#fan drabble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cerisereids · 3 months ago

Text

𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗛𝗶𝗺 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗠𝗲- 𝗦.𝗥.

Pairing- early seasons!Spencer Reid x bombshell!Reader

Summary- You’re completely and totally enamored with Spencer Reid. When you have to flirt as part of a case, he is not happy.

Contains- not proofread we die like men, fem!reader, mention of reader's boobs and ass, the most unhinged work place flirting you've ever seen, Spencer is Horny, the case isn't rly canon compliant but fuck it we ball, nasty suspect who reader has to flirt with, Spencer gets insecure, they make-up and make out on the jet

A/N: divider from @saradika-graphics !!!

The soft, golden glow of sunlight filters through the window. The glimmer coats the BAU in an extra layer of warmth from the early spring chill. You adjust your light pink blouse as you approach the desk of your favorite coworker, Spencer Reid. You prop yourself up on his desk, your floral skirt pulling taut around your hips as you settle.

You swing your legs playfully, waiting for him to turn his attention away from his case file and on to you. A small smile curves his lips, and you know you got him. A heeled foot hooks behind his shin, running along the length of it until his gaze finally finds you. His eyes shine when they meet yours, a large hand moving to grip your ankle and bring it to his knee. He keeps it there, a soothing thumb rubbing the expanse of the skin there.

Your heart flutters at the action, his own cheeks tinting pink at his temerity. This has been a recent update between the two of you, Spencer's touch, his affection. Since you started at the bureau, only a few short months after him, you've been fascinated by the genius sitting beneath you now. At first, he was shocked by your immediate friendship, not used to such affection without having to earn it. In the past few months, though, his hands will graze your waist, his hugs lingering a moment too long. This change in behavior sparks a flicker of hope in your chest. Hope that, maybe, he sees you the way you see him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, he looks nothing like me..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

He shivers as you move off his lap, settling into his side as you begin to descend on Quantico. A flight home has never felt so long.

2K notes · View notes

twilightsumu · 9 days ago

Text

quiet tipper

connection: k. nanami x fem!reader

synopsis: he watches your live streams, always quietly tipping — and tipping bigger than anyone else ever did. when you finally notice, you offer him something in return.

content warnings: nsfw, smut (mdni), modern au, non curse au, camming (might have gotten some things wrong), mutual masturbation, sub kento (we all cheered), oral (m receiving), p in v, riding, no protection, crude language, spitting, creampie, very little plot.

(1) notification: this just randomly popped into my head months ago and has been collecting dust in my google docs. sorry to my fbi agent for all the sites i had to research. enjoy (please)!

wc: 4.7K (i say very little plot but can’t stfu)

other forums

The lights are off in his apartment — the only source of light being the red hue coming from his laptop. Heavy moans and the sounds of fingers slipping in and out of something wet clashes with the pristine quiet of his apartment.

His tie, still half knotted, is lazily thrown over his shoulder. Button up shirt half away undone. His slacks tighter around his tense thighs. He feels hot. He still feels too restricted. He wonders if his clothes were dried for too long during their last run through the dryer. Or if his air conditioner is working.

Especially as you’re completely bare on the screen in front of him. Plush thighs pushed open. The pixels of the laptop not capturing just how perfectly their glistening, your slick dripping from your own fingers.

A hand is already curled tight around his cock. Wet with his own spit and precum, he strokes slowly — trying to match the movements of your finger slowly dipping into your folds.

He’s studying everything you could possibly show him through this little screen.

But, that’s the thing — Kento Nanami has memorized every way you cum. He knows how you like your fingers curled up and the heel of your palm pressed to your clit. Or how you prefer vibrators for clitoral stimulus over a dildo for penetration — depending on how big the tip is, you’ll throw one into your routine. Or the way you spend just a little bit more time pulling at your right perky nipple, sometimes ignoring the left one all together.

He knows what you like and how you show that you like something. Like how your left eyebrows twitches when your fingers curl up, or how you bite your lip when you do use a dildo. Your moans muffled while you breath heavily out your nose, like you want to make sure your equipment picks up on the sound of your wet pussy plunging down on it. And all of this, because of this little website he stumbled upon a year ago.

jerkmates.net

“Are you making yourself feel good, baby?”

Your voice rings through his laptop speaker and his hand tightens around his cock. He almost wants to nod his head yes, as if you’ll get the answer and relish in the fact that he’s hunched over his laptop watching you finger yourself.

You’re leaning back on your elbows, one hand bracing yourself to the bed, the other one has your index finger pumping into yourself, slow and teasingly.

You glance up at the camera, blinking slow and wide-eyed like you’re innocent, like you’re looking directly at him. His hand on the desk turns into a fist. The hand pumping his cock, pumps a little faster.

The sound of his rugged breathing, the slick of precum and the sweat from his own hand mingles with the sound of your middle finger dipping into your wetness. Your hips buck, rustling the sheets below you.

Nanami has to pause his own movements, to watch how you curl your fingers up, just enough for effect. You let out a quiet, shaky breath — soft, just barely picked up by the mic — and spread your legs a little wider. The inside of your thighs wetter. Nanami’s stomach feels tighter.

He licks his lips, narrowing his eyes at the screen. If he could bring it closer, get bifocals, to see the definition of your wet sloshing pussy, he’ll do whatever it takes.

All he could continue to do is fuck into his own hand.

He watches you squirm. Watch your thighs tighten and shake, the perfect glisten on the inside of them. He wonders how they’ll feel wrapped around his head. He watches the way your stomach jumps, the moment your fingers press in deeper, rub harder. And obviously (and naturally), he wonders how his cock would look when he presses in deeper, if he ever had the chance to fuck you.

“I hope you know, I’m about to cum… just for you.”

Your free hand trails up your stomach, circling your right nipple with a slick thumb before giving it a sharp tug. Your back arches — palm meeting your clit. You gasp, shaky and soft. Your hooded eyes never leave the camera.

The corner of the screen, he sees the chat light up in a frenzy. Usernames drop corny one liners, some respond with one word answers. And some are just so crude, even for the site that they’re on. He ignores it. He never found the need to type something out for others to see.

His eyes avert back to you. Your chest is rising heavily, your tits perched up perfectly. And as if he could read your mind or the fact he’s watched you at least three times a week, he knows you’re close.

He bites the inside of his cheek, pulling himself closer to the screen. He strokes are tighter now, like he’s holding on to his own cock to ground him.

Fist closed, twisting slightly at the base the way he knows makes his thighs twitch. He wants you to know that little trick too. His stomach contracts with every upward pump. He can feel it building, tight and low.

Your fingers are moving faster. His pumps are faster. You’re curling two fingers into your pussy. He’s pumping from base to top, running his thumb over his leaking tip whenever he makes it back. His balls feel tighter, heavier. The muscles in his back feel tight, strained.

He wants to speak out, make a noise. His jaw slacked. All he could do is let out these pathetic gasps, your breathy moans speaking for the both of you.

And then it happens — you cry out, soft and needy, and your body jerks in that way that makes his mind go blank. Your head falls back, and he wishes he was there to take you by your chin and watch how your eyes roll back. Your fingers still pumping into your cunt, your other hand fisting the sheets below your flushed body.

He almost swears he’s in the little filming room with you. Breathing in your sounds, helping you cross that line the way you have helped him.

He finishes with a grunt that sounds like it’s stuck right in the middle of his throat — the first sound he made since he logged on. Hot ropes of his cum spill across his knuckles, leaking over his hand. His shoulders curl in and he jerks a final time into the fist still wrapped around his twitching cock.

Without much thought, it’s almost second nature at this point. Like conditioning, you cum, he cums, and then he goes to the sidebar to tip you. Never leaving a comment, never asking for anything in return.

Your breathy moans acts as background music as he inputs a number, one he can’t even fully flush out since he’s still coming down from his high.

He’ll go over his credit card statement next month and come back to this moment.

Tipped: ¥78,000

You: Hi! I’ve seen you tip before but that amount last night was way too much. Do you want a private video or something?

Nanami: I didn’t think you’d notice my amount.

You: You tipped double what anyone else ever sent.

You: Please, how can I repay you?

You: Where are you located?

You: Are you a creep in your mom’s basement?

Nanami: Tokyo

Nanami: I could lie to you but no I’m not a creep. And I live alone — in my own place.

You: If you go through the proper avenues (FaceTime, calls, pictures) would you like to meet? You: You know, so that I could repay you.

Nanami: Just tell me when and what I have to do.

Is he a real person? Check.

FaceTime to check? Double check.

Does he seem respectful enough? Triple check.

Are you staring at him right now, wondering just how badly you want to fuck him? Quadruple check.

“Why don’t you show me what it is that you do when you watch me?” Your voice is soft and a little teasing.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. You’re in nothing but a lacy pair of panties and a matching bra to match. The blonde, quiet tipper is standing a few feet away from you. An aura of.. hesitancy wafted between you two. His hands are balled into fists in front of him. His shoulders tense.

You would’ve thought he would be nervous, a little awkward. But it is almost obvious he’s almost excited to be here but he’s afraid of messing something up. The way his eyes flick on every crevice of your body whenever you make the slightest move. Or the way he leans in whenever you say a word.

