#I need him in a display case
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i see you're having an extremely normal time about tim gutterson AND tim guttersn's hands today, godspeed justie.
😭😭😭
also like for all the characters that live in my hear rent free, my thoughts about Tim and his hands are relatively normal
#I need him in a display case#itookyoudown#justified#tim gutterson#thanks so much for sending an ask!
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Ehehehehehe lookit him!!!!! The boy!!!! He!!
Found this figure in akihabara during a class trip to Tokyo and even though my luggage was pretty stuffed already I couldn’t resist,, maybe it’s a good thing they only had sabo and luffy in stock because if they had Ace as well I definitely would have been spending thrice as much
#need to find a display case for him so he doesn’t get dusty :)))#probably won’t take him back to campus with me because moving the figurines I already have in my dorm will already be enough of a hassle#and I’m kind of running out of shelf space for figurines#but oh my god this was such a lucky find. and for 3400円#:)))))#this sparks very much joy#look at him smiling!!!#might do a redraw tbh
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Art i got admitted into a district art show for waooww
#Yes thats samatoki#LMAOAOAOA i had to sneak him in#LAST POST I SWEAR BTW wow 3 posts already#I feel bad for like#Not posting at all lately so we got this#I found this while cleaning#Theres another one somewhere in my house but its in a frame and on display so i dont wanna take it for pictures thats annoying#I hope you guys know that when i take blurry pictures i either#1 leave it bc i feel like it enhanced the vibe of the drawing#Or 2 leave it bc i dont care and we live on a rock#This one is a no.1 case#These are like a year old btw LMAOAOAOAO#prince was my wow piece which understandable#But everyone literally hated the sama piece and it only got in bc it was a good piece and we needed spots filled#Upsetting really was#Hope you guys enjoy it though#Despite me thinking things need to be fixed on it i still think it was a good piece#Yes those are real newspapers i ripped up to make a graphic#Its pretty cool irl it looks like its lifting up from a newspaper#Ok thats all bc these tags are getting crazy#hypmic#hypnosis mic#hypnosis microphone#samatoki aohitsugi#music#pop culture#realism#Idk how to tag for prince LMAOAOAO#Noctiart#Noctifan
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I can't look at the iwtv tag there's people trying to diagnose them with personality disorders in there. except the part where they say lestat is bipolar that's true
#i could fix him. he would drink my blood and get medicated#i feel like theres just an argument that being a vampire makes you bipolar. i would need to think about it#it would go something like this though: the trauma of becoming a vampire can unlock latent mental illness even if the victim had not#expressed symptoms before#or it would go - vampirism can mimic the symptoms of alcoholism and alcoholism can be masking bipolar disorder#a 'good' vampire with control over their urges (in this case both intrusive thoughts and emotional behavior) both acts calm#but requires constant medical attention (drinking blood / taking mood stabilizers) in order to maintain this order#it also reflects in the way vampires often go on 'benders' or display hot/cold behavior towards loved ones across years#requires more thought also one of several possible readings obviously
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Finally bought a Deadpool action figure that went on sale after wanting one for ages and I've never been so entertained
#he's upset that they nerfed his ass#Deadpool is the first action figure I've bought and i love him#considering saving money to buy a spiderman one 🤔🤔🤔#need to buy a display case for these guys so they don't get covered in dust eeeee
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I hope the plotline in DA: Absolution crops up in Veilguard. Devs did say the world keeps moving regardless of Rook/the player so that could be a plotline in Tevinter the same way The Masked Empire was relevant to Inquisition, though not mandatory reading material. Really curious as to what precisely Meredith wants to do. Ressurect all the dead Templars in Tevinter and turn them red and then overthrow??? I am curious 👀
#le whiny text post#I also just like rewatching Absolution#it really has such a gorgeous display of what the world of Thedas looks like#esp the blood magic#idk if I can blame technological limitations for how A Lot and Not Enough blood magic looked like in the games?#maybe it was just the animation where like massive splashes of blood would just manifest but the model would be ok#whereas cuts and corpses and the amount of blood really stays when only animated????#whenever Rezaren uses blood magic it looks very larger than life and dangerous and important#which can also just be the power of storyboarding#and the general control of hand drawn blood vs splash animations stuck in????#also if the plotline crops up in the game how will that affect the Shadow Dragons??? is my best and only friend Mr. Dorian of House Pavus#gonna crop up in that storyline?? will it shift Tevinter??? I need to know#ALSO late edit but it occurred to me that Tassia said that a previous Divine interred the bodies of slaves within that summer palace#so like is that a common thing in Tevinter in which case how bad would it be if Meredith used the cirrculum yo ressurect all the dead under#her control??? will they then slaughter Tevinter citizens to power it bc for just Neb Rezaren also needed a huge chunk of dragon blood#but then also evidently he needed Miriam's blood to bring back Neb so like you ned blood relatives....?????#I am curious. I am most curious. I really hope this storyline crops up in some capacity.#also wouldn't be against meeting Absolution's cast in the game#RIP Fairbanks tho. he was so cool 🥲🥲🥲#actually just finished up helping him in my Inquisition replay 🥲🥲
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who's who tho? patrick doesn't seem like a display case guy in general and pete is def the type but wouldn't he prefer to get buried with him instead
Mostly silly joke but my thought was Pete gets buried w him and Patrick airtight display guy but specifically in the basement away from prying eyes
#Patrick’s Frankensteining him back to life. we need to let him be weirder w it#asks#this is the part where I admit I didn’t read the display part of airtight display case .
