#lil troublemaker reader…..

[aimfor-theheart]

mafia au with bodyguard vi i am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

anon i’m trying to distract myself on this flight so here take this little drabble bc i can’t get bodyguard!vi out of my mind 😖

***

You laze at your vanity, languid like a cat; taking your time to get ready. Your hair is half undone. You’re still in your sheer, dark tights and bra—some jewelry hanging from your bare skin, some still scattered on the vanity in front of you. Your martini glass gleams alongside the pearls in the lowlight of your bedroom.

You’re powdering your face when someone knocks.

“Come in,” You say, despite your state of undress.

When Vi enters, you catch her eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

She curses a little, averting her gaze. You smile, slow and mischievous.

“You know, usually when people are undressed, they don’t tell someone to stroll into their bedroom.” Vi remarks.

“Oh, but I knew it was you.” You respond innocently.

She huffs a bit of a laugh. You see a muscle feather in her jaw. She’s still looking away from you, but there’s something in her face—it lurks around the edges of her expression, like she’s trying to keep it hidden.

(Hunger looks good on her.)

“I’m your bodyguard, princess. I should be standing outside your door while you get ready like this.” She says and you’ve found that she likes to tell you about what she should do with you. She likes to tell you what’s proper, as you lure her into something improper.

“Oh, relax. Have a drink, would you?” You retort, lifting your martini glass to her in the mirror as if to demonstrate. You take a sip, lemon twist and flowery gin hit your tongue in a cool burst. “I wanted company while I finish getting ready.”

She lets go of a hard sigh. “You’re trying to get me killed. Your father would have my head.”

“Good thing he’s not around tonight, then.” You hum, finally returning to your preening and powdering.

“Would you at least put on some clothes for me?” Vi asks the ceiling and really it’s almost—funny, how chivalrous she’s trying to be. Gentlemanly. She still hasn’t looked your way.

Well, that won’t do.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” You coo, finally turning from the mirror to face her. “Not with your reputation…”

She barks out a laugh.

“I’m being paid to protect you.” Vi reiterates and you think, at this point, she’s reminding herself more than you.

“So you can’t keep me company while I get ready?” You ask sweetly.

Her eyes cut to you before she can stop herself, a flash of blue lighting. When she takes you in, it’s with a hitched breath. Her eyes skip down the curves of your body. She looks away again.

“You’re not sly, sweetheart. I know your game.” Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, tousling it further.

You let go of an overdramatic sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll dress.”

And with that, you saunter to your wardrobe, where the slinky little dress you’ll be wearing tonight hangs. It’s midnight purple, shimmering like dark water at night. You pull it from the hanger and carefully slip it on. But in the back, it hangs open, zipper undone.

Your eyes cut to Vi—she’s still turned away and you trace the broad lines of her back. The sliver of her tattoo that starts at the nape of her neck.

“Vi,” You say her name so lightly, “will you help me?”

When she looks at you, it’s of the open back of your dress, all your bare skin and the silk. The lacy back of your bra—the shadow of your matching panties beneath the tights. You peek over your shoulder demurely.

Vi swallows hard.

But still, she approaches. Her footsteps are slow, heavy. And then she’s behind you and you can almost feel her, feel her warmth. You stay perfectly still for her—waiting, breath held—

The touch of her fingers against the bare skin of your lower back makes your lashes flutter. She takes the zipper in hand. With her other hand, she smoothes the fabric of the dress, palm open against the curve of your waist.

Slowly, she pulls the zipper up along your spine.

When she’s done, she settles that hand on your waist, too. Holds you.

“You’re such trouble.” She murmurs, squeezes a little into the soft give of your hips.

“I just needed your help.” You say, bedroom soft.

This little, frustrated groan works its way out of her throat. Your stomach flips, thinking of what it might sound against your throat, or inner thighs. She hangs her head and for a moment, you think she might close the rest of the distance, might let her lips fall to the nape of your neck, or press her chest all against your back—

Instead, she’s gone. Hands off you, held up like she’s trying to show she’s innocent, as she takes a few steps away from you.

She sinks into one of your loveseats—the one that faces the vanity.

“Finish getting ready, princess.”

And for once, you listen to her. You finish pinning your hair. You finish your makeup and add your jewelry. You drink the rest of your martini, the warmth of alcohol hitting you sweet and hot, somewhere in your chest.

When you’re finished, you nudge your stocking clad foot in her direction.

She knows, instantly and moves to you. She eases to one knee, and takes one of your heels in hand. She pulls your foot into her lap, then she deftly eases the shoe onto your foot. She buckles the strap around your ankle dutifully. She does the other one with the same, methodical devotion.

She looks up at you from her knees, your ankle still held in her rough palm. “Happy?” She asks.

“Endlessly.” Your smile is a cat’s curve, a crescent moon.

“You’re so spoiled.” Vi says, adjusting the strap of your heel, so it sits perfectly.

“I like to be taken care of, that’s all.” You say primly.

She snorts at that, and squeezes your ankle in her strong hand. “Princess?” She says, eyes dark and imploring, looking up at you—

It’s such a good look on her. Like this, on her knees.

“Hm?”

She stands slowly, now towering over you. You slowly tip your head back to look up at her. And she even takes your chin in hand, makes you hold her eyes.

“Don’t run off tonight.” She warns.

Your smile turns sharp—eyes dancing with mischief.

“But you always did love a good chase.”

(Hunger looks good on her.)

[sttoru]

𖠵 I’M YOURS.

𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you visit your husband during his work hours to hand him his lunch which he forgot at home. his subordinates are surprised to see their superior act so gentle with you��a total opposite to how he usually is when finding and punishing outlaws.

tags. wild west sheriff!kento nanami x wife!female reader. fluff, smut. set in the wild west (1860’s - 1890’s). blǒwjob. size difference (reader short), p in v -> unprotected, breeding themes, creampié, semi-public, hair pulling. traditional views of marriage. nicknames: darling, sugar, sweetheart. wc: 6.4k

the southern parts of the county are sweltering under an unrelenting sun, and most of the townsfolk have retreated indoors to escape the heat. kento nanami - the town’s sheriff - is taking a quick break, having just returned from breaking up a violent brawl at the local saloon. damn drunkards, he thinks as he shakes his head. they have been causing havoc all afternoon, threatening to turn the place into a shooting gallery. he had to put them in their place.

kento strolls to a nearby window, silently critiquing the poor job done on the grimy glass. his eyes scan the wagons that roll in and out of town to keep watch for anything out of the ordinary. but before long, his thoughts wander, and he found himself thinking of you. his dearest. his beloved. his world— his wife.

the blonde man wonders what you’re doing right now. are you preparing supper, or perhaps knitting him another one of those scarves in preperation for the colder weather?

one of his hands slips into the pockets of his slacks, fingers brushing against the handkerchief you gifted him. he smiles as he traces the embroidered flowers. their colors are still vibrant despite the constant wear. it has become his lucky charm over the years.

kento sighs as he catches a glimpse of a couple in the distance. they share a kiss, the woman waving her partner off with a handkerchief of her own as her husband leaves on his horse. the sight has his jaw clenching as guilt creeps in. he had left home in such a hurry this morning, that he hasn't kissed you goodbye properly. he hopes that you didn’t take it personally.

it is a small thing, but he makes a mental note to apologise for that later.

kento turns around from the window he’s been staring out at for the past couple minutes as one of the deputies hustles a trussed up outlaw into the office. the other male slams the wooden door shut behind them which rattles the place. the outlaw is a scruffy looking fellow and his wild eyes dart nervously between kento and the shotgun-toting deputy.

the blond sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. just when he thought he could have a peaceful break... duty calls.

“got ourselves a lil’ troublemaker here, sheriff,” jake says and gives the outlaw a rough shove forward. the man stumbles, nearly falling to his knees before catching himself.

kento’s jaw clenches as he looks the outlaw up and down, his hazel eyes hardening. he aims to keep the peace in this small town, and that means dealing with the dregs of society from time to time. anything to keep the folk safe. especially if it meant protecting his dear wife.

“ye damn pieces of shit,” the outlaw spits, glaring defiantly at the two authoritive figures standing in front of him, “i ain't done nothin’ wrong, ya hear?”

there it is; the cliché line nearly every sentenced outlaw utters whenever they’re caught. kento runs a hand through his hair and scoffs as a muscle in his jaw ticks. one thing he hates are shameless outlaws who claim to have done no wrong.

this man before him has been on countless bounty posters, plastered all over the county. wanted dead or alive, for assault, murder and robbery. bart cavanaugh, the thug’s name is.

kento barks out a harsh laugh, but his face doesn’t show an ounce of emotion. the deputy shifts on his feet. the young man had seen that face on the sheriff countless times before. it’s intimidating and scary, the tension in the room palpable.

“done nothin’ wrong? boy, y’ve been stealin’ and killin’ yer way through half the damn county. and now y' got the audacity to stand there and lie to my face?”

kento steps forward and looms over the outlaw, his broad shoulders squared. his hand drifts to rest on the butt of his holstered revolver. the metal is cool and reassuring against his palm.

“jake, go fetch the preacher. tell him to start diggin' a new grave,” kento orders without taking his piercing eyes off the outlaw. his free hand shoots forward to grab a good handful of the man’s matted hair, yanking it back roughly. the sheriff’s eyes are cold and calculating, “looks like we got us a hangin’ to do ‘fore sundown.”

the outlaw’s eyes widened in fear and he tries to take a step back, but kento’s strength is not to be matched. “but... but you can’t!” he stammers, “i got my rights, i-i'll have ya know that!”

“rights?” kento huffs and releases the thug with a rough shove, dusting his hand off on his blouse as if he touched something filthy. “the only right ye got is the right to wait here and take what's comin’ for ya.”

it did not take long before the outlaw is sentenced, hauled outside and led toward the gallows. kento stretches his arms above his head, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders. another task crossed off the list. he can only hope that the rest of his break will pass quietly without any more disturbances.

the exhausted sheriff drops into the wooden chair behind his desk and leans back with the nth sigh of the day. his fingers fumble with the drawer, and after a moment of rummaging, he pulls out a cigar. he strikes a match and lights it up before placing the stick between his lips. kento closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting the burn of the tobacco settle his mind.

minutes slip by in silence—just the quiet flicker of the lamp and the rhythmic sound of his own breathing. then, the front door creaks.

kento’s eyes flicker open. a loud prayer sounds in his head; please lord above don't let it be another caught outlaw. not another deputy or bounty hunter with some new problem to throw his way.

however, when he looks up, all the weight on his shoulders vanishes in an instant. there you are - his wife - standing in the doorway like an angel sent to pull him from the depths of his workday hell. the stress, the frustration, all of it fades away in your presence.

kento squints through the haze of cigar smoke as you walk inside with a beaming smile on your face. fuck, you're beautiful. a dream come true.

he takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs before exhaling slowly. the smoke curls around his tired face. his hazel-colored eyes narrow as they rake over your figure. a little provocative, he thinks, not wearing a shawl on your exposed shoulders. especially around these parts of town—with other men lurking that aren’t your husband.

“well, well, if it ain’t my sweet lil' wife,” the blonde rumbles, setting the cigar down in the ashtray. kento leans back in his chair which causes the wooden furniture to creak under his muscular frame. “what brings you ‘round these parts, darlin'?”

it is unusual for you to visit him during work hours. normally, you’d be at the house, attending to your duties. taking care of your cozy home, or perhaps socialising with the other wives around town at one of your regular gatherings. kento didn’t expect to see you here, yet the sight of you is a welcome surprise. even more so when you look so radiant, as if the sunlight itself has wrapped around you.

“ah, you forgot your lunch dear,” you explain with a warm smile. your voice carries a familiar tone that always seems to soothe your husband. you nod politely to his colleagues who’re staring at you in awe and curiosity. you continue, “i started to worry. i can’t possibly have my husband starvin’ at work, now can i? ain't so proper as y’r wife.”

your words make kento’s heart lighten. the smile that has faded from his face the second he left you this morning, finally finds it way back. his entire demeanour softens and his body relaxes.

the two deputies, who have been going about their duties in the background, can’t help but glance over at the scene unfolding. they exchange a bemused look as they watch kento’s demeanor shift the moment you walked into the office. it’s almost comical how quickly the stern, commanding sheriff transforms into a doting and affectionate husband.

kento stands up, his tall, imposing figure towering you as he approaches. the gun belt slung low on his hips clinks softly with each step along with the spurs on his boots. he reaches out, taking the cloth wrapped box from your dainty hands. his calloused fingers brush against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through him.

“well, much obliged, sugar. yer a real sight for sore eyes,” kento comments, his deep voice lowering to an intimate rumble. he sets the box down on the desk before stepping closer to you. his eyes search for yours while his hands gently rub your sides.

“any time,” you shyly duck your head as you sense the tension between kento and you building up. it’s always like this between you two. the honeymoon phase? for you it’s not a phase, it’s a forever thing. until death do you part.

your hands reach up, slithering from his sides to his chest to straighten his sheriff’s badge. “has work been okay, hun?” you murmur in a honeyed voice, the one that drives kento crazy. neither of you seem to care about his co-workers standing around, lost in your own little bubble.

kento’s hand slides from your side to your throat, fingers skimming over your pulse point, enjoying the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch. “work’s been a pain in the ass, darlin’. same ol’ song and dance,” he replies while his half lidded eyes dart all over your pretty face, “but now that y’re here, it's startin’ to look up.”

your conversation is casual, yet the underlying tension tells you there is more to it. even the deputies become aware of what’s playing in the middle of the office. or more so, what's about to happen if the passion in both kento and his wife’s eyes come to life.

kento can’t help but smirk as you press yourself against him. your soft curves mold to the hard planes of his muscular body, a stark contrast to the gentle hands that hold you close. his eyes darken once he catches you looking up at him through those long lashes of yours. that’s his damn weakness.

“y’know, seein' you here, lookin' like sin in that dress—it’s making me think all sorts of improper thoughts,” he starts in his deep voice. your husband lowers his head to whisper in your ear, “thoughts about bendin’ you over my desk and showin’ ya what happens to naughty little wives who distract their husbands at work.”

a shiver runs down your spine even though this is exactly what you wanted. you came here to deliver kento’s lunch, yes, but you've also missed his attention, affection and most importantly his touch. due to his job, he’s not at home for almost the entire day.

you don’t want to come off as clingy, but when you have a man like kento to call yours, you can’t help but want to be greedy.

the same goes for him as well. kento is ever the devoted lover, head over heels for you, and that includes feeling a great sense of physical attraction to you. he can’t help it—especially when you look so adorable, playing the role of the dutiful wife, visiting him at work to drop off his lunch. it’s a massive turn on.

“l-later. there are others here,” you try to play your erotic interaction off, even as you feel the insistent press of kento's clothed cock against your lower belly. your cheeks heat up as you realise that this bit of proximity had already turned your husband on.

kento licks a stripe up your earlobe, his teeth grazing the flesh before he soothes it with his slick tongue. he knows he shouldn’t be so explicit with you, not here in his office where anyone could walk in. but he simply cannot resist your charms. that pretty body and voice of yours are like a siren’s call to him.

however, he also notices your hesistance because of the company you have. kento, ever the thoughtful man, glances up at the deputies sitting around the office. his gaze hardens and his voice is filled with authority, “don't y’all got better things to do than sittin’ ‘round here?”

it’s a hidden message that all men in the room clearly understood. kento wanted them out and as soon as possible so he can take care of his wife. his duties are put on hold for as long as you need him by your side. he trusts his coworkers to deal with the rest while he’s busy attending to your needs.

the deputies scramble to their feet and grab their stetsons, hurrying out of the office with a chorus of 'yes, sir!' and 'right away, sir!' some smirk knowingly as they make their way out into the muddy streets. they know all too well about kento’s soft spot—the one woman he’d do anything for. even if it means that he ignores his work for a while.

within seconds, the office clears out, leaving kento and you alone. he turns back to you and his eyes instantly roam over your feminine curves. from the swell of your soft breasts to the flare of your hips. oh, his mouth immediately starts to water.

“now, where were we?” the blond man hums. he stalks forward until your back hits the wall with a inaudible thud. you swallow thickly as you look up at kento, who’s staring back at you like you’re a five course meal.

but beneath that passionate gaze is something so intimate. so much more gentle and loving. with every touch, his eyes still search for yours, wordlessly confirming your consent. it’s a habit of his—ever since he took your innocence on your wedding night.

kento’s hands slide down to grab your thighs. he hoists you up and encourages you to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist, holding you between his body and the wall. his eyes flicker downwards to where the skirt of your dress rides up and exposes more of your soft skin to his greedy touch.