Maybe your allure would be gone after having you jump out of his laptop screen and be placed in front of him.

He looks down at you, his hazel eyes trailing along your body so slowly you almost feel like he’s touching you. You clench your thighs at the invasion of his eyes lulling at your chest. His left eyebrow twitches in response to your movement.

“We could cosplay as if you’re watching,” you whisper as you shuffle up the bed, inching up slowly. You’ll be lying if you said you weren’t excited to get this going.

Leaning back on your elbows, as you do when you’re streaming — your fingers start to tap along your shoulder blade to push down your bra strap. The tipper’s eyes running along every movement.

You’re used to people watching you, but under his stare you felt seen. He starts to lean forward, his hands finally unballing and softly brushing your shin.

“No,” you huff out, pulling your leg close to your body. “Just like how we ended up here… no touching.” You shrug. His eyes are trained on the very obvious wet spot starting to pool in your panties. “From you, that is.”

“What a way to repay your best tipper,” he hums, amusement evident in his voice. His eyes darkening and the sound of his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. His movements are fast, but a little clumsy. Like he’s trying to keep this moment going on as slow as he could.

“You should remember,” you fully pushed one of your bra straps down. The air sweeps over your perked nipple, making you shift a bit. “I only stream for thirty minutes.”

“Trust me,” he has moved closer to the bed, his thighs pressed into the mattress as he stands at the head of it. His hands pushing his pants down. “I remember.”

Your eyes train along his body. Suit jacket has since been thrown to the side. The tie loosely and lazily hanging around his neck. That blue button up shirt, pressed tightly around his biceps. Rolled up just perfectly. You could confidently and shamelessly stare at the veins on his forearms. His glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His blonde hair falling forward, brushing his eyebrow.

You wonder, is this how he looks before he tips you? You have to hold in a breath, as your eyes finally trail down.

He’s big. Long, yeah, but it’s the weight of him — heavy, veined, curving up slightly. He wraps his hand around the base and it barely covers it. His thumb swipes over the slit, slow, deliberate, and your mouth actually waters.

“Show me what I do to you,” you murmur, your eyes not leaving his hand slowly pumping his cock.

“Should I tip you after?”

“I’m sure we could find other reimbursement methods,” you stare up at him. His cheeks already have the faintest tint of red, from the slow twist he’s been doing to his dick.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly unhook your bra — throwing it somewhere across the room. Your hands immediately cupping your tits. Your index and thumb roll over your right nipple and you arch your back, lifting your hips in the process.

You catch how his jaw twitches and he leans forward a bit. His hand pumping his cock picks up some speed.

You stay there for a while, watching him as he so often watches you. Your hands are still cupping your breast. Legs bent at the knees, you feel his stare at the very wet print on your panties. You spread your legs a little wider, giving him a better view.

You don’t move. Don’t say a word. Only smiling slightly at his reactions and movements. The way his eyes jump from your left nipple back to the lace sticking to your clit.

His strokes are long, languid. Like he’s savoring it. His eyes drag over your body while his fist moves in rhythm — from the thick base of his cock to the flushed head, slick with precum that glistens under the harsh hotel lights.

The noises he’s making are low, and controlled. You’re thinking of a way to get more out of him. You want to hear how he sounds when he’s watching you in his dark bedroom, his credit card statement hanging over his head.

“You’re just watching me.” He huffs through his nose. He squeezes just a bit at the base of his cock, his head lowering.

“Roles are reversed, I guess.”

You push yourself up, standing up on your knees. He watches, not slowing down the pumps on his cock. His chest rising rapidly. His hazel eyes are dark and watching you with an interest that makes it feel like you’re buzzing.

You crawl towards him and he pushes his lower body deeper into the side of mattress.

“Remember,” you lean down, laying flat on your stomach. Your tits squishing into the plush bed below you. “You’re not allowed to touch me.”

Nanami’s pumps have slowed down, like he’s still trying to savor the little bit of normalcy that he has when he watches you. His cock twitches ever so slightly when you tilt your chin up to look at him. You make sure you send him your widest, doe eye look. The one you know gets you the most tips.

He swallows a groan, and you swallow a laugh. Your thighs clenching below you, pressing your knees into the bed.

You don’t wait for permission, or even for his fist to completely come off his throbbing dick. You’re already leaning forward, your lips brushing against the head of his cock — featherlight, not even a kiss, just a breath. You close your eyes and take in the sounds. You hear the very sensitive shift of air in the room. Nanami’s stifled groan, his hips pushing forward — his thighs practically imprinted to the side of this mattress.

You scoot forward a bit more, moving one of your hands from under you. With a drop of his hand, your hand is now able to grip him as you bring your mouth closer to him.

He lets out a strangled moan, it almost surprises you. You expected him to be rough.

With a slowness that you’re sure is killing him as much as it is killing you — your mouth is on him. Wet and hot. Your tongue flattens against the underside of his hard dick. Slow and aching. Dragging from base to tip in a single, wet stroke. His stomach jumps, so does yours.

“Fuck,” from the corner of your eye, you see his hand twitching. As if he’s fighting every single power in the world to not put his hand on you.

Looking up at him, your tongue sticking out just a bit, licking your bottom lip. His cock now wet from his precum and your spit. “You’re being so good. With no touching and stuff.”

He groans and you almost laugh at the weak restraint that is so obvious.

Your lips are brushing the leaking tip before wrapping fully around him. The saltiness of his own juices dancing on the tip of your tongue.

He exhales like he’s been punched in the gut. His hands balling into a fist on the side of his thighs.

You go slow, hollowing your cheeks and taking him in inch by inch. Closing your eyes as you take as much as you can of him. Your nose pressed into the blonde hair at the base of his cock whenever you make it that far.

You use your hand at the base where your mouth can’t reach, twisting ever so slightly and squeezing whenever you see his hands try to grip on to something other than themselves. Like a little warning for this game that you’re playing. Your free hand trails up his thigh, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your fingers.

Your mouth moves in a steady rhythm. Wet and warm, the soft slurp of each pass louder than Nanami’s huffing, in the quiet room. You moan around him on purpose, just to feel the way he jumps at the sound. His thighs tense, like he’s trying not to buck. You want him too, you want to feel him at the back of your throat.

“Do you reward all your big tippers this way?” His voice is forced, the control that he’s losing breaking through. You hum around him, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

You pull back with a pop, a string of saliva keeping you connected. Lips wet and swollen. You flutter your eyes up at him, licking a drop of his precum from the corner of your lip.

“Only the ones who don’t live in their mother’s basement,” you joke. You lean forward again, keeping your eyes on him. Your lashes flutter whenever you take him too deep.

You wrap both hands around the base, twisting slowly with your mouth at his swollen tip. You give kisses, open-mouthed licks. Your tongue flicking the underside, running slowly along his protruding vein whenever your tongue reached it.

You want to drive him crazy. You want him to remember exactly what you feel like when he thinks about tipping you again. Maybe you’ll reward him again.

When you take him deep again, you make sure to moan around him, watching as his left hand reaches towards the bed. He’s wrecked — red in the cheeks, sweat at his temple, teeth sinking into his lip so he doesn’t groan too loudly. You pull back

“What’s the rule mister tipper?” You whisper. Pushing yourself back up to your knees, you’re almost eye to eye.

“No touching.”

“Such a good boy,” you mewl as you lean forward, your hard nipples pressing into his chest. Your nose barely touches his. Each of you could move less than a centimeter and you’ll be lip to lip. He huffs through his nose, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Sit down for me.” With balled fists, his pants hang loosely around his thick thighs — Nanami shuffles around you. The slightest brush of his body on yours as you switch spots. Shuffling off the bed to stand in front of him.

The wetness between your legs is almost unbearable. You ignore his eyes as you quickly shimmy out of the now ruined lace. You’ll use his tip to buy another pair.

Your knees are brushing his as you walk in between his legs. His eyes haven’t left you since he’s possibly walked in here — you almost want to ask if he’ll like to record this next part so he could keep it forever.

“Still can’t touch you?” He mumbles as you brace your hands on his shoulder, lifting your body onto his lap.

“You don’t get to touch me when you’re watching,” you shrug, scooting up a bit. Your knees settle on either side of his thick thighs, and his breath hitches audibly as your heat hovers just over his cock — still hard, still twitching. His eyes narrow between your face and your bodies just barely touching below.

With your hands still gripping onto his shoulders, you lean forward, noses almost touching again. One of your hands reaches over, gripping the back of his head slightly pulling his head back. He hums surprisingly. You could feel him holding back, his fist slightly hitting the bed below you. His breathing is coming out slow and broken. His eyes finally closing — as if he’s sending out a prayer for some restraint.

“A good boy deserves a good reward,” you murmur, running your fingers along his undercut. Your pussy is so close from his throbbing cock, and you’re fighting every restraint to not roll down on him. Not just yet.