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i just gotta say peoples' obsessions with writing toxic relationships just concerns the shit outta me on this hellsite.
#ooc. your local bodega kat.#[everyone: i love complex relationships! what everyone means: couples fighting is normal! so if they're horrendous to each other#sometimes it's normal!!#couples fight like... of course. it's unhealthy NOT to fight. but there's a level where it's....uhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH and some of what's said#or done that people condone on here is wild. if i had a nickel for every time i saw someone say their character was a wonderful spouse and#then display like 10 reasons why they're covertly emotionally or verbally abusive. the rpc has such a tendency to refer to dv in one#specific term when it comes to ic ships and it's always physical but everything else is 'complex' and man that's worrying. see also: why#i was taught in grad school never to teach streetcar with marlon brando because students excuse him immediately due to his looks and his#bullshit angst. it's alarming as fuck. coming from parents who were sometimes physically abusive (to me and each other) like... this also#needs to be recognized in self-critical media. there's so much shit that needs evaluating. and it's not like i've never written a toxic#ship. i wrote the fucking WORST on at one point because i was too chickenshit to get alana out of it. and it ended in her being DESTROYED.#you know. like those kind of relationships tend to end in. like. my ex-father beat the fuck out of a dude in a bar who hit on my mom and#then when he found out the guy died a day later it was military or jail and he went military. and then my mom took him BACK. this is REAL#LIFE SHIT. writing it is virtually incredibly depressing and writing it without making clear it's fucked up is worse. whether you've been#through it or not. in that case: why even. shit hurts enough when you go through it. why would you want to vicariously go through it#being a fake person if there was no way to turn the outcome through healing and positive growth. sorry for being an optimist basically.]#domestic violence mention /#domestic abuse mention /#abuse mention /#murder mention /#[i'm just thinking back on the most toxic fucking verse i ever had and how glad i am said person and i no longer speak.]
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He's just a little guy!!!
#; OOC || Bri ♟️#//I HAVE FINALLY OBTAINED ✨ HIM ✨#//My mom thinks he's adorable when he's this smol#//Also please ignore all the dust I need to clean that 🙈#//I just have so many little figures and things on my desk's shelves. I really need to get some display cases/a detolf.
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i did find some sick ass drow armor for rain
#he's had it for a while now but i think all the screenshots i've shared he's in camp clothes#either because he's in camp#or because i set his armor to camp display#which i did almost always before i found this cool drow armor#which looks great on him#and also his cool glaive from helping the druids#the bracers are magical also but i forget what they do#it's nice that gale stopped needed to eat faberge eggs at least for the moment#i can actually start passing out some of my magical items#instead of hoarding them in case of gale emergencies#fel's bg3#oc: rain
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I love how the novel really nicely references Ace's leadership. It's not only charisma or his heroism that pulls people closer to him but something above it. He very easily manages to catch people following his steps and finding a strange interest in him. Instant fondness or even respect -
#Like it's nothing new that ace has captain abilities and is a born leader#That's why he still is a leader of the 2nd whitebeard division#Not only because of leadership but his overall combat knowledge#He's insanely good in analysing battle as it goes#He's insane when it comes to tracking people he chases (like in bb case)#He has very good combat skills overall and learns the opponent by sight#All this without using Haki too#But outside the combat knowledge and leadership ace's braincell works overtime#Not saying he's dumb#Because he is not and I loathe people who make him seem like a dumbass#He hassss very much trouble understanding and focusing on mundane things#Bc of adhd he's actively losing and regaining focus or he displays hyperactivity via rushing things#He also displays that he needs to learn by practice rather than theory bc he simply doesn't understand concepts or patterns alone#This is my tag rant#「002」 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥#「001」 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗗𝗬
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I need to get my minifigs from my dads house.... these ones plus my keychains are the only ones I have with me
#please ignore the fact it kinda looks like garm is being held at gunpoint#i just wanted to display both him and arthur#there has always been at least three wus in this case dhshsu oops#maya ray and wu need their other kids 💔💔💔#also. that lady with the white face. is meant to be faith#im too scared to try and paint her face#and i never got that faith head i ordered
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i think one of our hens is actually a rooster
#tales from diana#my parents got 6 new eight-week-old chickens in july#this one particular white one grew to be the biggest of the new ones and then recently the biggest of just. All of them#and it's not just big but tall and it has enormous feet#and it's been displaying very problematic and MEAN behavior. like even though i've had chickens for over a decade now#i had never see chicken bullying like this but i think now (supposing that it is a male) it might've been mating behavior#like it would stand on the other hens' backs and peck them and id have to go in and chase it off#i just kept saying wow you know mag is such a meanie mag is such a bully what are we gonna do about her?#now the new ones are still young so some of them are still developing their voices#like they don't really bu-ckaw yet even though they've lost their baby cheeps#but this afternoon i heard from out my window some cocka-doodle-dooing... like... uhmmmm#again i've had chickens for 11 years and ive heard a lot of chicken noises but ive never heard one of our hens make that sound#i mentioned to my dad last night 'hey you know is there a possibility that they gave us a rooster? would we be able to tell?'#and he was like 'yeah we could tell. theres no way we wouldnt know'#i spend more up-close time w the chickens anyway but especially since my dad got hip surgery 2 weeks ago#he hasn't gone out and done anything for them. obviously. he's recovering#i think mag is a boy#well. if that's the case we need to find someone to take him bc we aren't equipped to hatch eggs#but i'll seek out opinions from ppl who know better.
