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saetoru · 10 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MEET UGLY — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au!, rich boy! gojo, first meets, slight meet ugly but mainly he’s just annoying, established relationship in second scene, banter + fluff, kissies for da princess boy <3

dating gojo has always been, and will always be, the biggest unforeseen plot twist of your life.

the first time you encounter gojo satoru, it’s in literature class. he laughs with that dark haired friend of his a bit too loudly in the back while you try to share your thoughts on the reading from last night—it’s not that you particularly care for the class, but you’re trying to get the participation points, and you don’t want some slacking jackass to ruin that for you.

you throw him a glare over your shoulder, making him pause and blink before he shoots you a cheshire grin. you swear you hear a chuckle from the distance as you turn and continue speaking.

the second time you stumble across him is in line at the campus coffee shop. it’s the first day of the semester, and you have class in fifteen minutes across campus, but you’re tired. incredibly so—working shifts back to back late into the night is not doing you any favors, but you have to afford gas money and textbooks somehow.

you need caffeine, and you need it quick so you can make it to class on time.

except the tall, snow-haired stranger in front of you is making that very difficult as he takes forever and lists his wildly long list of syrups and add ons for his drink—seriously, who can even stomach a drink like that? you crinkle your nose as you imagine how sweet it must be. what irritates you more is that he pays for his ridiculously expensive drink that’s far too sweet for eight am with a black card. you glare daggers into the back of his head, wishing you could crack his skull in two with your stare alone.

and then he turns, raises a brow as he stares at you calculatingly—and then his lips turn into a grin as he seems to recognize you. great, you think.

“hey, weren’t you in lit class with me last semester?” he asks, making you sigh as you purse your lips.

“yes. now please move, i need to order and get to class.”

“she curved that final exam pretty generously, i thought i was going to fail—”

“i’ll take a large double shot,” you mumble, ignoring him as you place your order. you can feel his stare from the side as you pay.

“that’s pretty strong, don’t you think?” he asks, making you throw a glare at him from over your shoulder, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

it only seems to amuse him more, making you grit your teeth—how irritating could someone even manage to be? there’s got to be some sort of record he’s holding for most nerves he’s ticked off within the span of two meets.

“well, assuming from the fact that you’re a college student with a black credit card,” you huff, “you probably haven’t had to work a single night shift in your life.”

you put away your own card as you speak—one that’s not black, and one that’s going to have a very high bill due soon from the textbooks you’ll have to purchase.

“i like you,” he grins, “you’re funny. how about i—”

you cut him off again, done interacting for the morning. “have a nice day,” you say curtly, walking over to the wait area for your drink.

he seems entirely amused by your attitude—which only pisses you off more. does everything seem to make his lips quirk into that annoying smirk of his? and why is it so handsome? what a waste of such a gorgeous face to be paired with such an insufferable personality. and, because the universe hates you, he waits around for you even after he gets his drink, following you out the door when you grab yours and leave.

“how about i take you out for coffee tomorrow?” he grins, “i’ll pay with that black card you like so much.”

what an asshole—you hope he gets hit by a car and loses a few teeth.

“no.”

“c’mon, it’ll be fun—”

“no.”

“okay,” he chuckles, “feisty. i like it.”

and then, as you turn the corner, he turns with you, walking leisurely behind you as he sips that disgustingly sugary drink of his.

“what the fuck,” you hiss, “why are you following me?”

“i’m not,” he says innocently, “why are you following me?”

where are all the cars in the streets when you need them? and why haven’t they hit him yet?

“i’m walking ahead of you jackass,” you huff, “how can i be following you?”

“oh yeah?” he takes a few strides with those abnormally long legs of his, walking ahead of you as he shoots you an amused grin over his shoulder. “now you’re following me. does that mean you changed your mind about that date?”

“you wish,” you seethe.

a few more steps, and he walks into the same building as you. great—you’ll likely be running into him every morning then. a few more steps and he’s turning the hall to the same hall as you. wonderful—you’ll probably have to deal with him to the walk to class too. a few more steps, and then you realize he’s entering the same class that you’re entering.

fucking fantastic. just what you needed. absolutely divine luck—the universe has really handed you the largest pair of clown shoes it could find.

of course he of all people would be in class with you for another semester—and he seems to brighten considerably when he realizes he’s in your class too, because his grin widens even more.

“well, look at that,” he says brightly, “you followed me all the way to class. we might as well be seatmates.”

“don’t even think about sitting near me,” you warn, “i’m going to go that way. you go that way.”

he does not go the way you point—instead, he chuckles and plops down right beside you. how on earth could someone be so easy to despise? of all the empty seats in the entirety of the lecture hall, he just has to choose the seat right next to you.

for a moment, you contemplate skipping this class entirely and trying to teach yourself everything before the tests just so you don’t have to see him—you’ve done that enough times, it shouldn’t be too hard. but then you remember that this course is notorious for having a semester long paired project that weighs for a hefty amount of your final grade—skipping is not an option.

so, with veins ready to pop any second, and an oncoming migraine, you sit through all of lecture trying to ignore the absolute worst guy you’ve ever met. not only is he rude and obnoxious and overly confident to a fault—but he’s also rich and spoiled and privileged to live in a realm entirely separate from your reality.

you think you might just hate him.

you’re broken from your thoughts when you hear your name as the professor lists the pairs she’s already made from the roster for the semester’s project. this is great, you think, she’ll call someone’s name, and you’ll have that as an excuse to sit with them and avoid the nuisance sat beside you.

everything is fine. you’ll be free in just a few moments. it’ll all be over soon.

“gojo satoru,” she calls, “if you could raise your hand so your partner knows who to find after class.”

then, as if in slow motion, the very same guy who ruined your morning raises his hand, looking over at you absolutely enthused as his eyes sparkle through the top of his sunglasses—which, only an asshole would wear sunglasses indoors.

“hey partner,” he chuckles, “how about coffee tomorrow to discuss our project?”

—————

satoru likes to think that even with his unfortunate start with you on the wrong foot, he’s managed a steady relationship with you.

you don’t tell him to get hit by a car anymore—instead, now you kiss his forehead before bed every night, hold his hand and swing his arm with yours when you’re out, cuddle him after long days and talk about life, and sometimes—when he’s been extra good, you might even do other activities with him that include a whole lot of intimacy and exclude a whole lot of clothing.

he likes to think you’re pretty in love with him—and he’s proud to claim himself as your adorable, sweet, very handsome and extremely funny boyfriend. although, you don’t really ever call him all that, but he’s fairly confident you think it, and that’s close enough.

“baby,” gojo pokes your arm from his spot on your lap, “on a scale of one to ten, how cute would you say i am?”

“an eleven when you shut up and let me work,” you mumble, stroking his hair with one hand and doing calculus problems with the other.

he pouts, huffing in disbelief.

“you know, if you keep taking me for granted, you might lose me,” he says petulantly.

it earns a snort from you as you give him an amused look.

“toru, i think your mom would pay me to get back together with you if we ever broke up.”

“she would not,” he gasps, watching as you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“remember our first fight? you practically starved yourself in your room,” you giggle, “she had to beg me to come talk to you so you’d eat.”

“that’s not true! i had kitkats and coke zero in my room,” he defends himself, crossing his arms as he sits up. “i was fine.”

“you definitely cried yourself to sleep,” you snicker, “you’re hopeless without me.”

“i am just fine without you,” he lies through his teeth, turning away from you as he tilts his head up indignantly.

“remember when you couldn’t even last a week without me while i was studying for finals? and then your mom had to call and beg me again to spend time with you?”

“that’s not—”

“admit it, toru,” you grin cheekily, pinching his nose as you chuckle, “you’d probably die if we ever broke up.”

“and you’d be fine?” he asks incredulously—he’s almost distressed at the idea, staring at you in slight hurt that makes you laugh before setting your calculus homework aside.

you grab his arm and pull him into your side, kissing his head as he slumps onto your chest.

“i don’t know, i don’t think i’d mind watching a mopey satoru beg me to take him back.”

“you don’t deserve me,” he grumbles, “i deserve to be loved and cherished. i’m a catch.”

“i bet you’d make that ugly face of yours when you cry,” you tease, making him look up at you with an offended gasp.

“i’ll have you know i’m exceptionally pretty when i cry. the waterworks have gotten me loads of things from my mom—i’m irresistible.”

“you’d probably be on your knees in seconds,” you continue to poke fun at him, “please take me back. i’m nothing without you, baby,” you mock his voice, giggling as he glares at you unimpressed.

“now you’re just being a bully. do you even love me?”

“i do,” you grin softly, pecking his cheek, “i love you a ton. you know that.”

“you don’t act like it,” he grumbles.

you laugh, hugging him tighter as your fingers slip into his hair again. sometimes, you think you should be shocked you’re here—laying in bed with gojo satoru and kissing his cheeks as he pouts. you of the past might just kill you of the present if you saw yourself now….but something about gojo is charming enough that you can overlook the very annoying first impression you had.

enough that maybe….well, maybe you might also be a bit hopeless without him—but you’ll never tell him that.

something tells you he knows, though, when he wraps a strong arm around you and pulls you impossibly closer, kissing the corner of your lips as he grins.

“what about that time you got soooo jealous?” he grins, “we weren’t even together yet. and remember that time you begged my mom to take home baby pictures of me? you’re obsessed,” he says proudly, “i would be too. i’m adorable.”

“you’re a pain is what you are,” you mutter.

“i love you too,” he chuckles, burying his head into your shoulder.

you grin, the curves of your lips painted with love as they find his forehead, pressing delicate kisses to the skin. maybe being paired for a semester long project with the annoying rich boy in your class wasn’t so bad—maybe you owe finding the softest love you’ve ever had to the strict and unpleasant professor who gave you an A- when you definitely deserved an A.

“and how are you so sure i love you?” you ask playfully. he rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers with his.