“i need you,” your lover breathes against your lips. his mouth is an inch from yours, eager to capture it in a kiss. kento groans the second he feels your clothed cunt press against his throbbing bulge. his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your ass, “shit. i need you now.”

not a second more is wasted as your husband crashes his lips against yours. he presses you back against the wall, moaning into your mouth. this is what he missed the most. your touch, your taste— it makes him feel alive. like all his hard work is worth it.

your fingers curl into his blond locks, tugging at them as your lips move in sync. your tongues roll around each other and your lower bodies move accordingly, grinding for fiction. “are ye sure? right here?” you ask between gasps, voice muffled as his lips interlock with yours repeatedly.

kento pulls away, but not fully. he can’t let you go in any way or form. his head instantly dives into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. he immediately latches onto your throat and kisses his way down to your collarbone.

this is exactly what he needs after a hard day. the familiar perfume mixing with the faint scent of your arousal and something so homey—it’s dizzying.

“never been more sure,” your husband groans once he feels your nails gently drag down from his nape to his back, slipping beneath the collar of his blouse. little minx, he thinks, knowing exactly what makes a man weak.

kento tilts his head back so he can look into your eyes. your gaze catches his and you’re taken aback by how handsome he looks. he always does, of course, but this sight just makes you clench around nothing. it leaves you throbbing in your underwear.

the way his neat hair has now turned messy, locks covering his half-lidded eyes, biceps straining against the material of his blouse, sharp jaw clenching with the effort to hold himself back from completely ravaging you. . .

you’re soaked.

kento grins at the way your kiss-swollen lips fall apart in a small ‘o’ as you admire him. he knows he looks good and it boosts his confidence. “keep lookin’ at me like that,” he encourages as his lower body grinds against yours.

you can feel the thick outline of his dick pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt and it causes you to jerk in place. your moans get swallowed by your husband’s lips once more, his mouth not giving you a moment to breathe as he kisses you more demandingly this time.

kento carries you to his desk, not once separating your lips from his. he sits down on his chair and settles you down on his thick thighs. your arms immediately wrap around his neck to deepen the kiss.

the steamy make out session continues for a while, both of you breathless. you finally pull back for some air and open your eyes to meet your husband’s. the way he’s looking at you, like you’re his entire world, makes you weak in the knees.

“let me take care of ya first,” you suggest in a hoarse whisper against his lips. you feel kento stiffen beneath you, his cock throbbing impatiently in his slacks at the implication.

“go right on ahead,” he bites his lip and watches your wandering hands drag down from his shoulders to his chest. the muscle in his jaw ticks as he tries his best not to intervene—to grab and bend you over his desk already.

kento’s breath catches in his throat as your delicate hands worked at his belt, the leather creaking softly as you undo the buckle. he watches, transfixed, as you tug his pants down.

suddenly, his large hand reaches out to wrap around your smaller one, squeezing it. “wait,” kento hisses and his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. he’s trying so hard not to lose control.

he takes a deep breath after closing his eyes, hips bucking lightly against your warm palm as it rests against the deliciously big bulge in his undergarments. you gently drop to your knees in front of him while giving him some time to regain his composure.

when kento opens his eyes again, he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat at the sight of you looking up at him with those big eyes. so ready, so eager to please your husband. it can make him bust a nut in his underwear.

“go on,” he whispers gruffly, letting go of your hand but not before giving it a quick kiss. that gentleman side of his never fails to make an appearance, even during sinful moments like these.

you nod and smile in excitement. you lick your lips before hooking your fingers beneath the material of the jockstraps. you slowly tug it down and free his aching cock from its confines. the thick length springs up, gently slapping against his lower stomach and leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on the fabric of his blouse.

kento’s cock was a thing of beauty—long, thick, and girthy, with a bulbous head already glistening with arousal. veins puls along the shaft, and a faint clump of blonde curls dusted the base. the musky scent of his desire fill your nostrils, making your head swim with need.

the pre-cum trickles enticingly from the slit of his tip, a drop slithering down slowly to his heavy balls. it’s evident how much you affect the man and it makes your tummy do a flip.

“mmh— kento. y’re so hard already,” you moan as your pink tongue lolls out to lap up the sticky liquid from the head. you give it a couple small licks to tease your partner, a coy grin playing at your lips.

kento growls, one hand coming down to tangle in your hair at the contact. “fuckk, sugar,” he instinctively thrusts his hips forward, the swollen head of his cock brushing against your soft cheek, leaving pearly drops of pre-cum on your skin. “been thinkin’ about this sweet lil’ mouth all damn day. dreamin’ about them pretty lips wrapped around my dick,” he breathes heavily.

the once composed sheriff is a total mess. he squeezes the base of his dick as he gently taps your cheek with it, trying to coax your lips to part. “c’mon. ye can’t keep this from me any longer,” kento grunts with his brows furrowed.

when you blow some warm air on his tip, he throws his head back at the contact. he’s aching for relief and sitting there teasing him. he could manhandle you to comply, but he’s simply too needy for your touch to do so.

kento gulps before looking down at you. his expression is a mix of frustration, pleasure and neediness. his cheeks are flushed, blonde locks covering his eyes. he breathes out his plea in a shaky tone;

“please.”

your jaw drops at that unexpected moment of vulnerability. it’s thrilling and causes you to immediately give in to his charms. you silently hum in agreement before wrapping your lips around his tip, swallowing inch after inch slowly.

a guttural groan tore from kento’s throat as your hot, eager mouth engulfs his twitching cock. the sensation of your tongue swirling around the sensitive head, lapping up the pre that still leaks steadily from the head, was almost more than he could bear. his fingers tighten in your hair, gripping the strands as he fought the urge to thrust deep into your throat and take his pleasure.

“awh shit,” kento growls. his voice is strained with pleasure at this point, not even able to say things properly. “yer mouth feels so fuckin’ good ‘round my dick.” he watches through heavy-lidded eyes as you take him deeper, his thick length disappearing inch by inch between your plump and kiss-swollen lips. the sight of you, on your knees before him, servicing him with such enthusiasm, sends a surge of pure primal satisfaction through him.

you redouble your efforts and bob your head. up and down, up and down—a hypnotic rhythm that has the man in front of you wrapped around your little finger.

“such a good little wife—yeah, jus’ like that,” kento’s hips rock up to your downward movements, driving his cock deeper into the tight, wet heat of your mouth.

he can feel the wet muscles fluttering around him, could hear the obscene sounds of your gagging and slurping as you struggle to take him all the way. but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. instead, you start sucking him with a fervor that has him seeing stars.

kento’s eyes roll back and he’s trying his best not to cum on spot. he wants to last longer, wants to relish the feeling of you pleasuring him and most importantly—he wants to spend his cum well. in a place where it can take root, where it’d serve its intended purpose.

inside you.

but it’s hard. so hard. especially when you’re watching his every reaction, eyes so captivating and alluring as you suck the soul out of him.

“don’t—oh lord,” kento grits his teeth as your hands cup his balls and squeeze them, rolling them in your palm. the dual sensations of your mouth and hands working in tandem had his breath coming in harsh pants, his muscular chest heaving with the force of it.

your husband’s head tilts backwards, the chair creaking beneath him as he grips the armrests with white knuckles. he’s lost in the sensation of you worshipping his dick, your moans vibrating around his shaft as you slurp and suck with abandon. he knows he will not last much longer at this rate, knows he is going to paint your mouth white with his seed any second now.

kento doesn’t really want to, but he also does. he’s conflicted, though it’s already too late. one particular suck and his tip hitting the deepest parts of your throat sends him over the edge.

“ah, fuck! cummin’, sweetheart!” he moans loudly, his eyes squeezed shut as the first spurts of his hot seed flow from his cock. he can’t stop it, even as he tries to pull your head off due to the overstimulation.

when you finally let his dick go with a lewd, wet pop, kento gasps for air, pushing the hairs away from your face. you’re looking so debauched, so lost in the pleasure, it sends his blood rushing southwards. again.

“there ye go. swallow it all down f’ me,” he mutters quietly, voice rough as his thumb swipes away at the cum on the corners of your mouth. he watches your throat work as you drink down the taste of him.

before you can catch your breath, kento hauls you up off the floor and onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist tightly. he feels the renewed throb of his erection pressing insistently against your thigh, already aching for more.

“dammit, darlin’,” he clicks his tongue, his voice rough and ragged with lust. “y’ve got me so fuckin’ worked up— can’t hold back no more.” his callused hands slide down to grab your round ass, kneading the flesh roughly as he grinds your clothed cunt against his wet dick.

kento stands abruptly and sweeps the contents of his desk onto the floor with a crash. papers flutter everywhere as he bends you over the now empty surface, the rough wood digging into your soft skin. he can’t care less about those important documents. not when he has his wife in front of him.

he flips the hem of your dress up, the material pooling around your waist to bare your underwear-clad ass. you’re already so wet, your pussy lips clinging to the soaked fabric of your undergarments, outlining your cunt perfectly. it’s a sight that makes kento weak in the knees.

“look at this sweet lil’ ass,” the blonde man rasps, delivering a sharp smack to one cheek. the sound echoes through the office, followed by your startled yelp. “she’s g’nna be hurtin’ when i’m done with her, i bet.”

you arch your back in response to the slaps against your bottom, “mhh, kento. need you real bad.” your ass rippling with each smack to it, along with your soft voice begging for him, makes your husband dizzy.

with a muttered curse, kento rips your underwear off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his large hands. he tosses the ruined garment aside, leaving you bare and exposed to his ravenous touch. his callused fingers delve between your thighs, finding you dripping wet and ready.

“tsk. would ya look at that,” he groans, plunging two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your tight cunt. “yer fuckin’ soaked. practically beggin’ for my cock like the needy lil’ slut you are.”

you can only moan in response, your hips bucking back against his invading fingers. those nasty words being said by your usual sweet lover makes you crave more. the obscene squelch of your arousal fills the air as he pumps his digits in and out of your fluttering pussy. you can feel every ridge and vein on his fingers as they stretch you open so well, preparing you for his thick cock.

“that’s it, baby,” kento encourages, his thumb finding your clit beneath its hood and rubbing the sensitive nub in rough circles. “get this sweet cunt nice and ready f’ me. am gonna make you feel so good, i promise.”

kento’s fingers pump faster, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy with wild abandon. the wet, sloppy sounds of your arousal fill the room as your slick walls clench greedily around the invading digits. he can feel you getting closer, your body tensing and quivering as he worked you towards a peak.

“cummin’ already? naughty girl,” kento growls, his voice a low, dominant rumble, “can’t have that.”

with a harsh tug, he yanks his fingers from your weeping cunt, leaving you empty and aching. “kennnn,” you whine as your fingernails dig into the wooden desk beneath you. you wiggle your hips back in frustration, needing more.

kento can see your hole clenching around air, trying to draw something back inside. the sight makes him groan, his cock throbbing painfully between his thick thighs. he’s such a weak man when it comes to you.

“i hear ya— i hear ya,” he mutters, giving in quickly to your needy whine. your dear husband can’t tease you when you’re basically begging him to take you. he grips himself in one hand, stroking his shaft as he rubs the swollen head over your dripping slit.

kento slides the engorged tip teasingly along your slick folds to coat himself in your arousal as he aligns your lower bodies. with a single thrust of his hips, he buries himself fully inside you. his heavy balls slap against your ass with a faint, meaty smack.

“fuuuck!” kento cusses and his voice echoes off the office walls as he hilts his dick in your wet pussy. no matter how many times he ruins your cunt, it’s still as tight as the first time. “fuckin’ hell, sugar,” he breathes out shakily.

your silken walls grip him like a vice, the slick muscles fluttering and clenching around his fat dick. he pauses for just a moment to savore the exquisite sensation of being buried inside his wife's perfect little cunt.

however, he cannot hold back for long. gripping your hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents on your flesh, he begins to move, his thighs flexing as he sets a relentless rhythm. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room as he fucks into you. the ancient desk creaks and shakes with each forceful thrust. it’s a wonder that old thing isn’t breaking.

“tha’s it, take it,” kento snarls. he punctuates each word with a sharp snap of his hips. the feeling of his slick dick slamming into you over and over has him nearly tearing up from pleasure. this is the way to forget about all his earlier problems

“doing so good, honey. yer squeezin’ the life outta me—good girl,” he praises in-between movements. no matter how much he gets lost in the haze of lust, he’s still the sweet nanami kento you know.

his fingers dig into the meat of your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he drives into you again and again. you’re overwhelmed by the stretch, the pure pleasure of his dick molding your insides to fit him and him only.

your toes curl as you struggle to lay steady on your tummy. “o-oh, mmh. right there,” your eyes roll back and your body jolts back and forth in sync with his thrusts. your lower tummy and cunt are tingling, needing more stimulation to build up to that mind-blowing orgasm.

“faster, deeper, please— please,” you mewl. you can’t bring yourself to care about the possibility of others hearing you outside the sheriff’s office. let the town folk gossip and whatnot. at the end of the day, you’re the one winning by having a husband like kento.

your lover leans over your arched back, his sweat-slicked chest pressing against your shoulder blades. he kisses the back of your head with a smile playing on his lips, “as you wish.”

one hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair. kento fists it tightly, using it as a handle to yank your head back, forcing your spine into a deeper arch. the new angle lets him drive even deeper into you, his hard cock kissing your cervix with each rough thrust.

kento’s dick plunges inside your cunt with wild abandon and you’re loving it. your sweet noises intensify and you can’t think about anything else but the feeling of you being split open. the tip of his dick touches the deepest parts of you and it’s painful—but the pain is nothing compared to the mind numbing pleasure.

“there we go. gotta get all up in there, aye?” kento pants harshly against the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin. his other hand reaches around to flick your clit before coming to rest on your lower tummy, “that way i can ensure y’re g’nna end up with a swollen belly.”

the implications of his words make you shudder. you know kento’s always been a family man. always dropping hints of wanting to start a family with you when you’re ready. and he never misses the opportunity to pump you full of his potent cum when you do try for a baby.

“k-ken,” you bite your lip at the thought of it. of succeeding to conceive this time. it’d be because of this lewd moment, in his office out all places. it’s so naughty to the point it’s driving you insane.

kento notices how your body is reacting to his dirty talk and grins to himself. he isn’t clueless—he can feel the way you clench around his dick, as if you’re trying to suck every drop of cum out of his sack. “hm? yer cunt is agreein’ with me, it seems,” he hums.

your lover bites your shoulder as his hips pound against your rear with a strength that’s nearly inhuman. your insides are being turned to mush while you’re drowning in ecstasy.

“yer g’nna make such a good momma,” kento continues to whisper those words in your ears, simply to drive you to the brink of an orgasm. he kisses your earlobe lovingly as his deep voice carries on, “can’t wait to see this beautiful body change to carry my child.”

the dirty talk sure is working. he can feel you tensing, could hear the breathy moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as he brings you closer to the edge. he knows your body—knows every inch of you—and he uses that knowledge drive you utterly mad.

“ah, fuck, ken! honey,” you whine. the contrast between his honeyed voice and rough thrusts that send electric jolts down your spine, is maddening. you can feel the knot tightening in your belly, threatening to snap any second now.

kento’s eyes darken and he grunts in response. the hand that’s been playing with your clit moves to hold onto your hip again for leverage, pounding into you with a passion you’ve never felt before.

“i know,” he mutters gruffly as he watches his cock disappear into your greedy cunt, “i know, sugar. just give yerself t’ me. let go.”

that’s all it really takes. kento feels your body go rigid beneath him as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. your walls clamp down around his pistoning cock like a silken vise, fluttering and rippling as you cum hard.

you cry out due to your mind-blowing orgasm. your thighs tremble and your body convulses uncontrollably on the desk—eyes closed as your senses focus on the remaining pleasure.

“fuck, yes— yes yes yes,” kento grunts as your slick fluids gush out around his dick. he can feel the warm, slick heat of your juices splash against his balls and drip down his thighs. the sight of you coming undone on his dick, the sound of your screams of ecstasy filling the room, pushes him over the edge as well.

kento slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt in your spasming, sensitive pussy. his cock jerks and throbs inside you as thick ropes of cum erupt from the tip. he can feel each spurt of his load, can count the pulsing jets of cum as he pump you full with it.

“take it—let me breed ya real good,” he pants while grinding his hips against your ass to properly empty himself inside your pulsing cunt. kento shudders as his hips lazily move in small, shallow circles, “get it all nice ‘n deep in there.. yeaaah, good job.”

his grip on your hair tightens for a moment, forcing you to arch you back even more as he slowly rides his orgasm out, his release seeming to go on and on. he senses his hot seed sloshing inside you, can already picture it flooding your fertile womb and taking root.

finally, with a shuddering groan, kento collapses against your back. his large frame easily blankets your smaller one. he notices your body trembling beneath him, could hear the soft whimpers and mewls spilling from you lips as you came down from your high as well. despite that, he stays buried inside you, not wanting to lose a single drop of his cum.

