#kleenex cover

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

currently building a little dollhouse out of cardboard

[marblehazel]

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway.  “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish. 

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa. 

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again. 

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired.  “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

[flseur]

꒰ 𐙚 teacher’s pet — jjk men ꒱

⟡ synopsis : desperate to get recommendations for your grad school applications, you decide to take on the role of a TA for your favourite professor and help them out, in more ways then one.

⟡ characters : gojo, geto, kento !

⟡ content warning : nsfw ( 18+ ), fem!reader, age gap ( reader is in early 20s! ), teasing, blowjob, praise kink, hair pulling, jealous / possessive sex, implied creampie, fingering, cunnilingus

౨ৎ note : listened to skin by rihanna to help me with this. please enjoy ! ˃̵ᴗ˂̵

୨୧ SATORU GOJO

❥₊ ⊹ gojo was so pretty like this. his usual cocky demeanour was gone and instead he had his cheeks covered in flush and his pink lips between his teeth.

satoru was not your first pick for who you wanted to TA for. everyone in the communications department knew how laid back and careless he was as a professor, yet no one wanted to be his TA because of that. so when it came to asking around to get the job, he was the only one taking teaching assistants at the time.

“ah… just like that, baby.” he whines, thrusting up in your mouth causing you to gag a little then pulling back to look at him. “shit… ‘m sorry, you’re just so fucking good at this.”

you roll your eyes at him, feigning annoyance then kitten lick at his tip, tasting the saltiness of the precum. while your hand wraps around the base of his cock, slowly jerking up and down.

“baby, baby, please put it in your mouth. please.” he babbled, rutting his hips upwards.

deciding to stop teasing him, you give in, giving the head of his cock one last lick then spitting on it and using your hand to spread it over his cock before taking him fully in your mouth again.

“fuck yeah… oh m’god… so fucking good.” he moans, his hands on the side of your head guiding your mouth up and down on his cock. you were just so… messy, and satoru fucking loved it.

he loved how swollen your lips were from when you were making out with him on his lap, he loved that the lip gloss that you were wearing is smeared on the corner of his lips and his cock, and my god does he love the way you look when you take it in your mouth.

“keep going… gonna cum…”

and you decide to pick up the pace, your other hand coyly reaches up from where it was on the ground to massage his balls in your palm.

“shiiiit, i’m cumming, i’m fucking cumming, y/n!” satoru sobs, abruptly pulling out of your mouth, tugging on his cock and groaning then spilling his cum on your face.

“seriously, satoru? you couldn’t cum in my mouth?” you complain, whipping some of the sticky fluid off of your cheek.

“sorry baby, i’ll make it up to you.” he chuckles, reaching over to grab some kleenex from his desk.

“yeah, you better. how about you grade those midterms and i take the week off?”

୨୧ SUGURU GETO

❥₊ ⊹ as a computer science major, you remember your first year intro class well since it was the start of your programming journey. because of that, when you started to look for TA jobs, you wanted to help with a first year computer science class, which happened to be geto’s.

geto was easy to work with, and understanding when it came it mistakes that you made. you really liked him, and he really liked you. but maybe, a bit too much which led you to this predicament.

“mphm, fuck! suguru!” you gasp, feeling the cold surface of the mahogany desk against your cheeks.

geto lets out a short chuckle, leaning down to talk in your ear, “yeah? feels good baby?”

“m-mhm! ah…!” you cry, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes. each and every thrust of suguru’s was well-calculated, the head of his cock was hitting that spongey spot in you and the sheer thickness of it was splitting you open deliciously.

“aw… poor y/n…” he mocks, “must’ve fucked your brains out, huh? you can’t even form a sentence…”

and all you can do is sob in response, because how were you supposed to respond when he was fucking you this good? so good to the point where you’re seeing stars in the middle of the afternoon.

suguru can’t say that he’s not jealous even if he wanted to, because he is jealous. when he turned over and seen that freshman shamelessly flirting with you and staring down your shirt at your cleavage, he seen red.

no one should see you like that.

and no one but him will see you like this. with your mini skirt flipped over the globes of your ass, a hole ripped at the crotch of your stockings, and how much you cream on his cock.

they also won’t know how fucking amazing you feel. how your pretty little pussy flutters on his cock, how you clamp down on it saying “‘s too much, suguru!” but continue to swallow him in then beg for him to cum inside, and they won’t know how it feels to fill your cunt full with cum.

because only he will, no one else.

୨୧ NANAMI KENTO

❥₊ ⊹ nanami was always your favourite professor and you were always his favourite student. so when you asked him if you could TA for his economics class, he wasn’t going to say no to you.

when it came to coming up with lecture plans, marking student’s assignments, and leading discussion groups, nanami always made sure to help you with anything you needed, anything.

“shit… mmph! k-kento…” you moaned out loudly, your manicured hands run through his blond hair, softly tugging at the strands. he has you sprawled out on his desk in his office, all of his knick knacks messily pushed out of the way and your skirt flipped upwards with your black lace panties pushed aside.

nanami groans into your pussy at the feeling, “shh, sweetheart… can you stay quiet for me?”

and as much as he’d love for you to be loud so everyone could know how good he was making you feeling, there were still students, other TAs, and professors still in the office building.

“yeah… ‘m gonna be quiet for you…” you mumble out, staring at the man between your legs. and what a sinful sight it is.

his usually put-together appearance completely diminished. tousled hair, his white dress shirt is unbuttoned, and his head is ever so sensually peppering small kisses in between your inner thighs.

“good girl…” he coos at you, then returning to his ministrations and pressing a light kiss to your puffy clit. kento licks a long stripe up your slit, gathering your slick on his tongue and savouring the taste of you then slipping a finger into your messy hole, hitting the right angles that makes you see stars.

but it wasn’t enough, you need him. all of him.

“ah, need more kento…” you beg, gently pulling head up by his hair. “fuck me, please.”

and who was he to deny you? kento hastily unbuckles his belt, pushing his khaki pants and boxers down, then lets out a hiss when the cool air meets his throbbing cock.

“fuck… you think you’re prepped enough to take me, baby?”

“yes, mr. nanami.”

flseur © all rights reserved, do not repost, take inspo from my layouts or themes, translate, or claim as your own.

[gattmammon]

5k € 72h plane trip to come cough in the face of a random citizen like this

"Thank you for your visit!"

Me before work: fuck it's such a pain in the ass having to pay for my own masks... maybe I'll stop wearing them

Me after 5 mins amongst tourists coughing and sneezing some fresh off another continent brand new to my immune system viruses without even conceptualising the idea of covering their fucking mouth: maybe when I get home ill throw my clothes in a fire pit and boil some water and burn off the first layer of skin like they do for chemical contamination

[kitashousewife]

“m’gettin sick,” osamu sniffles from his cocoon on the couch. ever since he got home he’s been quiet and sleepy, cuddling up with a blanket despite being hot to the touch.

one thing you’ve learned about osamu, is that he is never sick. ma always joked about how despite every illness that passed through the twins’ schools, teams, or even work; osamu made it out perfectly healthy. you’ve found this to be true. even when you’ve been at your worst, osamu’s immune system has never faltered.

“i can’t be sick,” osamu’s mumbled voice is stuffier than normal, and his nose is a rosy pink. “i got work in the mornin’.”

“not like this, you don’t,” you pour some water from the kettle into his cup and dip the tea bag inside. he waves you off.

“what? just close shop for a day? i can’t do that,” he snatches a few kleenex from the box on the counter, turning around when you raise an eyebrow at him.

“you can actually, and you should.” you slide the tea over to him before heading towards your shared bathroom. “just post something tonight to give everyone a heads up.”

osamu shuffles behind you, tea in one large palm with tufts of kleenex in the other. he huffs when he feels hot once again, flinging off his sweat shirt as quick as he can.

“but kita-“

“kita can deliver to our house, baby. we can bring the rice over a different day.”

you fold your arms and stand by the bath as it fills. osamu copies you, leaning against the doorframe with a pout.

despite being sick as a dog, he won’t go down without a fight. out of principle, of course.

“what about the special i was gonna run?”

“you can do it next week,” you test the water with your palm before adding some epsom salt in.