“because you haven’t hit me with your car yet,” he bites back, making you laugh brightly.

plssss i want him so bad i cannot take it anymore every day without him feels like pins and needles in my skin it’s utter agony i feel like my life’s meaning has been stripped from me i feel like my lungs and heart both burn from the lack of oxygen i feel like i am but an empty shell with no soul lost and wandering the planet searching for a reason to go on

ps. if you have been reading along w rb! gojo i hope you caught some of the references to old drabbles ;)

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fluff

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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id love to request spencer reid with a shy!reader🙈🙈 i love him sm and your work even more!! if this doesn't appeal to you thats all cool i hope you have a great day!!!

Love you <3

Spencer Reid x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

Spencer peers over the top of his cubicle as you type up your report, the mug of coffee he’d brought you still full and no longer steaming. He’s got a hypothesis.

On Tuesday, he’d brought you a coffee at your desk. It had gone over like most interactions with you; you’d gone a bit red in the face, thanked him profusely, and cradled the mug in your hands like it was the most precious thing in your possession. But when he’d left that night, Spencer had seen the mug sitting on your desk, still full to the brim with dark, cold coffee. He’d brought you another today to see if those results would repeat. He feels a bit guilty for not just talking to you about it, but he’s got a theory and he knows you’d deny it if he asked. So instead, he’s sneaking furtive glances over the top of his cubicle, waiting until enough time has passed to call it.

“What’re you peeping at?”

He swivels his chair and Morgan’s leaning his hand on Spencer’s desk all suave-like. Spencer makes a face indicating he should be quiet, but you look up with a quiet “Hm?” and there’s nothing Morgan loves more than exposing him for his schemes.

“Pretty boy here keeps looking over at your desk,” Morgan says. Spencer turns again, and your cheeks are already getting pinkish. Another thing Morgan loves: bringing attention to you, even though it’s your own personal circle of hell. “I just want to know why.”

“I’m testing a theory,” Spencer admits.

Unabashed interest gleams in Morgan’s eye. He quirks an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

Spencer tries to convey some apology in his look, and by the wariness in your features you read it. “You don’t actually drink coffee, do you?”

The response is clear even before you open your mouth. Your eyes drop to the full mug on your desk, shoulders hunching inward sheepishly and face taking on a fire engine-esque hue.

“I don’t,” you say quietly. And if there wasn’t already enough apology in your tone, you tack on a quick, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he says quickly while Morgan looks between you two and the coffee curiously. “That’s what I thought.”

“Hold up.” Morgan’s eyebrows go up, and you shrink further. “I brought you coffee just the other day. You’re telling me you’re not drinking it?”

“No,” you murmur. You look as though you fully expect to be shunned for your answer.

“Then why not say something?”

Spencer thinks that’s fairly obvious, but he’s not going to answer for you.

“I just…” You’ve got your hands in your lap now, probably fiddling with something under your desk in that nervous way of yours. Spencer wishes you’d warm up to them. You’re new and green and always so certain you’re doing something wrong, but he wishes he could pull your hands from beneath the desk and soothe them—soothe you—until you were comfortable. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate it.”

He can see Morgan ready to dissent, so Spencer cuts in.

“Do you just not like coffee?” he asks, trying to stay as far from interrogative as he can for your benefit.

You do seem to relax a bit, pulling your stare from Morgan’s eagerly. “I just can’t do caffeine,” you admit. “It makes me too jumpy.”

Spencer can’t really imagine you much more skittish than you already are on a daily basis, so he agrees that’s for the best.

“I have seen you drink it, though.” Morgan’s voice is bemused. “In the break room. You had a cup just the other day.”

“It was decaf,” you tell him softly.

“We have decaf?”

“Have you looked on the top shelf of the cabinet?” Spencer asks. “There’s a surprising amount of variety. We have decaf, teas, hot chocolate mix—sometimes even apple cider mix.”

You nod, starting to look less fidgety. Spencer likes to get you like this when he can. It’s an ongoing project of his. Maybe it’s just that it’s easier to relax when the people around you are relaxed too, but there’s something about setting you at ease in particular that makes his chest feel warm and full. That might be something else to look into. When he has time.

“Yeah, yeah, the wonders of the top cabinet.” Morgan waves this off, as if he’s ever heard of it before (he hasn’t, Spencer can tell). “All I’m hearing is that you let us bring you coffee for weeks just because you were worried we’d bite your head off if you said something.”

You grimace, but there’s a bit less tension in you now as you look up at Morgan, thoroughly chastened. “Sorry,” you all but whisper.

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “I forgive you. Decaf only from now on, got it.”

“Thanks,” you squeak as he turns around, sauntering back to his own desk. Your eyes find Spencer, meeting his for a fraction of a second before dropping to his chin. “Sorry I didn’t drink your coffee.”

“It’s really fine,” he almost laughs, and the humor in his voice gives you the confidence to lift your eyes to his again. He’s glad for it. “I don’t care, I was just curious why you didn’t like it. And for the record,” he leans closer to the short wall dividing your desks, speaking low, “if there’s anything else like that, you can tell me. I won’t bite your head off the way he does.” He cuts a glance towards Morgan’s desk. You push your lips together, tamping down a smile. Spencer grins too, partly to encourage you and partly because he wants to.

“Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, a new teasing edge to it that he likes the sound of. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Great.” He reaches over, taking the mug from your desk. “I’m going to go pour this down the drain. Do you want me to grab you a decaf?” You can’t seem to decide between thanks so much and really, you don’t have to, so Spencer brings you one anyway.

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reminiscingtonight · 16 days

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baking kitchen mess (aitana bonmatí)

Recipe For Relaxing (Aitana Bonmatí x Reader)

A/N: Barca you're massive 💪

[WOSO Masterlist]

It’s been a long day.

First, your ever lovely girlfriend drank what was left of the coffee and left for an early training without even telling you.

Then your alarm clock seemingly forgot how to do its job, leaving you, still barely awake with no caffeine in sight, to scramble to make it to work on time.

The meeting you slipped into was already in motion, multiple eyes zeroing in on you as you tried to sneak in undetected. So with a healthy dose of tiredness and shame following you to your classroom, you really hoped that your rambunctious lot of third graders would magically surprise you with manners fit for royalty.

It really shouldn’t have irked you as much as it did when all twenty-five of them seemed to catch the wiggle-bug. Nobody was able to sit for more than a couple minutes without jumping or shouting what was on their minds.

By the time the clock signaled the end of the school day you were more than ready to rip out your hair. As politely as you could you wished all of your students goodbye, waving at their grinning faces as their parents herded them away.

Any hope you had at relaxing was dashed when you noticed the cars lining the street all the way up to your driveway.

Sighing, you drove a bit further away before parking on the curb, knowing better than to expect the girls to leave you a clear spot to park in your own driveway.

Mumbling under your breath you stepped over the shoes discarded carelessly by the door. Although you could hear laughter wafting from the living room, you took the side door to get a well needed beer from the fridge. As much as you loved Aitana and all twenty of her clubmates, you needed something to help rewind before even entertaining the idea of playing host.

The second your foot crosses the doorway leading into your kitchen however, you freeze. Your fingers tighten against the doorframe as you take in the sight in front of you.

Something was baking in the oven, but dirty bowls littered your counters, as did half-used ingredients. Flour covered almost every surface, even tracking throughout the ground.

Clearly the girls had never heard of leaving things as they found it.

You shut your eyes, jaw clenching so hard that you know your dentist will be giving you an earful when you see her next.

“Aitana Bonmatí Conca, what the hell did you do to my kitchen?!”

The chattering ceases instantly.

Angrily turning around, you stomp into the living room to give the girls a piece of your mind.

You’re met with wide guilty eyes, the footballers looking scolded before you even started.

“Hola bebé, you’re home early.” Aitana gives you a timid grin but you’re not amused.

Your nose flares angrily as you take another step forward. Everyone flinches when you shove a finger into Aitana’s chest. “Clean up my kitchen. Now.”

The air is silent as no one dares to move.

You quirk an eyebrow, tilting your head to make eye contact with the rest of the team. “Now! Pronto! Move your asses girls! I wanted it spotless yesterday!”

It’s like a hurricane storming when everyone scrambles up all at once. Quiet apologies are thrown your way as they pass by, everyone eager to escape your anger.

Aitana tries to sneak away with her teammates but your hand clamps down on her arm before she can even take a step.

“I love you?” she tries, deflating when she sees your unamused look.

“Aitana, babe, love of my life, I love you but you’re the bane of my existence. I’m exhausted and would love it if you could reign in the girls and not make messes for me to clean up.”

A look of determination crosses her face as Aitana nods quickly. “I will do a better job of cleaning up.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, relaxing a bit when Aitana timidly leans forward to give your forehead a soft kiss.

Your girlfriend takes it as a win when she wraps her arms around you and you instantly sink into her hold. The exhaustion from your day seemingly catches up to you as you sway dangerously, ready to go to bed despite it still being early.

Sighing, you rub at your eyes before gently pushing Aitana off of you. “Thank you for putting up with me. ‘M sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you’ve had a long day. Is there anything I could do for you?”

Humming, you give her a kiss when she leans forward for one.

“Could you go get me a beer and tell the rest of the girls that they don’t have to hide in the kitchen from me?”

“I--” Aitana winces. “I think we’re out.”

When Ingrid pokes her head out of the kitchen a couple minutes later, selected by the bunch as the least likely to get her head bitten off by you, she’s met with the sight of you sitting on the couch, feet thrown up on the table as you mindlessly flip through the TV.

You hold up a stack of papers towards the Norwegian.

“Got a new team bonding activity for you heathens.”

Aitana sighs when she catches sight of the rest of her teammates with each of their own personalized shopping lists at the store down the street.

“She got you guys too?”

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes #3wp

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nouearth · 9 months

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an internship at wayne interprises. (part ii)

bruce wayne x male reader headcanons

part i.

warnings: smut, age gap, bottom reader, breeding, virgin!reader, top!bruce, established relationship, lowkey kind of fluffy, bruce is falling in love.

a/n: aaaand it's finally here! i hope you all enjoy the long awaited part two! i was watching american psycho recently and bruh, i forgot how hot he looked in it. like. i want to run my tongue all over him.