“yer so perfect,” your lover whispers and nuzzles his face into your neck, “the most perfect woman a man could ask for.” that gentleman side of his now makes a full return, as it always does after a particularly rough session. kento takes aftercare quite seriously.

his hands rub your sides and massage your body in places he knows will be sore later on. his lips leave trails of kisses from your neck to your shoulders and back—a testament of his love for you.

after making sure you’re okay, kento eases himself up off your back, his softening dick slipping from your tender folds with a squelch. he looks down to see your combined fluids leaking out from your slit, dripping down your thighs to pool on the rough wood beneath you.

the sight makes him bite back a groan. if it wasn’t for the ounce of self control left inside of him, he’d go for a second round. but he can’t. his coworkers will be back soon anyway.

kento helps you up as well, his hands gripping your waist to steady you as your shaky legs find their footing. “mmh, my lovely wife,” he smiles at you as he cups your face into his hands. he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pulls you into a hug, “thank you so much. don’t think i would’ve even survived today if ye didn’t show up.”

you giggle at kento’s dramatics and hug him back tightly, body slowly recovering from the intense passion you two just shared. the fog on the nearby window, the steamy tension and the scent of sex still lingers in the air—something you have to take care of soon before others come to visit.

but for now, you’ll just enjoy the warmth of your husband’s embrace. that’s all what really matters.

[angelsrcute]

Shut up, Shut up, Shut the fuck up. ౨ৎ

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Sub!Bully!Gojo + Dom!Student Council President!M!Reader ➜ cws: Masochist gojo, spanking with ruler (char receiving), degradation ᡴꪫ‎

Bully!gojo who'd bully Student council president!reader for fun, tease them n stuff. It was never physical but it was still humiliating.

Bully!Gojo who says he's the only one allowed to bully you cause he said so, totally not madly in love with you. Student council president!reader who has enough of his doings and call him in your office.

Bully!Gojo who thinks you're gonna yap about how he's such a troublemaker, but dude, what the fuck were you doing!?

Bully!Gojo who is currently on your lap while you spank his ass with a ruler. His ass looked like some tomato, his dick dripping with pre-cum, oh, was he getting off of this? tsk, this was supposed to be a punishment.

Bully!Gojo who has to count every spank, but he still forgets, he doesn't care anymore cause he's such a pretty little masochist. Well, poor guy, he has to count again, every time he forgets.

Spank, "Satoru, what number are we at?" "N-nineteen..? wait nah– Twenty–!" Yells out Satoru, Spank, pathetic tears rollin' down his pretty lil face. "Wrong, guess who won't get to cum? Start again till you get it right, slut."

Bully!Gojo who looks at you with teary puppy eyes n begs you to fuck him till he can't walk.

Bully!Gojo who's fucked so dumb that he can't even think of anything else other than you, loud moans coming out of his mouth, definitely not trying even a bit to be quiet. Whispering degrading words to his ears, body full of bruises and hickeys.

"S-shit...feels so good, can't anymore please– Hah, m' sorry, m' sorry–" Eyes rolling back as he holds on to the table, hands goin' numb. Getting his ass pounded by the so called person he called weak. Your hand squishing his cheeks as you slip your tongue in his mouth. His legs barely holding him up.

Bully!Gojo who then follows you around like some lost puppy, his little gang so confused. Though this man still has the audacity to create trouble for you just so he can get fucked by you so harshly again, such a brat.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

  The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

  You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision. 

  All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

  “Hiding from everyone?”

  A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

  No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

  Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

  "Are you?"

  One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

  You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

  Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

  “Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

  He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

  It’s wishful thinking.

  “What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

  Or is it?

  “It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral. 

  You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

  “Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

  It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

  “Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

  Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

  A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

  You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him. 

  “I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

  Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

  You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

  Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

  You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

  The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass. 

  It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

  As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

  However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

  The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil—become friends.

  And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

  But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

  “What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

  The damned dress.

  And his damned loose tie.

  You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

  “So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

  “Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

  You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

  “And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

  “I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

  The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

  Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

  Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

  "I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

  You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

  Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

  "There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

  “Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

  Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

  “Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

  “For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

  Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

  He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

  You know. You just love lying to yourself.

  “What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

  The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

  You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

  “That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

  You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

  “It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit. 

  The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

  Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

  Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

  “Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

  "Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

  Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

  "We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

  Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

  You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

  “Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

  “You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

  “Say it out loud, then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

  Oh.

  Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

  Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

  A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours. 

  “Exactly.”

  Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

  Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

  You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

  You kissed him back.

  You fucking kissed Spencer back.

  The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

  Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

  His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

  Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

  Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

  Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

  Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

  He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

  Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying. 

  Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

  You wanted him to take it off of you.

  You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

  The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

  You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

  His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

  “We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

  You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

  Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

  “You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

  A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

  It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

  The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat. 

  Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

  “Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

  The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

  “Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

  The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

  He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory. 

  “So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

  Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

  A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

  He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

  Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

  Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

  The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

  Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

  Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

  “Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

  With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess. 

  Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

  Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

  Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

  You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

  Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

  The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

  “Spence…”

  Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

  You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

  Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

  Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

  A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

  “I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

  His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

  Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

  Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses. 

  “What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

  Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

  Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

  You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

  "Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

  "No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

  He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

  You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

  "Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

  "Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

  He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

  You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

  "So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

  "So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

  "Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

  The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

  Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs. 

  No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

  Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

 Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

  Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away. 

  And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

  “So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows. 

  “What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

  JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

  Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

  “Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

  You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

  Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

  “Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

  They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

  The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

  From one end to another, the same words echo.

  “I’ll have another drink.”

  The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

  “Take it off?”

  “Take it off.”

  And you went separate ways.

  JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

  Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

  “A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

  Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

[uasyndrome]

Unspoken Heat

a/n: I made this because this has been on my mind FOREVERRRR. Idk why, but I love Lust Quirk au's (maybe because I love the idea of feeling obsessed and feeling desperately horny)!!! I've searched high and low and there's like none with shoto and I need some with my man fr. AWW I want to have his babies so bad. I WANT TO JUMP REALITIES AND LET HIM HAVE HIS WAY WITH ME FREAKING NOWW

I was going to make them do it from multiple rounds, but it's now basically 2 am and I'm tired T-T

Todoroki x Reader

warnings: smut, desperate/needy shoto, maybe self deprecation?, idolizing too/body(or person?) worship, cursing, maybe a lil ooc pervy bakugou?

The late afternoon sun bathed Musutafu in gold, casting long shadows across the sidewalks as you and Shoto Todoroki walked side by side, patrol jackets fluttering gently in the breeze. Your third year at U.A. had brought a sense of maturity to the class of 1-A, and work studies had become a near-daily responsibility. Today, the two of you had been assigned to patrol the central district, checking alleys, deterring petty crime, and just being a presence.

You walked in a comfortable silence, the air between you warm with familiarity. It was always like this with Shoto—quiet, but never awkward. He matched your pace effortlessly, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark hero uniform, the breeze catching a loose strand of his red-and-white hair.

"You did well back there," he said after a while, his voice calm but sincere.

You glanced up at him. "You too. You always handle tense situations like they're nothing."

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Not nothing. But... I feel more focused when you're with me."

Your heart skipped. There it was again. That subtle electricity that hummed in the space between you. A lingering gaze that lasted a beat too long. The accidental brush of hands that sent sparks across your skin. These little things happened often, but neither of you acknowledged them. You told yourself it was just closeness. Just friendship. Nothing more.

Except it never felt like just that.

As you rounded a quiet corner, your conversation was cut short by a sudden crash—a loud boom that echoed down the alleyway to your left. You and Shoto instantly fell into step, instincts sharp, bodies tense.

"This way," he muttered, already igniting frost along his right side.

You nodded, fingers flexing as your own quirk readied. When you turned the corner, a tall figure in tattered black robes stood in the center of the alley, glowing eyes visible beneath the shadow of a hood. Civilians had already fled, but the chaos told you this one wasn’t your average troublemaker.

"You two... interesting," the villain crooned. "So much tension... so much heat."

Your brows knit in confusion. "Who are you?"

The villain chuckled, raising a gloved hand. "Call me Eros. You won't remember it for long."

Without warning, a blast of pink-tinted energy surged toward you. You dodged, rolling across the pavement as Shoto countered with a jet of ice. The alley filled with steam where fire and quirk energy collided. You fought together seamlessly—as you always had—back-to-back, covering each other, coordinating with unspoken ease.

But in the chaos, one of the villain's tendrils of energy struck Shoto square in the chest.

Shoto staggered as you turned towards him to quickly observe his condition.

"Shoto!" you shouted, rushing to his side as Eros hissed and disappeared into a flicker of mist.

"I'm fine," he gasped, waving you off. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, his skin flushed a shade deeper than usual.

"You don't look fine," you said, touching his arm gently.

He flinched.

His breath hitched visibly, like your fingers were fire.

You pulled back, startled. "Shoto?"

"I'm okay," he said again, but his voice was strained, tight, like he was holding something back. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You frowned in concern, stepping closer to him. "Let me help you back. You don't look steady."

Shoto hesitated, jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his neck. "I'm—"

You looped an arm around his waist before he could protest again, carefully easing his weight against your side. His body was warm—warmer than usual. Not from fire, but from something deeper, something internal. You didn’t think much of it, assuming it was the aftershock of the villain’s quirk. The way he leaned into you, though… something felt off.

As you guided him through the empty alley, his breathing stayed shallow and ragged. He was quiet, unusually so, but you chalked it up to exhaustion. He was always quiet. Still, you could feel how his muscles trembled beneath your touch, how tightly his fingers curled at his sides as if holding onto control by threads.

You gave a soft laugh. "Guess this villain was more annoying than dangerous, huh? Weird quirk, though. Did it feel like anything?"

His voice came after a pause, low and hoarse. "Heat. It feels like heat. Everywhere."

You gave him a sympathetic smile, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. "You probably need rest. That energy blast must’ve overwhelmed your system. You’re burning up."

He moaned softly at your touch, his jaw snapping shut, face flushing violently.

You froze. "Shoto?"

"I’m fine," he said quickly. Too quickly. But you let it go.

The walk back to the dorms was quiet. You kept a firm but gentle grip on him, not noticing the way his hand would twitch whenever your fingers grazed his hip, or how his breath caught whenever your body pressed a little too close. You didn’t see the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you spoke, or how his pulse throbbed visibly at his throat.

He noticed all of it.

Every brush of your hand. Every time your chest pressed against his arm. Every time your voice wrapped around his name like velvet. It was unbearable.

By the time you reached the dorm’s front doors, Shoto’s restraint was a fraying thread. He leaned harder into you, teeth gritted, his voice strained when he muttered, "I can get to my room. You don’t have to—"

"Don’t be stubborn. I’m helping you."

He didn’t have it in him to argue. You got him inside and helped him up the stairs. Your grip on his waist was steady, strong, and far too intimate for his overstimulated senses.

His room door clicked open, and you helped him to the edge of his bed. You reached down, kneeling to untie his boots, and when your fingers brushed his ankle, he nearly moaned.

Shame burned through him. He turned his face away, biting his lip hard.

"You really are burning up," you said softly, standing again. You touched his forehead and cheeks without hesitation, and it was like every nerve in his body exploded with want.

He couldn’t take it.

He grabbed your wrist gently but firmly, holding your hand away from his skin. You blinked at him, confused.

"Shoto...?"

His voice was raw, quiet, desperate. "Don’t. Please. I—"

You sat beside him slowly, your voice soft with worry. "Tell me what’s going on. Did the villain’s quirk do something to you?"

He looked at you finally, and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, though he fought to hide it. His cheeks were pink, his pupils blown wide, lips parted as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

"I don’t want to make you uncomfortable," he said, barely audible.

Your heart squeezed. "You won’t. I want to help you. You’re my friend, Shoto."

His chest heaved. Friend. That word stung in this moment. Everything in him screamed for more—for your mouth, your skin, your voice whispering anything but friendship.

But he swallowed it down. Forced it down.

He nodded stiffly. "Just... give me a minute. I’ll be okay."

You hesitated, then gave him a small smile. "Okay. I’ll check on you later, alright?"

When you stood and moved to the door, he gripped the bedsheets with white knuckles, shaking. As the door clicked shut behind you, he collapsed back onto the mattress, groaning in frustration.

Shoto exhaled shakily the moment the door closed, relief flooding him—he could finally stop hiding the aching erection you'd nearly grazed with your touch. Shoto stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding, hands trembling at his sides.

Gone.

You were gone.

And with your absence came a rush of relief so sharp it nearly made him groan. The pressure that had been mounting under your gaze—your concerned eyes, your soft voice, the warmth of your hand on his skin—it was unbearable. Torture. Divine, slow torture.

And now, finally, he didn’t have to hide it.

He collapsed against the edge of his bed, chest heaving as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Shit…”

His cock was throbbing, straining against the fabric of his uniform pants—aching with every beat of his heart. It had been twitching all through your touch, your voice, the way your fingers had helped him. He didn’t even dare shift in place, afraid the friction alone might make him embarrass himself in front of you.

But now?

Now he was alone. No angelic presence to stop him. No soft, innocent eyes watching him like he mattered.

“Y/n,” he breathed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. His fingers reached for his belt, unfastening it with shaky urgency. “I’m sorry…”

He whispered it like a confession—like breaking some sacred vow.

Because you weren’t supposed to be touched like this. Not by him. Not this way.

Not when he saw you as something more than he has ever seen anyone. Not when you were the only one who made him feel peace, made him feel real. You grounded him, softened the heat and chill in his blood with nothing more than a smile.

You weren’t meant to be worshipped like this—half-naked, in his fantasies, laid out across his sheets while he whispered your name with raw, needy reverence.

But god, he couldn’t help it.

He dragged his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself, his cock springing up flushed and already leaking. The cool air hit his skin and he hissed, his hips jerking slightly in response.

“I shouldn’t…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You’re too good… too good for this.”

But the thought of you haunted him.

The innocent way you’d tilted your head earlier when asking if he was okay.

The way you’d sat between his legs to remove his shoes, completely unaware of how close your face had been to his erection. He’d had to clench his fists to stop from reaching out, from grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him.

He wanted to see your eyes widen in shock—and then flutter closed with pleasure.

He wanted to hear you say his name, needy and breathless, while your walls fluttered around him.

“Fuck…” His head fell back, hand tightening around the base of his cock. The pressure shot straight to his gut, stars dotting his vision. “Y/n… you’d feel so good…”

He stroked himself slowly at first, thumb brushing over the head, smearing pre-cum down the shaft. Every tug of his fist sent a shiver through him, every breath a broken whisper of your name.

He imagined you hovering over him, straddling his lap, your soft thighs pressing against his hips.

He’d hold you gently—reverently—like you were breakable. Because you were. To him, at least.

Your touch alone had undone him.

He remembered that time you’d fallen asleep beside him during a movie night. The way your head had lolled onto his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. He’d stared at the ceiling for hours after that, trying not to think about how natural it felt to have you close, to feel the weight of your trust in the curve of your body leaning against his.

Now, he pictured you like that—eyes fluttering open, lips parted, whispering his name as you straddled and sank down onto him.

He moaned, louder this time, stroking harder now. His hips bucked into his hand.

“I need you,” he choked out, voice strangled with desperation. “I need you so bad…”

His thighs tensed, abs flexing as the pressure built in his core—tight, scorching, unbearable. His free hand fisted the sheets beside him, knuckles white. Every inch of him burned, a fever he couldn’t sweat out.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re in my head—every damn second. I can’t stop thinking about you…”

His rhythm grew frantic—painful in its urgency.

Visions of you danced behind his eyes—arching for him, panting, whispering his name with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes.

“I’d take care of you… so gently…” he gasped. “You’d never have to beg. I’d give you everything.”

And with a strangled cry, his hips jerked off the mattress, his orgasm tearing through him like wildfire. Hot spurts coated his fist and belly, and he trembled through it—breathless, helpless, shattered.

He collapsed backward, chest rising and falling with shallow pants, your name still on his lips.

But the ache didn’t stop.

The fire didn’t fade.

The lust quirk still pulsed through his bloodstream, and the emptiness that followed release felt worse now—like he’d only scratched the surface of how badly he needed you.

He covered his face with one arm and let out a broken groan.

“…It’s not enough,” he whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. “God… it’s not enough…”

He didn’t know how long he could last before something snapped.

Before he snapped.

And the worst part was… all he really wanted was you. Not your body. Not your moans. Just… you. In his arms. Real.

And he didn’t know what to do with that kind of need.

Minutes dragged into an hour.

Shoto had changed out of his sticky boxers and his pants. The fabric kept clinging to his still-sensitive cock, and every accidental brush reignited that searing tension coiled low in his stomach.

The orgasm should’ve helped.

It should’ve.

But instead, it left him feeling more wrecked. More hollow.

He sat at the edge of his bed again, hunched over, damp strands of his two-toned hair clinging to his forehead. His shirt stuck to the light sweat on his back, and his thighs were tense, twitching occasionally from the phantom memory of your fingertips brushing his skin.

Why do you have this effect on me���?