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“Who did this to you?” A deep voice echoes, vibrating around the walls of the throne room. On the opulent throne sits the owner of the baritone voice — Ryomen Sukuna. The king of curses, resting his head on his arm as he looks down at you, too scared to look up from your feet.
“I don’t like repeating myself.” He warns, your body hasn’t ceased shaking. Your uniform is tattered, the rips in the fabric revealing deep purple bruises. Uraume was the one that found you, unconscious in the butlers pantry. After waking you up they brought you to the throne room. So there you were, kneeling at the feet of your king.
You arrived to the estate a year ago, your life as a servant was agreeable. Lord Sukuna treated all his servants well. You were loyal, efficient and pleasant to look at, it was only a matter of time before he started to notice you.
At first he requested you be the one to serve him breakfast. Then it became lunch, and suddenly you tended to all his meals. He demanded you for everything, his bathing, dressing. He could do all of these things himself of course, but he prefered your gentle hands. His personal attendant, not even Uraume, had seen the king of curses at his most vulnerable... but you had bared witness to all of him.
“Fine, if you won’t tell me who. Then why?” Ryomen slowly rises from his throne, his looming figure towering over your kneeling body. He lowers himself to your level, one hand reaches down to lift your chin. Firm yet gentle he forces you to look up at him, your eyes meeting his red ones. Your once flawless skin is covered in bruises. His eyes darken.
“They t-think you favor me.” Is all you can manage to get out.
Word spreads around the estate of course. And plus Sukuna didn’t exactly hide his preference for you. You didn’t sleep with the rest of the help, you were given a room connected to his. ‘In case he requested your presence in the night’ but the reality was he slept better knowing you were near. You didn’t eat the servant food, you dined in the great hall. At a separate table he had made for you. All of these things on full display for the others to see, it wasn’t long before the insults started. At first it was the odd ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ being mumbled in passing. Then an accidental shove into the wall, always followed by a curt “sorry”.
But today? It was your birthday. You had only mentioned it to Ryomen in passing one day at breakfast. He never understood the need for such a useless celebration. You went about your duties for the day, when Uraume found you and handed you a small box. And there on display for everyone to see, a beautiful beaded bracelet made from polished cherry wood. A token of appreciation ‘for your hard work’.
A gift from the king of curses.
“What’s so great about you anyway?”
“Lord Sukuna’s bed-warmer gets everything she wants!”
They punched and kicked, throwing you into the pantry. The group of servants you once thought of as your family. Clouded by jealousy, hatred towards you — the lord’s favorite.
Ryomen Sukuna, the epitome of ruthlessness and malevolence, softens his gaze. He looks upon your trembling form with… pity? His moment of weakness is replaced by an unreadable expression.
“You have been relieved of your servant duties. You will stay here in my quarters from here on out.” It’s a demand, leaving no room for objection. Your eyes well up with tears looking up at your king, his other hand wipes them away. He rises, walking towards the door, his back facing you.
“Get up. Uraume will tend to your injuries. Once you are well, we will visit the servant’s quarters. You will point out those who laid their filthy hands on you, and I will kill them.”
part 2 out now!!
#jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk imagines#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#ryomen x reader#kbwrites#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen
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bambi
in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs
18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!
You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there.
How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that.
So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for.
He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”
You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips.
“Fuck—I said slow.”
You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.
Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”
“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”
“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”
“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more.
Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it.
“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling.
It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching.
