm despite the pounding in their head. "I made pancakes for us."

Renee's eyes sparkled with delight as she took in the spread on the table. The aroma of freshly cooked pancakes and the sight of syrup cascading down the stack made her mouth water. Y/N, however, fought to keep their composure, the pain threatening to overwhelm them.

The smile on Renee's face, the warmth in her eyes as she took a bite, was worth more than any pain reliever.

"These are amazing," Renee murmured, her voice thick with sleep and appreciation.

Y/N smiled back, the ache in her head momentarily forgotten. "I'm glad."

Y/N tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, "How's your night?" they asked, trying to divert attention from their own discomfort.

Renee, taking a bite of the pancakes, noticed something off in Y/N's demeanor. Concern furrowed her brow as she observed Y/N wince, their hand instinctively reaching for their temple.

"Everything okay, baby?" Renee inquired, her voice laced with worry. Y/N forced a smile, attempting to downplay the situation. "Just a little headache, nothing to worry about."

Renee, however, was not easily convinced. She reached across the table, gently placing a hand on Y/N's forehead. "You feel warm. Are you sure you're okay?"

Y/N's shoulders slumped, the facade crumbling under Renee's caring touch. "Honestly, mama I've got a killer migraine. I wanted to make this morning special, but it seems my head had other plans."

Concern deepened in Renee's eyes, and without hesitation, she stood up, walking over to the pantry. "Don't fuckin move, I got you." Renee shuffles around the house, grabbing different things before dimming the lights in the kitchen and living room.

Returning with a cold pack and a glass of water, Renee placed them in front of Y/N. "Ice pack for your head and some water. Let's take care of you first."

Grateful for Renee's understanding, Y/N accepted the provisions. As they sat together, Renee's hand gently rubbing circles on Y/N's back, the warmth of love replaced the ache of the migraine. Despite the initial disappointment, the morning turned into a different kind of special—one where care and concern took center stage.

With the ice pack soothing the throbbing in Y/N's head, Renee continued to shower them with love and care. She settled down next to Y/N, her touch gentle and comforting. Renee's fingers traced comforting patterns on Y/N's arm as they leaned into her warm embrace.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Renee whispered, pressing a tender kiss on Y/N's temple. "Even with a migraine, you went through all this trouble just to make breakfast for us."

Y/N couldn't help but smile, grateful for Renee's understanding. "you're worth it," they replied, their voice filled with affection.

Renee chuckled softly, her fingers threading through Y/N's hair. "And you're worth taking care of. Let me pamper you a bit."

She retrieved a soft blanket from the living room and draped it over Y/N's shoulders. Renee then fetched a cup of soothing tea, knowing it helps with migraines. "Sip on this. It might help with the headache," she suggested, handing the warm mug to Y/N.

As Y/N sipped the tea, Renee continued her efforts to make them comfortable. She adjusted the cushions, made a little cacoon of blankets, and turned on Y/N's favorite show. Renee's actions spoke volumes, expressing her genuine concern and desire to make Y/N feel better.

Cuddling closer, Renee whispered sweet words of reassurance. "I hate seeing you in pain, but I love being here for you. You're so strong, baby."

The warmth of Renee's affection gradually melted away the discomfort, creating a cocoon of love and support. Y/N found solace in Renee's arms, realizing that sometimes the simplest gestures could have the most profound impact.

Renee's hands continued their gentle exploration, massaging Y/N's shoulders with a delicate touch. "You mean so much to me, you know that? Taking care of me, even when you're not feeling your best."

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at Renee's sweet words. "come here, my love."

Embraced in the warmth of Renee's arms, Y/N nestled comfortably on her lap. The soft cushions of the couch cradled them as Renee's fingers began to explore the strands of Y/N's hair. Renee's touch was like a gentle caress, fingers running through Y/N's hair with a soothing rhythm.

Renee's eyes softened as she focused on the task at hand, her touch becoming a tender massage for Y/N's scalp. The repetitive motions seemed to lull away the remnants of the migraine, replaced by a deep sense of relaxation. Y/N closed their eyes, reveling in the gentle sensation, as Renee continued to work her magic.

"You have the softest hair," Renee remarked, her voice a gentle murmur. "It's like silk."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at the compliment, appreciating Renee's sweet words. "Well give props to your conditioner," they teased, a hint of playfulness in their tone.

Renee chuckled softly, her fingers continuing their dance through Y/N's hair. The room was filled with a comforting silence, broken by the sound of Y/N's favorite show. It was a moment suspended in time, where the outside world faded away, leaving only the warmth of shared affection.

The soft glow of the morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm ambiance around the room. Renee's fingers worked their magic, not just on Y/N's scalp but also on their heart, creating an intimate connection that went beyond words.