He dragged a palm down his face, then through his hair, breathing hard. His cock had begun to swell again—painfully so, full and pulsing, begging for attention he was ashamed to give. Not again. Not with your voice still echoing in his head, the memory of your worried expression haunting him.

You were just being kind. That’s all.

He had to clench his jaw, dig his nails into the sheets, force himself not to buck his hips upward into the air like an animal in heat. The only thing that kept him from doing something reckless was the reverent, aching love he carried for you.

You’re too good for this, he told himself again.

You were sweet. Good-hearted. Light in his otherwise silent world. He’d seen the way you laughed with Kaminari, comforted Iida, sparred with Bakugou without flinching. You were so alive. And you let him be near that warmth.

You weren’t supposed to be the star of his darkest fantasies.

But it was impossible not to remember the way your lips parted when you were surprised—or the breathy little laugh you made when someone flustered you. The way your hoodie would ride up when you stretched after training, revealing the soft slope of your stomach and the waistband of your gym shorts.

And worst of all, that one time you’d laid down on the training room mats after a particularly brutal session. You’d been exhausted, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, limbs spread lazily. He remembered it too well. The sight had burned itself into his memory—your bare legs, the arch of your back, your chest rising and falling.

He’d had to excuse himself to the showers that day. Freezing cold. And it hadn’t helped.

Now, as the lust quirk sizzled through every nerve ending, that memory surged back with dizzying intensity.

His cock twitched, leaking steadily, He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand against it, trying to will the heat away.

“I can’t… I can’t keep doing this…” he whispered to himself, voice thick with guilt.

His hips rocked against his own palm, almost involuntarily. He breathed through his teeth.

“Y/n… fuck—” his hand curled tighter, knuckles white. “You’re perfect. Too perfect.”

The pressure built again, sweat beading on his brow, thighs tensing as he gritted his teeth through the sensation. He bit down a whimper.

She doesn’t even know what she does to me.

He wanted to be strong. To fight it. But he was slipping—crumbling, second by second. His body was betraying him, trembling with the need to be touched, held, taken apart.

And only you could do it.

Only you had the power to pull him from this precipice.

But you weren’t here.

And all he could do was ache.

You tapped your phone again, hoping for a new notification. Still nothing.

"He's acting weird," you muttered, voice just above the background buzz of chatter . You slumped into the chair beside Midoriya, pulling your knees up to hug them against your chest. "I haven’t heard from him since he went to his room."

Midoriya blinked, setting his chopsticks down. "Was it a bad patrol?"

"No," you said slowly. "He got hit by the villain’s quirk."

Midoriya straightened. "Oh—are you okay? Did it affect you too?"

"No, just him." You hesitated. “I think it… affected him in a weird way.”

Bakugou snorted from across the table where he sat with Kirishima and Denki, arms crossed, eyes narrowing like you’d just piqued his curiosity.

"You check if it’s some mental quirk? Might be messin’ with his head," he said gruffly.

"He seemed flushed," you said, cheeks warming as the memory surfaced. “Sensitive. Even when I just touched his arm.”

Kirishima blinked. "Wait, like—physically sensitive?"

"Yeah," you nodded. “It was like even the smallest touch startled him. He got all stiff and wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

Denki leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Yo, wait, wait—are we talking, like, sensitive sensitive?”

You gave him a look. “What does that even mean?”

Kirishima, bless him, looked torn between smacking Denki or laughing. “Bro…”

Bakugou leaned in just a little, voice low and laced with mock innocence. “You sure you didn’t touch somewhere you weren’t supposed to, Princess?”

You choked on your own spit. “Bakugou!”

Kirishima and Denki burst into laughter.

"Man, what if he got hit with some kinda… y’know, body stimulation quirk?" Denki waggled his eyebrows. "Could be a total sensory overload."

You slapped your hands over your cheeks, trying to will away the heat that exploded across them.

"I'm going to sit with the girls," you muttered, standing up quickly and grabbing your half-finished plate. “You guys are the worst.”

“Aw, c’mon, we’re just teasing!” Kirishima called after you, still laughing.

"She totally touched his dick," Denki whispered to Bakugou, loud enough for you to hear.

"Wouldn't blame her," Bakugou muttered with a smirk. "That half-n-half bastard probably gets hard just hearing her voice."

Your face was on fire.

You stormed over to the girls’ side of the room and flopped down between Yaoyorozu and Uraraka.

“Rough crowd?” Mina asked with a sly grin.

You groaned. “The boys are being idiots.”

“They probably are,” Yaoyorozu agreed gently. “But are you okay? You seem genuinely upset.”

You sat up, clutching the pillow to your chest. “It’s Shoto. He got hit with a villain’s quirk today on patrol. He’s been acting weird ever since. Flushed, tense, avoiding eye contact—just… not himself.”

Uraraka tilted her head. “Was it a mind-affecting quirk?”

“No. It was weird. The villain kept saying strange stuff, like… we had tension or something. The quirk looked pink, kind of foggy. Like mist.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “Wait. Was the villain hot? Or like… sexy in a weird way?”

You blinked. “Uh. I mean… no? Just creepy.”

Mina leaned forward, suddenly excited. “Girl, I think it was a lust quirk.”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widened. “That would explain the symptoms. Heightened arousal. Sensitivity. Mood imbalance.”

“You’re saying Shoto’s—”

“—basically dying of sexual frustration right now,” Mina finished, dead serious.

Your mouth dropped open.

“I-I didn’t mean to—I helped him back to his room earlier, I didn’t know—he was all flushed, and I thought he was feverish!”

Momo gently laid a hand on your knee. “If that’s what it is, he’s probably overwhelmed and embarrassed. But the quirk will fade. It always does.”

“Yeah, but,” you said softly, voice tight, “I left him alone. What if he’s not okay in there?”

Uraraka gave you a gentle nudge. “Then maybe you should go check on him again.”

Mina smirked. “Just, uh… knock first.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning as the girls giggled and Momo offered a supportive smile.

You excused yourself from the table as soon as you could, and walked to the stairs. You climbed up the stairs two at a time. The hallway felt colder than usual as you made your way toward Shoto’s room.

You hesitated in front of his door.

Was this really a good idea? The girls had all but convinced you it was a lust quirk—and if that was true…

You took a deep breath and knocked softly.

Silence.

“Shoto…?” you called, pressing your ear lightly against the door.

Still nothing. But then—you heard it.

A muffled gasp.

The noise worried you a little. Especially since he hadn't answered you the first time either. You determined he must have not been doing anything too intimate, since you hadn't heard anything else. Your worry and curiosity for the poor boy took over.

“Shoto?” you whispered again, pushing the door open gently.

And then you saw him.

The room was dim, lit only by the low glow of his lamp. His hero uniform was strewn in pieces across the floor—jacket, gloves, undershirt. He sat on the edge of his bed, drenched in sweat, pants shoved halfway down his thighs. His chest rose and fell with heavy, labored breaths, one hand clenched in the blankets, the other wrapped tight around the thick length of his cock—slick, flushed, and painfully hard.

Your breath caught.

His eyes snapped up to meet yours.

For a second, neither of you moved. His face was a masterpiece of desperation—lips parted, cheeks flushed, a single line of sweat trailing down the curve of his neck. His eyes were wild with shame… and something deeper. Something darker.

“Y/n—” he rasped, voice cracking, utterly wrecked.

You stumbled a step back, stunned. “I—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—!”

He groaned and turned away, jerking a blanket over his lap with a shaky hand. “Don’t go…”

That stopped you cold.

“I can’t—fuck—” His voice broke as he hunched forward, hiding his face in his hand. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It hurts.”

You stood frozen in the doorway, heart hammering in your chest.

“I tried,” he said hoarsely. “God, I tried so hard to hold it in. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Shoto…” you whispered, taking a tentative step inside.

“You were so close earlier,” he said, trembling. “ I could smell you, feel your warmth, and all I could think about was how perfect you looked… like you belonged there.”

Your knees weakened. “Shoto, the villain—”

“I don’t care about the damn villain,” he snapped, but not angrily. Desperately. “I’ve wanted you since before that fight. The quirk just made it worse. I can’t fucking breathe without needing you.”

The air felt electric. You could barely comprehend what you were seeing—what he was saying.

He leaned back slightly, eyes glinting through the shadows as he looked up at you. “You make everything feel quiet. Peaceful. Like I’m not broken.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“If I let myself touch you… I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

He clenched the blanket, jaw tightening. “You deserve better than that. Better than me losing control like some animal.”

But even as he said it, his hips twitched beneath the fabric.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said, softly.

His breath hitched.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

You step fully into Shoto’s room and quietly click the lock behind you. The soft sound seems to echo in the stillness, heightening the tension that already simmers in the air.

“Then don’t, Shoto,” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

His breath catches as he looks up at you—eyes wide, glassy with disbelief, as if his mind can't accept that this is real even as his body aches for you. His gaze roams over your figure, lingering, drinking you in with something between awe and hunger. You shift nervously under his stare, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

You’ve imagined moments like this before—soft, dreamy fragments tucked away in your mind during quiet nights—but now that it’s real, your hands feel too still, your heartbeat too loud. Do you kiss him? Touch him? Say something?

Your eyes flicker downward, catching the way the blanket over his lap rises and twitches with every breath he takes. The shape of him beneath the fabric is impossible to ignore. Just seeing you standing there like this—seeing him barely clothed and willing—is making him grind subtly against the blanket, his face twisting in pleasure so intense it’s nearly painful.

He hisses softly, trying—and failing—to stifle a low moan.

And that’s when it hits you.

He doesn’t need something perfect or rehearsed. He just needs you.

Taking a deep breath, you cross the room and straddle his lap, your knees sinking on either side of him. His breath stutters again, eyes locking with yours as his hands automatically find your waist, large and warm and trembling slightly. His hips jerk upward once, just barely, like his body can’t stop seeking yours.

His fingers dig gently into your sides, groping with reverence and need, as though he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you in his hands. The last of his restraint is hanging by a thread—and you can feel it fraying.

Your cheeks burn as your eyes lower, hooded with desire. “Shoto… don’t hold back,” you murmur. “You can touch me. I want you to.”

His gaze meets yours—dark and unreadable, but smoldering with something desperate and deep. You feel his breath fan across your lips as you slowly reach down and pull the blanket away.

Your eyes widen involuntarily. You knew he was big—had guessed from the way he shifted or adjusted sometimes—but now, seeing the reality of him, it steals your breath. Heat rushes to your face and pools deep in your stomach.

Before your thoughts can spiral, Shoto’s strong hand tilts your chin up, guiding your gaze back to him. And then his lips crash into yours—fervent, hungry, needy. The kiss is all-consuming. It’s not gentle. It’s not patient. It’s a confession. A surrender. A firestorm.

His mouth moves against yours like he’s starved for the taste of you, like you’re the only thing keeping him sane. You gasp into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair, and that sound—you making that sound—shatters what little control he has left.

Everything about you is too much. The way you touched him. The way you looked at him. The softness of your skin, the way your breath caught when he kissed you, the tiny tremble in your voice when you whispered his name. Every second with you is a temptation too potent to bear.

“I need you,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “You have no idea how much I’ve needed you.”

And he means it—body and soul.

Shoto flipped you gently onto your back, his touch reverent despite the heat rolling off him like a tidal wave. His lips crashed against yours again—hungry, unrelenting. You could feel how much he needed you in every kiss, every shuddering breath, every shaky brush of his fingers across your waist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse and barely coherent. “If I’m being too rough… I—God, I don’t mean to be…”

His hips rolled helplessly against yours, the thick heat of him dragging against your soaked underwear, barely restrained. You gasped, your back arching instinctively at the overwhelming sensation.

“You’re not,” you managed, lips brushing his. “I want this. I want you.”

But he couldn’t stop—he couldn’t stop rutting against you, shame and pleasure colliding behind his blown pupils.

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I don’t want to use you—I just… I need you so bad I’m losing my mind…”

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, grounding him. “Then let me help you,” you whispered. “You don’t have to hold back.”

He let out a sound between a groan and a sob, his forehead pressed against yours as his hips stuttered and trembled. You felt him tense—and then melt into you with a breathy gasp, his whole body shivering in release. Shame crept into his features immediately, his eyes flickering away, jaw clenched like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

But you cupped his cheek gently.

“Hey,” you whispered. “It’s okay. I’m still here.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—aching, longing, as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then his hands reached for your shirt, brushing it up slowly, hesitantly, until you nodded. His breath caught as each inch of your skin was revealed—his gaze hungry but awestruck, like he was looking at something sacred.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice trembling.

“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding.

But when he began to shift, ready to press himself to you again, you touched his chest, stopping him gently.

“Wait,” you said, flushed. “You’re… really big, Shoto. I need to… prep a little first.”

His eyes widened, and he nearly choked on a breath. “Oh. Right—I—I didn’t think—”

His hands gripped the sheets beside you like restraint was physically painful.

“I’ll just—start slow,” you murmured, even more flustered now.

You slid a hand between your thighs, trying not to focus on the fact that he was watching—completely still, utterly silent. But when your fingers dipped past the hem of your underwear, he whimpered—actually whimpered—like he was in pain.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed. “Everything you do—every little movement—it’s…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

You gasped softly as your own touch teased along your entrance, trying to ease the tension inside you. It was vulnerable, messy, and deeply intimate—but the way Shoto watched you made it feel sacred. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, and his hand twitched—itching to touch you.

“I can’t,” he breathed. “I can’t just watch…”

He knelt between your thighs, and before you could stop him, he took over—his fingers brushing yours aside, sliding in so gently, so perfectly it made your breath catch.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice shaking with restraint. “I want to make you feel good… not hurt you.”

You moaned, clutching his wrist as he moved inside you, curling his fingers just right. The pleasure hit fast—your body already hypersensitive from everything that had come before. When your release crashed over you, it made you tremble, thighs locking around his hand as you cried his name.

His jaw clenched. He looked at the wetness coating his fingers—then brought them to his mouth.

“Oh my god…” he groaned as he tasted you, eyes fluttering shut like he’d been starving and just got a taste of heaven. “I’ve waited so long to know what you taste like…”

And he didn’t stop there.

He leaned in, slowly, reverently, and lowered his mouth between your thighs as he pulled you underwear aside.

The last thing you saw before you cam again was the look in his eyes. It was as though they were screaming "I worship you".

“I’ve wanted to take my time with you,” he murmured, lips brushing your thigh as he just finished making you see stars with his tongue against your pussy. “But I don’t think I can tonight.”

You exhaled, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Then don’t hold back.”

His hands explored your skin like he was learning it by touch alone—slow, sure, until he reached the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers hooked around the fabric, but he paused.

“Tell me again,” he breathed, his forehead pressed to yours. “That you want this. That you want me.”

“I do,” you said without hesitation. “I want you, Shoto. All of you.”

He groaned—deep and quiet—and tugged your underwear down, revealing all of you to him. His eyes trailed down your body, reverent and ravenous all at once.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do. Shoto show me,” you said, pulling him back to you. “Show me how much you want me.”

That’s when he moved—slow, steady. His body fit between your thighs like he was meant to be there. His lips found your chest, worshiping you there, one hand caressing your hip as if grounding himself to the moment.

And when he finally aligned himself with you, his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re so warm…” he murmured, voice breaking as he started to ease in. “So tight. You feel like heaven.”

You gasped softly, your hands gripping his arms. The stretch, the fullness—it was intense. But Shoto never stopped watching you, checking your every expression, every sound you made, as he moved deeper inside.

When he was fully seated within you, he shuddered. His head dropped to your shoulder, and he held you there for a long moment, unmoving.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispered, almost broken. “You’re everything.”

You kissed his temple, running your hands down his back. “Then don’t hold back, Shoto. I want to feel everything.”

He began to move.

Slow at first—deep, rolling thrusts that had your breath catching and your legs tightening around his waist. He moved like he was savoring every second, every squeeze of your body around him, every sound that spilled from your lips.

And then he picked up the pace.

His rhythm became desperate, intense, the bed shifting with the force of his need. He moaned your name into your neck, his grip on your hips growing tighter. Each thrust pushed you further into the bed, and yet all you wanted was more.

“Y/n—God, I can’t—I’m so close—” he gasped, voice rough and trembling.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him back to look into your eyes. “Then let go. I’m yours.”

The moment those words left your mouth, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you with a groan so guttural, so raw, it sent a shiver through your entire body. Not long after that your climax spilled from your tight walls as well, which pulled a shudder from the both of you. He trembled above you, clutching you like you were the only thing holding him to earth.

You held him as he came down, his chest heaving against yours, the sweat between your bodies making you stick to one another. Still, neither of you moved. The only sound was your breathing—steadying slowly as your fingers stroked through his damp hair and the lust quirk finally starting to wear off.

After a long moment, Shoto looked up at you, his expression soft. Reverent. Almost tearful.

“I love you,” he said. “I think I always have.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I love you too. I think I always have too".