“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”
“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”
By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”
You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air.
“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”
Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.
“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”
Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact.
“Please can I go faster?”
Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out.
“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”
You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for.
Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—
“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”
“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”
“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon.
“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion.
Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it.
“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”
“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm.
“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”
And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him.
“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline.
So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”
“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits.
“According to who?”
“According to… I was on top…”
“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”
You whine softly. “No they’re not.”
His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles.
“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”
You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”
“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”
“Hm.”
“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”
And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time.
Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest.
“I’m sleepy.”
“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment.
“I can’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”
“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”
“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”
“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”
“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble.
“Tender?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”
“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“Lie down.”
Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling.
“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees.
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind.
The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him.
Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway.
“Was that on purpose?”
“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the second half of your statement to be fact.
Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair.
“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs.
He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”
The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.
And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.
Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long.
The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind.
In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving.
You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved.
“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed.
You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles.
“Shaky?”
“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”
“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”
“No.”
He sighs good-naturedly.
“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”
“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”
When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can walk in the morning.”
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I’ve been fired exactly once in my life. In my early twenties I was working at a pizza place. The pizzas were artisanal, thin crust and personal. They’re a huge chain now but when I first started the company was in its infancy. It was the wild west of management, and the core investors would frequently stop by to check on things. One of these people was this round little man with rage issues. A knock off Danny Devito with no charisma at all.
His favorite thing to do was to come in on a Friday or Saturday night. We'd be at our stations: taking orders, making pizza, manning the oven, finishing orders off, running the cash register. He'd shove his way onto the line and start rearranging people. "You, get off orders and work the cash register, you come over and make the pizzas!" With a line of customers snaking out the door he'd throw off all our grooves and rattle us.
Then, inevitably, a mistake would happen.
When it did he'd call the person over and say, "Hey c'mere. You're fired." Just like that. No inflection, just a flat "You're fired." It was absolutely a power kink, and because of his involvement the average turn over was three months. You were a veteran at five months.
One night there was only three of us manning the front. I took an order than went to the cash register to ring them out before I made the pizza. This horrible man watched that then called me into the back. I didn't know if I was about to be fired. But I wasn't. In fact, he had one other move besides firing people. He yelled.
In the back he absolutely lost his mind screaming at me for being on the cash register. I'm talking veins popping, spit flying, red with rage, this man just started bellowing nonsensically about where I should be and how I was just such a failure. It was truly like his brain had shut off, nothing he was saying even made sense. I stood there in the face of this tirade for a minute and then set a record for being the first person to ever cut him short by bursting into tears.
He instantly stopped yelling and it was like Jekyll and Hyde. He was remorseful and consoling, deeply embarrassed by my display of emotion. All my male coworkers just took the abuse but faced with my weeping he about faced and instantly backed off. I went outside to cry and when I came back in he pretended it had never happened.
That was the state of things. The investors knew they desperately needed to keep this man out of the stores, but they couldn't just give him the boot. They needed to move him aside and fill his position with someone. The store manager was this lovely woman who had hired me on the spot at my interview. The entire staff adored her. She was the best fit to get this roided out investor out of the stores for good.
Her replacement was this man called Anthony. He was instantly loathed by the entire staff. Condescending, critical, and lazy he started off his reign by letting go a core lead who "back talked." He spent a whole morning berating the opening crew because the closing crew (who had sold 100 more pizzas than we were even supposed to have on hand) had forgotten to windex the doors. He left the entire crew to close without him while he flirted with a girl who wasn't his pregnant girlfriend. He hired his roommate to replace the lead he fired and even that guy hated his guts.
Our antipathy toward him made him paranoid and resentful and one by one he started finding excuses to fire the whole staff, certain that if he could clean house he'd be able to do the job. My time came, and he sat me down with his boss, my former manager. She cried as he announced I wasn't personable enough and used too many pepperonis.
I looked at her, the woman who had trained me on how many pepperoni to use, but she said nothing. What could she say? He was the boss now and had determined I was going to be let go regardless. Too many in this case was seven. Seven pepperonis on a personal pizza. The correct number was five according to him, which is one pepperoni per slice, and one in the middle.
I sat there for a moment, taking it in. I smiled at my old manager, obviously miserable. I looked back at him and said, "You're a terrible manager, you're doing the worst imaginable job." I outlined some of the things he'd done so she could hear them, then I stood up and left. I made it to the back room before I started crying.
I found out later through a bus boy that he replaced the whole staff with college kids who had such limited availability that the store couldn't run, then quit three months later leaving the whole place in shambles. Most of the old staff returned, but I'd moved onto the sex shop already and was enjoying a job with significantly less risk of being fired on a whim.
However I do have to disclose on job applications if I've ever been fired. I always says yes and list the reason as, "Excessive use of pepperoni." It has never failed to get a laugh from my interviewer.
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