Before he could even open his eyes or even respond, you tap his chin with your free hand. He opens slightly and your mouth parts. A string of spit drops from your lips and lands on his tongue, right as he opens it for you — no hesitation. His eyes flutter tighter, and a low groan escapes his throat. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he swallows, like he’s trying to commit the taste to memory.

“Such a good boy.”

Your hand gripping onto the back of his head moves down to between your bodies, your warm fingers wrapping around this thick cock softly. His eyes are still shut, his tongue still running over his bottom lip. You guide him to your entrance, running his swollen tip between your slick, coating him in everything he’s made you feel.

You're slowly dragging him between your folds and his fists beat into the bed. You smile to yourself.

“You don’t move,” you lean forward again, his eyes open just the tiniest bit. “Just sit here, and let me reward you.”

“I think we passed what I deserve.” His voice is shaken and his eyes so dark, they look completely different than they did a second go.

“Mhm, that’s for me to decide.” With all the control you could muster, you sink down on him — inch by inch. The stretch pulls a gasp from your throat, your nails digging into his shoulders as you finally bottom out. He’s thick, the curve of him hitting exactly where it needs to, and your thighs tremble slightly as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. You don’t even wait for him to collect himself or find a response for you.

His head falls back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down the groan that still somehow made it through. You feel how tense his whole body is. His thighs below you are holding you up, his fists slightly pounding into the bed. His jaw clenched as he watches through watery lashes as you start to get comfortable with the stretch.

You start to move — slow at first, dragging yourself up until only the tip is left, then sliding back down, savoring every inch. You roll your hips as slow as you can, watching his face for every little twitch, every broken breath.

“Fuck,” his tongue is sticking out and his eyes are squeezed shut. You lean forward again, nose brushing his. Your hands on his shoulders meet at the base of his neck, squeezing slightly. He opens his left eye, eyebrow rising with the movement.

“Look at me.”

You sharply roll your hips, earning a hiss from his swollen lips. His breath kissing your cheeks since you’re so close to his face. His eyes hooded, staring at your pussy meeting his cock.

You start to build a rhythm, up, down, roll. The drag of him along your walls has your mouth parting, letting out the same breath sequence Nanami is.

The wet sounds of your wet cunt meeting his cock fills the hot room — the soft slap of skin, the breathless noises slipping from both your lips. You move with purpose, hips rising and falling in a steady pace that keeps him fighting his restraint.

You’re having so much fun, you wonder why you haven’t done this before.

His cock fills you just right — thick, curved, stretching you as much as your body could take. Your thighs begin to tremble from the effort of keeping up with fucking him. But it’s worth it.

Every time you sink down, his jaw tightens. Every time your walls clench around him, he lets out the most pathetic moan. Almost a whimper and you hide the way you want to giggle.

You reach for one of his balled up hands. He looks like he might pull away out of instinct, but you place it on your left tit.

“I could break my own rule,” you whisper.

His fingers twitch, then his palm settles over your breast, thumb brushing your nipple just lightly. His lips part, a groan half-escaping before he sucks in a shaky breath. And because you’re far too gone, you ignore his other hand reaching up to grab your other tit. His fingers tugging and rolling your perky nipples.

His self-control is withering, if he even still has some— you could almost taste it. You’re obviously not that far behind him.

You don’t know who is louder. Nanami’s barely restrained whimpers or your loud moans as you feel him buck his hips to meet yours. His fingers tugging a little more roughly. Your hands back on his neck, squeezing just enough to make his eyes shoot open and stare back into yours.

“Do you want to cum?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then be good and wait.”

You pick up your pace. Your hips snapping as they meet him with every thrust. Your thighs are burning, but you can’t skimp out in his reward. You refuse too — especially with how good he’s making you feel.

You almost forget about his grip on your tits. His thick digits rolling your nipples — tugging a little harder on the left one. You arch your back and he smiles, an easy one as if he was so sure that would happen.

Sweat is dripping from not only Nanami’s forehead but yours as well. And you feel your walls tightening around him, you’re so close. And with the way he’s panting and rutting into you, he is too.

“I would’ve tipped you this much a long time ago if it means I could be here,” his voice is gruff and low. And that’s all you needed to send you over the edge. His hands still holding on to you, his breath tickling your cheeks.

You roll your hips, his own hips still bucking up. You want to stop and tell him he’s breaking the no moving rule. But he feels too good. He fits too well to try to stop it now.

“Well tip again and we’ll be back,” you moan. Your eyes are clenching. You’re biting into your bottom lip as you feel your walls clench around him. The drag of his cock, the twisting of his fingers. It’s too much.

Your mouth parts, no sound coming out. Your body shudders, falling forward. One of his hands that were on your tits is on your thigh as you shudder against his broad shoulder.

You cling on to him, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt. You’re still hastily grinding, ignoring the fire in your thighs for the way he’s huffing through his nose and his fingers gripping into your plush thigh.

Your slick and his own precum is coating everything between you. A wet spot on his shirt. You grind down harder, ignoring just how far over you are your own limit.

You feel him. The way his cock is twitching inside of you. How frantic his hips are bucking into you, begging for more friction. The hand on your thigh holding on so tightly, it almost hurts.

“C-can I cum?” His eyes are already rolled halfway back, his head lulling to the side.

You don’t respond, not verbally. You let out a moan as you grind down on him a little harder, giving him all that you have left.

He lets out a broken moan as he spills everything he has in you. His back arching, his eyes closed shut. He’s cumming hard — deep and hot. You feel it as you slow down your grinds.

He doesn’t stop shaking.

“How was this as a reward?” You hum, your breathing still heavy. You watch as Nanami’s chest rises slowly — as he collects his bearings.

He has not opened his eyes yet. His hands dropped to the bed below, with the faintest dud. The aftershock of orgasm still makes you feel the throbbing of his still hard cock.

You lean back. A whimper leaving his lips as you shift on top of him.

“I could give you my credit card number if you’d like.”

next forum

866 notes · View notes

sagesturns · 22 days ago

Text

˖°. rolling - m.s ˖°.

contents: smut. pnv. softdom!matt. sex tape. stomach bulge. praising. +more

your legs are thrown over matt’s shoulders, lace-trimmed socks brushing his jaw as he rolls his hips into you, slow and mean. each thrust drags his cock deeper, the stretch brutal — your stomach tightens under the pressure, bulging obscenely where he hits. “look at that,” he murmurs, voice like syruped venom, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “my pretty baby’s stuffed full. you feel that, huh? right there?” he taps the swell in your lower belly and grins when you twitch.

you whimper, digging your nails into his biceps. he cages you in, elbows sinking into the mattress on either side of your head, sweat dripping from his temples. his lips brush your ear. “hurts a little, doesn’t it?” you nod, dizzy. “keep going.” he groans, low and raw, and fucks deeper. your thighs shake. your tits bounce with every snap of his hips. your breath catches.

the red light on the camera blinks steadily at the edge of the bed. he set it up earlier, angled perfectly to capture every twitch, every arch of your spine, every filthy sound you make for him.

“gonna look so pretty on tape,” he mutters, running a palm down your thigh before grabbing it tighter. “gonna watch this every night, fuck myself to it. to you.”

you whimper, back arching as his cock bullies its way deeper, forcing a high, broken cry from your throat. your body’s trembling, clinging to him as he leans over you, pressing you into the sheets.

his eyes flicker down to your stomach, watching the bulge in awe. “look at that,” he whispers, thumbing the swell. “you feel that, baby? that’s all me.”

you nod frantically, words lost in your throat.

matt leans close, lips brushing your ear, voice low and dripping with possession. “say hi to the camera.”

“m-matt—”

he just chuckles, kisses your neck. “don’t be shy. you’re fuckin’ glowing for me.”

then he shifts, grabs under your back and lifts you up, holding you tight to his chest as he fucks into you like you’re his last breath. the angle hits something deep — too deep — and you cry out, gasping into his skin.

“say my name,” he whispers, “nice and loud. wanna hear it on playback.”

you moan it again and again. he leans in and kisses you — slow, hungry, dirty — then pulls you into his lap without ever slipping out, your arms around his neck, thighs locked around his waist.

“gonna keep it just for us,” he pants. “only we get to see how good i wreck you.”

then he shifts, sitting up and dragging you into his lap, keeping you full of his dick the entire time. your arms wrap around his neck, and he bounces you on his cock like he’s addicted to the sound of you gasping.

the tape keeps rolling.

©sagesturns☆

a/n: neeeeeeeddddddd. wrote this on the 1 hour bus ride.... sigh.

1K notes · View notes

bunnyyyuu · 10 months ago

Text

includes: gn! reader, aged up! boys, i dont know what to put here u get the point

what are the boys packing?

MEGUMI — perrrrrrrfect like the rest of him

6.50 inches, reasonable girth, uncircumcised, curve to the right, pretty pink tip, one big fat vein running on the underside of it. it's very nice. like i said, it's perfect. he fits so snugly inside you, reaching the most head-spinning spot inside you. you don't need two hands to give him a handy, but you definitely struggle to take him in your mouth. his tip is super super sensitive also. he blushes every time you ogle it like it's the most beautiful thing ever, but he stops caring when you absolutely worship his perfect cock.