[princessbrunette]

jj adored staying in deer!readers bedroom.

it was clean. safe. only the pitter patter of the ‘10 hours of rain sounds — for studying, anxiety, sleep’ youtube video you had playing through your speaker able to be heard. compared to the creaky shack he had back home, this was heaven.

you pull his arm against your middle, the firm warm muscle acting as a teddy bear in your grip, a replacement as there unfortunately hadn’t been space for all your usual fuzzy friends when you were sharing the bed with jj.

“n’why do i gotta get up early tomorrow?” jj lays his free arm crook over his eyes in the dark, relaxing back into the pillow besides you. your breathing is slow, sleep already creeping up to take its claim on you.

“‘cos i booked for us to get breakfast at that cute place i told you about. the food items are all based off famous fossil discoveries.” your slur, still managing to sound well spoken in your exhausted haze.

“riiiight, right.” he speaks even quieter, assuming you were seconds away from passing out. before he could say his final goodnight, you gasp — suddenly wide awake as you shoot up from your near slumber. “uh, you good?”

“i almost forgot.” you gape in the dark, just a silhouette of skewed pyjamas as the blondes eyes readjust to the lack of brightness in the room. there’s a struggle with the blankets, crumpled limbs wiggling off the bed and arriving at your shelf. “i didn’t say goodnight to my calico critters. its tradition. i’ve been doing this since, god knows when—” you busy yourself with leaning over, pressing the softest most delicate kiss to each of their fuzzy heads, careful not to knock them over with the force of your lips.

“like — every single one?” jj questions, sitting up a little to watch you eagerly complete your task in the dark.

“mhm.” you respond, close lipped.

“now that’s dedication right there, mama.”

you come skipping back in no time, laying your weight back on his arm to snuggle back into his side with haste.

“uh, think you forgot to kiss one…i dunno though…” he rasps in a tired southern drawl above you and you peer up at him in the dark. though he can barely see you, he feels you shake your head.

“uh-uh. i counted. there’s twenty seven. each got a kiss.”

“oh yeah? then where’s my kiss, huh? feeling a lil neglected here, bambi.” jj smirks, still playing up to his usual jokes despite his exhaustion. you giggle at this, wriggling up the bed and nearly clashing heads with him to press your lips to his.

“saved the best ‘til last.” you chime sweetly, and he doesn’t wanna admit it — because it’s far too sappy, but his heart gets all warm and fuzzy inside his chest.

“yeah, yeah. that’s what i thought. alright, sleep time.” he gently presses a palm to your cheek, gently forcing your head into the pillow and you giggle once more, snuggling down against him in yielding.

“goodnight, jj.”

“goodnight troublemaker.” he jokes, clearly ironic because you were the most well behaved sweetheart there was.

[forsworned]

I just got a great idea. Imagine the teenage dirt bag trend with 141, where reader is chill and laid back, and as 141 and reader are in the break room, gaz or soap ask reader about her life before the military and she just goes to her office to get some photos of her and her friends in their teens, smoking weed and in some she has some sick piercings and a skater, or maybe even a motorcycle. I don't even know. I'm just rambling. You can write it if you want but if you don't want to then feel free to ignore me 🫶🏼🙆🏻‍♀️

author's note: and a great idea you have indeed :) i gotchuuu and im so sorry this took me forever to get to

tags: poly 141 antics, cheeky banter, and a lil flirting with the boys ;)

Breakfast is a fan favorite amongst the 141, especially when it involves the sweet and savory aroma of coffee, pancakes, eggs, and your famous potato hash—a dish that's practically a cult fave within the team. As you settle in your seat between Johnny and Kyle with your coffee mug in your hand, the group is chatting about their former glory days before they joined the military.

Johnny nudges you with a playful smirk, still noshing on a piece of toast. "So, hen, ye look like ye had a bit of a wild streak back in the day, aye? Bet ye were a right wee devil." His tone is teasing, laced with curiosity as his cerulean gaze lingers on you.

You roll your eyes at him, but before you can respond, Kyle chimes in, his tone equally teasing, "Yeah, you look like the type who got up to all sorts of dodgy stuff. Proper troublemaker, I reckon. C'mon love, spill the beans." He nudges with a grin.

Price looks over his newspaper at double trouble across the table, before turning the page, causing you to chuckle. "Well," you fish out your phone from your pocket and everyone leans forward in their seats as you scroll through your camera roll. You stop at an album and tap on it before rotating the screen to face them and they can't help the excited noises that leave their mouths.

"No way!" Johnny exclaims, his grin widens as he spots a photo of you leaning against a cherry red muscle car. "Is that a 1967 Chevrolet Camaro!?" Kyle chirps, taking your phone from you and you laugh at their reactions. That gets Price's attention and he leans over to get a gander of the rebellious glint in your eye and the streaks of red fashioned into your hair.

"Christ," He beams down at the photo and then up at you. "looks like you were quite the rebel, eh? No wonder these two pillocks won't stop botherin' ya."

Kyle lets out a whistle as he swipes to the next photo, showcasing you with a cigarette hanging between your lips, clad in a skimpy bikini, leaning against your palms on a beach on a sunlit beach with the sunset casting a tangerine glow. "Cheeky."

Johnny's eyes ream at the photo, taking you in your exposed form. "Aye, look at ye!" His cheeks flush as he tilts his head, peeking up at you. "I gotta give it ya, lassie, yer quite the stunner."

"And still are." Price adds, raising his eyebrows at you. You fluster at his kind words, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Thank you,"

"Oi! Look at this one!" Johnny points to the screen again, having a good laugh. You lean into Kyle and giggle at the photo. Grin as wide as your face with an alligator's jaw clamped shut between your hands. "That cannot be real!"

"It's really not as wild as it looks. I was on vacation in Florida, and a local wildlife park had this little show where they let you hold and pose with a baby alligator. They made sure everything was safe and supervised. Super fun."

Price cocks an amused brow at you, sipping his coffee. "Baby alligator, eh? You're quite the thrill seeker."

"Yeahhh, not much has changed." Kyle ribs and the others laugh. It's true though. You were actively pursuing that adrenaline rush, so it didn't come as much of a surprise to them, especially not Simon.

As the laughter dies down, Simon, who was quietly enjoying his tea and observing the situation unfold finally speaks up, "You lot are gettin' too chuffed over this, but I gotta admit..." He leans back, his dark eyes fixate on you and you can't help but take notice of how his mask is scrunched up under his nose, revealing the pale pink of his lips. "Never quite pegged you for a lil rascal. Bet you gave your folks a right headache."

He prods the phone out of Johnny's hand and takes a look at the other photos they were scrolling through and softly snorting at what looks like an image of you on stage, strumming at a guitar and singing your heart out. "But I reckon that's what makes you fit in so will with these bunch of nutters." His lips quirk into a faint smile as he hands you back your phone and goes back to munching on his eggs. "Ain't it always the quiet ones you gotta watch out for?"

Your cheeks blossom with warmth at his comment and the cute little smile that adorns his handsome face. "Well, I didn't think I was all that quiet." You poke your tongue in your cheek, gently prying the phone out of his hands.

His finger seems to biff at your screen as it clatters out of your grasp because his onyx eyes widen at the photo. Skin exposed, revealing the ink that embellishes your lower left hip in delicate, intricate patterns as you're posing sexy for the camera. Your heart plunges to your ass at the realization of it not being in your hidden album.

"Oh—that's, uhhh" You stammer swiftly, locking your phone and shoving it back into your pocket. Your tongue swipes at your lips as you avert your gaze, but Simon takes note of how you nervously twiddle with the spoon as it clatters against the walls of your mug.

Simon's eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he returns to his tea, "well, well, well..."

The rest of the team is still buzzing with the excitement of your heydays as they detect the slight change in atmosphere.

"Oi, what's all of this about, then?" Johnny asks with a mouth full of food. "Give us the scoop!"

But the Scotsman is getting scolded by Price and Kyle for not keeping his mouth shut while he eats. A sheepish smile adorns his lips, rubbing the back of his neck as he apologizes. Simon chuckles, and shakes his head, "Nothin' worth spillin', Johnny. Just a bit of a laugh."

Of course that earns some groans from them, but you can't help but bite your bottom lip and grin when Simon gives you a knowing look. Some secrets are best kept between friends.

masterlist

[rhyslarsenlover]

DRIVE ME CRAZY

A RAFE CAMERON SOCIAL MEDIA AU

part one . part two . masterlist

a/n: gonna make a lil masterlist just for this series and have a y/n moodboard, enjoy! msg if u wna be in the taglist :)

cw: enemies? to lovers, bsfbrother!rafe x reader, childhoodfriend!rafe x reader, nothing much rly just kinda setting the mood, make sure to read the ice cream scene after the texts!!

@ the ice cream shop

you were eating your ice crime, casually enjoying your victory, when his truck rolled into the station.

wheezie nudged you. “he actually showed up.”

you smirked, eating some more. rafe cameron rarely did as he was told, but that was different when it was you giving the orders.

rafe hopped out, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug for someone who just got lured to an ice cream parlour like a dog following treats. he didn’t seem mad, if anything, he looked amused.

“so, which one of you is paying for my therapy bill?” he asked, glancing between you and wheezie, he was referring to the fact that you were out late, of course. so overprotective.

wheezie, sitting happily on the hood of your car, grinned. “therapy? bro, i just had the best ice cream of my life.”

rafe sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “unbelievable. one night with y/n, and you’ve already gone rogue. cmon, it’s dangerous out this late, y/n.”

“don’t be jealous,” you teased, licking your spoon. “i could teach you how to be fun too.”

his eyes flickered to your mouth for half a second before he scoffed. “yeah, no thanks. i’m good.”

“fine by me and wheezie, i just introduced her to mint choc chip,” i say, shrugging with a grin as she nods, enjoying her dessert. “gotta learn to live on the wild side sometime, rafe.”

stepping closer, he smirks. it was adorable to him, that his sister’s best friend was trying to teach him how to be wild. “alright, troublemaker, you gonna keep talking, or am i getting reimbursed for my sister’s sugar rush?”

you tilted your head, faking innocence. “oh, did i forget to mention? last one here has to pay, cashier’s waiting for you inside.”

his jaw clenched, but his grin never wavered. “i hate you.”

“sure you do.” you tossed your plastic spoon into the trash and patted his chest as you walked past. “thanks for the ice cream, rafe. see ya tomorrow, wheeze.”

rafe just stood there, watching you hop into your car, shaking his head with a smirk.

tags : @princesspeaxhh <333

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ FATHERLY COMPETITION — GETO SUGURU.

contents. non curse au, girl dad! suguru ft the twins, fem! + mother! reader, satoru is megumi’s father <3, silly lil family shenanigans and suguru having a one sided rivalry w satoru bc he’s a bum like that

suguru loves being a father—it’s just as they say it is. one day, you’re free and young and opposed to the idea of being tied down, and then the next second you’re cradling two newborns that make you want to dig to the earth’s core with your bare hands, all for the tiny humans in front of you.

he loves his two girls—they make the world go around and the stars come out and they make something as bright as the sun look dull and lifeless compared to those sweet smiles. but sometimes, he’d really appreciate being able to sleep in on a saturday morning.

“daddy, wake up,” there’s a poke to his cheek. mimiko is at least gentle with her disruptions—nanako has simply taken to jumping on the mattress by his feet.

“daddy, you promised,” nanako whines—it’s makes you stir with a soft groan, eyes opening to peer up at the two (very cute) troublemakers in your bed.

“what’d you promise this time, suguru?” you raise a brow, making him sigh as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“said i’d take them to the zoo,” he grunts, “but it’s not open for—” he looks at the time on his phone. seven thirty two am. “for another two and a half hours.”

“girls,” you start, “we have to wait a bit. why don’t you go back to bed—”

“we can stay here, mommy!” nanako brightens, squeezing between you and suguru to wrap her arms around your neck.

it’s cute, you suppose. it’s always endearing to be snuggled up by one of your little girls, but something tells you that you won’t be sleeping again any time soon. so you sigh, turning towards suguru and wrapping nanako in your arms as suguru does the same with mimiko and gives you an amused grin.

“i think we spoil them,” he murmurs, making you scoff.

“you spoil them. i’m the voice of reason in this household.”

“so now it’s a crime to give your kids fun family experiences that not everyone is fortunate enough to have—”

“you know what the not so generous parents out there probably have more than us? sleep.”

“that’s probably true,” he mutters, yawning before he presses a gentle kiss to mimiko’s forehead. “but at least we’re the world’s coolest parents. right girls?”

“megumi is going to the beach today,” nanako says as a matter of factly, “his dad is super cool.”

“and funny,” mimiko adds.

suguru’s face sours at that—you try your best not to giggle.

“oh so now satoru is cooler than me? he shouldn’t even be trusted near the ocean with children, they’ll drown—”

“satoru is careful,” you chuckle, “well….most of the time.”

“okay,” suguru raises a brow, looking expectantly at nanako, “but has satoru ever taken megumi ice skating? bet he hasn’t done that—”

“yeah they did,” nanako says instantly, “that’s why we asked to go.”

“well have they gone to the zoo?” he asks petulantly. she nods, and his lips curl into a pout.

suguru looks positively fumed at the idea that his best friend seems to be cooler in the eyes of his own children. you can practically watch the gears work in his head before he looks smugly over at the blonde girl curled up against your chest.

“okay, but have they ever been to a petting zoo?” he raises a brow, “there’s a difference.”

the two girls exchange a look before slowly, the excitement creeps up on their faces as they look at him in disbelief. suguru looks hopelessly smug with himself.

“you mean we can pet the animals?” nanako asks in wonder.

“yup,” suguru nods, grinning widely. you snort at his petty one sided competition.

“can i pet a giraffe?” mimiko asks, poking his arm as he nods excitedly.

“yeah, and you can feed it too.”

they squeal at that—and if suguru throws you a look of pure victory on his face, you decide not to ruin his moment just yet. because you already know it won’t last long until—

“what about whales? can we pet those too?”

“and a shark?”

“i wanna pet a tiger!”

“well, i don’t think those are really the safest options for a petting—”

“daddy, you’re so cool,” they gasp. suguru gives you a look that screams for help, but you only giggle, pecking nanako on the forehead as you send a sly wink to your husband.

“you are so cool,” you agree, “i can’t wait to see the tigers we can pet.”

he looks at you with betrayal in his eyes as the pout returns on his lips. “i trusted you,” he huffs.

“that was your fault,” you grin cheekily. it’s all a bit funny at his expense—but you also can’t help but be endeared at the way suguru does his best. for your girls. for you. for your sweet little family. so you take mercy on him, turning to your daughters as you murmur, “i think you’re a bit too young for those animals right now. let’s start small, yeah?”

they nod along, and you and suguru share an amused look. and then—

“make sure you guys tell megumi all about your trip next time you see him, okay?”

suguru be bragging to satoru like “my kids went to the petting zoo” and satoru’s clueless ass is like “oh !! that’s so nice !! i’m taking my kids to disney !!”

[acidsoju]

CLASS PREZ

genre: smut, high school seniors! nonidol au, enemies to ??? (fuck buddies maybe?) pairing: class president!soobin x troublemaker!reader warnings: nsfw, dom!soobin, a lot of swearing, oral (m. receiving; f. kinda receiving), unprotected sex (dont!), unedited so probably bad writing word count: 4.4k summary: when student council president, choi soobin, becomes the terror of the whole school and you must do something to stop him.

Soobin used to enjoy his time at school. Always having been a lil’ of a control freak, when he was elected as president of the student council he felt as if he held the world in his hands, even thought it was the mere administration of students’ affairs. Still, things changed since he climbed to the top of the student’s pyramid, changed for good if you were to ask him; where you could see students running down hallways before, now there was peace and quiet and those who’d dare to break the not running rule, would have to spend hours scratching gum from down the desks.

Where you could see girls with extremely short skirts, the thin clothe flying mindlessly at their movements putting on disposal to everyone who’d walk by their thighs and, sometimes, even a sight of their panties, now if you were to break the not more than five inches above the knee rule, you’d had to endure the oldest professor in school’s lecturing.

Earrings were gone; make up, gone; comics and non-educational books inside the building, gone. Wearing earphones was a no; nail polish was a crime; no wrinkles in your school uniform were allowed to be seen. Some kids even started fearing talking on the halls, just a normal conversation between friends.

Things had to stop.

“This guy is a tyrant.”

A fist bumped against the cold, single table inside the small janitor’s room. The dim light of the mere light bulb hanging on the center of the room barely made everyone’s faces visible. Vibes were the same from that old mafia movie you had seen last night, except for the fact none of you were rich old men in their forties.

“We have to do something about him.” Beomgyu continued saying, his fist pressing down on the table, eyes looking straight into everyone else’s. “This is too much!”

“Quiet, please, we don’t want to get caught, remember.” You mumbled, your hand going up and resting over his clenched fist. You looked at the two other people in the room.