Y/N, still resting on Renee's lap, turned to look up at her with a grateful smile. "I love you," they whispered, their voice filled with love.

Renee leaned down to press a gentle kiss on Y/N's forehead. "I love you too, mama. I just want to make you feel better."

As Renee continued to run her hands through Y/N's hair, the world outside seemed to fade into the background. In that quiet, tender moment, all that mattered was the connection between them—a shared space of comfort, love, and the simple joy of being wrapped up in each other's arms.

#renee rapp #renee rapp x reader #lesbian #wlw #the sex lives of college girls #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #lgbtq #regina george x reader #mean girls

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

Text

sick days

foreword: first proper fic for dad!Steve series!! thanks for requesting, anon. happy mother’s day to those who celebrate, and to those who don’t (cheers)- I hope this fic is a comfort. hair texture and skin color of the kids in this series will not be described- any physical descriptors will be of their likeness to Steve. if you want to read the origin story/meet-cute of this version of Steve + reader, you can read that here!

{for every ear a flower: series masterlist}

cw: mom!reader, R wears Steve’s shirt, the whole fam is sick in this one (no emetophobia warning tho!), fluff and parental caretaking

wc: 1.6k

___

There’s a soft noise around the corner, and Steve dog-ears his novel to scoot forward on the couch, voice soft and inviting. “Hey, buttercup. That you?”

His eldest daughter, JJ, peeks out from the entryway of the living room. “Me.”

“It’s you,” Steve confirms with a hum, setting his book on the coffee table to open his arms. “C’mere, babe. Your stomach hurting again?”

JJ gravitates towards her dad’s lap like a magnet, dragging her yellow flower-print baby blanket behind her. She’s already three and a half, but Steve hopes she never grows out of it- or the tiny socks with ruffles, warm in his big hand as he holds both her feet in a comforting squeeze.

“Head hurts,” JJ says, in a heartbreaking whine, settling her weight against the contours of Steve’s chest.

He sighs in sympathy, rocking his first baby in his arms like he did when she was even smaller. “Your head hurts? That’s no good.”

JJ makes a noise of agreement and burrows into Steve’s neck, cheek warm where skin meets skin. Steve slides a hand up her back, over her pink cotton nightie, to feel for lingering fever- her forehead is warm but not overly so.

In silent thanks to the wonders of Baby Tylenol, Steve kisses the crown of JJ’s head and pats the side of her leg. “Tell you what- it’s past bedtime but you’re not feeling so good. Wanna watch a movie out here with me ‘til you fall asleep?”

Normally this news would be cause for a screech of delight and some couch jumping, but on the tail end of a long week of sickness, Steve’s little girl just plucks absently at his shirt collar. “Mommy too?”

“Mommy’s putting your sister down for bed,” Steve says, and then (because he always tries to be mindful of where blame could land, knowing full well that disappointment can breed sibling rivalries, and he doesn’t think he could stand seeing that sisterly bond turn contentious)- “But I’ll go see if she needs some help, and then maybe we can all be cozy on the couch. Sounds good?”

JJ hums in response, sounding faded and fatigued, and Steve moves carefully to keep the jostling to a minimum as he stands to re-situate his kiddo on the couch. After tucking the blanket in yellow swaths around her body, Steve turns to the nearby VHS stack above the TV.

“You want Ariel?” he asks, already reaching to free The Little Mermaid from its plastic confines.

“Yeah. But no Urz-la,” comes the reply from the couch.

Steve kneels to load the tape into the deck, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose where they’d slipped. “I promise I’ll be back in time to fast forward.”

The VCR whirs, opening credits coming to life on the screen with a colorful overture to match. After lowering the volume, Steve backtracks to the couch again, dipping to place a kiss against the dimples in JJ’s hand where it curls around a fistful of fabric.

“Be back in a few, buttercup.”

The cheery music fades as Steve moves down the hall; the first door on the right is partially open, and he leans a shoulder against the frame, quietly observing, not wanting to interrupt your rhythm.

In a pair of comfy sweatpants and Steve’s old Hawkins High tee, your form moves smoothly around the darkened room, tracking a short loop from the crib to the changing table on the opposing wall. You’re walking with a gentle bounce, swaying the baby in your arms with each step, a constant murmur of nonsensical soothing as you rock your youngest to sleep.

“That’s it. You’re a sweet girl. Just close your eyes, ‘kay? Shh shh shh. Sleepy time.”

Steve can hear the exhaustion in your voice, even low as it is, and feels a twist of guilt- the college where the two of you work only allows librarian staff one day of sick leave per month, which Steve considers a crime (JJ gets sick at least that often from whatever germs her preschool provides).