—as intimidating as bruce was, he never found the courage, or time really, to isolate you from your responsibilities.

—was it cowardliness that he was faced with? or was it that returning feeling that churned in his stomach, swelled in his chest, until it made him rethink the thoughts he’s had of you?

—guilt. he never felt it when he was jerking off to your pictures, which have become a daily routine now.

—but it returned in powerful marches, ached at the center of his heart, ridiculing him for thinking about his employee in such a crude, exploitive way.

—he always felt it when he saw you first thing in the morning, working quietly, mindlessly as your body had begun to become used to the caffeine.

—like wind chimes, you moved around people - around the wind - not with them, as you made your way to the break room.

—three packets of sugar and two spoons of creamer normally kept you awake, but the frozen pocket pizza in the toaster oven was the real source of your energy.

—bruce winced as he silently watched you from afar. you yawned, rubbed your eyes as the heat from the toaster oven warmed the surrounding area.

—jesus, no wonder you’re always so tired. look at the shit you’re eating.

—the march of soldiers, rioting against guilt, roared, and he was reminded of his privilege immediately after. a butler that had been providing him three nutritious meals a day since birth, and a garden of wealth that allowed him to afford a home gym with the best equipment; it was all handed to him and while he did his best to give back to the city, it was never enough to pacify the war zone of his chest. he was a person, a wealthy person, but a person nonetheless.

—you were a person.

—though ironically enough, he came to the the image of you hungrily licking the grease off your fingers when you were finished with breakfast later that night.

—there was always something new about you that he would fixate on when his hand met his cock, stroking it with a glorious amount of lube until it dried.

—though he never fretted, because your lips, your face, your nose - everything about you - milked him until the fresh stock of cum had become the only slime that layered his softening erection.

—like bruce’s nights, you’ve begun infiltrating the routine of his mornings now.

—or rather, bruce began infiltrating yours after he visited you in the break room for the first time.

—good morning, mister wayne…

—oh, new intern, right? your name was…?

—he always feigned his disinterest because he liked hearing your name come out of your handsome mouth.

—(m/n), sir…

—it sounded beautiful. the softness of your voice kindled a tenderness in bruce and it could’ve cradled him to sleep had the coffee from the break room not been so disgusting and cheap.

—the third time, he memorized the pattern you spoke in. your voice always trailed off at the end of a sentence as if it had been stolen by a criminal.

—it’s (m/n), sir…

—he wished he could be that somebody.

—the fifth time, he’d gotten used to the watery aftertaste of the coffee.

—wait, don’t tell me. your name rhymes with…

—and when you laughed because bruce was completely off by a mile, he saw a glimpse of your soul that had been sheltered by intimidation and anxiety.

—he learned he wanted to become a part of your life when he took you out for lunch.

—long overdue, but i usually take my interns out for lunch.

—bruce usually didn’t.

—oh—mister wayne, i don’t think that’s necessary… i already packed lunch.

—great! you don’t have to pack for tomorrow then.

—wait, but i haven’t set up the meeting with—

—i’ll get someone on it—already made reservations, c’mon.

—he’d learned so much about you that day, then the following, and the next; your upbringing, your hopes and dreams, your downfalls, it felt like he was walking on water with the way you willingly opened more of yourself every consecutive day.

—he could listen to you talk for hours, become poisoned by it if your voice was liquid, and bruce accepted that risk when he made another routine to invite you for lunch.

—previous nights were as followed: he stroked his cock to you, breathing heavily into the memory of your cologne, the wrinkles of your shirt, the curl of your lips when he made a joke.

—since he’d gotten to know you as more than a stained selfie, more than the meek statue that stood in the corner; instead of feeding himself with the thoughts of you that derived from pure lust, the reality of his nights had shifted.

—he stroked himself, that never changed. but he closed his eyes, breathing until he could see the ghost of you by his side.

—your shared bodies tensed into one another as his body curved forward into the arc of your back when he pushed in for the first time. you reached back to hold his thigh, pausing his thrusts because you needed to adjust, because you wanted to feel all of him in complete comfort.

—it was intimacy.

—it only melted - your body - when bruce kissed the shell of your ear, telling you that he’ll continue once you were ready. you let him in, sprouted for him like a bud in spring, and felt all of him swell larger inside of you with a whimper.

—it was vulnerability.

—he made sure you were touched, palming your erection as he rocked his own into your bud. from the nape of your neck to the hill of your back, he blessed you in the wet of his mouth, battling the sweat that had gathered on your body to see who would claim the vacancy of your body.

—he made sure to make you feel safe, drowning you in affection with his low voice, with the bridge that had constructed between your soul and his as he thrusted deeper, connected into you when he pressed into a spot that had the heavy air memorize every letter of bruce’s name.

—and finally crossed when he filled you with all of his endearment towards you, heavy and thick in combative sequence. he never pulled away in fret of losing the sentiment—in fret of losing you.

—it was love.

—from then on, bruce was devoted to melt the frost that had shielded you, just as you had melted his.

—because he was going to protect you now.

—the guilt that had been egging the shelter of his heart wilted in the pit of his stomach when he kissed you for the first time.

—and then completely died when you kissed him back.

—your arms were around his neck, and his were around your waist. you and bruce slow danced to the tune of his favorite song, in the middle of his living room, and so did your lips when he leaned in again.

—it never progressed further than that, despite the ache in bruce’s pants yelling at him to. he wanted to savor every moment with you, in case he happened to chase you away like he did with the others.

—you were special, and bruce held you like the rarest gem on earth for the first time that night.

—again, when he visited you in mornings to drive you to work.

—again, on nights where you were too tired to drive back to your apartment.

—again, after morning meetings were over and every businessmen and women left the vicinity upon the announcement of food catering a few floors down.

—and then again, when bruce’s thoughts had become a reality.

—b-bruce, ngh…

—you reached back to his thigh like in his thoughts, carefully maneuvering and pacing his thrusts into you. your breath stained deep into the cover of his pillow when bruce applied his weight into you, fitting his broad body to the dip of your back.

—i got you, hm? —nice and slow…

—his voice tickled your nape, soothing it with chaste kisses when your muscles tensed, and you breathed harder into the pillow when you let his thigh go, freeing him to do as he pleased. the warmth of your breath fogged your skin as his girth opened you to a profound feeling you’ve been too intimidated to discover

—faster, please…

—he was humored, not because you were embarrassing like the flush of your skin thought, but because you were still the same person he’d met months ago, appeased by it. you were calmed by an assurance, a kiss to your shoulder then your lips, yet your body only continued to bloom with roses.

—you’re still so polite even when we’ve done so many things together…

—bruce pressed deeper into you, panting in your ear as he delivered on your timid demands. he knew you now—read you like a book. you were too afraid to ask for anything despite becoming so vulnerable with each other, and he made sure that you were safe with him.

—your requests were silent sans the moans that have escaped, but he heard every single one of them. his hips drove into you harder for a few rhythms, then excruciating slower to coerce a plea out of you—to pull your beautiful moans along with desperation.

—he wanted to hear you, pulling himself completely out of your bud.

—f-fuuuuck, bruce! please—i need you, please.

—more, he needed to hear you want him as much as he’d been wanting you. his arms wrapped around your waist, and his fingers curled over your cock. it provided a friction, a hole for you to press into as his fist was sandwiched between your body and the bed, and you took the opportunity to desperately thrust into it.

—secretly, you’d hope to thrust yourself back onto his cock.

—but again, he knew you; silently observant and logical, and he raised his hips back, avoiding the desperate grinds of your bottom.

—how badly do you need me, hm? —how bad do you want me?

—bruce needed to hear it, to compel a truth to his prophecy. his hand unwrapped around you and you were left desperately grinding into the soft fabric of his sheets with a whine. they were music to his ears, and the drips of his cock dribbled over the curve of your bottom as if they were notes to a stave, to the sound of your torment.

—i-i need you, please…

—he exhaled.

—so bad.

—he gulped.

—so fucking bad…

—he throbbed.

—mister wayne… —please…

—bruce’s two worlds had collided: his previous thoughts of you rocketed into the current with a cloudy explosion, and he succumbed. you looked back at him with glassy orbs, sweat running down the side of your face, and bruce was overwhelmed by the beauty our deepest desires. how quickly it could destroy the barrier that we’ve built, how quickly he could destroy yours and unfurl your vulnerabilities when he finally drove himself back in one long and smooth thrust.

—f-fuuuuck...

—it was continuous. you wouldn’t admit it, but he knew you preferred being filled like this. he notified the curl of your fingers, clutching at whatever you could to fulfill the aching need to grasp onto something.

—god—

—hard when bruce came down, but slow and affectionate when he pulled out. you felt every thick inch sliding in and out of you. at times, you would purposely tighten in fear of losing bruce, but his thrusts reminded you that you wouldn’t.

—bruce reminded you again when his lips suckled on your shoulder.

—i’m close, (m/n)…

—when his hand stroked your aching cock.

—m-me too…

—and when bruce pushed all of his sweaty weight onto you with one hard thrust.

—shit, shit—

—the boiling feeling in his stomach unfurled inside of you to release his devotion in heavy, white loads. they filled you with heat, spreading thick within you as bruce slowly rocked himself weakly, squeezing every ounce of his love into you until you could feel it yourself.

—bruce—

—your eyes rolled back and you could feel the thick of his cum dripping out of you and down your legs the more he plunged into your hole, and it didn’t take very long for you to come undone yourself. the seam of your mouth kept your moans contained as you blasted bruce’s fist and the sheets with your affection, and it wasn’t until his hand came down to pump you that you exhaled a staggered, breathless groan. the drips came out heavy, sticky, and you rocked into bruce’s fist until they spread themselves thin onto your pelvis, over your cock, and stained deep into the sheets.

—as you both lay breathless, bruce remained on top, puzzled into you as he found comfort in your muscles loosening like the flaccid of your length. he continued playing with your soft flesh, squeezing and spreading the layer of seed that covered his hand, and chuckled when you silently squirmed.