“But what can we do? I mean, we voted for him.” Said Hueningkai, arms crossed over his chest and a nervous look washing his features, the threat of being caught practically hiding and conspiring against the number one at school making him feel sick on the stomach.

“I didn’t vote for him.” Taehyun added, shrugging.

“Listen, now…” You spoke, getting up from your seat and placing your palms against the table as you leaned closer. “There must be something we can do, we need to break him, make him fall from his position.”

“I may have an idea…”

Oh, Beomgyu and his ideas; somehow you always were the only one getting the worst part.

That was what you thought as you waited at the end of the hall. The boys had cut short your skirt a little too much, more that they had promised, barely covering your ass; your lips shone thanks to the gloss you applied and that would occasionally stain the gum in your mouth whenever you’d make a balloon with it; you were sure the music from your earphones was loud enough to hear it if you passed by. Your tie hung loose around your neck and the first two buttons of your shirt were unbuttoned, showing a little the line of your breasts popping up, more skin that you were supposed to show on the sacred grounds of school.

“And you’re sure this is gonna break him?” You had asked Beomgyu once you had change into your perfect attire. He nodded, looking up and down at you, eyebrows furrowing, looking to whatever was missing according to him before offering you a piece of gum.

“Yeah, just be yourself—And I mean, a pain in the ass.”

Your head snapped to look over your shoulder when you heard footsteps coming down from the stairs. That’s him, you thought after checking at the time on your phone; the student council meeting must have ended around this time. And you confirmed it when his tall, tidy-self appeared in your vision, the widening in his eyes worthy of the cartoon’s praises. He froze in his place, three stairs before reaching your floor, and tilted his head to a side, eyes taking the sight of you completely.

Shit, you even could hear the alarms running off in his head. His eyebrows twitched, looking up from the sight of your bare thighs to your unbuttoned and loose shirt before going back at your eyes, not going unnoticed by him the way you grossly and purposely chew the gum in your mouth, making disgusting sounds. His mouth opened, probably ready to tell you were going to be expelled even though he didn’t have that kind of power in his hands, but the words were caught in his throat when you smiled, grinned, at him, your eyes beaming in mischief before looking away and making a run from him.

“He-hey! No running in the halls!”

Feeling the rush of adrenaline in your veins, you couldn’t stop the giggling that scaped from your lips as you heard his hurried steps behind yours. As some people peeked through the classrooms’ windows and doors at the noise outside in the hall, you spotted Beomgyu reaching out with a file of papers in your direction, that you quickly grabbed and shot them up, papers spreading all over the hall as they fell. You stopped before the stairs at the other end of the hall and looked over your shoulder, caughting Soobin’s angry stare glued to you; his eyes, again, widening at the realization of your next move.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, don’t-

Pressing down your thighs over the cold railing, you lifted your feet from the floor and suppressed the urge to squeal as you slid down, hair flaying back. It had been some time since last time you slid down a railing, probably since you were fourteen, but it was just as riding a bike.

You still could hear Soobin’s footsteps following close behind you, trying to get a hold on you, so when you reached the last floor, you didn’t stop running and instead, hurried your pace. Soobin stopped trailing you when he saw you exiting the main building and turning on a corner around it, loosing the sight of you. He panted, anger flushing his veins, his ears fury red; lucky for him, as he fixed the slid down frame of his glasses he spotted at his feet a pair of earphones that, oh so responsible of you, had a small tag with your name on it.

The plan didn’t go as you hoped: Soobin’s tyrant habits didn’t stop nor lessened, but you had had so much fun and, one thing you noticed was that things around school sure were so much lively since the rumors of your little performance from a few days ago had spread all over the school.

“Damn, what I would give to see the look on his face!” Exclaimed Beomgyu with daydreaming eyes again and again, fascinated when you had told the boy all about the president’s reaction.

“Maybe next time you should dress up-

Words hung in the air when your classroom’s door opened a few minutes before class was supposed to star. Of course, it wasn’t your professor; the coquettish giggling from some other students gave it away. The student council vice-president, Yeonjun, wasn’t even half-terrible or intimidating as the president was, but still if you were ever to caught him moody, god, it was the end for you.

You hoped this wasn’t the case.

His cold eyes scanned your classroom and when his gaze stopped in yourself, practically hiding behind Beomgyu’s frame, a small smile draw in his pink, puffy lips.

“Y/n?”

“Fuck.”

“Y/n? When today’s classes are over, the student council president would like to see you.”

Oh, oh, oh, you were so fucked.

So, after that day’s final class, while your friends hugged you goodbye as if it was going to be the last time you saw each other, you promised not to follow ever again a plan of Beomgyu, if it, of course, you were to make it alive today.

The student council’s office was on the last floor of the school building and it was as big as two of your classrooms combined. You heard some talking inside when you stopped in front of the tag that read ‘student council member’s only’, before knocking slowly against the door three times. The noise inside stopped.

For the second time of the day, Yeonjun stared at you, nodding as he opened the door and took a step aside to let you in. Some of people inside gave you one of the nastiest looks you had ever received in your life, but instead of looking away you only snarled back at them, some of them gasping at your so rabid reaction.

Soobin was there, of course, sitting down on his personal desk; hands clasped covering the bottom half of his face as his dark eyes followed you closely, like you were some kind of prey.

You stopped in the middle of the room, eyes never looking away from his.

“Leave us.” Soobin spoke calmly to the rest of the people in the room; they, of course, obliged hurriedly, giving you some more ugly stared before walking out. The last one was Yeonjun who, with a lazy and small smile on his lips, just nodded in your direction and walked away with his bag hanging from his shoulder, closing the door behind him. Your eyes went back to Soobin, whose eyes were piercing at yourself, even from behind the glasses on his face. “Sit.”

“No, thanks,” You could tell the way his stare only hardened at the mocking tone on your words. A sigh scaped his lips, before resting down his hands over his desk and leaning back on his seat, head slightly tilting back as his eyes stared holes into you, looking up and down at your clothes. “Needed something from me? I’m kinda in a hurry…”

“What a shame, then.” He licked his lips, eyebrows narrowing in fake concern. His fingers traced down a file over his desk and he flipped it open, eyes flicking to the papers inside and then started reading out loud. “Y/n, senior, nineteen years old, transferred from Daegu with your cousin Choi Beomgyu two years ago, grades average, behavior bad; sleeping at class, eating at class, non-compliance of the school’s policies, making a ruckus in the middle of the hall, taking back at teachers, sneaking from classes and I could go on and on.”

Your eyes fell open into an ‘o’ shape, mockingly. “Don’t tell me you run a background check on me, you perv.”

“Incredibly disrespectful.” He added, his eyes went up to look into yours again, putting down your file. “Now what should I do with you?”

“I have an idea,” You smiled trying to give him the best innocent look you could give him. “Why don’t I just go back home, reflect on my actions and we both pretend nothing of this ever happened, uh, prez?” Soobin cracked a big laugh at your words, throwing his head back and smiling in obvious irony at your words.

“Cute, but don’t even think about it.” He got up from his seat and walked around his desk, stopping in front of it and sitting down, arms crossing over his chest as he faced in your direction. “Since I’m a good prez who listens to everyone’s opinion before making a decision, I’ll hear yours, so you chose; we can give you a three weeks ban from school plus doubling your obligatory homework or you can do some voluntary work with the school janitors for two months.”

You snorted at the terribly, awful options you had; Soobin took in your reaction and licked his lips, smoothing the growing smirk in his lips as your mouth fell open in annoyance and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Well, aren’t you pretty fucking nice, prez?” You snarled, eyes scrunching down at his relaxed frame awaiting an answer from your doomed-self. “This is completely your fault!”

“Excuse me?” Soobin questioned, his back stiffening. “How is it my fault that you’re such a brat?”

“You’re the fucking tight shit that wants us to roam around school like it's some kind of prison,” Soobin’s eyebrows went up and his hands closed in fists against the desk. “I mean, school supposed to be fun- “

“School is for learning.” He cut you off, his frame lifting up from his desk and talking a step closer to you. “Which, if I look at your grades, doesn’t seem like you’re doing.”

“You’re so full of yourself, shitty-head.” You took a step closer to him as well, pointing your index finger to his face, eyes throwing knives. “For some of us it’s actually hard the study part.”

Soobin snorted, his cold breath hitting against your face as you had grown closer to each other. “Agh, please! You don’t even try! All I have ever saw you do is walking around in that slutty skirt of yours and batting your eyes to whoever crosses your path.”

“Oh? What is this? Is the prez an actual perv?” You tilted your head, an amused smile growing in your face as you pushed your finger against his firm chest. Soobin’s stare becoming darker and darker each second as he held your gaze. Still, you traced up and down your finger. “Have you gotten so mad at me because you’re the only loser I haven’t let take a peek under my skirt, uh?” You pouted, mockingly feeling himself shudder under your touch.

His breath hitched when your finger went up from his chest and brushed against his neck, his Adam’s apple moving as he gulped down.

“Such a shame that your pretty face is going to waste when you have this fucked up attitude all the time,” You shook your head, disapprovingly. “why don’t you be nice for once and just let me go, uh?”

“You’re actually such a bratty slut, aren’t you?” He growled, his voice coming off lower and deeper than it actually was, making your knees weaker. His hand closed tightly around the one you held up against him. “Trying to sweet talk your way out of this? Out the mess you made?” He licked his lips, his eyes dangerously glancing down at yours, so closed to his, so pretty opened in amusement at his sudden snap. “Shouldn’t I be a good prez and teach you a lesson myself?”

You weren’t able to react on time before Soobin redirected your hand and pressed your open palm against the dump in his pants, hard, tight. Your eyes widened at his action and quickly tried to pull away, but his hold in you only hardened as he pressed your palm against him, his hips barely rubbing against the touch.

“What the fuck? Are you an actual pervert?”

Soobin snarled. “Such a pretty mouth but you only talk shit every time you open it.” His other hand went up to grab your face in between his long fingers, squishing your cheeks forcing you to pout; his hips rubbed a little harder against your palm. “Let me give your mouth a better use, okay?”

He let go of the hold on your hand against his crotch and used the same hand to unbuckle the belt of his pants that quickly fell to his ankles. Your breath got caught at the prominent bult on his boxers, making you salivate a little. Soobin noticed the look on your eyes because he chuckled darkly, letting you eat him alive with your eyes.

“You’re so quiet now, uh angel?” He mocked, his long fingers tracing down against his own clothed dick, the sight only making you weaker and weaker on the knees. His hold in your face loosened and his hand went up your head, pushing you down to get on your knees in front of him, your pretty, big eyes looking up from underneath him made him want to shove his full length right into your mouth.

And that’s exactly what he did.

You didn’t have time to catch on when he shoved down his boxer and placed the tip of his hard cock against your lips; darting open by surprise, Soobin took the opportunity to thrust his hips against your mouth. A heavy sight scaped his lips as he reached the back of your hot throat that clenched around him; he watched the beautiful scene you made as your eyes filled with tears and some spit trailed down from the corner of your lips.

“So fucking prettier with my cock in your mouth.”

You groaned as he thrusted faster and harder against your mouth, traying to breath from your nose and not to react to those gag reflexes. His big hand grabbed your hair making a sloppy ponytail on his fist and started pushing you up and down his cock. His bottom lip was caught by his teeth as he panted heavily, his dick twitching inside your mouth anytime you’d whine against him.

“Such a little brat taking me so well, oh, fuck, do that again.” Soobin lips darted at the way your tongue danced around his swollen and leaking tip, tasting the pre-cum on your mouth. “Gonna cum and you better swallow every single drop, okay angel?” You hummed at him, the vibrations from your mouth on his dick sending him to heaven as his pace only fastened, his hips uncontrollably thrusting into your mouth and the grip on your hair tightening. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, take it, doll, mmmh- good.”

You mouth filled with the ropes of cum that flew hard against the back of your throat, almost making you choke but you managed to swallow everything, licking clean his dick that sloppily moved inside and outside of your hot and wet mouth.

“Show me.” Soobin said and you obliged, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. He hummed pleased and let go of your hair. He caught the needy look in your eyes, his lips stretching into a cocky smirk as he watched you get up and pressed your tights together. Your tights that were so exposed with that little skirt of yours. “Come here.” Soobin’s arm rounded your waist and pressed you against his body, while his free hand traced down from your hips to your ass, grabbing it hard before it went down even further.

His fingers pressed against the wet, dampened clothe of your panties. He chuckled, his breath hitting your neck as he towered over you and look at the glistening on his fingers.

“My dick got you so wet, uh?” He whispered against your ear, before his plump lips nibbled down at your earlobe, making you flinch. “You were being such an annoying brat just earlier, should I just leave you like this as your punishment?”

“N-No…”

“No what, angel? What do you want me to do, then?” Soobin’s nose trailed up and down your neck, taking in your aroused odor, licking occasionally against your skin. “Use your words.”

You inhaled sharply, feeling the pressure of Soobin’s fingers against your wet folds rubbing up and down at such a slow pace. Your hips moved on their own against his hand trying to get as much friction as you could, making Soobin clicked his tongue at your actions.

“Prez, I- mh-“ the words caught in your mouth as Soobin went further with his big hand, cupping your warm pussy, his middle finger barely caressing your clit over your panties. Soobin hummed in your ear.

“Yeah? I’m listening.”

“Want you to fuck me so bad, prez.”

Soobin smirked and turned you around, walking you to his desk until your legs were pressed against it and you fell over, your legs opening as he positioned himself in between them. His large hands grabbed your tights and pushed up your skirt all the way up, his eyes devouring the sight of the dampness in your panties. His fingers slid down the waistband of your panties and pulled down, throwing them somewhere in the classroom over his shoulder.

You, on the other hand, found yourself staring mesmerized at the boy in front of you. This sight was one you never thought, never in your life it had crossed your mind, that you would be able to witness. Soobin’s plump, bottom lip caught in between his teeth, his frames slid down to the tip of his nose, his wet -always so perfectly styled- hair falling over his eyes; and his eyes, that were glued to your core in unbreakable concentration.

Oh, how bad you wanted to touch him even more.

Your hands moved on their own, grabbing Soobin’s tie and pulling him down towards you, forcing his attention back to you. One of his big hands pressed against the wood of the desk on your back, his face just millimeters from yours. You leaned in trying to push your lips against his, but he quickly moved his head down, to your lap. Your mouth fell open when his lips brushed against your wet folds.

“So, so bad, angel. You really think you’re in control here, uh?” His breath hit against your core, making you shiver underneath him. Oh, how he liked that look on your face. “I was going to fuck you because you asked me so nicely, but now I guess I should do something else…”

His hot tongue pressed flat, immobile, against your pussy; eyes flickering up to you before he started moving his muscle up and down, licking you. You moaned, head falling back, and Soobin like that sound so much that he started moving his head, painfully slowly, reaching every inch of you with his tongue; so much more skilled than you ever thought?

His tongue found your hole and he didn’t hesitate before pushing it in and out, earning more beautiful sounds from you as he only went faster; his hands grabbed hard your hips, keeping you in place against his desk. One of his hands went down, two fingers moving faster against your clit, again and again and again, while his tongue thrusted into you unstoppably.

“Ah, fuck, prez- gonna cum, mmh-“ Soobin pulled away, stopping all of his movements suddenly, making you whine in pain and shut your eyes open at his smirking self.

“You don’t get to cum in my mouth, angel.” he got up, his big hand sliding up and down his throbbing dick before placing his tip against your clit and rubbing against it making you buck up your hips. “So needy for me, I’m gonna fuck your pretty hole numb.”

Air left your system when he pushed his tip into you. Your mouth fell open at the feeling of being so filled up and your head fell back, your eyes reaching the end of your head as a loud moan scaped your lips.

“So fucking tight, angel, oh-fuck.” Soobin hissed as you clenched around him. He didn’t wait until you had got used to his side, instead he started ramping merciless against you gaining more louder noises from you. He licked his lips, focused on the spot where his balls smacked against your skin. “Oh, you’re taking me so good, isn’t this pussy made just for me, uh?”

You whined, barely caughting on any words he said and he noticed that. Groaning, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up, closer to him before his lips smashed against your, his tongue bullying into your mouth the same way his cock was going in you. A string of spit connected both of your lips when he pulled apart, dark eyes staring into your glossy ones.

“Out already? But I just started.” He laughed at you, only making you clench more around him. Soobin hissed but still managed to smirk at you. “Such a pretty look on your face the fucked out one, angel.”

Soobin grabbed one of your tights and stretch it up, forcing you to turn to a side as he still snapped his hips against yours. The switching position only making him go deeper in you, reaching the sweetest spot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, prez s’good.” You mumbled, mouth hanging open. Soobin groaned and turned you around, your chest falling against the desk and your hands stretching to grab onto anything. Soobin’s hands gripped your ass hardly, leaving red marks all over your cheeks. He salivated at the sight of your ass bouncing against his hips. “Agh- fuck, Soobin, more-“

Soobin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head hearing his name left your pretty lips. His hands moved you up and down even more rabidly against his hips, the sound of wet skin against wet skin filling the room as well as your uncontrollable moans.