TOGE — short boy, short dick

4.75 inches, on the thinner side, circumcised, oh so subtle curve to the left, light salmon pink tip, veerrry veiny (like big fat veins that he NEEDS you to lick). it's cute! it fits! to his credit, he is great with it and it fits just right in your pretty mouth. not too much, not too little. he makes up for his lack in size with his tongue and hands, don't worry. he’s a little embarrassed about it being too small, but, of course, you reassure him. though he wouldn't mind if you made fun of his size a little.

YUUJI — a great size <3

5.50 inches, really fat, circumcised, no noticeable curve, tip is really pink (especially when you tease him for hours), also extremely vieny but they're less prominent than toge’s. the length is perfect and cozy tight inside you, but his girth stretches you out until you're seeing nothing but stars. same with your mouth—it is a challange to stuff all that thickness in your throat. he leaks like a lot. a gust of wind will have this bitch leaking pre like a waterfall. his balls, too, are super fat. please play with his balls!!!

YUUTA — wtf? freakishly huge??

8.25 inches, super duper girthy, uncircumcised, curves to the right, the most beautiful pastel pink tip, a few cutesy veins. like many before me, i declare that huge massive dick yuuta is canon. it's scary, terrifying even. he’s muscular—can't be the second strongest without being musclar—but he’s still pretty lean and lanky, but he has such a long, fat dick that it is insanely jarring. a shower, for sure, but that's okay. he’s so humble about it; “is it really that big?” he blushes when you're gawking and rambling about how there's no way it’ll fit your first time with him. spoiler alert, it does not fit. it stretches you out and splits you open like nothing else ever could. he feels so guilty about it, yet it always makes you cum so hard you almost pass out so he feels a little better!

2K notes · View notes

heavenlybodies333 · 1 month ago

Text

Daddy Issues -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The BAU is quieter after hours. No flurry of footsteps, no clipped commands or rustling case files. Just a low hum of computers left on overnight and the distant tick of the bullpen clock.

You’re curled up in the small corner of the library, cross-legged, back hunched, arms wrapped around yourself like they might hold you together better than he ever could.

You told yourself you weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not again. But the tears crept out anyway. And now you’re here, in the place that always steals him from you, waiting—again—because he swore he’d make it up with dinner, and you believed him. Again.

The door creaks open softly. You wipe your face quickly. “Hey.”

You look up, blinking through tears, and find Spencer standing there in his cardigan and slacks, a file in one hand, a slight furrow in his brow. “What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to sound casual, even as your voice cracks.

“He got pulled into a call,” Spencer says quietly. “He told me to tell you he’d be down as soon as he wrapped it.”

You nod. “Of course he did.” You wipe your face fast. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t respond right away. Just takes in the disheveled state of your textbooks, the uneven stack of flashcards, the smeared mascara on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. He says, soft as a breath, “Tell me what he forgot.”

Your stomach twists. You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s so stupid. I’m twenty, I shouldn’t care.”

“That’s not how people work,” Spencer says, voice warm and achingly gentle. “That’s not how you work.”

You press your lips together. Hard. Trying to hold it in. “He was supposed to come to the presentation,” you whisper finally, like the words shame you. “My psych capstone. It was today.”

Spencer’s chest tightens. “He told me he’d leave early to make it.”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “Well, something came up. Probably another profile. Another victim. Another name on a file that matters more than mine.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer says instantly, but you cut him off with a look.

“You don’t get it. You have no idea what it’s like to be the thing he always chooses last.”

Spencer’s quiet. Not because you’re wrong. But because he knows you’re not. You look away. “He texted me after it was over. Said he was proud. Said he was ‘sure I did great.’ Like I’m some intern giving a slideshow instead of his fucking daughter.”

Spencer’s voice is barely audible. “You’re not second to him.”

You whisper, “Then why do I always feel like it?” voice breaking slightly. “It was on trauma-informed profiling. I used BAU cases for the foundation. His cases.”

Spencer smiles faintly. “Of course you did. I’d like to hear it sometime.” You looked over at him.

“I mean it,” he said. “All of it. The whole thing. In order. Start to finish. I’ll sit through it as many times as you want.”

Your throat tightened. “Even the stats section?” you whispered.

He smiled, warm and soft and proud. “Especially the stats section.”

“I even quoted you, you know.” You nudge him. “Statistically, you’re the most cited member of the team.”

He nudges back. “I’ll never let him live that down.”

And for the first time that day, you laugh. Quietly. Weakly. But it’s real. He holds your hand a little tighter. “I’ll remember your paper,” he says. “And I’ll ask to read it.”

You choke back a sob, “Thanks, Spence.” You lean your head on his shoulder. And for the first time that week, the ache in your chest starts to loosen. Because even if your dad forgets sometimes…Spencer never does.

a/n: Spence is my babygirl

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

#spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid drabble #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader

775 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 7 months ago

Text

SOO much fluff with my random thoughts. We love a meet cute featuring a sweet uncle Bucky. Imagine working at a daycare, surrounded by the cutest little ones everyday. You know you shouldn't have favourites but you can't help but fall especially in love with three year old Jamie and his mop of brown hair, his sweet blue eyes absolutely stealing your heart. He'd recently been babbling and talking your ear off about getting to stay at his Uncle's house since his parents were going away on vacation.

"We have the same name" He stated proudly while mushing up some playdoh between his tiny fingers, "Mama said I gets to stay with him for two whole weeks"

"I hope you have the best time, bub" You smile at his excited ramblings, giving his hair a ruffle before making your way to cut up some fruit for snack time.

You arrived at the daycare center just in time for their lunch for the afternoon shift, setting your things down and getting to work grabbing napkins and laying them on the tables. The littles ones all lined up to wash their hands before getting their lunch boxes out, most quite self-sufficient with opening their containers without assistance.

You heard a frustrated grunt, looking over your shoulder to find a very determined Jamie with his brows knitted together attempting to open his lunch to no avail. He finally gave up, toddling over to you, the growl of his belly making a clear statement.

He was hungry.

"Can you open this please?" He holds his thermos with two hands, smiling when you take it from him, patiently waiting for you to open it. You try to unscrew the lid, frowning when it doesn't budge even when you try with all your might. You tie a rubber band around the top to give it some grip but it stays locked in place, unmoving after you ran it under hot water and ridiculing you when you tried to pry it open with a butter knife.

"What is your uncle, a super soldier?" You huffed, trying to open the little lunch thermos one more time but there was no point; it was sealed shut. "I don't think I can open this for you, bub, he closed it extra tight"

"Uncle Jamie made me mac and cheese" his little face melted into a sad pout, his belly rumbling again.

"I'm sorry baby, how about sharing half a grilled cheese with me, hm?" You cooed, toasting your own lunch in the panini press and putting it on a plate for him. "We need the avengers to open this, let's see if uncle Jamie can open this when he picks you up"

He happily nibbled on the sandwich, licking up the crumbs, putting away his thermos and making his way over to play with some blocks. When it was hometime, you got everyone ready, sending them on their way while Jamie remained, waiting patiently for his uncle to arrive while sitting on the playground, hugging onto his stuffy in the meantime.

"Ms. y/n, Uncle Jamie is here!" He jumped up in excitement hearing the rumble of a motorbike pull up outside, running to the fence, waving over to him.

"Let's see this Uncle Jamie of yours" You said with an amused expression, wondering who managed to close a lunch lid so tightly. His uncle certainly wasn't what you imagined, watching a tall, broad man parking his bike. He was dressed in all black, parking the bike and pulling his helmet off, letting it rest on one of the handle, running his hand through his short chestnut locks, a toothy grin spreading on his face.

There was no way.

"Oh my God-

"Uncle Jamie!!" The little one ran off to his uncle, jumping into his arms, hugging him with his entire body. The super soldier grinned, catching him with ease, blowing a raspberry against his cheeks making him squeal and sending him into a fit of giggles.

"Hey little man" He chuckled, cradling his nephew and giving him a few extra cuddles before setting him back down and taking his backpack from him. You'd wondered what the hell was in his little backpack which was strangely heavy, gasping when you saw him pull out a tiny leather jacket.

"Arms up, buddy" Jamie lifted his arms, letting his uncle secure the jacket on him.

"He didn't eat his lunch, we couldn't get the lid open" You handed him the thermos with an apologetic look, "He had a grilled cheese instead, I hope that's okay"

"Sorry, doll" Bucky smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "Guess I didn't realize how tightly I closed it" He took it from your hand, opening it up with ease, steam still billowing from the contained from when he'd heated it up that morning.

"He didn't tell me his Uncle was the very Sergeant James Barnes" You ignored the heat that crept up on your cheeks, an equal blush spreading across Bucky's. "He's been talking about you all week"

"He's been talking about you too" Bucky said with an edge of a flirty tone to his voice, his nephew had said just about everything there was to know about you but the little runt left out just how pretty you were. How sweet. Super cute.

Actually that was a lie, he definitely went on about how pretty you were.

It would appear he had more in common with the three year old than he thought; they both had an apparent crush on you.

Get it together Barnes, you just met her.