Thankfully, his professor leave is slightly better, a generous three days a month, which he’s unintentionally blown in a week with this last bout of mystery sickness that’s been passed through his little family.

You, on the other hand, were only afforded a three-day weekend, and not a very restful one at that: on top of trying to recover from sickness yourself, a fevered baby Birdie has been overly fussy while JJ has been desperately clingy to both you and Steve.

It’s been a long weekend of rotating in and out of three bedrooms, disrupted sleep schedules, and speedy trips to the local pharmacy; a blur of constant motion as Steve and you have tried your best to stay afloat and tend to your sick kids.

Steve’s grateful the worst of it is over, now that everyone’s fevers have broken, and he’s glad you’ve still got a whole Sunday to recover. But by the looks of it- hovering uncertain over the bars of Birdie’s crib, unwilling to lay her sleeping form down- you’re not giving in to recoup time yet.

Steve moves in behind you, quiet still but shuffling his bare feet against the carpet a bit to let you know he’s there. “Hey,” he whispers into the curve of your neck, hands coming to rest at your hips, joining the rocking motion you’re keeping up for the sake of the baby. “How’s my girl?”

“Better, I think.” The arm that isn’t holding the weight of your six-month-old comes to rest against the fat of her cheek, Birdie’s closed eyelids fluttering while you feel for fever, just as Steve had earlier. “Hopefully she’ll sleep through the night, with this medicine.”

“Mhm. She’s a lot better, babe- I meant you.” Steve molds himself to the contours of your back, swaying to the tempo you keep, nosing up the line of your neck to place a kiss behind your ear. “Can’t pour from an empty chalice. Or whatever that saying is.”

There’s a soft stutter at your ribs as you exhale a laugh, hand still on the face of your sleeping baby. “Think Eddie’s wearing off on you.”

“God forbid.” His arms wrap around your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, smiling when he feels you lean some of your weight against him. “You can put her down, honey. She’s gonna be okay. Come watch Ariel with me ‘n buttercup. I’ll even skip past the scary parts for ya.”

“Well, in that case,” you whisper back, a tinge of amusement in your sleep-scratchy voice that hits Steve in his soft spot of love for you. With reluctance and practiced ease, you slip forward from his arms to lay Birdie in her crib, pausing to make sure she’ll settle without your warmth and movements.

She stays asleep, and you stay watching her, corner night light illuminating the steady rise and fall of her footy-pajama’d body with each breath until Steve takes your hand, gently coaxing- “She’s golden, honey. You did great. I’ve got the monitor by the couch, so we’ll hear if she’s up, okay?”

Your gaze stays on Birdie even as Steve leads you backwards towards the door, even leaning to catch one last glimpse before he pulls the door to a near-close. In the light of the hallway, you blink, looking more worn out than Steve’s ever seen you.

He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing across the knuckles, tortoiseshell-framed eyes on your half-lidded ones. “Ariel?”

This seems to resonate in the fog of your mind; with a nod, you squeeze his hand. “Ariel.”

On the living room TV, Ariel and Flounder are exploring a shipwreck, and JJ’s watching from her snuggled spot with glazed eyes until she sees you in the doorway. “Mommy,” she says, with feeling, trying to prop herself up but getting tangled in the process.

“Hi, baby,” you greet with equal verve, kneeling to give your eldest baby some untangling and a kiss. “Can I watch Ariel with you?”

In response, JJ musters all her three-and-a-half-year-old strength to pull you on to the couch cushion, and Steve chuckles in tandem with you as you go easily, shushing gently- “Okay, JJ. Don’t strain yourself, angel, just rest.”

There’s nothing like your touch. Steve knows it, and so do both his kids- under the circular pattern you trace against JJ’s face pressed into your leg, her lashes flutter, lulled to calm again by the caress of your fingertips.

After Steve makes sure that the baby monitor on the windowsill is crackling with life, he eases into the spot beside you, draping his arm around your shoulders- you nestle into his side out of habit. JJ’s nearly asleep, but your hand doesn’t waver, generous and tender even though sleep pulls at the edges of all your movements.

A shark snaps at tailfins across the screen, volume low enough to not shake JJ from the sleep she’s fallen into. Steve kisses that same spot behind your ear, then whispers, “Perfectly good shoulder right here. Wish you’d use it.”

He’s rewarded with a dreamy smile as you give in, head dropping to rest in the hollow of his waiting shoulder. Your hand stops its tracing, instead landing to rest securely over your daughter’s arm.

Soon, Steve is eased to sleep by the quiet breaths filling the living room, head tilted back against the couch, glasses tilted to one side. He’ll have a killer neck crick in the morning, but it’ll be worth it.

And luckily for him, you’ve got the most healing hands in the world.

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