—not away from him like he’d thought, but back into him.

—because he was your guardian now.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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navybrat817 · 3 months

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Like There's No Tomorrow

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: When you make a rash decision after you're passed over for a promotion again, Bucky encourages you to follow your dream. It's the start of an unforgettable journey. Word Count: Over 3.4k Warnings: Insecurities, impulsivity, reflecting, slight angst, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and the best, okay?). A/N: Writing this was very personal and therapeutic after my recent work experience. While I can't actually live this life, I know Firecracker and Daredevil will have many adventures together. Also for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love Challenge (Ludus - Road Trip / Surprise)❤️ Thanks to the beautiful @whisperlullaby for the encouragement and @buckyownsmylife for giving this intro a look and assuring me it wasn't garbage, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You quit your job on a Friday afternoon.

On paper, it appeared to be an ordinary day. Nothing different from your usual routine. You got up, brushed your teeth, showered, dressed yourself, gave your boyfriend a kiss, selected a caffeinated beverage, and got to work. While you wouldn't call your job your dream job and some of the tasks were monotonous, you were good at it and you cared about your teammates.

In fact, they were one of the reasons you stuck around for as long as you did.

“Just wanted to say you've done a lot for us and we wouldn't be where we are without you.”

“I’m so sorry. I hope this doesn’t get you down.”

“I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better.”

“For what it’s worth, they made a mistake.”

Tears filled your eyes as you looked through the messages a few of your teammates sent after the promotion announcement was made minutes ago. There was an overall mixture of surprise and confusion when they heard you didn’t get it. They knew how hard you worked to move up and how badly you wanted it. You wished you hadn’t gotten your hopes up since that usually led to disappointment.

Of course, you were happy for the candidate who got the job. It wasn’t their fault you didn’t advance. Their success called for celebration. It didn’t make it any easier for you though and it didn’t lessen the hurt that you were passed over once again for something you were more than qualified for.

You somehow held it together though, not wanting everyone around you to see you break. Crying was reserved for the bathroom, your car, and home. Plus, you had shown enough vulnerability to management during the lengthy process and aftermath. They didn’t deserve an ounce more.

Especially after you were told that the value you provided wasn’t enough.

“I know this outcome is disappointing, but this isn’t a setback. You still have a lot to be proud of,” your manager told you the day before when you received the email entailing that you didn't receive the promotion and why. “Take the feedback we’ve given you and use that to get to the next level next time.”

He was only trying to help, but who would want to try again when they’re told they aren’t enough more than once? If the intention was to fuel your fire, they snuffed it out. Then again, your feelings were so raw because you hadn’t given yourself enough time to digest the news. Being told you were just out of reach was salt in the open wound, stinging much more than it should have as you tried to figure out what you did wrong.

Because you had to have done something wrong, right? Were the words you wrote in your application not eloquent enough? Did you not display the right amount of confidence in your interview? Why were you always on the cusp of greatness, but never quite there?

Blinking the moisture from your eyes, you straightened up and began to type again. Personal feelings aside, you had a job to do. You needed the income. You also had to prove that they were wrong in overlooking you. Again.

But as the sound of your fingers flying across the keyboard became white noise in your head, Bucky’s words from earlier in the morning shimmered into your mind.

“Just quit, Firecracker. They don’t deserve you and you deserve better.”

Bucky Barnes, your boyfriend. The kind of man you didn’t think was real until he came into your life. Gorgeous, faithful, doting, protective - you thought men like that only existed in books. He supported and hyped you up every time you went for a promotion and wiped away every tear when you didn’t get it. Your crying and self-doubt broke his heart and this morning may have been the last straw for him.

Maybe it was the last straw for you, too.

Glancing around the office as you saw everyone else typing with minimal conversation, the room had never looked more lifeless to you. There was nothing about the place or the job that inspired you, so why continue to give yourself over to a place that didn’t give back to you in return? Why stay in a place that dulled your shine?

The sudden realization hit you square in your chest that you didn’t want to be there anymore.

“Have a great weekend, team. Good luck and thanks for everything.” You sent in a message before you could stop yourself.

You had never had an out-of-body experience before, but it was as if your spirit was beside you as you began to close the programs on your computer. Glancing at your desk after you set your phone to voicemail, you realized you had hardly any personal touches in your space. Except for the photo of you and Bucky.

He was your one bright spot in the building.

With the utmost care, you put the photo in your bag once you shut everything down. Your heart sank as your gaze swept over your team, an uncomfortable pit settling in your stomach as you went to see your boss. Disappointing anyone always brought you a sense of dread and you didn’t want to let him or anyone else down, but you were thinking of yourself for once.

You owed yourself that.

“Hey,” your boss smiled as he glanced up from his desk before he noticed you had your bag. You shifted on your feet when his cheerfulness shifted to concern. “What’s up? Are you clocking out early?”

“Not exactly,” you answered, gripping your bag so hard your hand began to ache.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, leaning forward in his seat.

You didn’t know how to respond because it wasn’t okay and nothing he could say or do would change how you felt. You didn't want him to try and sway you to stay. The heartbreaking part was that he was, overall, a good boss. He taught you a lot and helped you better yourself. So did the team as a whole. They were rock stars. Each and every one of them.

But now they weren’t enough to make you stay and maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you didn’t go anywhere with your job.

So with a bittersweet smile, you uttered, “I quit. I’m sorry.”

You tossed your building key onto his desk and turned away before he could reply. Your mind raced as you put one foot in front of the other and ignored the stares of your coworkers who caught on to what had just transpired. It was hard to breathe, but your steps for once felt light instead of heavy. Your boss may have called out for you, but you didn’t dare look back. Not when you couldn’t stay in there another minute.

What you didn’t expect was for Bucky to be waiting outside as you went out of the door.

Your boyfriend managed to take your breath away every time you saw him and today was no exception. All 6’4” of him, he decided to cover his beefy frame with one of his favorite leather jackets, a fitting shirt, and tight jeans. His stormy eyes zeroed in on you as he pushed away from his old pickup truck and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. He was stunning.

He was yours.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you blurted out as you raced toward him. “Get me out of here. Please.”

But why was he there? You didn’t plan to meet up with him until after work and your shift was only a little over halfway over. Did he want to surprise you?

He caught you easily with his large hands before you could stumble into him. “Whoa, easy. Get in,” he said, opening the passenger door and helping you in. Your hands trembled as you buckled yourself in, your body in flight mode because you had to get away from the office. He wasted no time getting in and peeling out of the parking lot, the building becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.

You weren’t even sure how far away he drove before he pulled over and stopped the car since you didn’t look behind you. Resting your shaking hands on your thighs, the high of walking out dissipated until it left you cold. Reality sank in. Would it pull you under?

“Talk to me,” Bucky urged, his voice calm and gentle instead of demanding. “Please?”

“I quit my job,” you whispered, your gaze set in front of you, but not seeing anything in focus. “I couldn't do it anymore.”

Bucky leaned over to turn your face toward him, sympathy and understanding filling his eyes. “Oh, baby, I knew today would be the tipping point. Waited most of the morning for you to walk out,” he said. You were about to question how he could possibly know that, but he could read you better than anyone. “Just a feeling I had.”

“I quit my job. I quit,” you said again, your breathing more shallow than before he engulfed you in a warm and grounding embrace. Your fingers twisted in his jacket as you breathed him in. Sandalwood and citrus were scents you now associated with love because of him. “What did I do?! I didn’t even give notice. I just tossed my card down and left. Fuck, I just burned my bridges with everyone there.”

You stifled a sob as you hid your face in his neck. You swore to yourself that you would never be that person who walks out on a job, but you did just that and screwed over your entire team. Would any of them understand why you did it or accept an apology? How long would it take for that guilt to go away since you essentially gave up after the words of kindness and encouragement they gave you?

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you” he whispered, rubbing your back as you steadied yourself. “Yeah, you quit today. And maybe you burned a bridge, maybe not. But I couldn’t be fucking prouder of you.”

“You’re proud that I walked out on my team?” You asked, whipping your head up so fast you were lucky you didn’t get whiplash. “They don’t deserve to deal with that. Not to mention, I have nothing lined up.”

The thought of starting over again made your stomach drop again. The job market could be a terrifying and hopeless place. What if you couldn’t find anything? Or what if you burned through your savings by the time you did?

“I’m proud that you walked away from something keeping you down. After everything you’ve done for them, I’m sure most of them will get why you couldn’t do it anymore,” he assured you, the corners of his lips turning down when you sniffled. “And don't worry about not having something lined up. We'll figure it out.”

“We?” You questioned. Bucky was your boyfriend, but this wasn’t his problem.

“Yeah, we,” he said, pointing between the two of you with his forefinger. “You and me. I'm in this with you.”

Your heart melted before logic tried to take back over. “I should just go back there and apologize. I can say that I-”

He framed your face and pressed his warm lips to yours before you could say another word. He coaxed you to return the kiss with ease and you responded with parted lips and a sigh. His kisses left you lightheaded as sparks ignited, threatening to explode if you went much further. Which was why he stopped to let you catch your breath.

“No. You’re not doing that,” he said, his scruff tickling your forehead as he pressed a kiss there. He knew that was a weakness of yours and it instantly stopped you from arguing. “We're going on an adventure and we can’t do that if you’re chained to a desk.”

“An adventure?” You repeated with uncertainty.

“Yeah. We’re going to drive and see where it takes us,” he said, his lips touching your forehead once more before he started up the car again. “Just need to grab a couple of things before we go.”

“What about work for you?”

“It’s taken care of,” he assured you. He wasn’t the type of guy to lie, but when did he have time to plan this? Neither one of you had mentioned going anywhere.

Leave it to Bucky to do something impulsive to make you happy.

“Okay,” you said, trusting him and deciding to play along with his endeavor. “You said we need a couple of things. What do we need? Besides the essentials.”

“Your laptop. And a journal if you don't feel like typing.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. My laptop so I can apply for new jobs and pray that they don’t reach out to my now previous boss as a reference, right?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, a playful smirk on his face when you swung your head toward him. “The laptop is so you can write like you've always wanted to. And the journal if you prefer to write some of your thoughts and ideas down by hand.”