“what will the regulars do when they head to the store?” osamu puts his palms up dramatically and snorts when you roll your eyes.

“im heading into town tomorrow, i can put a sign in the door. trust me ‘samu, i think they will appreciate you being closed. who wants to eat onigiri from someone with a runny nose?”

he doesn’t say anything. for a minute, you think he’s finally rested his case. after he slips in the bath and lets out a comfortable sigh, he decides to put one last ditch effort in.

“produce gets delivered tomorrow! i have to be there for that!” he’s comically large in the small tub the two of you share, knees folded up as he tries to sink in. you shake your head and he groans.

“fine, fine. okay. i’ll close tomorrow. ya happy?”

“thrilled,” you place a towel next to the tub and sit down. “you need to rest, samu. the shop will be there when you’re better, i promise.”

he pouts again, but this time it’s genuine.

“but i’m never sick,” he splashes water on accident when he leans his head back against the wall. “i take good care of myself! i take my vitamins, drink lots of water, get good sleep,”

your lips tug into a smile.

“and that will help you beat whatever you have even faster. but for now, let’s take it slow okay? get plenty of sleep, heal your body, and stay home.”

osamu nods, and let’s his eyes close. he soaks for a few minutes, relishing in the relief his achey joints feel for the first time all day. while he gets ready for bed, he can’t help but feel his heart swell as he watches you grab extra blankets for his side, knowing he will probably be chilly tonight.

“i’m probably gonna sore with all this shit in my nose,” he sinks under the covers, propping his head up on the extra pillows you set up for him.

“you snore anyway,”

“do not! ya liar,” he smacks your bum when you snuggle up next to him. “don’t touch me, i’ll get ya sick. i’m real contagious,”

you place a big kiss on his forehead before getting back to your original spot.

“i’ll take my chances,” you listed to osamu’s steady heart while he falls asleep. osamu is always taking care of you, grabbing your favorite things from the shop because he’s thinking of you. carrying you when your feet hurt from the heels he told you not to wear, bringing you glasses of water because he knows you aren’t drinking enough, and never asks for anything in return.

“i love ya,” osamu whispers, half asleep and hums when you squeeze him closer.

“i love you too, samu. sleep well.”

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I decided to put this chapter out a bit early due to some Father's Day stuff tomorrow. I was blown away by the response from you guys on Part 1!! Thank you so much. 🥰 I had some trepidation writing a new character, but I'm so glad you guys seem to enjoy where this little series is going so far. It makes me even more excited to bring you the next chapter of ESC! 💜

Song Inspo: “Too Late” by The Paper Kites

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: Shaw family feels, a bit of mystery, tinge of fluff and mutual pining, and a twist…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: “Family Reunion”

The next day after he left, you finally managed to get Charlie on the phone. He implored you not to try and find him.

He claimed he was staying with a friend for now, and was picking up some odd jobs through a connection at the museum—another security guard who knew how to get extra work. 

“What kind of extra work?” you asked. You sunk back into the couch in your living room and held a hand to your aching head. You had already lost sleep over this, worrying about where he was and what the hell he was doing.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Charlie said.

He really knew how to frustrate you to the nth degree.

“Charlie, just come home. Please,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes, choking your words. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

You heard him sigh.

“You had a right to be mad,” he said. “I’m the big brother, remember? But I’m…I’m a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“We take care of each other, and you know that,” you said sharply, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“Listen, I’ll come home when I can, okay? Be good.”

“Charlie! Ch—” The call ended, and you nearly tossed your phone in aggravation.

“That stubborn fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Four months later, your worry was eating you alive.

Charlie refused to come home or tell you where he was staying. The only time you got to see him was when you visited him on his night shift at the museum. You tried to talk him into coming home, but your brother remained stubborn.

“You get that from Dad,” you’d told him once, while watching him eat some leftover meatloaf you’d made for him. The two of you stood outside the museum on his break.

Charlie had smirked at you. “Yeah, well, you share the disease.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

But just when you thought you were starting to get through to him, now, he’d stopped answering your calls. For that matter, the museum hadn’t even seen or heard from him in a week or so.

So here you sat, in the living room of Dory’s apartment, crying into a jar of Nutella that you’d long ago stopped spreading over the strawberries she’d laid out. You had a chocolate-covered butterknife in one hand and a used Kleenex in the other.

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t want necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

You hadn’t had a chance to meet him when he dropped in a couple of months ago, but she’d told you about his brief visit to find a graduate student who had been kidnapped, and nearly killed by a professor in the Sciences department for uncovering a flaw in the man’s research. That flaw would have costed him his entire grant, and possibly his career and reputation. 

The terrible incident had caused an uproar on campus. Students were released from their classes for an entire day after the professor was arrested. 

Now, Dory considered your question with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll call him.”

You were grateful, but your face became pained as something occurred to you. You held up a hand.

“Wait, I just realized I can’t pay him,” you said. You didn’t have more than a thousand dollars in your savings account, and that was for emergencies. Like the time Charlie nearly burned the house down after a lighting mishap with his bong.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” Dory said. She laid a comforting hand on your arm. “He’d do this as a favor to me.”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your brows furrowing. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

She’d told you what some of Colter’s fees could run up to, but she tried to quell your reservations and promised to call him regardless.

However, the more you thought about it, you already had a phone number in your cell…for the one person who would understand the part of your brother that you might never be able to. 

After you left Dory’s apartment, you debated the idea in your head for the entire drive home. 

And when you got to the house, you picked up your cell, and you called him. Your nerves had you pacing back and forth across the living room as it rang. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help smiling just at the sound of his voice, smooth and pleased, and a hint surprised.

“Hey,” you replied, biting your lip. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You’ve got good timing too. I just came off a job,” he said.

“Oh really? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m states-side now. Just got back from South America.”

“Oh, wow,” you said, blinking incredulously.

What the hell was he doing there? you had to wonder. Maybe he was protecting some Latin American emissary. Or maybe, he was doing things you didn’t want to think about. Your brother had filled you in a bit about civilian contract jobs in recent weeks, as he’d considered going after those himself.

“They can pay very well, from what I hear,” Charlie had said. “The problem with that is, it kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the military.”

Despite that mildly troubling thought, you tried to focus on the fact that you had this man on the phone at all.

A smile formed across your lips. “Did you get yourself a nice tan?”

“Eh, not really. Was more of a night job,” he said. “But uh…how are you doing? Not gonna lie, I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m not all that good, if I’m honest,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You heard the concern in his voice. You steeled yourself before you answered.

“Russell, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a big favor.”

“Hmm, this sounds serious,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. When you next took a breath, it came out unsteady. “My brother’s missing.”

It was a bright Saturday morning when you welcomed Russell Shaw into your house. He looked around, finding family pictures, bookshelves, paintings, candles, all things that began to shade in who you were in the comfort of your home.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s uh, homey.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him.

“Well, it’s the house we grew up in,” you replied.

You and Charlie had of course inherited it after your parents’ passing. Their life insurance policies had helped pay off the three-bedroom house while you two were still in school. Your grandparents helped a lot back then too, and had even moved in for a time. Now they each had plots beside your parents at Grandview Cemetery.

“You want some coffee? I know you had a long drive,” you asked.

“Sure,” Russell agreed. He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on the coffee pot. You made a discreet glance at him. He looked virtually the same, with that familiar green jacket, jeans, boots, and a Jimi Hendrix shirt. You'd had a feeling he was a classic rock guy.

“Look, not that I wasn’t glad to get your call,” Russell said, “but you do know that I’m not the tracker in the family, right?”

“Dory did offer to call Colter, but I can’t afford to pay him,” you said.

“I could help with that,” said Russell. You raised up a hand to stop him there.

“I don’t want that kind of help from you,” you said firmly. “I didn’t call you for money, Russell. I called you because you’ll probably understand where Charlie’s head’s at. Better than me, anyway.”

He hesitated, but nodded in understanding. When the coffeemaker dinged, finished percolating, you turned to make him a mug with cream and sugar, as per his request.

While he waited for the coffee to cool, he admired you for a moment. Even in a plain V-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, your hair swung up in a ponytail, you were still a sight. (Your lipstick did match your shirt though. That made him smile.)