"He's a little rascal" Bucky chuckled, looking over his shoulder to find his nephew impatiently wiggling, waiting for a ride, "We're actually just around the block so not a long ride but he loves it" Bucky chuckled as he strapped Jamie into the sidecar, plopping a tiny helmet onto his head.

"Bye Ms. y/n!! See you tomoowo!!" Jamie waved making you smile at how adorable he was, his voice muffled in the helmet.

"Bye baby, see you tomorrow!" You waved back, your breath hitching in your throat when you met the other set of sparkling blue eyes peering at you.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ms. y/n" Bucky said with a wink making your stomach flip, giving you a cheeky smirk before pulling the visor down.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

Okay imagine after two weeks of little parking lot interactions he obviously has to ask you out on a date. Then another. Another. Soon, little Jamie is excited to see you having sleepovers at Uncle Jamies!! He's bragging to all his friends about how he gets to see Ms. Y/n all the time.

Then you're over for Christmas! And New Years! Now you live with Uncle Jamie and it's the best thing ever! And obviously, little Jamie is the ring bearer at the wedding. A year or two later, he finds out he's going to have a baby cousin to play with.

Just an idea.

1K notes · View notes

obseeung · 8 days ago

Note

Desperate sunghoon !? long time away from each other, built up tension, phone sex maybe? Then they meet and have desperate sex !!

my first ask and it's such an amazing one as well. i hope you'll enjoy it <3

MDNI | phone sex, car sex, riding.

The Tokyo night pressed thick and humid against Sunghoon’s hotel window, the city lights blurring into streaks of neon through the condensation. Thirty days. The number echoed in the hollow space beneath his ribs, a constant, gnawing ache.

He lay sprawled across the stiff hotel bed, phone pressed to his ear, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat coiling low in his belly.

Your voice, soft and familiar, washed over him as you recounted the mundane details of your day back home—the spilled coffee, the annoying coworker, the rain that finally broke the heatwave.

"…and then Mrs. Kim from downstairs brought up that kimchi she promised," you were saying, your tone light, conversational.

Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgment, a low, non-committal sound. But beneath the thin sheet draped over his hips, his hand was moving.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers traced the hard line of his cock straining against his briefs. The friction was minimal, teasing, but the heat building was undeniable. He palmed himself through the cotton, a soft groan catching in his throat, hastily disguised as a sigh.

"Yeah?" he managed, his voice slightly thicker than before. "Her kimchi’s always too spicy for me." He shifted, pushing the sheet down just enough to free himself.

The cool air hit his flushed skin, making him hiss softly. His fingers wrapped around his aching length, giving a slow, experimental stroke. Pre come already slicked the tip, easing the glide. He closed his eyes, picturing you curled up on your own bed, unaware.

You paused mid-sentence. "Sunghoon?" Your voice held a sudden, sharp note of awareness. "Are you… are you breathing hard?"

Caught. A thrill shot through him, sharp and electric. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he let out a low, deliberate groan, the sound rough and unfiltered down the line. "Mmm. Yeah, baby."

His grip tightened, stroking himself with more purpose now, the slick, wet sound faintly audible even over the phone. "Listening to you talk… about your day… fuck, it’s driving me crazy."

A sharp intake of breath from your end. "Sunghoon…" His name was a whisper, laced with shock and dawning heat.

"Can’t stop thinking about you," he confessed, his voice dropping to a husky rasp. The rhythm of his hand intensified, thumb swiping over the swollen head, spreading the wetness. "Thinking about how you taste… how tight you feel… how you sound when you come apart for me." He paused, letting the filthy image hang in the silence. "Touch yourself. Right now. Do it for me."

"Sunghoon…" you breathed, but the protest was weak, already crumbling. He heard the rustle of fabric, the soft sigh that escaped your lips. "I… I am."

"Tell me," he commanded, his own strokes becoming faster, harder. "Tell me where your pretty fingers are."

"They’re…" Your voice hitched. "Under my shirt… touching my nipples… they’re so hard, Sunghoon…"

"Fuck," he groaned, the sound ripped from deep in his chest. He pictured it—the soft swell of your breast, the pebbled peak under your questing fingers. "Pinch them for me, baby. Make them ache like I ache." He heard your sharp gasp, followed by a low whimper. "Yeah, just like that. Sound so fucking pretty. Now… lower. Tell me how wet you are for me."

He heard the slick slide of your fingers, unmistakable this time. "Oh god…" you moaned. "So wet… Sunghoon… dripping…"

"Just thinking about my cock?" he growled, arching his hips into his own fist, fucking his hand with desperate urgency. "Thinking about how bad you want it buried inside you? Stretching that sweet little cunt wide open?"

"Yes!" The word was a sob. "Want it… want you… so deep… missed you so much…"

"Tell me how you want it," he demanded, his breath coming in ragged pants now. "Tell me how you’d ride me right now if you were here."

"I’d… I’d climb on top," you gasped, your voice thick with need, your own fingers working frantically between your legs. The wet sounds grew louder, mingling with his own slick stroking. "I’d sink down… take every inch… feel you fill me up… stretch me so good…"

"Fuck yes," Sunghoon snarled, his hips pistoning. "Ride me hard, baby. Grind that sweet clit right against me while you take my cock. Make yourself come all over it."

"I would!" you cried out. "I’d bounce… fast… so fast… feel you hitting my gspot… oh god, Sunghoon!" Your moan climbed, fractured. "I’m… I’m close…"

"Me too, baby," he gasped, his own climax coiling tight, a white-hot wire about to snap.

"Come for me. Scream my name while you come. Let me hear you fall apart." He pictured your back arching, your face contorted in ecstasy, your tight cunt milking him dry. "Imagine my cock pulsing inside you… filling you up… marking you deep…"

"SUNGHOON!" Your scream ripped through the phone, raw and desperate, followed by sharp, gasping cries as your orgasm tore through you.

The sound, the sheer abandon in your voice, shattered his last shred of control. "FUCK! GOD!" His roar was guttural, primal. His body locked, spine bowing off the bed as his release exploded—thick, hot ropes spilling over his fist and onto his stomach in violent pulses. He groaned, long and low and utterly wrecked, riding the crashing wave of pleasure, your name a broken chant on his lips.

Silence fell, heavy and thick, broken only by your ragged, gasping breaths echoing down the line. Sunghoon lay trembling, sticky and spent, the phone still pressed to his ear. He could hear your soft whimpers, the aftershocks of your own climax.

"Christ," he finally rasped, his voice utterly ruined. "Hearing you come like that… fucking wrecked me, baby." He swallowed hard, the emptiness after the storm already gnawing at him.

"Tomorrow," he breathed, the word a desperate promise. "Three PM. Be ready. Nothing between us but skin. Gonna make you scream like that again… with my mouth… my hands… my cock buried so deep you forget your own name." His cock gave a painful, spent twitch against his thigh. "Miss you so much.

The sterile chaos of the airport was a blur. Sunghoon navigated customs and luggage claim with robotic efficiency, the practiced smile plastered on for fans and cameras feeling like a grotesque parody.

His manager chattered beside him about the schedule; Sunghoon heard only the frantic drumbeat of his own pulse. Then he saw you.

Standing near the exit barriers, wearing that soft blue sweater he loved, twisting your hands. Your eyes locked. Time compressed, stretched, snapped. He didn’t walk; he stalked towards you, ignoring everything else. The polite mask evaporated. The raw need he’d only voiced over pixels was etched into every hard line of his face.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he reached you. No words. None were big enough to hold the inferno raging inside him. One hand tangled brutally in your hair, tilting your head back. The other clamped possessively around your waist, hauling you flush against him.

The kiss was pure collision—desperate, devouring, a claiming. His tongue plunged into your mouth, tasting your gasp, igniting every nerve ending you'd both tormented for a month.

You melted into him, your own hands scrambling up his back, nails biting through his thin t-shirt. He broke the kiss only to breathe harshly against your lips, his eyes burning into yours. "Car. Now." His voice was stripped raw.

The backseat of the hired SUV felt like a confessional booth built for sinners. As soon as the tinted partition slid up, sealing you in near-darkness, Sunghoon became a man possessed.

His hands were everywhere—under your sweater, shoving your bra aside to palm your breast roughly, thumb rasping over your tight nipple while his mouth reclaimed yours in another bruising kiss.

His other hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt to your hips. The flimsy barrier of your panties was damp proof of your own desperation.

A possessive snarl escaped him as his fingers ripped at the lace, tearing it aside. "Mine," he gritted out, two fingers plunging deep into your soaking heat without preamble.

You cried out, bucking against his hand, your walls clenching instantly around his thrusting digits. "So fucking wet," he groaned, curling his fingers viciously against that sweet spot inside you. "All this for me."

He watched you unravel, your head thrown back against the leather seat, gasping his name as your inner muscles fluttered and squeezed his fingers.

He couldn't wait another second. Fumbling with his belt buckle, he shoved his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, painfully hard, weeping at the tip. He hauled your hips towards him, positioning you roughly astride his lap in the cramped space.

"Ride me," he commanded, his voice thick and dark as molasses left in the sun. "Show me how much you missed this cock." With a sob of relief, you sank down onto him, taking his entire length in one slick, glorious slide that punched the air from both your lungs.