“Say my name, angel, fuck, say it again.”

“S-Soobin, I’m cumming, cumming, cumming, oh- god.”

You snapped, finally reaching your climax. Soobin’s teeth chew harder on his lip as you covered his dick in your hot juices, making everything even sloppier and the sounds nastiest. It didn’t take much more for him to cum inside you as well, his cum mixing with your own, his hips never stopping even thought you had both finished.

Soobin finally pulled off and you were catching your breath, when his big palm pressed against your back and his hot breath hit against your ass. His hands grabbed your ass-cheeks and pulled them apart, exposing the wet disaster on your entrance, juices mixed and dripping onto his desk. He stuck out his tongue and slurped all of it until you were clean, enjoying the tiny whines leaving your lips and the way you tried to squirm away from him.

“So good, angel.” His thump caressed your ass before he finally, very reluctantly, stepped back from you, admiring your exhausted, ruined self over his desk.

Soobin fixed his frames over his nose.

“See you next week.”

Things started to change around school; the mood was livelier, laughter could be heard around, boys made ruckuses on the halls, girls giggled between them, Beomgyu got back the comics the student council had took away from him, gum wasn’t a crime anymore and, if you were lucky, a slightly mistake on the uniform policy was overlooked.

Yeah, things were great.

“Y/n, do you have a moment after class? The student council president wants to have a word with you.” Informed Yeonjun the same day only one week apart.

[syluslnd]

Fluff request where reader does a prank and sneaks something cute on Sylus right before he goes out to the N109 Zone or a meeting with his business partners? Maybe like sneakily putting a cute lil pink bow on his hair and he only notices when everyones seen it😭 it could end in fluff or smut where he punishes her, you decide!❤️

𐙚 ౨ৎ ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ۶ৎ 𐙚

Sylus always carried himself with an air of authority. From the crisp way he dressed to the effortless confidence in his stride, everything about him demanded respect. He was meticulous, calculated— someone who rarely let his guard down.

That's why, when you saw him walk out the door for an important business meeting with a tiny pink bow tucked into his silver hair, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

It had been a harmless prank. Something small and silly. He had been too preoccupied reviewing his notes, barely glancing in the mirror before leaving and you? Well, you had just wanted to see if you could get away with it.

The answer was yes-for a while because Sylus did not notice at least, not until it was far too late.

The stares had started the moment he entered the conference room. At first he ignored them,people often stared at him out of respect, fear, admiration. But there was something different this time.

Muffled snickers. Averted gazes. A few of his colleagues coughing to cover up what I knew were suppressed laughs.

he frowned.

Then, just as he reached for the first document,he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the sleek, black surface of the table.

And there it was a small, delicate pink bow perched on his head like some ridiculous accessory.

his eye twitched.

Oh.

Oh, you were going to pay for this.

By the time Sylus returned home that evening, he was still wearing the bow.

You were in the bedroom, humming softly to yourself as you made the bed, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you.

When you heard the door open, you turned with a bright smile.

"Oh, you're back! What do you want to eat-“

Everything shifted in an instant.

Before you could finish your sentence, a powerful force pinned you down onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you as you let out a startled gasp.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening in shock.

Sylus loomed over you, his crimson eyes gleaming with something dark and entirely too amused.

You opened your mouth, only for him to lean in, his voice a low murmur as he cut you off.

"Darling" he purred, his tone laced with dangerous amusement "did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Your gaze flickered to his still perfectly styled silver hair-and, to your horror, the pink bow was still there.

Oh.

Oh, you were in trouble.

You swallowed hard. "S-Sylus, I-"

"You” he interrupted, dragging his fingers along your wrist "are so very mean to me."

He sighed dramatically, as if truly wounded.

"You made me a laughingstock today."

Your face burned under his intense stare. "It—it was just a joke! I didn't think you'd actually-"

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Your words died in your throat. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement,Sylus crawled onto the bed.His presence was overwhelming, his weight pressing into the mattress as he caged you beneath him.

"You didn't think, did you?" he murmured, tilting his head. "and now I have to punish you for it."

You barely had time to react before you felt it—the pull of his Evol.A sudden, invisible force spread your legs apart, parting them farther and farther until Sylus easily slid between them, his hands lazily resting on either side of you.

You gasped, your face burning.

"S-Sylus—!"He smirked.Then, ever so slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered,

"Let's see if you're still laughing now, little troublemaker."

[vinjinssunglasses]

Helloooo ^^, I love the writing that you did for Shingen and I was wondering if you could write some smut about Jake with a Fem! Reader? Just them having feelings for each other but they haven’t said anything yet and the man is just absolutely yearning for her? 💕

˚₊‧꒰ა . ──────── ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ────────˖ ໒꒱ ‧

character jake kim

summary you never fancied the idea of Jake being part of Big Deal. And that petty little argument ruined everything between you, until when you see him wounded and pleading by your front door.

tags p in v, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving) squirting, creampie/ no protection,

w/c 3k

a/n tysm for req!! I didn’t change it up a lil, but I still hope you like it! ^^ I was going to do cowgirl. I didn’t (semi regret it) 😪

˚₊‧꒰ა . ──────── ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ────────˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Shit.

What do I do? Where’s Sinu? My stomach is bleeding out and.. it’s getting harder and harder to drag my feet..

“Open the door…” He tries his best to yell, before painstakingly knocking at the door with the last of his strength.

You’re watching your favourite show and just ignore the knock at first, before another yell comes out calling your name. Wait, you recognise that voice..? Curiously, you looked through the peephole and.. that black hair? Blood?

Opening the door, you froze at the scene before you — Jake, someone you’ve known since forever, collapsed at the door, bleeding at your door. You didn’t know what to do; so you carried him inside into your couch, panicking. At the same time, you didn’t want to let him in. Those ‘Big Deal’ gangsters aren’t the people you want to get affiliated with, and you know you don’t want to get in trouble. On the other hand, Jake’s… Is he okay? What happened? You wrapped gauze around the wound in his stomach, to try and ease the bleeding. It made you almost sick to even look at it.

Jake is someone you’ve known since childhood. When the both of you were young, you were troublemakers who would often do harmless pranks around the neighbourhood and at school.

If only you could go back into the past, you’d change the series of events that led to your separation. Back then, an argument arose about him being part of Big Deal. The two of you had the same idea that they were a criminal organisation, yet he joined nonetheless. Petty, the both of you ignored each other for weeks, instead of communicating. You resented him for it.

However, before you could even tell him you’re sorry, you had to move away. It hurt having all these feelings buried inside of you, especially guilt. Guilt for leaving him there like that, you could only wonder if he still despised you. If only you could turn back time, saying the words ‘I’m sorry’, and wrap your arms around his body one more time. You can’t help but miss the times he cuddled you to sleep, made you laugh.. Jake was the first person you went to when you were at your worst, and he was always there when you were at your best.

So when you saw him bleeding passed out on your doorstep, you didn’t know what to do. The leftover regret told you to be there for him like you’ve always wanted to one last time, while the bitterness left you wanting to throw him in a dumpster.

His eyelashes were long, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the scars on his nose and lips. They looked so kissable. His fair skin and silky smooth jet-black hair, he was your type. And had always been. It would be a lie to say you were never drawn to him, have never thought of dating him even once. But the fine line between you two draws as friends. Your hands graze against his cheek, and run through each strand of hair as if savouring them, watching as he peacefully slumbers.

Those wicked thoughts you once shut away flew out of their trap once again, what would it be like to date him? Would he kiss you? Would you wake up to him with breakfast in bed? If only you could make things right, let the sinful words roll off your tongue, and finally have him as yours. Infact, you felt ashamed. In the past, if you would’ve just.. Problem is, you can’t change the past, no matter how much you beg. It’ll always be there to haunt you, no matter how much you run away — it’s engraved in you.

It’s been hours, and you were becoming more impatient and more worried by the minute. Was he really going to wake up? His pulse was steady and he’s breathing properly. Walking towards the kitchen, you figured you may try to sit him upright and make him drink fluids. It’s already ten o’clock, and it’s starting to become worrying. Just as you were about to pour water into the freshly-washed glass, you heard a familiar voice fussing around.

Jake immediately stood up, and you ran out in a frenzy.

“Wait, don’t stand up, you’re injured!” He winced at the stabbing pain in his stomach, collapsing back into the sofa. what an idiot..

Jake‘s expression changed from one of agony to surprise when he saw who you were, as if he just remembered something. He panted with his hand resting atop the bandages that were oozing with blood, helpless.

There was nothing to say anyway. It was years ago, right? No doubt you were expecting a look full of hatred, one of anger for what happened then, yet, it was quite the opposite. One as if his lost love had been found, as if he’s been waiting for days for this moment, however the words were jumbled in his throat.

“Uh, I.. Uhm…” Jake, in all honesty, couldn’t find the words he’s been yearning to say. It’s as if the nights spent crying about what you both could’ve had has gone to waste. No, ‘I love you even though we parted’ won’t be appropriate, also ‘I’m sorry’ is too straightforward… “My bandages..”

“Right.” You kneeled and grabbed the gauze. You felt pathetic. It was all your fault anyway. It’s as if the moments where you constantly daydreamed about what life could’ve been like has been all futile. The air felt thick, with the weight of this awkward atmosphere and words left dreadfully unspoken.

Dabbing around the wound, cleaning up the spilled blood, his breath hitched at the sudden jolts of pain each time. Jake winced, watching you through his hooded lids. Wrapping the gauze around his stomach once more, you dared not make eye contact. Jake reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear, yet withdrew his hand and sighed as if disappointed. Disappointed that he couldn’t just say those words. But what would you think? Would you kick him out? It was his only opportunity, but something was stopping him.

“What happened?” You asked, breaking the silence and acting stern as to cover the truth that you were concerned.

“It’s.. a long story.” Jake couldn’t help but frown. Hearing that tone of yours, he figured you must still remember. Seeing you rekindled him with these miserable thoughts he wanted to shut away forever, and he hated himself for it. The friendship you once had, that led to his everlasting attraction to you, still lingers. It gnaws at him everyday.

“Why are you here?” Is something you wanted to know the most. Inside, you felt glad he was here, it could be a second chance given to you.

“I…” I miss you. I miss you, I want you, I want to kiss your soft, tempting lips, I need you. “I came here because it was the closest place.”

What were you even expecting? Were you an expecting an ‘I love you’?, or an ‘I’ve missed you’? Love like that only happens in fairytales, and he will never be the Prince Charming to the Cinderella you wished you could be.

“Yeah, okay.” Accepting that answer, you decided to change the conversation. “Do you want anything?”

“Can I have some water?” You got up and headed into the kitchen, where you gripped onto that glass once again. The tension between you two was starting to become unbearable, and neither of you had the expense to spark the flame you desperately needed. Heading back to where he was sat, you gave him the glass, watching as he took a sip. His gaze was avoidant of yours, lips parting as if desperate to say something.

Taking a seat next to him, you watch his face when you ask..:

“Big Deal. how are they?”

“They’re… okay.” Jake chose his words carefully, knowing that you never favoured the idea of him leading the group.

“Why did you even join them in the first place, I told you..?” Your voice rises in tone, the same way it did back then.

“I like them, you know this.” He pleads, almost not wanting to argue like that time, knowing how much you mean to him.

“Because of them, you’re always getting into fights, what will you do if one day you won’t make it out?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, what will he do if he doesn’t make it out alive? “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“Just why, why do you keep putting yourself in danger like this, I don’t understand it..!” You clench your fists, trying to hold back your rising fury.

“It’s not their fault, it’s complicated. It’s more than you think, just..”

“Why do you even stay with them? How many fights have you gotten in like this one? I heard you even went to jail, I..”

“It’s more than it looks. You should try giving them a chance.”

“Giving them a chance?! Look at you, just earlier you were bleeding upon my doorstep! And you want me, to give them, a chance? After this?”

“It was all for the gang, I don’t regret any of it.”

“You’ve always got an excuse.” You muttered, starting to pace around the room. Jake’s gaze followed your moment, watching how your arms crossed, lips moved and face contorted into one of frustration. “It’s always for Big Deal, isn’t it? When have you ever made a decision for yourself..?!”

Silence. You sighed once more, while he was speechless.

“What do you know about making choices?” He spoke quietly. “You spent all this time avoiding me.”

“What..? I didn’t..” Your gaze shifted to his, which were filling with tears.

“During that time, you fled. I had no clue where you went for years. It was only by chance I got to see you again.”

And it hit you.

Jake fidgeted with his pant leg, played around with nails — anything he could do to distract himself while you stood there shocked. It made you feel even worse — did you seriously not understand this from his perspective? For all this time, you only selfishly thought about yourself..?

“Jake..” Was the only word you could shamefully mutter. “Jake, I’m, it’s..”

‘It’s not your fault, please. It’s mine. I should’ve went looking for you. Don’t blame yourself again, like you always do.’

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s because of you we could’ve spoken about this.” Jake stood up, walking towards you, resting a hand upon your cheek. “Please, I don’t want to loose you again.”

Letting the tears he held in for so long drip down his reddened cheeks, he rested his head upon your shoulder; too ashamed to even look at you. Pulling his body as close to yours, you couldn’t care less if your clothes were wet. Combing your hands thought his hair, you couldn’t help but cry with him. The room was silent, apart from the choked sobs. Regardless, it was peaceful; there was no need for speech, his presence was enough to soothe you.

“Jake,” You called out, and he raised his head to look at you. His crying face is too adorable: puffy eyes, a trembling bottom lip, and a scrunched face. And you couldn’t help but snicker.

“I love you. It’s my fault, please just let me take the bla—“

Just shut up. Before he could even finish, you crashed your lips against his with a desperate need as if you’d been holding back for so long. Jake’s hands found their home upon your hips, pulling you closer. Your hands were all over each other, as if no amount of touch could ever be enough.

Pushing him back into the couch, you straddled him, taking a breath as you wiped away his tears. Jake’s hands had a mind of their own, travelling up your shirt to unlatch your bra.

“It’s not fair if I’m the only one shirtless here,” He chuckled, pulling off your shirt; watching as your boobs recoiled.

Taking in the beautiful curves of your body, he lets his hands explore — tracing a line down your spine, running over the curves of your hips. You grind upon his lap, his hands slipping through your trousers to your panties to get a grip on your ass.

“You’re so sexy..” Jake chuckled. Fondling the soft flesh, he leans into to intertwine your lips once more. This time, it was with raw hunger, the need to feel him in you. And you could tell by the growing erection that started to press against you. He presses kisses upon your nipple, gently teasing by licking everywhere over than where you wanted it the most.

Getting closer to his ears, you teasingly whispered “Let’s go to the bedroom,” and you swear you felt him throb. Lifting you up, he rushed up the stairs, throwing you into the bed. Jake positioned himself in between your legs, pulling off your trousers this time, tossing them across the room.

Your heartbeat quickened as his lips trailed from your inner thigh, each touch deliberately slow, riling you up even more. The heat of his breathe against your eager core sent shivers down your spine.

One finger glided through the slick mess of your cunt, before his tongue grazed your clit, making you quiver from the feathery contact. Each touch was tender and soft, as if he was learning how to love and please you all over again, yet was filled with the urge to fuck you right then and there.

Jake’s lips parted softly against you, his tongue swirling in rhythmic patterns that left your toes curling, eager for more. Moaning softly, a gentle whimper that filled the air, he responded with a hum of approval; the vibrations making you gasp louder. As pleasure slowly built, your jaw loosened with moans you wanted to desperately cover, your body trembling in delight. And fuck, was he hitting that spot that you loved.

Your hands tried to pull his head back, yet it was too late — you squirted all over his jaw. It was like a warm wave washing over you, leaving you breathless as your body sinked back into the sheets. Jake chuckled and licked his lips. It’s as if he didn’t care, as long as you finished. He kissed his way back up to you until your lips met his, while your hands struggled at his belt. Pulling away, he unzips them for you, revealing the result of his own desire.

“Can I put it in?” Jake moans against your boobs, letting his cock bask in the wet heat of you. “I need you.” He murmured, voice a sultry whisper that made your heart race. With one swift motion, you felt the fat tip, down to the base, stretching your velvety walls. He lets out a pleasured groan, hands resting upon your hips, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just relax, and let me show you how much I really want you, huh?” A playful smirk crept upon his lips, as he thrusted inside of you once more. With every glide of his dick, he increased his speed, making your jaw loose as you could just about contain yourself. Jake moaned with you, pulling you in for another intoxicating kiss. His middle fingers crept from your stomach down to your attention-craving clit, softly stroking up and down, making you scream in ecstasy.