And Russell could admit, it was good to see you again.

“Me and Colter reconnected recently. Did Dory tell you?” he said.

Your brows raised high in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

The two of you found your way back to the living room with your mugs.

“Yeah. We talked for the first time in…shit, over twenty years,” Russell laughed, raking a hand through his hair.

Not only had he been able to say his piece to Colter about their…family issues, they’d also solved a case of their own, with Colter agreeing to help him find his friend Doug, who worked for the same black ops contract agency as Russell. The Horizon Group.

The aftermath of that still left Russell with a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of how Horizon would’ve left Doug to rot, if it hadn’t been for him and Colter pressing their luck and digging deeper into who’d taken his friend.

That whole mess had also made Russell begin to wonder if maybe he needed a new line of work after all. But, because the money was just that good, he’d ended up on a new job by the end of the month.

Your voice soon broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. You reached over and touched his arm, with warmth in your eyes. 

Russell gave you a smile. The closeness between you brought up memories of that dusty bar, and the taste of lime and tequila on your soft, supple lips. But you subtly cleared your throat and took your hand back. He hid a twinge of disappointment.

“So what’s going on with your brother?” Russell asked.

Get back on track, he reminded himself.

You sighed. “Damn Charlie.”

Over coffee, you explained that Charlie took off a few months ago, the night you got back from the bar. You had seen him only briefly, whenever you were able to catch him at the museum after work. He’d been keeping in touch with you on a weekly basis, but now, he hadn’t called in almost two weeks. You couldn’t get ahold of him on any of the numbers you had. They all seemed to be burner phones. Plus, he’d been let go from his job at the museum after not showing up for the past week. 

“What’s he into, extracurricular-wise?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me,” you said in frustration. Tears prickled at your eyes, and your lower lip trembled. “He said it was safer that way.”

Russell laid a supportive hand over yours, earning your watery gaze.

“And you haven’t gone to the police?” he asked.

“I think he’s gotten into something…dangerous. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he might be already,” you said. “I just want him to get help for his problems. Physically and mentally.”

Russell nodded. He understood that you wanted to protect your brother. Sometimes though, getting into “trouble” was the rock bottom someone needed in order to face their problems.

“Does he have friends?” he asked. “Some kinda crowd he hangs around with?”

“Not anymore. I think he’s lost touch with his Air Force buddies,” you said, though you tried to think. Your brows furrowed as something occurred to you. “He knew someone at work, at the museum. Another security guard on his same shift. After they cut his hours down to part-time, Charlie said the guy knew how to get extra work.”

“Okay, that’s definitely where we start,” said Russell. “Let me just give Dory a call. If I don’t let her know I’m in town, I don’t even wanna know the consequences.”

You laughed through your tears and tried to brush them away. 

“Yeah, do that. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Russell took one look at you, and he tightened his hold on your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

You glanced up at him, as tears clung to your lashes. His heart couldn’t help but clench for you. He really didn’t like to see you like this.

“We’re gonna find him. You’ve got my word,” he said. 

You were desperate to believe him. So you nodded, sniffling as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You were scared, for the first time in a long time. 

“All right, come ‘ere,” Russell said. When he guided you into his arms, you went willingly. You pressed your face into his chest to hide your weeping. His hold was warm and strong enough to make you feel secure. Just for this moment, you didn’t have to pretend you had everything handled.

“He’s the only family I have,” you reminded him. He nodded.

“I hear ya. We’ll get him home,” he said. “And I am going to call Colter. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll square it up with him.”

“Russell—” you protested, but he just squeezed you playfully. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull big brother rank. He’s got no choice,” he joked. 

You shook your head, but you allowed him to comfort you for a bit longer. Because all too soon, you’d have to steel yourself again. You’d have to be the version of yourself that you always had to be, ever since you were fourteen years old.

You invited Dory over to your house, where the three of you were soon joined by the last of the Shaw siblings: the one you had yet to meet.

Colter made it in time for dinner that afternoon. The tall blonde took up your doorway with his broad shoulders and offered you a polite smile, along with his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Colter,” he said. 

You mentally tripped up a bit as you shook his hand and gave him your name. Did all the Shaw siblings have to be so damn attractive?

“Uh, yes, please come in.” You ushered him into your home and led him into the living room, where Russell stood from the couch. 

“Ahh, there he is,” Russell grinned, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder. 

“Here you are,” Colter gestured at him. “Where the hell did you take off to after last time?”

“Ah, you know. Argentina was fun.”

“I’m sure it was.”

You paused in the doorway, just watching the brothers in mystification. Dory shot you a questioning look as she came over from the kitchen. You met her with raised brows. 

“What?” Dory asked. A smile played on her lips.

“Do all of you have to be so unbelievably pretty?” you whispered over to her. Dory smirked and bumped your shoulder, nodding at Colter. 

“What, you wanna make out with him too?” she teased. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dory just laughed and moved on to say hello to the other blonde. She pulled him down into a hug, and he reciprocated warmly.  

Russell then laid a hand on Colter’s shoulder, as well as Dory’s. He wore a big, proud grin.

“Hey. Look at us, huh?” he said. 

Dory sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at both of her brothers. Colter wore a more reserved smile, but he did wrap an arm around his sister and thump his older brother on the back.

You smiled. You were lingering by the kitchen doorway. If nothing else, you were glad that this whole mess had been able to bring Dory back together with her family. 

You decided to give them a moment, and you wandered back into the kitchen. There you took a beat for yourself, mainly to breathe.  

When you again thought of Charlie, you had to wonder just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Later, the four of you sat in the living room so you could explain everything you knew so far to Colter. He took all the information in with a pensive expression that didn’t reveal much to you. 

“So you said he was struggling?” he said. 

“Yes, after he got out of the military,” you confessed. “He had a hard time figuring himself out. I got him the job at the museum, but I don’t think it was enough for him.”

“Why is that?” Colter asked. He saw that you were reluctant to explain. “I need to know the full picture of who Charlie is if I’m going to be able to figure out his probable moves.”

You sighed. “Well, he was seeing a VA psychiatrist for a while. They wanted to put him on antidepressants, but he stopped going. He…started self-medicating instead.”

That part was hard to admit, but it was the truth. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t any longer. 

“What substances?” Colter asked. 

“Alcohol, mainly,” you replied. “At his worst, there were hard drugs, but I got him to tone it down just to weed every now and then.”

You bit at your thumbnail out of habit, but you forced yourself to stop, folding your hands in your lap. You didn’t see judgment in Colter’s eyes, just him taking in the information. You couldn’t help but glance at Dory, where you found her sympathy. She knew enough about what you’d been dealing with for the past few years. Russell seemed understanding as well. 

“Anything else I should know?” Colter asked. You shook your head. You felt bad about revealing Charlie’s business like this, but you knew it was the only way to help him. Still, you felt you had to defend him a little.

“Look, my brother has his problems, but he’s a good man,” you said. “He, um…he basically half raised me, after our parents died.”

Dory also knew this story. She rested a hand on your back, and you gave her what smile you could. 

“How old were you?” Russell asked. He earned your attention, and you met his sympathetic gaze.

“Fourteen,” you answered. “It was a car accident.”

He took that in, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The way he met your eyes when he said it, you believed him. You subtly cleared your throat and directed the conversation back.   

“So, I don’t have a lot of money. But I can give you something for your services,” you said to Colter. Both Russell and Dory met you with similar looks. 

“I’ve got it,” Dory says, before Russell had the chance. Colter waved her off though.

“In this case, it’s not necessary,” he said, focusing on you again. “So Charlie was working at the local museum?”

You breathed a note of relief at his generosity. Dory, Russell, and now Colter…they were all good people in their own way. You felt emotion rise in your throat.

“Yes, it’s about ten minutes away,” you managed to reply. “It’s closed now, but his coworker could be on shift. They always have security in place.”

You grabbed your purse to go with them when Colter and Russell stood, but the former raised a placating hand. 

“It’s best if you stayed here,” Colter said.

Your brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

Colter’s mouth parted, and he blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to push back quite like that; calm and matter of fact.