“Wait. You want me to write on this trip?” You asked, making sure you heard him correctly.

“Yeah, I do.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your boyfriend was certifiably crazy, but you loved that about him. “Bucky, no. I can't just write,” you said.

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“Because it doesn't pay the bills or provide security,” you replied.

Writing was a silly hobby that you did from time to time to help you channel your emotions or escape from the real world. At best, it was a dream. Nothing more. He knew that. At least, you thought he knew that.

At the end of the day, it wouldn’t put a roof over your head or food in your stomach. How were you expected to hold onto dreams that wouldn’t take you anywhere? And at what point did you stop believing in them and yourself?

When did you start thinking so cynically?

“But working a job you're not passionate about just to provide safety is the better option? There’s a difference between doing something you love and doing something you’re good at when your heart isn’t in it. You’ve done the latter for years now,” He said with a huff as you inhaled. “That isn't living and you’re lying to yourself if you think it is.”

Your eyes narrowed as his words sank in, your shackles raising. “No, it isn’t living, but it’s the most practical thing I can do! And, yeah, I am good at my job because I worked my ass off!” You argued, taking a breath. You didn’t want to start crying or snap at him when he was right. “Or at least I was good at my job. And I would’ve done my best had I advanced, but I couldn’t even accomplish that.”

Which begged the question of why you applied. The higher title and pay would’ve been nice for recognition and comfortability. You believed you earned it. But was it what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? Was that your path when you looked toward your future?

You hadn’t taken into account your own desires and values.

“Hey,” he said softer than before. “I wasn’t trying to-”

“And say I do try and write for real. How can I even enjoy this adventure knowing I'm probably just going to fail again?” You asked in a small voice.

How many hits could you take before your armor cracked?

Bucky's jaw clenched. “And that's exactly why I'm glad you finally quit. You've had so many people over your head telling you that what you do isn't enough to achieve what you want. And now you believe it,” he said, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that you feared he’d bend it with his strength. “Fuck that and fuck them for making you feel that way.”

Your mouth fell open as you stared, his fury for and defense of you making your chest tighten. “I…”

“Why can’t you be a writer, huh? Why not try? You’re talented and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. That’s where your heart is and it shows with every word,” He pressed, knowing you put your whole self into your creative outlet. “And, listen, we have money set aside for the time being and more than enough for this excursion. So I don’t care if writing doesn’t pay the bills for a while as long as you’re happy and doing what you’re passionate about. We’ll have each other and that’s enough in my eyes.”

Contemplating his words, you had to give him credit. The job wasn’t something you did because you were passionate about it. You did it because it was safe and expected of you when in many ways it held you back. Besides, what did you have to lose at this point? If you didn’t try, you’d never know. You’d look back one day and regret it if you let the chance pass you by.

Why not do something impulsive?

Why not make the most out of the moment you were in?

“Okay. You’re right. I should try to write and we should go,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “Let’s grab a few things and see where this trip takes us.”

“There she is,” he smiled over at you, making your heart swell. “There’s my Firecracker.”

The nickname would always warm your heart. “You know, this actually sounds a bit like that book idea I had the other day,” you said, excitement seeping through your veins. Your fingers twitched a bit, too, with the urge to write. “Do you remember? I told you about it while we were eating pizza.”

Bucky took one hand from the steering wheel to grab yours. “I remember everything you've ever said.”

“Flattery will get you everything, Daredevil,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “So, we're really doing this. We're just leaving?”

“Not just leaving. We're taking a long overdue road trip," he says, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “You deserve it.”

“We both do,” you said, the uncertainty leaving your body more with each passing second. You even turned off your phone so you wouldn’t be tempted to look at any emails or messages. “We deserve to live today like there’s no tomorrow.”

“‘Like there’s no tomorrow’,” Bucky quoted back to you with a hum. “Sounds like a good book title.’

“I’ll have to write it down so I don’t forget,” you smiled, linking your fingers together. “And don’t forget your journal, too. I don’t want you to miss a thing.”

“I won’t forget it,” he promised.

“Bucky?” You asked, swallowing as he gazed over at you. “Thank you. Really.”

It felt like you could breathe again without a weight in your chest. You didn't feel perfect, but you felt good. All thanks to him. You didn’t know what you’d do without him.

“You don’t need to thank me, baby, but I should thank you for letting me take you away,” he winked, keeping your hand in his as he faced forward again. “Makes me feel like a real hero, even though you wouldn't let me storm the castle.”

Oh, he wanted so badly to go off on your manager, but there was no need. “You are a hero,” you said. He saved you without knowing. “But try not to speed, Daredevil. I don’t want us to get pulled over before we get started.”

He groaned, but nodded as he let off the gas. “I’ll try not to speed. Need to make sure I get you to where we’re going safely.”

“I trust you.”

You would find out soon enough that Bucky had a list of things written in his journal that he planned to do with you on this trip. Everything you had ever said in passing that you wanted to do or try, but never could because of work. Because he paid attention to you. And you were right.

You deserved to live today like there’s no tomorrow.

And he wanted to be by your side while you lived your best life.

So, lovelies, where are they doing on their trip first? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 11 months

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Erotomania

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer discovers that his girlfriend has a stalker

Warning: Stalking, obsession, creepy basement, weapons, cursing

Word Count: 3.6K

Masterlist

“Thanks,” I smiled at the barista as she handed me mine and Spencer’s coffee. Well… while my drink was coffee his was just cream and sugar with a little bit of caffeine.

“Have a nice day,” she wished before turning her attention to another customer.

As I headed for the door a fellow customer on their way to work held it open for me. I gave him the same thanks with a smile as the barista, heading for my car.

Arriving at the office I delivered Spencer’s drink to him. “One milkshake for you,” I announced teasingly.

“Actually a milkshake is characterized by it’s mixing process when it is whipped until it’s frothy,” he informed, taking mild offense to my comment.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I dismissed, taking my seat at my desk across from him. “Oh, by the way, I made reservations at Francesco's for Friday but if we aren’t able to make that we have a reservation at Town Kitchen for Sunday.”

“Sounds good but our anniversary is on Saturday,” Spencer informed gently.

“Yeah but I don’t want either of us to be upset if we have to miss the reservation on our actual anniversary.”

Spencer smiled to himself. While Y/N wasn’t like him in the way that he had millions of facts spanning thousands of subjects memorized, she always thought of everything. “That’s why I love you. You always think of everything.”

“And I love you because you know everything,” she smiled.

“Ugh, love,” Emily gagged as she approached.

“Aw, did Sergio not want to cuddle last night?” I teased her about her cat.

“Shut up,” she scoffed.

I laughed, reaching into my bag for the case files I was working on last night. As I pulled the stack out I noticed a bright blue post-it note sticking out of one of the files as if it had fallen in. Pulling it out and flipping it, I noticed some words written on it.

Have a nice day, Y/N

My first thought was that maybe it was something Spencer slipped into my bag last night but the handwriting didn’t match. This was messily scrawled while Spence’s handwriting was neat. Still, it seemed like the most logical conclusion. “Spence, did you leave this?” I asked casually, sliding it over to his desk.

Upon just glancing at the note his brows furrowed. “No, where’d you find it?”

“In my bag. I know that’s not your handwriting— or anyone else’s on the team— but you seemed to be the most logical explanation.”

“Maybe it was a cop on the last case who had a crush on you,” Spencer shrugged, trying to dismiss any jealousy.

“Maybe,” I mused, thinking back to the behavior of the officers from Utah. Nothing seemed to stick out but my attention wasn’t exactly focused on any of the police there. Shrugging I crumpled it up, tossing it into the trash bin under my desk.

“Conference room,” Hotch announced from his little balcony, tearing me from my thoughts about the note.

Three days later we landed back in Virginia just in time for Spencer and I to make our anniversary dinner. “L/N for two,” I told the hostess at Town Kitchen. Our reservation was at 7:00 and we had arrived at 7:06.

“Just in time,” she commented, grabbing us our menus and leading us to our table. We sat down graciously, thankful that they hadn’t given away our table.

“I know it’s not the most romantic to be doing this in the clothes we just spent three days in but I’m glad we could do this,” Spencer smiled, reaching his hand across the table.

I placed my hand in his. “Me too.” As much as I loved our impromptu date nights that consisted of takeout and whatever was on TV of the station we were working out of, it was special to be able to have a proper date. “It’s almost like we’re a normal couple right now and not two FBI agents.”

“Do you wish we were normal?” he asks.

“Not in the slightest,” I smiled.

“I’m like 99% sure I have all your Dr. Who DVDs in a drawer in my living room,” I said, unlocking my apartment door. “Grab a bottle of wine and some glasses from the kitchen and I’ll start the DVDs?”

“Sure,” Spencer agreed with a smile. “Assuming you can find them,” he teased.

“They’re more than likely there,” I defended, finally getting the door unlocked. “Go,” I laughed, pushing him towards my kitchen. I went towards my TV stand, starting to go through my drawers. By the time I concluded that they weren’t in there Spencer was already sat on the couch with two glasses of wine. He had an amused look as I turned around to face him. “Let me check in my room.”

As I walked in I stopped abruptly, finding the floor covered in photos and post-it notes. Horror filled my chest. “What the fuck?” I must have yelled it because Spencer was running to my side. Upon seeing all the photos, he was immediately dragging me out of the apartment.

Once we were out in the hallway, Spencer kept pushing me towards the stairs while pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as he ushered me out into the parking garage.

“I’m texting the team to come to your apartment but we’re leaving for now,” he explained, opening the passenger door to my car. “We can’t just wait in the apartment. Your stalker may have been waiting around.”

“Okay, yeah, good idea,” I agreed through my hyperventilation. Reaching into the glove compartment I grabbed our guns. We had stashed them there for dinner.