Sunghoon threw his head back with a moan, his hands clamping onto your hips like vices. The stretch, the heat, the absolute tightness—it was a homecoming more profound than any airport arrival.

You began to move, rising and falling with frantic urgency, each downward plunge forcing choked gasps from him. He met your rhythm, thrusting up hard as you came down, driving himself impossibly deeper. The slap of skin on skin filled the car, mingling with your ragged breaths and low moans.

His hands slid under your sweater again, roaming possessively over your back, down to grip the swell of your ass, fingers digging in to control your pace.

He watched your breasts bounce with each desperate undulation, leaned forward to capture a taut nipple in his mouth, sucking hard through the thin cotton of your bra. The world outside ceased to exist—just the primal rhythm of your joining, the slick friction building to an unbearable peak.

He could feel your inner walls beginning to spasm wildly around him, fluttering. "Come for me," he rasped against your skin, biting gently at your collarbone. "Let me feel you come on my cock."

Your keening cry was muffled against his shoulder as you shattered, your body convulsing around his length, milking him with fierce pulses of pleasure.

The sensation ripped his own climax from him—a torrential flood that left him shuddering violently, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied himself deep inside you with a roar that felt ripped from his soul.

You slumped together in the trembling aftermath, sticky and breathless in the humid confines of the car, limbs tangled, hearts hammering against each other’s ribs.

Sunghoon nuzzled into the damp hair at your temple, pressing fevered kisses along your jawline. "Not enough," he murmured hoarsely against your skin, his cock still half-hard within your pussy. "Need more. Need every inch of you."

The desperate edge hadn't dulled; it had merely found its first taste.

The hotel was still miles away, but the backseat felt like just the beginning. His hand slid down again, fingers tracing lazy circles around where you were still joined. "Again," he demanded softly, his breath hot on your ear.

The humid air inside the SUV crackled with the aftermath of your first frantic coupling, thick with the scent of sex and sweat.

Sunghoon’s cock buried deep within your pulsing warmth, twitched insistently as your inner muscles clenched around him in fading aftershocks.

His hands, large and possessive, never left your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as if anchoring you to him. His chest heaved against yours, the damp fabric of his t-shirt sticking to your skin.

"Look at me," Sunghoon rasped, his voice scraped raw. His dark eyes, still clouded with desperate hunger, locked onto your. "Need to see you." He shifted beneath you, his grip tightening, urging you to move again even as you both trembled. "Ride me, baby. Harder this time. Show me how much you needed this."

A low, needy whimper escaped your lips as you obeyed, lifting yourself slowly, feeling the exquisite drag of his thick length almost leaving you before sinking back down with a wet, deliberate slide that forced a groan from deep in Sunghoon’s chest.

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, his head falling back against the headrest, exposing the taut line of his throat. "Just like that. Take it all."

As you found a rhythm, rising and falling with increasing urgency, your breath hitched into sharp gasps. "Sunghoon… god… missed you… missed this," you panted, your voice trembling with the intensity of sensation. "Feels so… so good… filling me up…"

His gaze snapped back to your face, drinking in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. "Tell me," he demanded, his own voice thick with lust. "Tell me how bad you wanted it."

"I ached," you moaned, arching your back as you drove down onto him, the angle hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Every night… thinking about your cock… how hard you get for me… how deep you stretch me…" Your confession spilled out, raw and unfiltered. "Wanted to scream… touch myself… but it wasn’t you…"

A possessive growl rumbled from Sunghoon. His hands slid up from your hips, pushing your sweater and bra roughly up over your breasts, exposing them fully to the dim light filtering through the tinted windows.

They were full, tipped with hard, dusky peaks, bouncing enticingly with every downward plunge of your hips. "Fucking beautiful," he breathed, his voice thick with reverence and lust. His thumbs immediately found your nipples, circling them roughly, pinching and rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers.

You cried out, the sharp pleasure-pain arcing straight to your core, making you clench fiercely around his cock. "Oh! Sunghoon!"

"Yeah, baby, that’s it," he groaned, his own hips bucking up to meet your downward stroke, driving himself impossibly deeper.

He leaned forward, capturing one taut peak in his hot mouth, sucking hard. The wet heat, the scrape of his teeth, the relentless pull of his mouth—it was overwhelming. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him to your breast as you rode him with abandon.

"Feels so good… your mouth…" you gasped, your voice climbing higher. "Suck them… harder… please! Wanted your mouth… your hands… everywhere…"

Sunghoon moaned against your flesh, the vibration sending shivers through you. He switched nipples, lavishing the same rough attention on the other nipple, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue.

His free hand kneaded the soft weight of your other breast, squeezing possessively, watching the flesh yield to his touch. The sounds were obscene—the wet suckling, the slap of skin as you rode him faster, your slick folds gripping his shaft, the ragged symphony of your breathing punctuated by your escalating cries and his deep groans.

"Tits are perfect," he mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled, thick with desire. "So fucking perfect… mine to play with… mine to make you scream." He pinched a nipple sharply, making you yelp and clench around him again. "That’s it… squeeze my cock just like that."

You was unraveling fast, the dual assault on you senses—the deep, relentless stretch of him inside you, the exquisite torture of his mouth and hands on you breasts—pushing you towards the edge. "Gonna… gonna come…" you sobbed, your movements becoming frantic, losing rhythm. "Sunghoon… please… please…"

He released your breast with a wet pop, his eyes blazing up at you.

"Come on my cock," he commanded, his voice a dark, ragged scrape. "Let go, baby. Scream for me." His hands slammed back onto your hips, driving you down onto him with brutal force as he moved upwards, meeting your frantic descent stroke for stroke.

The orgasm tore through you like lightning. A raw, ragged scream ripped from your throat as your body locked, convulsing wildly around his pounding length. "YES! FUCK! SUNGHOON!" Your head thrown back, breasts heaving, you shattered completely again, your inner walls clamping down on him in fierce, rhythmic pulses.

The sight, the feel, the sound of you coming undone above him again was too much. Sunghoon’s control snapped. A groan tore from his throat as his hips stuttered, then slammed up one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

He held you there, impaled, as his own release surged through him in hot, pulsing jets, flooding your depths again. His groan was long, deep, and utterly wrecked, echoing in the confined space as he emptied himself inside you once more, his body shuddering violently beneath yours.

You collapsed together in a sweaty, trembling heap, sticky and spent.

Sunghoon’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as his cock pulsed its last within your warmth.

His breath was hot and ragged against your neck. His hands, still trembling, drifted up to cup your breasts again, thumbs gently stroking the abused, sensitive nipples.

"God… listen to you," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction and lingering awe. "Screaming my name… sounding so fucking pretty."

He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "And these…" He squeezed gently, earning a soft, oversensitive whimper. "Played with them just like I dreamed about… every damn night."

His cock gave a lazy twitch inside you, still half-hard, impossibly ready. "Car isn't enough," he rasped, nuzzling you hair.

"Need a bed. Need walls. Need to hear you scream till you're hoarse… while I suck these perfect tits all night long." His hand slid down your back, possessive, demanding. "Let's call the driver so that we can go home."

474 notes · View notes

sonicasura · 1 year ago

Note

So Dadju will meet Trainer and there Pokemon, when a Kaiju clean he had been packing up to leave suddenly gets invaded by a Youju, however the Youju had their sights set on attacking a young kid they were chasing.

This occurs a week after Kafka got there Kaiju powers, so they prepare to intervene. Only for the Kid to suddenly stop and face the Youju while bringing out a red and white ball.

Trainer: Alright this place seems pretty secluded, Now let's show them what a Frontier Leader can do, Ride on Blaziken.

After a brief flash from throwing the Pokeball there now stood the tall battle ready fire-fighting type who in a single flame infused kick decimated the Youju that sought to kill them.

Trainer: Great job Blaziken now let's get ouuuttttt.... of....here.....

They turned to be met face to face with Kafka who's jaw had hit the floor.

Kafka: Gaaaahh.......

Trainer: Ummmm..... sup' * awkward wave*

Blaziken following there Trainer's lead also gave an awkward wave.

A wild Trainer has appeared! What will Kafka do?

Lmao Yeah, that's a pretty accurate first meeting. The Yoju stood no chance against a Battle Frontier level Pokemon especially one like Blaziken whose a favorite in real life tournaments. Kafka definitely takes Trainer with them since he also has a secret to hide.

Showing his Kaiju side as a form of trust just in case because I don't think he wants a kid wandering around on their own. Even if they have a flaming Kung Fu Chicken that can blaze kick Kaiju to death.

6 notes · View notes

kimstills · 1 year ago

Text

blame

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fan fiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic #maddie writes

3K notes · View notes

trampleddoves · 2 months ago

Note

I feel like Spencer would fuck you to help you deal with school anxiety and stress.

s. r. blurb 7

contents: afab!reader, penetrative sex, slight free use if you so wish, MDNI (I wasn’t sure if this was a request, anon, but I found it oddly tender, so here’s a sweet little blurb for you.)