“Ah, well, it’s really for your safety—”

“I’m not going to sit and wait,” you said. “That’s all I’ve been doing for months. I may not be an expert tracker, or have been in the army, but I do know my brother. And we are going to find him.”

Behind you, Dory was giving Colter a warning shake of her head. She knew just how stubborn you could be. Meanwhile, Russell came up on your other side with a smile.

“What’s the harm in her coming along to the museum?” he said, sliding his brother a teasing look. “Unless the T. rex wakes up all the mummies, Ben Stiller style.”

You wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly the plot of Night at the Museum, but you held it in with a smile. You gave Colter an expectant look.

He sighed at Russell’s antics, but he turned to you with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. 

“I’ll head home then,” said Dory. “Call me if you need anything.” 

You gave her a hug after she gathered up her purse. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rubbing your back. “Colter’s the best.” 

“All right, fine. And what am I? Chopped liver?” Russell remarked, gesturing wide with his hands. You all filtered out of your house, and you locked the door behind you.  

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Dory quipped back, but she gave her eldest brother a warm hug as well, then patted Colter on the arm before she left.

Russell shot Colter a playful smirk. “I got the hug.”

Colter rolled his eyes and pointed over to his big pickup truck. 

“Just get in the car, please.”

You had to smile at all their sibling teasing. It reminded you of how you and Charlie used to cut up, when things were good. On your way down the driveway, you hesitated by the Chevy Chevelle parked next to your own car. She was still black and sleek and beautiful.

You happened to glance up, and there was Russell, getting into his brother’s pickup. He winked at you across the driveway. You turned your face to hide your smile (and your blush) as you climbed into your car.

Colter noted the exchange when he buckled up into the driver’s seat. He watched Russell do the same on the passenger side, all while wearing a certain smile on his face. When he noticed how Colter was looking at him, his brows raised.

“What?” said Russell.

“What was that?” Colter asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Colter chuckled. He began to pull the car out of the driveway after you in your car, so he could follow you. “What, do you two have a thing or something? Is that why she called you before me?”

Russell shrugged, but his smile was telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Convincing,” Colter said, but his lips tugged upward as well. His good humor diminished though, when he considered the last time he saw his brother. “How’s the arm?”

Russell gave a thumbs up with his left arm—the one that previously had a bullet run through it. It was still healing, even now.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“Sure did.”

Riiiight. Another thing Colter wasn’t sure was the truth, but he’d give Russell that one.

“And that unfinished business?” Colter asked.

Russell’s smile faded, but he nodded. “Finished.”

After a moment, Colter nodded as well. 

“Okay,” he said. 

Something occured to him then. He paused, and he reached into his pocket. He held up a small, closed pocketknife with a wooden handle, and he gave it back to Russell. It had the man's name carved on the side.

Russell's smile returned as he flipped the old keepsake through his fingers.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said.

Colter smiled back. "Thanks for trusting me with it."

Colter parked next to you at the museum. It was closed, but the security guard, Jimmy, did know your brother. 

“I haven’t seen Charlie since he quit last week,” Jimmy claimed.

“He quit?” you said. “They told me he just never came back.”

“Yeah, well, same thing,” he said.

The front doors of the museum opened, and out came Dr. Feinman, your former boss, and the Head Manager. You left Jimmy’s questioning up to Russell and Colter with a meaningful look, and you went to intercept Feinman.

“Hi, sir, how’re you doing?” you asked. Your name fell from his lips in surprise. 

“My dear, it’s good to see you, but why are you here after hours?” he asked, his British accent lilting.

“I’m trying to find Charlie. He’s been missing, well, officially for about a week,” you said. “I was actually surprised to see you here so late.”

The man cleared his throat. He smoothed a hand over his tie and suit jacket.

“Yes, well, we could’ve used Charlie’s help. We’ve had to double our security efforts,” he said. “We’re currently dealing with a sensitive issue, so the museum will be closed until it is resolved.”

“You’re doubling your security efforts… Was something stolen?” you asked. 

Feinman clearly didn’t want to tell you this, but you knew you’d hit the nail on the head by the look on his face.

“Please, keep that information to yourself,” he said. 

“What was stolen?” you asked in concern. 

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information. Not even for you, dear,” he said. “I do hope you find your brother though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, and as a matter of fact,” you began, but Feinman waved an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush just now. But call my office tomorrow and Brenda will help you with whatever you may need,” he said. “Good evening.”

“Wait, Dr. Feinman,” you tried, but he was already breezing past you and heading toward his Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meanwhile, Colter and Russell weren’t having much better luck with Jimmy. 

“Look, I really don’t know where Charlie is,” he said. “Haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off.”

“He said you connected him with someone who could give him some work on the sly,” Russell said, leveling a hand at the man’s chest. “Who did you connect him with, and what kind of work are we talking?”

Jimmy blew out a breath, like this was really inconveniencing his day. (Or night, at this point.)

“What, you’ve got somewhere to be?” Colter said. “You’re getting paid to stand right here, and we have no problem sharing your shift all night. You might as well just tell us what we want to know.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

“All right,” he snapped. “I hooked him up with this guy I knew through a mutual acquaintance, who just needed some muscle. I guess you could call it private security.”

“A mutual acquaintance?” Colter repeated. 

“What’re you, James Bond? Who did you connect him with?” Russell pressed.

Jimmy was reluctant to talk. You came back over to join them, and the security guard became even more tight-lipped.

“You guys should go. I don’t have to talk to you, and I’ve got a job to do,” he said.

When he tried to continue his patrol around the museum, you stepped deliberately in his way. You didn’t have the patience for this, and you would no longer be a doormat, letting the Goldsteins and the Feinmans of this world push past you.

“Look, Jimmy, if you don’t give us something we can go on to find my brother, you know where I’m going to go?” you asked. But you spoke before he could respond. “To the police. And your name is the only one I have to give them. Now, if you don’t want that to be you, then give me a different name.”

Jimmy looked down at you, and then over at your intimidating shadows, Russell and Colter. Jimmy sighed.

“Eddie,” he gave, finally.

Russell raised his hands, as if to say, Is that it?

“What, Eddie Vedder? Eddie who? Come on,” Russell said.

“Eddie Mendez,” Jimmy replied in a lowered voice. “I don’t know where he lives. I don’t have his number. And that 'mutual acquaintance' is doing some time in lockup. But Eddie hangs out at a bar called Howley’s.”

You and Russell shared a meaningful look at that. You turned back to Jimmy. 

“Okay. What was stolen here at the museum?” you said. “That’s why it’s been closed, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I wasn’t on shift, and Dr. Feinman keeps a tight lid on that kind of thing.”

“We’ll need to get into his office then,” Colter said. 

You blinked wider at Colter. Wait, was he really suggesting you guys break into the museum?

Jimmy pointed to the black device attached to the ceiling above them. 

“See the cameras?” he said. “That's not happening on my dime.”

Colter looked up, and he saw the cameras strategically installed across the front of the museum. 

“Then take us where the cameras don’t see,” he said.

You, Colter, and Russell were able to break into the museum via a storage unit door, thanks to Jimmy’s texted instructions. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but it was for Charlie, you reminded yourself.

You remembered where to find Feinman’s office. You paid for a lot of your undergrad expenses, namely your books and tuition, by working full-time as an office assistant here, and the occasional tour guide. 

You led them to the room where the inventory records were kept. Colter gave you his gloves so you didn’t leave prints, and you were able to pinpoint what was labelled as missing from the latest shipment. 

“Oh great,” you muttered. 

“What was taken?” Colter asked.

“A collection of Native American weapons. Dated almost eight hundred years old,” you said, shaking your head. “The collection is valued at $1.5 million dollars.”

Russell and Colter shared a look. 

“That’s some big motive,” Russell said. 

“When did they go missing?” Colter asked. 

“Almost two weeks ago,” you said. Your brows furrowed the more you read, as you realized something. “Just a few days before Charlie left the museum…” 

The timing wasn’t lost on anyone. But if Charlie was a suspect, Feinman hadn’t let on to that at all. You checked the exact date the artifacts went missing again: a Tuesday night. Charlie didn’t typically work on Mondays or Tuesdays, you realized. And he’d left after the artifacts went missing. So maybe they hadn’t thought to question him yet. One small blessing.  