Spencer sped out of the parking lot, parking on the street two blocks away before sending our location to the team. “Okay they’ll be here in a few minutes and then we can go investigate the apartment,” he explained. I only nodded along. Normally I’d be much more rational than this but I was in so much shock in terror I couldn’t think straight. “Hey, hey it’ll be okay. No one’s going to hurt you. The team will be here soon and we’ll find this person. We’ve dealt with erotomaniacs before.”

“You think this is an erotomaniac?” I asked, scared.

“Based on the note I saw earlier and I didn’t notice any threatening imagery in your room. We’ll know more when we get a proper look,” Spencer tried to soothe.

Soon enough the others were pulling up to our location, Hotch and Morgan wearing their bulletproof vests. “Morgan and I will go in and clear the place. Then we can call CSI and have them collect any forensic evidence,” Hotch explained. His gaze and tone then softened as he looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “just a little shaken up.”

He pursed his lips, nodding and unsure what to say. He looked back up at Morgan, nodding as they both walked towards my apartment.

JJ and Emily were both fretting over me as Morgan and Hotch searched the apartment. To my relief they called soon saying there was no one in my home.

Entering again, I made a beeline for my bedroom, wanting to see the photos. As I entered, Hotch was already there, observing the photos and notes spread out on the floor. They were all of me taken from a distance away with a zoomed in lens. There were several of me just going about my life in various stores and coffee places. But the most horrifying ones were of me and Spencer. If he was able to, it looked like the unsub just cut my boyfriend out of the pictures but the ones where Spencer was too close, his face was angrily scribbled over. Among the photos were notes ranging from I miss you, to I’m going to kill him.

By now Spence had entered my bedroom with the rest of the team. “I think we’re dealing with an erotomaniac.”

“Looks like it,” Derek agreed. “I assume you haven’t noticed anyone lurking around?” he asked me.

“No, nothing. The first thing I noticed was as a note in my bag that said Have a nice day, Y/N. We just assumed it was from a cop in Utah but this?”

“You definitely have a stalker,” Hotch concluded. “The question is how did he manage to avoid detection of seven FBI agents and why now?”

“Maybe Y/N and I’s anniversary?” Spencer suggested.

“Well that’s the best we’ve got for now. We’ll let CSI search for forensic evidence, meanwhile let’s all head to the office so we can start forming the profile.”

Back at the office everyone was treating me like well… a victim. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I felt of their lingering gazes. “We need to work on our bedside manner because I hate this.”

I got a few muttered sorry’s until Spencer came and sat in front of me. “Okay Y/N we’re going to try a cognitive interview.” I nodded, closing my eyes, allowing myself to be open to Spencer’s words. “Okay, go back to the day you found the note, what were you doing before you found it?”

“I was getting us coffee,” I answered, bringing the coffee shop to mind.

“Okay, describe it for me. What do you see, smell, and hear?”

“It’s crowded- and loud. The machines are whirring and people are talking.”

“Okay, does anyone get close to you? Close enough to put something in your bag?”

As I’m standing in line I feel a guy brush up against my bag. I hadn’t thought much of it because it was crowded and I thought he was moving to let someone pass. “Yeah, I’m getting in line, I’m near the door, and this guy brushes against my bag behind me.”

“Can you see his face or give any description?”

I strained hard in my memories, essentially begging myself to be able to turn around enough to see him. I open my eyes, looking into Spencer’s hazel ones. “I can’t see his face but based on his body… he’s white, roughly middle aged, medium build.”

Spencer smiles, taking my hand. “You did good. C’mon, let’s go tell the team.” I let him help me off the seat as we headed towards the conference room where the others were discussing theory. “He’s a white male, middle aged, with a medium build,” Spencer informed. “He slipped the note into Y/N’s bag Thursday morning.”

“Okay so average guy, probably feels too average and therefore inferior since erotomaniacs tend to be obsessed with those perceived to be above them,” Derek pieced together.

“So maybe a working class or blue collar guy?” JJ suggested. “Store clerk, janitor, any mechanic, plumber, electrician you’ve interacted with in the past few weeks?”

Before I could answer Rossi jumped in. “Or months, possibly within the last year? There were a lot of photos.”

“Nothing significant I can think of but I know it doesn’t have to be significant to me for it to flip the switch for them,” I explained.

“Garcia, start compiling a list of middle aged white men who work here as janitors, live in L/N’s building, work at shops she frequents,” Hotch looked at me expectantly for a list. I nodded, silently agreeing to write one up. “I know it’ll be a broad list but it’s a place we can start.”

“That’s not even covering all the places we traveled in the last year,” Emily added. “This is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Ooh report from CSI. There were no finger prints and absolutely no sign of a break in or picked locks—and I know an FBI agent isn’t leaving her windows or doors unlocked—leading them to believe that the stalker somehow got ahold of a copy of your key.” I felt nauseous at that news. “As for the notes, they’re currently working on handwriting analysis for any other stalking cases in the area, so far nothing. As for the photos, they were shot on real film and developed in like a darkroom so I’ve already cross referenced photographers and frequent buyers of darkroom supplies with the list I have so far. When Y/N gets me that list of frequent stores I will cross reference those as well.” Penelope took a big breath, having not breathed the entire time she was talking.

“Y/N get started on that list, Reid and I will head to the coffee shop to see if they have any security footage of this guy,” Hotch ordered.

It was hard for Spencer to watch the security camera footage. He and Hotch watched as the shady looking man slipped the note into Y/N bag and proceeded to hover around her as she waited for her coffee. It was a busy morning in the already cramped coffee shop explaining why Y/N hadn’t noticed his too-close for comfort presence.

I shuddered watching the man follow me around the coffee shop. I’m a highly trained FBI agent, how did I not notice him?

Sensing my unease, Spencer stepped closer, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “Have you ever seen or noticed this man before?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can remember,” I confessed shyly, feeling like a failure for never noticing him.

“Garcia’s running his picture through facial recognition software. If he has a criminal record, we’ll find him,” Hotch assured.

I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I need some air.” Everyone looked after me, hesitant. “I’ll stay in the building I just can’t be around this,” I gestured to my pictures, “anymore.”

They all looked hesitant but no one stopped me as I exited the office, heading to nowhere. I had no specific destination, I just wanted to walk around.

Upstairs, Garcia ran into the BAU conference room. “Guys, guys, I got a hit on facial recognition. Our stalker’s name is Michael Garrison and the reason he didn’t show up in my initial search is because his juvenile criminal record is sealed. When he was 15 he got a restraining order against him from a senior at his high school and when he was 18 he got another one from a teacher also at his high school. During these trials it came out that he was also stalking middle school girls while in high school. As for him now… he works as a janitor here. Now, he’s not scheduled to come in today but I have a feeling he’s not sticking to that schedule,” she said nervously.

“No he is not, babygirl,” Derek confirmed. “Reid, call Y/N.”

“Already on it,” he confirmed, holding the phone up to his ear. But when her phone began to ring on the very table they were standing around, every heart rate in the room spiked.

“Everyone, split up,” Hotch ordered, everyone already headed for the door.

I pressed the elevator call button, ready to head back upstairs when a custodian came up beside me, also waiting for the elevator. I have him a soft smile of acknowledgment before looking back at the elevator call button. Once the door opened I stepped in first, followed shortly by him. Before I could reach to press the button, he was already pressing his floor, the basement. “Where to?” he asked.

“Seven, thanks,” I answered as the doors closed. But once they closed he made no move to press the button. Confused and hesitant I stepped forward to press it, only for him to step towards me as well. “Wha-”

“Finally, we’re alone,” he said with a big smile.

“What are you-” I began to ask, backing away as far as I could, cursing myself for not bringing my phone or gun.

“I knew you’d come find me once I left those notes.” The elevator dinged and opened to the basement, I just hoped someone else would be down here. I looked out into the dark basement hesitantly. His face fell seeing my hesitation. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a government issue gun, one he had probably swiped from an agent. “Go on,” he urged, carelessly waving the gun around.

I hesitantly walked past him, never taking my eyes off of him. “Where are we going?”

He followed me out of the elevator, gun pressed against my back, making me shudder. “I have a space down here,” he answered. We walked down a very long, very dark corridor until we reached a maze of stairs and pipes. Continuing down we reached what looked like an old, forgotten broom closet. Inside was a single dingy lightbulb which he tugged on, illuminating the repulsive room. The walls were covered in mysterious grime and scattered around the walls were pictures of me. I shuddered before looking at the absolutely repulsive mattress on the floor.

Scared but curious about how I got here. What set him off? How did I catch his attention? But I’d need to do this subtly. I pretended to look at all the photos in awe, as if touched by his infatuation. “You did all this, and the stuff in my apartment for me?”

If he was a cartoon I’m sure the hearts in his eyes would double in size. “Yes, yes, of course!” he confessed excitedly. “When I saw your picture on his desk, I knew you were the one.” Based on the way he said ‘his,’ I knew he was referring to the picture of Spence and I at the beach on his desk. “You’re so pretty,” he mused, stroking a finger down my face. It took everything in me not to slap his hand away. “And your notes… I knew you loved me too.” Against my will, a look of confusion must have crossed over my face. His eyebrows furrowed a little. “You know, the ones you left on your desk for me to find! In that glittery ink.” He rushed over to a box, pulling out half a dozen notes. I recognized Penelope’s handwriting and glitter gel pens. The messages came from a time when she was teasing Reid and trying to steal me away from him as a joke.

You should be with me

I love you <3

I’m leaving him for you, do the same for me?

I looked up at my stalker nervously, completely unsure what to say. Seeing how unstable this guy was, I knew the safest thing would be to agree. “Oh yeah, I forgot about these.” It took me swallowing my every ounce of pride to say the next words. “It had been so long I was scared you wouldn’t do anything. Like… I’d be stuck with Spencer forever.” The man visibly melted at my words.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry you felt that way.”

Before he could say anything, the door burst open, revealing Emily with her gun. I nearly sobbed in relief seeing her but before I could react, the stalker’s arm was around my neck, pointing the gun at my head. “I found Y/N, Garrison has a gun!”

Soon enough the rest of the team showed up, including Spencer. “She’s safe with me!” Garrison insisted.