Spencer Reid is no stranger to the demands of academia. The difference is, while he consistently thrives on this challenge, perks up like he’s on four cups of coffee at the thought of engaging in intellectual practice, you aren’t as enthusiastic.

Of course, you’re smart. You work hard. He admires that about you, supports you in any way he can. And over the course of your relationship, he’s learned quite a few ways to help you cope with the mind numbing, frustrating stress brought upon you by university.

You’ve both come to the conclusion that sex is the most helpful. Specifically, when he takes you from behind while you lie on your stomach, a pillow propped beneath your belly. It allows his cock to reach deep, barely requiring that much movement on his end. He can just thrust lightly, and the angle lets him hit that perfect, toe curling spot deep within your walls. Meanwhile, you don’t need to do anything, just lay down, mewling sweetly into the pillows as you let the pleasure consume you.

Sometimes, you’d be in the middle of studying, teetering to the edge of a breakdown, and he’d press kisses to your jaw, hands tugging insistently at whatever bottoms you have for that day. He’d find you wet, chuckling at the fact that, amidst the stress and pressure of doing good, your body still gets so easily worked up for him.

He’d toy with you during those moments, two fingers buried in your cunt as he quizzes you on whatever material you’re reviewing. He insists that he’s just helping your mind focus—if you can get through and remember what you studied even while he works his fingers into your cunt, then you can remember them during the exam.

If you had some better sense of mind, you’d call him out on it, demand proof—which you’re sure he’d provide anyway. But then you’d be too busy trying to remember the material, answer his questions in a way that would satisfy him, all the while clenching around his long, thick fingers.

Once exams are over, he gently guides you to your stomach, taking your mind off of the idea of results and missed questions and essay structures. Pushing them out of your tired brain with slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips and murmurs of praise in your ear.

“Good job, pretty girl,” he’d croon, burying his face in the back of your neck, “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.” and the exhaustion would melt away. Over time, you’d find yourself looking forward to exam season too, just like Spencer, but for entirely different reasons.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb smut #✒️ penned by dove

708 notes · View notes

stvolanis · 1 year ago

Text

oh nothinggg, just thinking about Spooky x Bimbo! Reader

god, Spooky can’t stand you. always wearing those shorts—the ones that your ass cheeks hang out in. running around with your flimsy tube tops, nipples peeking through. Somehow being mixed into his brothers friend group, but not being involved in their messes. You were kinda just the friend they kept around cause your daddy sells weed to the people in Brentwood, so they got major discounts! but of course they loved you.

god, the amount of times he’s gotten a flash of the thin little hot pink thong straps you wear—or when you bend over to pick up something right in front of him; he thinks you’re doing it on purpose at this point! So he’s puzzled when you stand back up and whip around with an oblivious smile and innocent look in your eyes. He always has to do the thinking for you cause your silly brain can’t really comprehend what’s going on with the freakin roller world money your friends keep blabbering about that spooky wasn’t supposed to know about! Too bad, you already told him when you were mindlessly yapping about your day!

he would totally say something like, “didn’t know I was gettin a free show, baby.” After he walked in on your trying to shimmy off your skin tight, mid thigh dress. You blushed and weakly tried to shove him out of the room, only in your panties and matching bra. But it was like pushing a brick wall, and the way your clothed breasts pressed against him had him going crazy! So he felt like his body acted on its own when he grabbed the flesh of your ass with one hand, and your throat with the other.

He inhaled your scent, muttering a string of profanities in his mother tongue as he kissed the side of your jaw. “Been tempting me too much lately, cariño. M’only a man at the end of the day.” He breathed against you, watching the way your shorter body trembled under his touch. “I have needs. N’ it’s your job to take care of them like I always take care of you, ma.”

so of course as soon as he said that, his hand harshly pulled your bra down, exposing your breasts to him. He pinched one of your nipples, pulling it a little before releasing. Soon, your knees collided with the hard wood beneath you’d, and his cock was slapping against your cheek, leaving a trail of his sticky pre-cum. “S’right, niña. Put that pretty mouth to better use.” He smirked—that fucking smirk. The one that made you week in the knees.

You knew you were done for.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!

TAG LIST: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @luxuriouslokistan-3 @foxevxid @sapriao @xiyingly @jazminsjaz @likeits2002 @www-interludeshadow-com @khxna @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @hockeyrat @rafeswhorejjsslut @peterpan-neverfails @sunflowerskenz @lemonadygirl @newavenger @bloobewy

3K notes · View notes

sagesturns · 2 months ago

Text

˖°. too good- m.s ˖°.

contents: smut. pnv. riding. possessive dom!matt. orgasm control. overstimulation. praising/degradation (?) inspo from here!

you start out on top—bare thighs straddling his hips, nails biting into the broad slope of his shoulders as you try to move the way he likes. try. because your pace is never fast enough. never deep enough. never fucking good enough for him.

and he lets you know it—with that little smirk he gives right before his hands clamp down hard on your ass, fingers digging deep enough to bruise. there’s no warning, no softness. he jerks you down, hard, the full stretch of him punching the breath out of your lungs like you weren’t prepared, like you haven’t done this before. and yet—it still shocks you. every time.

he groans when your cunt clenches around him, sharp and needy. “oh, you like that, huh? can’t even ride me right, but you’re so damn greedy for it.” he’s laughing now, but it’s not mean. It’s worse—fond, like he adores the way you twitch on his cock, like your helplessness is his favourite thing.

your body trembles, slick and overstimulated, heat coiling low in your gut. he knows. of course he knows. he fucks like he can feel every nerve in your body, like he owns them.

“you’re shaking, sweetheart,” he coos mockingly, pinning your hips down as he slams up into you again and again, thick and fast and devastatingly perfect. “that mean you’re close? you gonna cum just from this?”

you whimper, your nails scraping down his chest as your vision blurs. your voice is nothing more than a desperate plea—broken syllables and wet gasps. he grabs your jaw, forces you to look at him. he watches you, lips parted, flushed and panting beneath you like you're a gift he doesn't know how to deserve, even while he's the one fucking the sanity from your bones. “that’s it,” he coaxes, voice frayed with restraint. “you feel that? taking me so good—god, so good, can’t even think—”

you can’t. Think. not with how he’s rolling you onto him, guiding your body like it belongs to him. your voice cracks in a whine as you try to speak—his name, maybe, or more, or please, or nothing at all. it’s just noise now, needy and sweet and breathless.

matt’s gaze snaps to your face, and something in it breaks, like he’s never going to get enough of the way you look when you're falling apart just for him. “you sound so pretty like this,” he breathes, thumbing over your jaw before guiding your forehead to his. “you always do when you’re close. you gonna fall apart for me, sweethart? huh?”

your head nods, desperate. “y-yeah, I—hahh—’m, ‘m gonna—please, matt—” the words come out broken, drawn out in soft little sobs that don’t sound like you anymore.

he curses under his breath, and you feel him twitch inside you. “fuck—hold on for me, just a little longer. you can do that, can’t you? be my good girl?”

your answer’s not really words—just a string of high sounds and a full-body tremble—but he takes it, dragging you down flush and grinding into the deepest spot inside you until your eyes flutter back and your whole body stutters like a glitch. stars burst behind your eyelids.

“matt—matt—” you choke, clinging to him like you’ll float away otherwise.

“i got you,” he whispers against your temple, voice shaking now too, his own pace faltering as he loses himself in the heat of you. “always got you.”

and when it finally hits—white-hot, shattering—you swear the world doesn’t fall apart. It falls perfectly into place.

a/n: i saw that post and HAD to write this.

taglist: @sweetshuga. @strnilolover. @sturnmeovr. @marrykisskilled. @cherryystemm

©sagesturns☆

802 notes · View notes

musingsofheaven · 5 days ago

Note

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,” he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I’m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

654 notes · View notes

elliespassagerprincess · 1 month ago

Note

I keep thinking about reader and ellie having so much sexual tension because reader never been with a girl before but is feeling so much for ellie and ellie is just obsessed with what she thins is a "straight" girl.

So all of that just reaches its peak and they just lezz it out 😭

Jessie and dina just find them being all lovey dovey kissing and holding hands

I LOVE GIRLS MAN

Not so straight - ellie williams x reader

hi anon!! this is some of the gayest shit i've ever written. Women are so hot. I hope you enjoy!!

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts and ideas!!

warnings: MDNI 18+ Explicit sexual content (reader has never been with a girl before, oral sex), sexual tension, reader is "straight", ellie being a pussy

summary: You arrive in Jackson unsure of yourself and your place, while Ellie Williams—quiet, sarcastic, and secretly obsessed—tries to hide her growing feelings. Convinced you are straight, Ellie buries her longing until a slow-burn tension ignites between them.

masterlist

This story contains sexual content—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online.

Ellie watches you like you’re a solar flare in a snowstorm.

You’re new. You showed up to Jackson in the dead of winter, cheeks red from cold, carrying nothing but a chipped mug and the kind of smile that makes people slow down when they walk past. She doesn’t talk to you at first. Not directly.

Not until Joel pushes her toward you during patrol pairings, muttering something about “being friendly.”