You sighed. With that information gathered, the three of you put back everything you uncovered and left the building the same way you came in. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, probably patrolling the other end of the museum on purpose.

When you all made it back to the parking lot, you turned to Colter and Russell.

“Okay, what’s next?” you asked. “Howley’s right? To find Eddie.”

“Actually, I think it’s best Russell and I take it from here,” Colter said. “We don’t know what kind of character Eddie Mendez is, but from how reluctant Jimmy was to tell us, it doesn’t sound good.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Russell drew closer and touched your arm. You could see in his face that he agreed with his brother, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Look, you’ve been a huge help,” he said. “But let us work on this, okay? We’ll call you when we find something.”

Still, your lips pursed. “Russell, he’s my brother.”

“I know. Punching out drunks is one thing, but this might be a little different,” he said, grasping your arms gently. “Will you give me some peace of mind, knowing you’re home safe?”

He brushed one of his thumbs along your skin. Already you had goosebumps. From the cold chill on the air, or from him, you weren’t sure. But that simple touch, along with his earnest, imploring gaze broke you down.

“All right. I get it. I’m not the Special Ops guy,” you said. “But call me afterward so I know how it went.”

“Okay, will do,” Russell agreed. He let you go so you could go to your car. You shot the brothers one last look before you climbed in and peeled out of the parking lot.

Russell expelled a sigh of relief. He got into the passenger side of his brother’s pickup while Colter started it up.

Thanks to the late hour, and how little traffic there was on the road, it didn’t take you long to get home.

You’d debated whether you should just go to Howley’s anyway, but you didn’t want to get in the way, or make Russell worry for that matter. You smiled, despite yourself.

His touch had tingled across your arms, and whenever he absently laid a hand on the small of your back, supportive or guiding.

Thinking about him just made your heart ache. Because after this was over, he’d be gone again—on a new mysterious job, perhaps on the other side of the world.

You’d been regretting how you left things with him at the bar for months, but now you were glad you hadn’t gone any further with him that night. Your heart was too easily ensnared, it seemed, and Russell didn’t seem to be a “strings attached” kind of guy.

When you parked in front of your house, you let out a tense breath. Russell and Colter would find Charlie. You believed in them. You just hoped your brother was all right, wherever he was.

You pulled your cell out of your purse to call Dory as you headed for the front door. You wanted to give her an update and let her know that you were back at home.

The call began to ring just as you slipped your key into the lock. Unfortunately, you never got a chance to open it.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you from behind and yanked you back, and a firm hand over your mouth smothered your scream.

AN: 🫣 *Whispers* Sorryyy. But hey! What did you think of the reader's reunion with Russell, as well as the little Shaw Family Reunion? Plus, we got a bit of the reader working with Russell and Colter on the case.

Now, the real timer starts...

Next Time:

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[bringmeanangel]

pairing: Aaron Hotchner and Reader

Warning: none. Fluff

Synopsis: Aaron comes home from work and finds you sick

Aaron had finally finished all the paperwork. He wanted to surprise you. The team was supposed to be back Sunday, but Friday afternoon they walked into the BAU.

When he pulled into the driveway, he saw that it was only 4:30. Perfect he thought.

Walking into your shared house, he noticed how quiet it was. The kitchen looked a bit cluttered, nothing else though.

Normally you'd be greeting him at the door. Aaron made his way to the bedroom and opened the door. The Image in front of him broke his heart

You were laying under the covers, Kleenex everywhere, your humidifier going tea cups and water glasses on your nightstand. You were sick and hadn't told him.

With the glow from the hallway light, Aaron made his way into the room, you were sound asleep and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching up and feeling your forehead.

You were burning up. He lightly stroked your cheek and you started to stir.

"Aaron?" You mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Shh, sweetheart. It's me, I'm home early. Go back to sleep." He soothed.

You fell right back to sleep.

Once Aaron was sure you wouldn't wake up, he took the dirty cups, loaded the dishwasher, before taking a shower and getting in comfy clothes.

He winced when he heard you coughing and came back into the room with a wet washcloth.

"You are home." You sounded almost relieved with the little energy you mustered up.

"I am" he sat on the edge of the bed and started to wipe your face with the cloth.

"I thought I was hallucinating"

"Honey, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" He started to stroke your hair.

"Didn't want to worry you" you closed your eyes again and heard the beep of the thermometer and you groaned.

"Come on." Your incredibly sweet boyfriend encouraged.

"You just got home. You shouldn't have to-"

You were cut off by the thermometer and you gave him your best annoyed look.

"I'm taking care of you because I love you and I don't like seeing my girl sick. I don't have to, but I want to."

Aaron took the thermometer from you and sighed.

"101" he said standing up.

"I feel gross."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do you feel dizzy at all?"

"No."

"Why don't you quickly rinse off in the shower and I'll make you soup."

"Can I wear your George Washington University sweatshirt.?"

"Of course, love." He smiled softly.

When you were out of the shower and in your warm clothes, you made your way to the kitchen and Aaron was finishing warming up the soup.

"Feeling better?" He smiled softly.

"Nnnn" you groaned.

With the soup in front of your you stared down at it. You knew it was too hot. Aaron came around the island and stood behind you.

"Oh Goooood" you whined out when he placed his hands on your shoulders and started to massage.

"You're so tense."

"Mmmm" you groaned as he continued.

Five minutes later, Aaron stopped the massage and your soup was cool enough to eat.

"Thank you, Aaron" you said eating soup.

"Always sweetheart"

When you were done you reached your arms up and Aaron chuckled and lifted you up. You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes.

"Time to rest again, honey. Don't worry about anything."

[luveline]

I feel like Hotch with a BAU!reader that has bad allergies? When they have to go elsewhere for a case and he knows to bring medication and plenty of tissues to subtly hand to reader because he knows they don’t like bringing attention to it even though it’s fairly obvious?

thank u for ur request! gn!reader

It's embarrassing —and a second, harder to explain emotion—, knowing your boss carries around tissues specifically for your sniffly nose. Worse knowing he has benadryl in his go bag, and worse again having to ask him for it. 

They're your allergies. You should have sufficient medication. Your job performance relies on it. 

You trudge across the grass of the field toward the big barn. You're on one of the biggest, most harrowing cases you've ever investigated, a mass murder hidden in the Canadian frontier under FBI jurisdiction because of the American victims. Hotch is especially upset by everything and hiding it behind silence and a brow furrowed so deeply you're sure that's it, that's how he's going to look for the rest of his life. 

You needing a tissue could not come at a worse time. 

Swallowing a lump, you cross the threshold. Hotch looks up at your steps. The zeroing in of his gaze on your red-rimmed eyes is nearly humorously instantaneous, but he doesn't ask, and you're ashamed to bring it up. 

"Emily back?" you ask him. 

"No. She and Morgan are still searching." He turns to the desk behind him, covered in old scrap tech. "How has handling the exterior evidence collection been?" 

"Um, it's still happening. You know. It's a lot to process physically." 

He gives you a look. If evidence is still being catalogued, why are you here?

"Hotch, do you have any benadryl?" you ask reluctantly. Your request is punctuated with a sniffle. 

Spencer comes barrelling into the room. "I found something." 

Hotch prioritises the case, obviously, but he gives you another look, this one saying, Come with me. You would've anyways, more than interested in what Spencer has to show. Together, the three of you head across the property to the barn, where Spencer climbs up a ladder into a hayloft. 

Hotch listens attentively, and he shoots off his own theories. You try very hard to listen and add your own input whilst smothering a sneeze, the itching sensation at the corners of your eyes like torture. 

A warm hand touches yours. 

You look down, already flushed with heat but your body is happy to do it again, apparently. Contact with Hotch is always so charged, at least on your end. 

His hand turns subtly outward, offering a small plastic wrapped packet of kleenex. You swear he holds onto it longer than he needs to, his fingertips brushing imperceptibly against yours as you take the tissues. 

You extract one without fuss to wipe your nose and dry your watering eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Hotch says quietly, as Spencer sorts through papers for something particular upstairs. "I meant to bring you these in the morning, but we've been here all night– it slipped my mind." 