“Then why are you pointing a gun at her head,” Emily countered.

He lowered the gun, pointing it at my teammates who weren’t wearing their vests. I nearly screamed when he pointed it at Spencer. “Tell them we’re fine, that you’d rather be here with me!” Garrison demanded like a child.

“Come on Garrison, you know this isn’t rational,” Derek interrupted. “Look at her, she’s terrified.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, moving the gun towards Derek. “Tell them!”

“I’m fine guys!” I told them. Grabbing at his arm that was wrapped around my throat, I began to plea. “Please let me go. I can’t breathe, we can talk about this. We just need to settle some things so we can be together.”

But he only tightened his grip, I began to feel a little lightheaded. “No, he’ll just steal you away from me.” The gun was once again trained on Spencer.

“I won’t, I swear,” Spence promised, putting his gun away. “We were never really a couple. It was all just a ruse to make you jealous and catch your attention.”

Suddenly his grip loosened and I fell into a coughing fit. “Really?” he asked. Realizing I had fallen at his feet he dropped the gun, crouching down. Next thing I knew Garrison was being pushed back by Derek while Emily pulled me away.

I was immediately pulled up into my boyfriend’s arms. “Thank god,” I heard him whisper as I sobbed into his shoulder. I clung to his shoulders, a sobbing mess as he hugged me tightly, nuzzling his face into my neck.

Behind me I could hear Garrison’s shouts. “No! I trusted you! I loved you! You lying bitch!” he continued to scream profanities at the top of his lungs as Derek dragged him out, not shy about roughing him up a bit.

“Reid, take L/N home. Take the night off too,” Hotch ordered. “Glad you’re okay,” he said to me before following the others upstairs.

That night I couldn’t stand the idea of being alone but fortunately Spencer didn’t mind. He stuck by me all night, whispering assurances and sweet nothings whenever I got scared.

Masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #spencer x reader #reid #reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

2K notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

Text

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Overstimulation

Chapter Summary | Another day, another thing to tick off your list. This time, Joel issues a challenge, which of of you will break first? Him, or you at the mercy of his hands and mouth?

Chapter Warnings | Again and as usual, this is porn without much plot, oral sex (f), fingering, sex toys, squirting, unprotected PiV sex, overstimulation (clearly), crying after sex, dirty talking, pet names (baby), aftercare, no outbreak au, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 4.1K

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | We are officially halfway through the checklist - this one was a bit of a challenge, but I hope you love it as much as I do. If you do enjoy this, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that whilst this is part of a wider series, this can be read as a standalone if you wish.

Beautiful divider by @saradika

I no longer have a taglist, to keep up to date with my work, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

“How many times d’ya think I could make you come before you couldn’t take it anymore?”

The question makes you splutter out your morning coffee, coughing a little to clear your throat.

“Joel, it's nine in the morning, can you let me at least drink some caffeine first?”

He’s laughing, in that deep way, straight from his chest that makes your heart swell, leaning up against his kitchen counter with his own coffee mug moving to his lips.

“Just curious, is all.” He smiles, head tilting to the little cork board on the kitchen wall, where he’s pinned the checklist.

“How many times do you think you can make me come before you get bored and want to fuck me?” You counter with a shrug.

He raises an eyebrow as he sips loudly from him mug, “You’ll be beggin’ me to stop before I break, baby, and you know it.”

He’s not wrong. You know what you’re like, even if you like to think you can talk a big game. Joel has never been anything other than focused on your pleasure, and normally, he can give you two or three, with some breaks in between, before you’re trying to crawl away from him, so you know he’s right.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out then, won’t we?”

It’s late and you’re perched in bed, book resting on your knees, when Joel comes in from the bathroom. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, his back to you so you can admire the way his back muscles ripple as he moves. You turn your eyes back to the pages in front of you before he can catch you watching him. He lets out a little groan when he gets into bed, shuffling a little under the sheets to get himself comfortable.

You’re turning the page when you feel his wide palm slip over your abdomen over the sheer fabric of the nightdress you’re wearing, his body turning to rest on his side. He leans up, pressing his lips just behind your ear, his thumb running softly over the fabric, hitching the material a little further up your thighs as he goes.

“Can I help you?” You murmur, thumb folding the corner of your page so you can shut the book and put it on your nightstand.

“You wear this on purpose?” He asks, hand moving from your tummy to play with the thin spaghetti straps resting on your shoulder, “You know this little thing drives me wild.”

In all honesty, it had been the first thing you’d pulled from your drawer after your shower, but he didn’t need to know that, “Maybe I did.” You speak softly, moving your head to look at him, his own eyes fixated on his hand moving from the strap, down the neckline, fingers tracing softly over your skin.

Joel’s mouth moves softly from your ear, pressing feather-light kisses across the skin of your jaw and across the expanse of your throat, “I think we should challenge you tonight, baby.”

His hand moves down the front of your nightdress, cupping one of your tits in his palm as he thumbs over your nipple through the material. The soft and gentle movements of his hand makes your breath catch in your throat and an ache settle between your thighs. You can feel him pressing his hips into your side, already half-hard in his boxers, the scruff on his face scratching deliciously over the soft skin of your jaw.

“I’m going to make you come so many times you won’t even know your own name, baby.”

His promise makes you gasp, spoken right into the shell of your ear, as he trails his hand down, further down your body, until his hand is resting on the inside of your thigh, gently prising your legs open under the sheets. Joel shuffles down under the sheets a little, leant up on one elbow, casual as anything, when he looks up at you, fingers moving slowly across the skin of your thighs until they dip under the hem of your nightdress.

Joel is cupping your sex in his palm, your body sinking further down into the bed, his body pressed flushed to your side as he quickly brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking his middle finger into his mouth to wet it, before he’s putting his hand back between your thighs, that slick finger now moving slowly over your clit.

His touch is so light that you can barely feel it, but it’s there, slow, languid circles moving over you. You know now that you’re in this for the long haul, Joel’s patience is going to win out time and time again tonight. He presses his finger just a touch harder to your clit as he continues his circles, your hips bucking up into his hand at the added pressure, a whine falling from your mouth as his own moves back to your ear.

“I want you to keep count,” He breathes out, goosebumps rising across your skin, “Whenever you come, you keep count, okay?”

“I s-still think y-you’re going to b-break first.”

Your voice comes out choked and pathetic as his finger slips from your clit to your entrance to gather the slick he’s caused, dragging it back up to use to circle your clit once more.

“I think you’re wrong, baby,” He coos into your ear, hot breath skittering across your skin, “Look how close you are already.”

It’s infuriating because he’s right. You’ve spent the whole day working yourself up about the conversation this morning, dreaming of all the different ways he’s going to take you apart to prove his point. His finger is speeding up between your legs, adding more pressure as you arch your back up off the bed, pushing yourself further into his hand. Joel’s lips are pressing against your ear, the skin behind it, wherever he can put it as your body starts to shake under his touch.

Thighs trembling, pleasure blooming across your lower abdomen as the coil starts to tighten. It pulls tighter and tighter until it’s teetering on the edge of snapping.

“Please don’t stop,” You whine, “Right there, Joel, oh my god, right there, please.”

It snaps all at once, washing over every inch of your body as your hands grip onto his arm, fingernails digging into his skin, his name dropping from your mouth every few seconds whilst that perfect hand of his works you through the shaking of your body as you start to come down.

You’re vaguely aware of him pulling his hand from between your thighs and the duvet being torn from your body as he moves to settle himself between your thighs, giving you barely any time to register what’s happening before he tongue is licking, warm and wet, up the length of your pussy.

He uses his thumbs to spread you open to him, baring your glistening cunt to his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking gently against your clit. You’ve barely recovered from the first orgasm, his mouth working just like he knows you like it. He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, before letting it go with a lewd smack. It’s already a little too much for you. You can already feel the tightening of the coil again. It’s always easier for you to come the second time, but it never happens this quickly.

Joel pulls off you just enough to speak, “Come on, baby, come on.” He coaxes, tongue working flat across your clit, the sound of him literally slurping at your pussy the only thing you can focus on.

This one falls over you slowly, gradually, legs shaking around his shoulders, arching into him, fingers curling into his hair to hold him where he is as that feeling blooms and prickles across your skin.

“Fucking hell, Joel.” You manage to breathe out, chest heaving.

“How many?” He asks, mouth still so close to your cunt.

“T-two.”

“Too much?” He’s smirking when you look down at him between your legs.

“Not a chance, Miller.”

“Good girl.”

And then not only his mouth back over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, but two of his fingers are slipping inside you at the same time. As you cry out, you realise how empty you’d felt before, walls of your cunt clenching around nothing as he brought you to the edge and over it. You’re whining, trying to scrabble away a little, but Joel’s free hand comes to splay across your lower tummy, pressing you down into the mattress, keeping you still as his fingers curl up into you, pressing against that spot inside you as he suckles your clit into his mouth, letting it pop from between his lips, worshipping it with his tongue, before sucking it right back into his mouth again.

The clue is in the name, but it’s all so overwhelming, overstimulating. The stretch of his shoulders widening your legs, the way his mouth is just on the right side of pleasure, the short clip of pain that comes with being worked too much not yet there, and when you tip your head forward, look down over the expanse of his back, you can see his hips moving, it’s subtle, but it’s there, Joel, rutting himself into the mattress as he works you toward the edge again.

“Joel,” You whimper out, fingers still tangled in his hair, “Please, please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Not when you’re so close, not when he knows it, that telltale clenching of you around his fingers, your head thrown back, mouth open, panting as you start to move your hips, meeting the upwards movements of his fingers.

You’re gritting your teeth, pulling hard on his hair as your entire body convulses the third time. You’re jerking in a way you’re not used to, just like you aren’t used to being made to come this many times in quick succession. It’s overwhelming, you can’t even bring yourself to moan, your mouth just dropped open wide, silently crying out into the air of the room as Joel finally drags his fingers and mouth from your cunt.