You stand there in your coat, boots muddy, hand half-raised as if uncertain whether to wave or run.

“Ellie,” she says, dryly. “I guess we’re stuck together.”

You smile. “I’m good at being stuck.”

She doesn’t ask what that means.

You are sunshine in a town of shadows. That’s what Ellie thinks. You help in the greenhouses, hands always smelling like basil and soil, smile always crooked. You hum when you walk, badly off-key, and it drives her insane.

Insane because she thinks you don’t notice how close she stands when she’s near you. How your scent—warm and herbal—makes her jaw lock. How every time you look at her, she forgets what she was supposed to say.

“Wanna share a joint?” she offers one afternoon after patrol.

You tilt your head. “You share with everyone or am I special?”

Ellie’s throat goes dry. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

But you’re already smiling, cheeks glowing with something she doesn’t understand.

Not yet.

You call her “Williams” when you’re teasing. Which is always. She likes it too much.

“Williams,” you say, voice muffled by your scarf. “You always this grumpy or just when you’re with me?”

“Just you,” she mutters.

You grin like you won something. Maybe you did. Dina notices it first.

“Ellie,” she hisses one night while the two of you play cards. “You’re pining.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re obsessed.”

“I’m—”

“I mean, I get it. She’s gorgeous. But you really think she’s into girls?”

That stops her. Because no—she doesn’t. Not really. You dated a guy when you first got here. A quiet one. He left after three weeks. Ellie pretended not to care.

But you never talked about it again. And now—now you blush when she stares too long. Now your eyes linger on her lips. Now she can’t stop imagining what your mouth tastes like.

Even though she shouldn’t. Even though she won’t.

You're not dumb. Something's off between you and Ellie. It's electric. Tangled. Quietly loud.

She looks at you like she hates you. But she’s always helping. Always near. Always touching the small of your back, brushing dirt off your shoulder, muttering dry little insults that somehow sound like praise.

And you—you don’t know what to do with the heat curling low in your stomach when she laughs.

You’ve never felt this before. Not with anyone. Not like this.

You're not sure if you're straight. You thought you were. You still think you might be. But when Ellie’s in the room, your thoughts derail.

And when she's not, you look for her.

You almost kiss her by accident.

It’s a rainy afternoon. You’re both stuck in the library, waiting out a patrol delay. She’s showing you sketches in her notebook—little scribbles of dinosaurs and space shuttles and, weirdly, you.

You laugh when you see it. “That supposed to be me?”

Ellie snatches the book away. “Shut up.”

You grab it back. She lunges. Your heads knock, and suddenly her lips are a breath from yours.

You freeze. Ellie does too.

Your hand is still on hers. Your heartbeat is thunder. Her eyes flick to your mouth.

Then—

“Sorry,” she mutters. She pulls away. “Didn’t mean to—yeah.”

She’s gone before you can say her name. You sit alone, heart in pieces, wondering what the hell is happening to you.

You try to avoid her. It doesn’t work.

She’s always around. Always half-glaring, half-hoping. She looks at you like she’s memorizing your face. Like she’s sure she’ll have to let it go. You want to tell her she doesn’t.

You want to ask her why it feels like your skin burns when she touches your wrist.

But you're scared. So you say nothing. And she says less.

Dina corners you one night during a movie night in the rec center.

“You like her,” she whispers.

You blink. “What?”

“Ellie. You like her.”

You hesitate. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.”

You lower your voice. “I’ve never liked a girl before.”

“So?” Dina shrugs. “She’s not any girl.”

You stare at the screen, heart pounding. No. She isn’t.

She’s Ellie. And you’re falling.

You find her on the roof.

She’s sitting cross-legged, hoodie up, sketchbook balanced on her knee. She doesn’t hear you until you sit beside her.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you say.

Ellie’s head jerks up.

“What?”

“I’m confused. I’ve never—liked a girl. Not like this.”

She’s quiet.

Then: “You don’t have to say that to be nice.”

“I’m not being nice. I’m being honest.”

Her hands shake. “You’re straight.”

“I thought I was.”

She looks at you. Really looks. You lean in. It’s awkward, soft, perfect.

Your lips meet like you’ve been waiting years.

When you break apart, breathless, Ellie’s voice is a whisper.

“Still confused?”

You grin. “Less.”

You’re in Ellie’s bed again, but this time it’s different. It’s not about sleep. Not about hiding from the cold or curling up after a long patrol.

It’s about the look she gives you when your fingertips trace the lines of her collarbone. It’s about how you lean in, lips trembling, whispering:

“I want to… I want you.”

Ellie stiffens. “You sure?”

You nod, but she holds your face in her hands, searching. “Hey. We don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“But—” her voice cracks, “—you’ve never done this.”

You lean in, kiss her softly. “Then show me.”

She exhales shakily. “Fuck, okay. Come here.”

She kisses you like she’s memorizing it.

Like you’re the only thing she’ll ever study again. Her mouth is warm, slow, exploring yours as her hands stay feather-light on your waist. No pressure—just patience. Her fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

“Okay?” she asks between kisses.

“Yes,” you breathe.

She pulls it off gently. You shiver, not from cold—but nerves.

“You’re beautiful,” she says.

You blush. “You’ve barely seen anything.”

“I see you. That’s enough.”

Her calloused hands explore carefully—over your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breast. Every touch is tender, like she’s afraid to break you. And maybe you are breakable. But only in the best way.

When she lays you back, you swear you could cry from how gentle she is. She kisses down your chest, murmuring soft things you can’t even make out over the pounding of your heart.

“Still good?” she asks, lips brushing the underside of your breast.

You nod. “Please don’t stop.”

Ellie hums. “I won’t. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers slip into your underwear slowly. She’s warm, steady, curling them just enough to make your back arch. You moan—soft and startled. She watches your face like it’s sacred.

“Feels good?” she whispers.

You nod again, biting your lip.

“God, you’re wet,” she mutters, more to herself. “You’re doing so good.”

You cling to her wrist, breath catching as she works you open, curling and pressing just right. Her mouth finds your thigh, then lower.

And then—

“Ellie—”

She answers with her tongue.

You didn’t think you could fall apart so fast. But with her, it’s like being known. Like your body was made to be read by her. She doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking, your hand tangled in her hair, your voice cracked from saying her name too many times.

Later, she holds you close, lips on your temple.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, still catching your breath. “You?”

She laughs. “I’m great.”

You giggle, burying your face into her neck. And for the first time, you don’t feel confused.

You feel found.

The morning sun spills across Ellie’s bed in quiet gold.

She’s still asleep, sprawled beside you, freckled cheek pressed to the pillow, one arm possessively wrapped around your waist like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. You’re not going anywhere.

You stare at her, your heart soft. Her lips are slightly parted. Her lashes flicker from some dream. She looks young like this. Peaceful.

You reach up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She stirs.

“Mornin’,” she mumbles.

You smile. “Hi.”

Her eyes blink open. Green and dazed. “You okay?”

You nod. “Better than okay.”

Ellie exhales. “Good.”

You bite your lip. “Can I… touch you?”

That wakes her up fully. She props herself on an elbow, eyes wide. “You want to?”

You nod. “Last night… you took such good care of me. I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her breath hitches.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Yeah. Yeah, baby. Please.”

You kiss her first, softly, until she melts beneath you. Your hands move carefully—over her ribs, her stomach, her hips. Her skin is warm, muscles twitching under your touch.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur.

Ellie groans. “I’ve been dreaming about this for months. Letting you touch me? That’s—fuck. It’s everything.”

You swallow your nerves and slide lower. Her thighs part automatically. She’s already wet, and you whimper softly at the heat between her legs.

“Just like that,” Ellie whispers. “You’re doing so good.”

You press gentle kisses along her inner thighs, and her breath stutters.

“Is this okay?”

She nods frantically. “Please. Please, baby.”

Your mouth meets her, shy and slow at first. But the way she gasps—hands gripping the sheets—makes you bolder. You lick, suck, explore her with growing confidence. Her taste is addicting, and the way she moans your name makes your stomach flutter.

When you slide two fingers inside her, she arches up off the bed.

“Fuck, yes—don’t stop—”

You don’t. You hold her down, mouth still on her, fingers working steadily, watching her unravel completely. When she comes, it’s with your name broken on her lips and a desperation that makes you fall in love all over again.

Later, she’s breathless, clinging to you. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, still dazed. “You’re so good at that.”

You laugh. “I had a good teacher.”

She pulls you closer, kissing your forehead.

“I’m yours,” she whispers. “You know that, right?”

You press your lips to hers. “I do now.”

You’re inseparable after that. Ellie walks with a little more swagger. You smile more. Dina catches you kissing behind the horse stables and nearly screams.

“I KNEW IT!”

Jesse owes her twenty bucks. Ellie scowls, but you’re laughing too hard to care.

At night, you lie in her bed. Her arm is slung across your waist. You trace the freckles on her shoulder.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper.

Ellie smiles. “I think I’ve been writing about you since I was twelve.”

You kiss her again. Because you’re not so straight.

And she’s not so alone.

593 notes · View notes