You hate bringing any attention to yourself when it comes to your allergies, and you don't like thinking that Hotch is thinking about them when they aren't present, but then something twists into place in your head, so to speak, like an upside down puzzle piece righted, you can slot it into the picture without problem. The puzzle isn't finished or anything, but it's a clue. He's sorry he didn't give you any tissues this morning, preemptively, because he knew you'd have a reaction? 

Hotch must really care about you. 

But now isn't the time for that discussion. You're not sure what you'd say, anyways. 

You step in front of him a touch, a half step, and let your arm hang at your side. Hesitant, with your heart beating between your ears like a monkey toy on the cymbals, you reach backward. Your unsteady hand brushes against his. 

Hotch, brilliantly, astoundingly, brushes back. His index finger draws a slow, light line up your palm. 

"Here!" Spencer says, shocking you apart. He holds a drawing up over the wooden balcony. "Can you believe it?" 

Phantom heat crawls over your skin from Hotch's touch. You open your mouth to respond and find it promptly snapping closed as a sneeze rocks your entire frame. 

"Allergies?" Spencer asks. 

You groan. Hotch tells Spencer to keep working and turns to leave. "I'll go find those benadryl," he murmurs to you. 

You can't answer him, caught in the middle of a sneezing fit. 

[blackynsupremacy]

NURSING COOPER BACK

TO HEALTH

HEADCANONS

pairing: cooper koch x black!fem!reader

summary: cooper’s feeling under the weather, now it’s time for you to return the favor of making him feel better.

contains: based off this request, fluff, mild swearing, cooper being clingy and vulnerable, one suggestive joke, this can be perceived as platonic or romantic, it’s up to the reader.

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy

• when it comes to a project, cooper will put his all into it.

• he doesn’t care if it’s a major or minor role, he’ll probably work himself to the bone to perfect his craft.

• “cooper, don’t work yourself to death now!” you’d warn him as he’d come home in such a peaked state. the usual tanned glow of his skin diminished to a faint paleness.

• “oh, i’ll be okay! i think i’ll be—achoo!” he sneezed. covering his face with his arm. he tried waving off your warning. he loves how much you care for him, but never wants you to worry.

• he attempts to speak again, but his words are cut short with continuous sneezes.

• it gets worse when he starts to cough, his throat now irritated.

• “lord, have mercy.” you say, placing the back of your hand on his head. “you’re burning up—shit, you’re shivering!”

• cooper had definitely come down with something and it was escalating with more symptoms.

• you had the flu not too long ago and cooper being the kind person he is, took great care of you.

• although you appreciated his kindness, you tried to warn him to keep his distance, so he didn’t meet the same fate.

• did he listen? girl, no. he couldn’t stay away from you even if you were throwing up that’s how much he cares.

• now look at him. sneezing, coughing, and shit. he’s hard-headed.

• it didn’t take long for you to drag him to the bathroom. you figured his nose was stuffy and that he was going to feel some aches, so you ran him the steamiest bath and gathered some fresh towels.

• “cooper, take your clothes off.” you blatantly instructed, setting the towels down on the sink.

• he raised his brows in piqued interest at your statement, “aw, sweet. you ran us a bath. is this your way of making me feel better—a-achoo!” he sneezed again, his voice now nasally.

• you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes and handing him some tissue.

• even when he’s sick he’s still a charmer.

• “no, sneezy. i ran you a bath. soak in there, wash up, and you can steam up the shower to open up those sinuses. take your time and i’ll take care of the rest.”

• you leave him to it. while he’s soaking, you set out some clean pajamas and socks for him to wear.

• you had to run some errands to ensure he got the care he needed, so you left a note before your departure.

• you go the extra mile. setting him up a teladoc appointment, picking up some otc meds until he gets a prescription, ginger ale, kleenex, and ingredients for some homemade chicken soup.

• when you get home, you see cooper laying down on the sofa wrapped comfortably in a blanket while watching recorded reruns of rupaul’s drag race.

• when he lays his tired hazel eyes on you, he instantly lights up.

• “yay, you’re back!” he’d excitedly cheer before being cut off by his own coughs.

• you don’t hesitate to ask how his in-home sauna turned out. you were delighted to hear that it helped a little.

• you remind him to call into work and let them know of his illness.

• he wasn’t shivering as much, but he was still warm, so you gave him some tylenol and water.

• his teladoc appointment was in a few minutes, so you let him know he’ll get a call from the doctor shortly.

• as he proceeds to the visit, you’re already cooking up your family’s special recipe of chicken soup that’s guaranteed to help cooper get better. it’d helped you so much through your life, you hope it’ll do the same for him.

• after the appointment is done, he lets you know that he has a prescription to pick up later in which you offer to drive.

• “oh, no, sweetheart. you don’t have to!” he tries to protest, but you insist because he’s been there for you in times like these, so it’s only fair you return the favor.

• of course you feed his spoiled self the soup. for a six foot one toned heartthrob, cooper was a big baby when ill. you’re still rocking with him though.

• his sense of taste is gone, but he still believes it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. you fed him two bowls.

• you rub vick’s vapo rub on his chest and give him a glass of ginger-ale. (if yk yk)

• he hates that you had to leave him again to go get his medicine from the pharmacy.

• you know cooper so well, you don’t hesitate to give out his name and birthday to make the process smoother.

• when you return, you instruct him to take the medication immediately to get it into his system with plenty of water.

• he’s super clingy.

• you try to give cooper his space, so that he could get some sleep, but he holds onto your hand, prompting you to stay with those puppy eyes.

• “please, don’t go—i need you.”

• you give in to that big softie.

• he lays his head on your lap and wants you to read to him until he falls asleep. he finds your voice soothing.

• if you’re a singer, get that 80s or 90s slow r&b cover ready, sis.

• when he dozes off, you observe his peaceful countenance.

• it was like an angel had fallen into your lap.

• you softly touch his head, you sigh in relief as his temperature went down.

• “get well soon, cooper.” you affectionately whisper, placing a kiss atop of his curls, leaving him to slumber the woes of his illness away.

[braidlottie]

tempest

summary: after waking up from a hellish nightmare, lottie finds a way to put you back to sleep.

tags: hurt/comfort that leads to smut, 18+ (minors dni), nsfw, mommy kink, transmasc!reader, fingering, soft!mommy!lottie :33

“hey, hey. honey it’s alright.” lottie cupped your face as your eyes shot open from the nightmare you had. “oh, baby. you had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

you nodded, trying to think about lottie comforting you instead of the terrible dream. she brought your head into her chest, feeling your ragged breathing against her breasts. “oh, sweetie, you’re shaking. it’s alright.” the two of you spent a couple minutes in that position before lottie tried to get you back to sleep.

she laid you back down, thinking she would see your eyes flutter close, but instead you looked up at her with big glossy eyes. “let’s get you back to sleep, baby.” she stroked your face, then rubbing your chest. you grabbed her wrist, sliding her hand down from your chest to the pouch of your boxers.

lottie chuckled, shaking her head. “will that really help you get to sleep?” you nodded, moving her hand further down. “please, mommy.”

her hand slipped under the waistband of your boxers, pulling them down. she watched you prop yourself up on your elbows, smiling sweetly at the soft whine falling from your lips as she rubbed your tdick in circles, teasing your hole.

your breathing sped up again, sounding similar to when you first had awoken from your dream. “aww, poor baby,” lottie tsked. “must’ve been so scared from that nightmare, hmm?” she watched you nod, mouth slightly agape and whimpering. “mommy’s got you now.. such a good boy.”

“mm.. close.” you whispered, sock covered toes curling at the feeling. lottie shushed your moans, watching at the stress and fear leave your body as she slipped her middle finger into your cunt, still playing with your tdick. “you gonna cum? yeah? maybe that’ll help you sleep, sweetheart.” she slipped in her ring finger and pumping in and out a little more faster.

it didn’t take you that long to cum, you felt so pent up, you just wanted to let it all out. “that’s it. such a good little boy.”

she pulls your boxers back up and wipes her hand with some kleenex on the bedside table. you were already cuddling her when she laid back down, feeling yourself get sleepier by the second.

lottie just chuckled and rubbed your back, remembering to use her new bedtime remedy more.