You bring an arm up, covering your face, sucking in heavy breaths as you feel his body moving, thinking smugly to yourself that you might have won this time, that he’s so desperate to bury himself inside you that he’s going to give up and do just that. You can feel him settle over your body, only for a moment, the bulge in his underwear brushing against your sensitive cunt. You haven’t won though because there’s the telltale sound of your bedside table opening. You drag your arm from over your eyes, watching as he reaches in, dragging out the small wand you keep in there.

He’s grinning at you, pushing himself to rest on his knees, bringing the vibrator to rest against your pussy, soaking wet and aching, but he doesn’t switch it on, mercifully.

“Are you going to give up yet?” He asks, eyebrow arched.

It would be so easy to say yes, to yield to him, to finally feel him heavy and throbbing inside you, but there’s the element of pride to it that you have to think about. Forgetting about the fire you feel settling across every inch of skin, the way there is sweat pooling across every inch of your body, and the way that even the gentle press of the silicon against the swollen folds of your pussy is proving a little difficult.

“N-no?” It comes out as a question more than anything, so you clear your throat, trying again, “No.”

He lets out a snort of breath from his nose, like he knows he’s pushing you, right to your limits and you both know it, but you’ve always been stubborn. It’s one of the reasons he loves you so much. But he’s not going to stop, not until you’re begging for it. So he presses the button, thankfully on the lowest setting, but it still causes you to jolt, to cry out in surprise as the vibrating pulses through you, centred right on your clit that is screaming at you for a break, screaming at you to stop, for him to stop.

“T-too much.”

“What’s that, baby?” He asks, smirk across his lips as he presses the button again, shifting it up a setting.

“Ohmygod,” You squeal, body thrashing about on the bed, but as usual, Joel has a hand pressed on your lower tummy, keeping you in place, “Don’t stop.”

You can’t believe it’s coming out of your mouth, but you’re teetering just on the right side of pleasure mixed with pain. Your hips are chasing the soft vibrations pulsing over your clit, revelling in the weight of Joel’s palm pressing onto your lower tummy. Your teeth are digging so hard into your bottom lip that you can taste blood, but you can feel it, that hot furl of pleasure, and you’re chasing it, running towards it, but finding it always just out of reach, no matter how much you hold your breath, pinch your eyes shut and focus on finding it.

“Faster.”

“What’s that?” Joel teases, leaning forward, his body over yours, lips pressed to your damp forehand, “Say it louder for me.”

“Faster!” You shriek, “God damn it Joel, faster.”

His fingers presses the button once more, speeding up the pulsing against your pussy, and it’s all over. You’re entire body shakes in anticipation, the actual collapse into pleasure following just behind. You can feel your cunt clenching around nothing, fluttering desperately, almost making you open your mouth to beg him to fuck you, but all that comes out when you do open your mouth is a pathetic whine, a murmur of his name over and over again, until the vibrator is pulled from your body, turned off and discarded to the side.

Joel collapses his body over yours, pressing his weight into you as he drags your arms up over your head, his fingers entwined with yours as he kisses across your face, kissing away the tears that are falling from the corners of your eyes, softly pressing his lips to the tip of your nose until he reaches your mouth, pressing his mouth to yours, once, twice, three times.

You can feel him moving his hips into your own, his cock hard and heavy behind the material of his underwear as it brushing against your swollen folds, catch ever-so-slightly on your clit as he moves. It makes you gasp against his mouth, makes you shift your hips against him.

“I know you want it baby,” He whispers against your mouth, “You want my cock, don’t you?”

His voice sounds just as desperate as the whines and whimpers coming from your mouth, his hips pressing against you, cock dragging against the wet of your pussy, finding just an ounce of friction as he presses his mouth to yours again.

“I know you want it,” He teases, “All you gotta do is say the words baby, say the words and I’ll give it to you.”

Now you’re at a crossroads. You could stand your ground, tell him to carry on, dare him to take it as far as his patience will let him, but you know you’ll be here all night if that’s the case, you’ve never met someone with the patience of Joel Miller before. Given half the chance he’d spend all night between your thighs, using his mouth or fingers to bring you over the edge until your bones were jelly and you didn’t know whether it was pleasure or pain you could feel. Or, you could tell him to do it, beg him to fuck you, get what you really want, what you always want, which is him buried impossibly deep inside you, filling you up with his cum, whispering into your ear what a good girl you are for him, and lose this self-imposed contest you’ve given yourself to outlast him.

Judging by the way that you feel like you might scream if the bulge of his cock brushes against you again, you opt to swallow your pride.

“Please,” You beg, “Please Joel, I want you inside me.”

“Good girl.”

He’s pulling back from you, pushing his boxers down just enough to free his cock, before the entire weight of him is pressing against you and he’s buried inside your cunt to the hilt. The tip of his cock is pressed so deep inside you, but he’s still, his hands squeezing your own where he’s gone back to entwining your fingers together above your head.

God, he’s so overwhelming like this. Every sense is just Joel, you can smell him, his body is under your touch, you can hear him panting into your ear as he starts sliding himself in and out of you, you can taste his mouth when he opens it against yours. Everything right now is Joel and pleasure & pain all mixed into one.

“You okay?” He asks, nose nuzzling against your ear, his thrusts shallow, so he’s slowly punching that spot deep inside you.

You squeeze his hands, in your own, leaning the side of your head into his face, so unbearably hot underneath him, but so unbearably needy too. You need more, you need him to fuck you properly.

“More,” You mumble, lifting your hips into his as he pushes back into you, “Please baby, harder.”

“You think you can take it?” He asks quietly into your ear.

“Don’t care, just want you.”

Joel’s hands let go of yours, pushing himself onto his palms, resting either side of your head. He pulls his cock all the way out of you, tip of his cock resting just inside you, then he snaps his hips back into yours, the force shifting your body up the bed a little, a cry pulled from your throat as he does the same, over and over again. Your eyes rolling back into your skull, fingers gripping at his sides, slipping round to rest against his ass, pulling him into you even more.

When you look at his face, he looks just a wrecked as you feel, sweat pooling in the dips of his collarbones, falling from the ends of the curls at the back of his neck. He hooks the backs of your knees around his arms, pushes you forward, pressing you even further into the mattress as he really pounds into you, cock stretching you so perfectly, as your name falls from his lips like a string of hail Mary’s.

“One more,” He pants out above you, “Put your hand on yourself and give yourself one more.”

“I can’t,” You cry out, feeling completely boneless and at his mercy, unable to move unless he’s manipulating your limbs, “Can’t Joel.”

“Yeah you can, baby,” He speaks, “Can feel you, gettin’ all tight around me, you can give me one more,” Then he leans forward, as much as he can with your legs hooked around his arms, pressing his mouth to the skin of your skin, “Just for me baby, one more, just for me.”

Your arm is heavy when you let it fall between the two of you. You run a gentle finger over your clit, so impossibly swollen and spent under your touch, the slick he’s pulled from you making it easier to move, but you still don’t think you can, you still think it’s too much.

“Keep goin’ baby,” Joel praises, “Just like that.”

You can feel your walls around him, sucking him in as deep as he can possibly get on each thrust of his hips, fluttering, clenching around him when your finger swipes across your clit, “Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, look at you.”

And he is doing just that, when you meet his eyes, those dark brown orbs, reminiscent of coffee and chocolate, he’s looking right into yours, right into your depths, admiring the way your sweat slicked hair sticks to your forehead, the way your eyes are glassed over, the way your body has folded so perfectly at his hand as you let him take what he wants. He’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world. That, mixed with the praise, and the way he’s hitting you just right with his cock as you falling over the edge, screaming his name into the room as you feel yourself gush all over his cock, all over the sheets underneath you.

“Yeah baby, fuck yeah,” His voice is deep, desperate, “Look at what you did,” He drops one of your legs, puts his hand on the back of your head and tilts your neck so you’re watching as his cock spear itself into your cunt, covered in wetness, “Made such a perfect mess for me, didn’t you?”

You can’t talk, you can’t think, you can do nothing but lie there as his hips start to falter, until he’s letting go of your other leg, dragging his cock from your tight heat, furiously fisting himself until he comes across the skin of your tummy, cursing, groaning your name until every single drop of him is mixed with every drop of you.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, led on his back trying to catch your breath, in much the same way as you are, until you start crying. It starts with a wobble of your lip which you try and bite away, then, they fall from your waterline, followed by choked sobs that you can’t keep under control.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Joel is on you in seconds, pressing his warm body to your side, hand on the cheek furthest from him, pulling your face to his, thumb rubbing the tears away as they fall, “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to calm yourself down, but now his kindness is making it worse.

“Baby, you gotta talk to me,” He urges, “Was I too rough?” You shake your head, “Was it too much?” To that you nod, because it was, too much all at once.

He drags your body further into yours, pulling you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers, lips kissing your cheek, “You know to use your word if its too much.”

You take another deep breath and mumble against his skin, realising he can’t hear you, “I’m just overwhelmed,” You explain, “Was fine at the time, but I’m overwhelmed now.”

The cool air of the room is prickling goosebumps against your skin, causing you to shiver, “Will you be okay here for a minute?” He asks, lips pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You nod, curling into a ball as he pads from the room, coming back moments later with a wet cloth. He turns you onto your back, uses the cloth to clean the his cum from your skin, then gently brings it down between your legs, letting it rest against your swollen pussy, the warmth soothing you a little as he cleans between your legs too.

You lie there as he puts the used cloth in the wash basket, pulling back the sheets on his side of the bed, dragging you gently over to his side, tucking you in as he rounds the bed, gets in on your side. It takes you a while to realise it’s so he’s led in the wet patch you made.

Joel runs those warm hands up and down your skin, warming you up, helping to dissipate the goosebumps, soft, open-mouth kisses pressed to every part of your skin that he can reach as he soothes you. Your eyes are heavy, you’re tired, warm, and completely spent, but most importantly, as he moves to press his front to your back, his arm over your waist, dragging you as close as you can be, you’re safe.

And the next morning, when you wake, take the pencil to written words of overstimulation on the checklist, you think perhaps that one isn’t quite for you, and that’s completely fine.

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