[loveliedoll]

Say good morning to the fluffy my melody Kleenex cover!! Hi ladies hahah

[jaehyunssi]

neighbor - l.mk

synopsis: after breaking up with your boyfriend, you spent hours crying in the middle of the night. your loud and nonstop cries made mark knocks your door to find out what’s going on

neighbor!mark x reader - fluff - oneshot please read slowly for full experience + listen to any fluff playlist u have!

“Mark?”

When you heard someone knocking at your door at one in the morning, you didn’t expect that it would be your neighbor, Mark. Well, living in a cheap apartment won’t give you any guarantee that the walls would be soundproof too, you guessed. But one thing that surprise you more is how the man you almost know nothing about is standing in front of your door, looking worried.

You take a breath from your mouth, since your nose is clogged from the excessive crying. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” If he has got to be honest, he doesn’t know either. One thing that led him to find himself standing in front of you is how long and loud you cried that whole night. Probably two or three hours, which made him somehow wants to run to see you, maybe making sure you’re okay, or, well, he doesn’t really have the clearest idea too.

You tilt your head. “Yes…?”

“I really want to answer you, but your face looks-“

“Hideous?” You cut his words. “I know. Well, isn’t that clear enough for someone who just got dumped.”

Mark swallows his saliva. He doesn’t even know anything about you yet other than a girl who lives one door on his right yet the first thing he knows about something personal from you is the fact that you broke up with your boyfriend, who he also didn’t know the existence of.

“You don’t look okay, you know.” He looks at you, still. From your puffy eyes to your red nose, maybe the tears that has dried up on your cheeks, or even your lips that looks more blushed than it always be. “You could use a friend.”

The man with the white t-shirt covering his upper body somewhat surprised you with his sentence. When you first saw Mark, knowing that he would be your new neighbor after replacing the previous one who got married, you never thought he would be someone who cares so much about a stranger crying. You can’t lie that you were afraid that he’ll ask you to shut up, but this is not in any scenario of what thought you wanted to happen.

“Only if you want to see kleenex all over the couch..”

He smiles after letting out a quick chuckle. “I can get used to that quickly.”

You opened the door voluntarily after confirming his willingness to see a stranger at her worst. The man took off his sandals before finally entering the living room. Finally witnessing the scene where you spent almost three hours crying over someone who cheated on you with your own enemy. He turns his head, looking at you that by now is closing the door.

“Told you.” You raised your eyebrows.

But he shakes his head. “This is not bad at all.”

“Not even The Notebook playing on the TV?”

“Well…” He squints his eyes. “Not really a great movie to be a companion for heartbroken person.”

You laughed. “Okay, Mr. Rotten Tomatoes, let me clean up this place for you.”

Everyone needs a friend, and a friend needs someone to be the friend for. For as long as Mark knows, he loves the feeling to be needed. He loves when someone asks him to hangout with them or just to help them do something, but this is the first time Mark ever asks for someone to need him. As someone who’s actually really friendly, he never thought he would find himself asking for someone to make him their friend, until he knocked on a girl’s apartment door today.

As Mark put the hot cocoa powder on a mug he found on your kitchen, he began to think of why he had never talked to you before. He felt stupid, but at the same time, it was such a great choice for him to see your face clearly now. Somewhat a great timing, somehow grateful that you got dumped, somewhat relieved that he can finally talk to someone that he can only look at since he moved to this apartment you both lived at.

He doesn’t even know what made him scared to talk to you before. You’re not even a scary person.

“Oh my… what?” You grab the warm mug Mark hands you to. “Did you make this while I was cleaning the living room? How did you even…”

He lifts his shoulder. “Well, I have to do something.”

“Oh, come sit here.” You pat on the couch you’re sitting on. It’s a long couch you’re proud of. You remember the first time you bought it and you brag it to everyone who has ever been to your apartment. It was somewhat your best purchase. “You’re my guest, you know. A new one, even.”

“I know but I wouldn’t want your tears on this drink.”

“You’re pretty annoying to someone you just know ten minutes ago.”

He smiles. Now that you realized, he never let go of his smile. “Do you want to tell me about that break up then?”

You shook your head before sipping the hot cocoa Mark made. “This is nice.” You look at him watching you drinking the masterpiece he made. If only you knew, Mark had to look at the instructions on the can before he made it for you. “Can I know about you instead?”

“Me?” He points at himself, which you nod to. “There’s nothing much to tell about me.”

“There must be something.”

“I think it’s safe to say I’m not that exciting to know about.” He wraps his arms on the head rest on top of the couch, almost erasing the distance between the two of you. You keep your position still, as you still looking at those brown eyes of his.

“I hope no one told you that.”

The man chuckles. “Just me.”

You sighed, then you stand up, wanting to put the already finished mug of hot cocoa on the kitchen sink. But the sudden movement made you stumble, almost falling down right to the floor, before you land your other feet on the right positiont as Mark instinctively holds your back.

“God, are you really okay?” He looks at you as he helps you stand correctly. His arms are holding yours as you try to gain your full vision. “Can I..” He lifts his hand, stopping right in front of your forehead until you give him a nod to touch it. His furrowed eyebrows gave you a hint of something wrong.

“(Y/n), should we go see a doctor? You’re having a fever.”

You shake your head while you close your eyes. “No, please. I want to stay.”

“This can get worse, you know?”

“I know, I know. But, please.”

Mark let out a heavy breath. He helps you sit on your couch, putting his hand once more on you, but this time, on your neck. Knowing that it’s really a fever, his face is now not giving any friendly expression.

“Wait, okay?” He told you before leaving you alone.

You nodded.

Mark quickly run to the kitchen, looking for any clean napkin as fast as he can before he runs it through water. He grabbed a bowl of water, trying to give you a compress, at least for you to get better than your now temperature. “(Y/n)? Hang on, okay?”

You nod, again.

Mark haven’t really done this before, so he doesn’t know if he needs a hot water or a warm one, a cold water or a lukewarm one. So he made 4 bowls of water, each one with its own temperature. He found your bedroom quickly, running from here and there to put the bowls right beside your bed.

“Hey.” You can hear his voice, the way he pants, trying to catch a breath after running around your apartment. “I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He asked.

“What? No… no…” You shake your head.

He crouched down, grab your cheek for him to get a better look at you. Probably now, probably just now, he just realized how beautiful the stranger in front of him is. He doesn’t know what’s hypnotizing, your eyes, or your nose, or your lips, or, is it just you.

“Let me help you.” He told you as his eyes go back from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. “Please.”

You can’t really think much of what’s happening, but hearing him pleading made you say okay.

Now, the only thing that you know is that you’re no longer at the couch now. You can see your arms wrapping on Mark’s shoulder and neck, you can’t even believe how close your face is to his. You began to wonder if any man has ever worried about you this much. You began to think if Mark knows how nice this feels to you.

“Hey…” You called him, not really know why you forgot his name. But you’re clearly not fully conscious.

Your call made Mark stopped in the middle of his way on carrying you to your bed, just right before your bedroom door. “Hey.” He smiles. “Are you okay?”

You smile at him back. “Yeah.”

“Okay, one more step.”

You probably passed out because you don’t know what happens after that, but Mark managed to carry you safely to your bed, gently put down your body and he didn’t wake you up. He keeps compressing you, with the cool water after looking up about it on the internet. Placing the compress, sinking it on the bowl, placing it again, repeating the step for probably an hour.

The man watches you. Hearing you snore on your sleep made him relieve. At least you didn’t have any trouble on sleeping, and that’s good enough for him to know that you’re going to have a good rest tonight. He smiles, he thinks he never smiled this much on a day throughout his life. Maybe he did, but maybe, he has been giving a different smile to you today.

Mark tucks your hair behind your ear, not wanting any strand of it to get wet from the water excess from the compress cloth. He can’t find something else more appealing to look at other than your sleeping face. It’s crazy to him, that taking care of you, who’s still a stranger that turns out to be sick after crying for three hours, would be something that feels somewhat like heaven.

Maybe you’re the heaven he’s been wondering about after all these times.

“(Y/n)?”

Even though he didn’t expect it, you woke up. “Hm?” You responded, not really sure what Mark just said.

“Ask me to stay.” He pleaded.

“… What?” You try to open your eyes, only to see him sitting down on the floor as his hands holding the compress on your forehead. “Mark… what are you… why are you there?”

Mark stays quiet, his other hand is on top of your blanket, making sure that you stayed warm. “Ask me to stay with you, (y/n).”

You look at him in his eyes. “But… why?”

“I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

Mark doesn’t have the slightest clue of how or why he would ask you to ask him to stay, but he wants to. He wants to stay, even if it means he’s going to stay up all night changing the compress, checking your temperature, making sure that the heat goes down, he wants to do all that.

“I can’t say no to that face.” You laughed.

And Mark think he just fell in love.

a/n - hey! im back and i bring something fluffy (again) since mark has been on my mind whenever i play niki or lauv lol. and yeah please talk to me about how u feel abt this!!! slid thru the askbox or make some notes<3 ily all thank u so much

[tateszn]

spencer reid x teacher!reader headcannons

a/n: i just knowww this studious ass mf would love his teacher girlfriend 😻, also lmk if i should write more for spencer

definitely helps you grade stuff, ESPECIALLY essays

he’ll be done reading over a stack of hella essays in like 5 minutes

“you’re already done?”

“of course!” 

“okay. theres plenty more over there. help yourself, baby.”

buys you stuff for your classroom

he's very observant so he knows what you're running out of before you even have the chance to figure it out

“pencils?”

“yeah! when i went to visit the other day i saw your little bucket was almost empty so i got you more. and i got you some more kleenex since its getting colder, and i know the kids have runny noses.”

“thanks spence!!”

he knows how much you hate being out from work. having to make sub plans, assign busy work, cleaning up the classroom afterwards, etc. but sometimes, you just need a day to collect yourself

spencer can obviously tell when you’re starting to need a day or two off.

he knows how taxing your job is. just like how you know how taxing his job is. thats why he tries to take care of you as much as you take care of him.

“you’ve been working really hard lately, love. how about you take tomorrow off?”

“that sounds really nice, but i don’t want the kids falling behind. we have a lot to cover in just a few weeks.“

“they won’t fall behind, sweetheart. they have an amazing teacher. just please take a break, you need it.”

[hockeynoses]

Happy Halloween! (a snz fic)

Male - cold, mess!, implied future contagion

~*~

He wakes up to sinuses that are absolutely packed with congestion. He’d gone to sleep last night with a tickle in his throat and a bit of a headache, but he certainly didn’t expect to wake up to this.

His nose starts streaming the second he sits up in bed, setting off a tickle deep in his nose. Still hazy from sleep and a head that feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton, he only manages to get his hand halfway to his face before erupting with a thick sneeze – “heh-nnggK’SHO!” that forces the gunk that had accumulated in his sinuses out, covering his hand in mess, the rest escaping into the air. He’s left with twin trails of clear liquid coating his upper lip as he shivers, dazed.

Leaning over to the nightstand, he thanks his past self for keeping a box of tissues stocked there as he pulls out several of them. He buries his face in the soft cotton and lets out a truly ill-sounding blow. The sound of it crackles through the air as more snot is dislodged, filling the bundle and soaking through to his hands.

He throws the ruined tissues to the floor and grabs the box, setting it next to him on the bed and pulling out fresh ones. His breath scissors in his chest before he snaps forward with a violent – “huh…ha-AHH’EEHGGSHH’IUE!” that explodes out of him.

He doesn’t dare remove the tissues from his face, groaning as he feels the wet mess of it against his skin. He gives a damp, clearing blow, strong enough to shift the pressure in his ears. He’s forced to breathe through his mouth as he crumples up the Kleenex and tosses them to the side.

I’m going to go through the whole box by noon, at this point, he thinks, flopping back onto his soft pillows. He rubs his knuckles against his itchy nose, already well on its way to becoming pink.

It fucking had to be today, he laments, allowing himself a small pity party. It’s Halloween, and he’d been planning on spending the day making treats for the party later tonight, as well as handing out candy to the trick or treaters. He’s just going to have to power through. Maybe it just seems worse because it’s still early and his body hasn’t had time to wake up yet.

As soon as he thinks it, his nostrils flare and he’s surprised by a wrenching double – “ha’GSSHH’IUE! Huh..ha’NGGSSHH’uh!” At the mercy of his own body and unable to cover in time, the viscous spray of it mists the sheets in front of him. “Ugh… oh god,” he groans, swiping at the mess on his face with his hand.

Remembering the box next to him, he pulls out a fistful of Kleenex and releases a gurgling, cold-ridden blow into the waiting tissues.

“Fugg, I don’t wadda be – heh… ha’ERRSSHH’IUE! – SNF. I don’t wadda be sigg today.” Noting the squishy pressure that still clogs his sinuses after so many clearing sneezes, he resigns himself to the fact that he most likely has come down with the cold from hell.

Yet, determined as he is, he’s not going to let it stop him from going on with his plans. He can still make the food for the party tonight, he’ll just have to be very careful about washing his hands and covering his sneezes. If he has to make them one-handed while holding a tissue to his dripping nose the whole time, then so be it.

He should be able to hide his illness enough that no one will be worried. Hopefully he’ll be able to hold it off enough so they won’t take one look at him and decide it isn’t worth the risk. Hell, the way he sounds, even just being in the same room as him might be risky enough. But he can’t let his friends down, and he doesn’t want to miss the party.

Pulling more tissues from the box, he catches a harsh, scraping – “uh…huh…ha’NNGGGSSH’ah!” into the bundle, containing all of the dense, contagious mess that his nose is constantly trying to force out of him. He gives one last marshy blow before getting up to start the day, box of tissues in hand. If he can just keep his nose under control, everything should be fine.

[shieldofiron]

Steve is weepy leading up to the wedding. Anything can set him off- putting on his suit for his final fitting. Max telling him that her best woman speech is ready. One time Billy just mentions that they'll be 'busy that weekend' and Steve goes on a full cry.

"You're so sappy," Billy teases, "Where's King Steve now?"

"Shut up, I'm marrying the love of my life," Steve shoves a little at Billy's shoulder, "Even when you're a jerk."

So of course, on the actual day of the wedding, that's what everyone is prepared for. Robin tucks a handkerchief in her best woman suit. Joyce has prepared a few cheesy officiant jokes to cover if Steve has to cry.

Imagine their surprise when Steve is radiant, smiling through the whole ceremony into the first dance, not a tear in sight.

And Billy... Billy's a damn wreck. He goes through both Robin's handkerchief and Lucas's pocket square before Steve's even made it down the aisle.

"Softie," Steve whispers when they've made it down the aisle and are hidden away in a back room of the venue, having a few moments alone.

"Shut the fuck up," Billy sobs into a kleenex, "I fucking love your ass."

@intothedysphoria this is canon to ME.

[l-1-z-a]

🤭 Foiled! Or what do you get when you cross six Sims 2 Object Engineers with six large rolls of aluminum foil? - by Ray Mazza, Object Engineer of The Sims 2

Answer: All of the below.

We covered the victim's entire office: floor, walls, ceiling, desks, cabinets, computer, coffee cup, phone, chair... We even took a picture of foil-wrapped feet on the foiled desk, then made that the victim's computer background.

The office with the lights off.

Now with the lights on. Notice we even covered the ceiling tiles. At one point, the team needed a rally to follow through with the ceiling and the floor, but it made a huge difference. This is the power of teamwork. (In retrospect, I'm a little bothered that we didn't do the underside of the desk!)

A box of Kleenex with a perfectly comfortable tissue to blow your nose with.

The victim's office phone. Still fully functional, if not a little tinny-sounding.

The victim returns to his office the next morning.

Conclusion

Pranks like this encourage creativity, and they make the office an even more fun place to work. (And in retrospect, more than a decade after I’ve left The Sims, these were some of the most memorable and cherished moments of office life.)

Source:

The Sims 3 fans, article also contains some pranks from the development period of The Sims 3.

Now I can see why The Sims 2 contains so many ways to make pranks... :)