Jake smirked as he watched how it seemed like his cock disappeared inside of you. Gently biting his lower lip, your walls clench around him, making him throb, filling you in all the right places. A sheen of sweat drip downs his body, glistening in the light as he enjoys the erotic faces you make.

“Fuck, Jake.. Cum inside, please..!” You let out a choked sob, as you felt yourself becoming closer. Something inside Jake snapped — was it those lust-filled words? He couldn’t help himself, hips uncontrollably shaking as those words made him loose his composure. You never took Jake to be the animalistic type, yet the way he growled in your ear, slamming his hips into you at full speed, squelching and slapping his balls against your dripping folds, made you doubt yourself. Jake hit into your earlobe, playfully nibbling and chuckling softly.

Nails clawing at his back desperately, barely keeping up with his outlandish pace, you could only whine out his name. It’s as if you lost your ability to even mumble words, your mind only filled with the effects of his throbbing cock pounding vigorously against your g-spot, uncontrollably making you arch your back. You couldn’t barely even gather a coherent thought every time his pink head slammed against your cervix either, simply intoxicated by the euphoria of his thick cock and unbelievable pace.

And gosh, did it feel so good. That pool in your stomach started to build again, as your whole body writhed at its arrival.

“I’m cumming.. I-I’m, cumming..” Jake whimpered, slowing his pace as he pulled you into him, staining your insides with his thick seed. As soon as he pulled out, he felt your squirt spilling into his abdomen, while your hands fall to your sides, weak. Your hole trembled as cum dripped down from the sheets, Jake smiling proudly at the sight.

“I love you. I want to be with you forever.” His kisses trailed from your collarbone, to your neck and finally to your parted lips.

“I love you too.” Your fingers crept up to his hair, playing with each strand once more, gazing into his loving eyes while you catch your breath, unable to suppress an endearing smile.

[bitterspoons]

For once, I thought it was me.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Soulmate au where you can hear the songs your soulmate is listening to. Fred asks your best friend—Angelina—to the ball thinking she's his soulmate.

use of y/n

Warnings: Angst and just a lil' fluff

Word Count:

part one / part two coming soon

A/N: of course the first thing I write is a soulmate au 😭—it's fine and I hope you like it.

"Angelina!" Y/n calls, running over to the Gryffindor table—almost tripping over her feet before placing a hand on Angelina's shoulder.

"Yes?" Angelina looked up from her conversation with the Weasley twins and smiled at her best friend. The Great Hall was bustling with noise.

Y/n panted, catching her breath as she fixed her hair. "Sorry—I just—I ran—oh god I'm dying—" Y/n tried to catch her breath before waving her hand at the twins. "Give me a second—continue your conversation..."

Angelina chuckled before turning back to George and Fred. "This is my friend, Y/n." Angelina introduced. "She's in Hufflepuff so I doubt you would've met her."

Y/n waved, stealing some of Angelina's water.

"Why haven't you invited her to some of our parties?" George asked, batting his eyes. "It would've been nice, seeing a pretty face more often."

Angelina rolled her eyes at the flirt, making space next to her for Y/n. "Yeah, I've asked her but she's not a huge fan of social events." She explained. "It's a miracle she's even in the Great Hall—why aren't you with Willow?"

"Oh, I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out after Divination. Turns out my detention with Professor Sprout is cancelled!" The Hufflepuff said happily, still a bit red from George's flattering.

"Hell yeah!" Angelina cheered. "I told you she loves you."

Y/n smiled. "Yeah but turning her favorite plant into a pair of heels is pushing the line."

Fred cackled. "Y/n, You did what?!"

In her head, a symphony sounded. Him just saying her name sounded like an orchestra.

Pops of warmths fidgeted around her. She had always had a crush on the Weasley, and she never really knew when it happened. She hasn't told a soul and she never would. It was just— he always seemed so happy. She had made him happy, she made him laugh.

Y/n beamed as she explained how she had gotten too caught up with her conversation with Angelina about what shoes to wear for the Yule Ball, she had completely forgotten about the spell she was casting.

"Little Chéri's a troublemaker huh?" Fred teased, scrunching up his nose.

"Chéri?!" Angelina cackled—not a fan of pet names in the slightest.

George grumbled. "Fred has been learning French so he can impress girls."

Y/n laughed, taking a sip of Angelina's water again. "I think it's cute." She bit the tip of her thumbs, an old habit of hers.

"Ever the hopeless romantic, Y/n." Angelina commented, stealing her drink back.

The four engaged in conversation until a Slytherin tapped on Y/n's shoulder. "Uh—Y/n, I think I have a fitting right now." She said awkwardly, getting glares from the Gryffindors.

"Oh!" Y/n shot up, grabbing the last strawberry off of Angelina's plate before grabbing Angelina's pen—sticking it behind her ear—and running off, dragging the Slytherin with her.

"Hey!" Angelina protested, grumbling as she bit into her toast.

"What was that about?" Fred asked, battling Ron for the last corndog.

"Huh? Oh—Y/n and I are helping organise the Ball." Angelina explained, not seeing how Fred watched her run her fingers through her hair as she grabbed another pen to do her Potions Homework. "She's helping make and tailor people's outfits."

"Y/n?" Hermione clarified, popping into the conversation. "She's ridiculously talented, she made the dress I'm wearing!"

"She made adjustments on mine!" Angelina looked at Hermione. "I didn't like how bland my dress was, so she helped bedazzled it."

"Do you think she can fix Fred's dress?" George asked, earning a punch from Fred. "Ow! No seriously though, his tie is all wonky and his pants go way past his feet. Poor bloke's gonna trip!"

Angelina laughed, packing her stuff away and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Find out yourself! I have to go check up on the Frog Choir."

Just a couple minutes later, Fred heard oddly croaky choruses from his soulmate.

●●●

Fred was trying to go the sleep that night, but all he could hear was stupid music.

When he couldn't decipher whether he was hearing it through his soulmate or if he was hearing it in the common room, he shoved his slippers on and slowly went down stairs.

As he peeked his head around the corner, he saw Angelina dancing with somebody—a CD player in the background as they laughed.

It was the same music playing in his head...Is Angelina—actually his soulmate?

He watched Angelina dance with her friend, practicing their dance for the ball before slowly going back upstairs.

Y/n and Angelina fell the floor in a heap, almost crying of laughter as Angelina stepped on Y/n's foot and then went crashing to the floor.

"So, are you planning on asking your mystery crush to the ball?" Angelina asked, rolling onto her stomach and popping the CD out.

Angelina didn't have a clue about her crush on one of the Weasley twins. Y/n refused to tell her, but she did give vague details about why she liked him so much.

"You think I have time for that?" Y/n questioned, brushing her hair. "Even if I did have the time to ask him, he's probably not even my soulmate."

"Who cares?" Angelina asked, exasperated.

Angelina was one of the people who couldn't hear music from their soulmate, it happened more than you'd think—about as common as dyslexia.

Angelina didn't give two fucks about whether the person she was dating was her soulmate, she tended to do whatever she wanted.

"Well—my soulmate is pretty cool too." Y/n protested.

"Well obviously!" Angelina retorted. "They has to be good enough for our Y/n"

"Oh stop it." Y/n laughed, throwing her hairbrush at Angelina. "I won't have time to ask someone and besides, I think he likes someone else." Y/n looked down, fiddling at the edge of her pink pyjamas.

"Your soulmate or your crush?"

"Maybe both!"

●●●

Fred woke up early today, mostly because he couldn't sleep. I mean, he just found his soulmate! This is the moment that everybody waits for, and it finally happened!

Fred was utterly in love with whoever his soulmate was. The two soulmates have sang duets with each other since they could talk—never making any action to try and find each other but Fred would be lying if he said he hadn't blasted music in his ears just to see if someone in the Great Hall would react.

His soulmate was constantly listening to music and singing songs, it comforted him whenever he heard it—especially since he's heard it since he was little.

And it was Angelina, a girl he was been trying not to crush on for ages.

Fred walked down the stairs, almost laughing when he saw Angelina.

Angelina and Y/n were completely passed out on the common room couches, paper sprawled out as they were doing a history of magic essay.

Fred shook Angelina awake. "Angie...Angie!"

Angelina fell off the bed. "What?"

Fred grinned. "I just thought you might wanna head to bed before the rest of the house wakes up."

Angelina rubbed her eyes before looking around—seeing essay papers, pens and her best friend, still sleeping as she sleepily held the tip of her thumb in her mouth and lulled herself asleep. "What time is it?"

"You have a little less than three hours before everybody else wakes up."

Angelina sighed, getting up and separating their papers and pens. "Hey, Fred?"

"Yeah?" He said hopefully.

"Can you do me a favour?"

Angelina handed him a messenger bag with little bows and gold chains decorating it, he took it without question as she continued.

"Do you think you could get Y/n to her common room? This is.. um This is the longest she's slept for a while and I don't know how to get into the Hufflepuff common room."

Fred thought for a moment—but who was he to deny his soulmate? After all, getting into the Hufflepuff dorms were easy—having learned the ins and outs of practically the whole school.

So Fred slung the bag across his shoulder and walked over to Y/n, still sleeping peacefully.

"Thank you!" Angelina grabbed her own supplies and started going up stairs. "You're the best!" She called. "I'll get you a tailoring with her today! Is dinner alright?"

Fred nodded, slowly picked Y/n up, putting her on the couch so he could give her a piggy back ride to her common room. "Hold on..."

Almost as if her sleeping body could hear it, Y/n's body tensed up, making it easier for Fred to carry.

So Fred walked out of the Gryffindor dormitories and started walking in the halls to go to the Hufflepuff common room.

The sun had barely risen, shining dull lights into the hallway and Fred felt Y/n shift in her sleep—ignoring how his skin fluttered as her breath rolled on top of it.

Fred almost stopped walking as Y/n shifted once more, making a small whimper, trying to pull her hand closer to her face.

"Chéri, if you move your hand, you're gonna fall—okay?" Fred said softly, adjusting his grip on her legs, making sure she wouldn't slip.

Y/n hummed in response, tucking her head on Fred's shoulder as he kept on walking.

Fred was halfway to the common room—walking slowly as to not wake up Y/n when he froze.

Having her thumb clasped between her fingers around Fred's chest, supporting her upper body weight—Fred felt her head twitching, needing something to soothe her to sleep.

Not wanting to have to explain the situation to the sleeping girl or disappoint Angelina—Fred adjusted the girl, now giving her a piggy-front, letting Y/n head sit comfortably against his neck.

Fred debated checking whether his face was on fire when the sleeping girl began to press little kisses on his neck, trying to substitute something for her thumb.

Fred continued walking, but why was he so flustered?

Maybe it’s his soulmate’s best friend.

What was her name again? Y/n?

Fred knocked on the Hufflepuff dorm door in the tune of Helga Hufflepuff. Before walking in and taking the stairs to the girl’s dormitory.

Trying not to feel awkward, he searched the dorm labels until he saw it.

______________

Girls Dorm #207

- Susan Bones

- Lia Diggory

- Y/n L/n

______________

Praising Merlin that she didn’t have too many roommates— He knocked on the door a few times, jumping up again to make sure Y/n didn’t slip.

"Hello?" A small voice asked, a very tired red head opened the door.

Fred gave an award smile. "I have a delivery?"

The girl smiled before letting him in and pointing at the empty bed and messed up desk.

Feed walked over, clutching on to Y/n as he quickly flipped the blanket open and tucked her instead. Y/n immediately latched onto the blankets.

Fred smiled before looking at her desk—tons of dress designs a long with tons of reminders everywhere when a certain one caught his eyes.

The Weasley Twins Inspired Dress

Curious, he picked up the sketch to see that she managed to make a confetti canon dress, inspired by that time he and George covered the Slytherin team in confetti right before a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

"I think you're cute together," Susan whispered bashfully, her cheeks pink.

"Oh no," her face fell when Fred denied it. "I already found my soulmate today."

"Oh I'm sorry." Susan apologised, combing her hair. "I just thought your h—never mind." She began to point at her neck before waving it off. "I assume you know how to take care of it?"

"Yeah! I'm planning on asking her to the yule ball!" Fred said, not having any idea what Susan was talking about.

"What? Ya know what—" Susan dug through her make up bag before grabbing Fred's arm and swatching some concealer shades. "You're lucky, you're my winter shade." Susan tossed Fred a concealer wand before shooing him out. "Bye!"

Holding onto the concealer, extremely confused, Fred walked back to him common room before going into the bathroom.

"Shit." Fred vocalised, realising why Susan Bones has thrown him concealer.

A light hickey lay on the side of his neck where Y/n had been.

Fred spent the next two hours trying to figure out how concealer worked.

He didn't understand it—instead opting for a scarf instead to cover up the blotchy disaster he created on his neck.

●●●

Y/n genuinely didn't question why she woke up in her bed and more concerned on her planner—you could see her running up and down the halls all day.

"Professor Moody, may I borrow Ron Weasley please?"

Ron showed her his suit for the ball. "Never mind, you're beyond help. Professor Moody, you can have him back." Y/n said, scribbling something out in her planner.

Taking the stairs, Y/n just started walking—flipping to the back of her planner to edit some sketches and ideas for dresses—not noticing the stair cases changing directions.

Walking up and down and sideways along the halls, Y/n kept walking until she bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry!" She said automatically only to be shushed by two voices. "Huh—?"

""SHH!" Y/n looked at the two Weasley twins.

"Why?" She asked, looking around to see nobody.

"I don' know," Fred admitted.

"We're skipping, so I assume we have to be quiet." George finished.

The Hufflepuff scoffed. "I'm not skipping. I did all my work in advance so I could focus of the dress making." She looked down at the planner. "And on that note—you have a appointment with me in two minutes. We can't be late!"

"Does that mean you have the answers?" Fred asked as he got dragged away.

"We can discuss answers after we're on time for our session."

"If it's our appointment, how can we be late?"

Y/n sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine we’re almost there, Willow’s gonna be upset.”

“Who?”

Y/n dragged Fred near a tree where a small desk, mannequins and color swatches were, Y/n thrust Fred upon a little platform until tree branches began to swing around chaotically.

“Willow! Calm down! This isn’t Ron! This is a different Weasley!” Y/n started yelling.

“Willow? As in the Whomping Willow?!”

“Stop moving!” Y/n snapped, petting the branches. “Willow didn’t like it when your brother nearly killed her with a car. I think she has like— Weasley trauma.”

Fred cackled. “Weasley trauma?” A tree branch slapped the back of his head. “Hey!”

“She’s very sensitive.” Y/n defended. “Speaking of Ron, please tell me your suit isn’t as hideous.”

“Don’t worry— I just have a normal suit… I wasn’t sure if I should’ve brought it so I just wore it—”

“That’s perfect. Mind shrugging off the jacket and scarf?”

Nervously, Fred took off the scarf and jacket, revealing the concealer mess on his neck.

“Oh sweetie, what the hell happened to your neck!” Y/n cooed. "Goodness, let me help you. You're gonna break out... Accio makeup kit!"

"I have every shade under the sun, I'm helping people with their makeup too." Y/n waved her hand down. "Get down, off." Y/n stepped onto the platform as Fred stepped off, facing Y/n.

Y/n took a makeup wipe and cleaned up the spot before taking out a whisk and spinning it on the hickey.

"When did you learn how to hide hickey? Does that even work?" Fred asked, watching the metal kitchen utensil.

"Oh hush, it's common knowledge." Y/n pushed his face away, continuing to whisk. "It helps the blood disperse. Next time, put ice on it before it bruises."

Shade matching and blending it in, Y/n hoped Fred couldn't hear her heart beating out of her chest as she finished hiding the red mark. "See? Like it never even happened."

Willow presented a mirror for Fred to see for himself, thank god because that scarf was very itchy.

"Now, how much are we thinking off the tie?" Y/n held up a tape measure and a sharpie, tucking the sharpie behind her ear. "It supposed to be around your belt buckle...Do you feel comfortable with it over here?"

Fred nodded, looking at her in the mirror more than him. Why hadn't he seen her more often? Has she been friends with Angelina for a long time?

"Lovely...okay do you mind if I take this?" Y/n took the colorful tie off Fred and held it up to Willow." Willow, this is Fred's tie." Willow held onto the tie.

"Okay just one second..." Y/n brought out a sheet of brown fabric and a sheet of black fabric and hopped onto the platform with him. She pulled the black one around half of his chest and the brown one around the other half.

"Okay so I think the brown is more flattering on you, I feel like you look paler with the black one—Hey!"

Fred's head started tilting to one side as he imagined Angelina and her hanging out—still in disbelief he had actually found his soulmate.

Y/n grabbed his jaw and moved it so that it faced her. "Sorry, I just need to see—" Y/n furrowed her eyebrows confused as Fred pointed at something in the distance behind her.

Y/n looked behind her only for her jaw to pulled back and facing Fred, pulling the same move she had accidentally done to him. "Touché," She smiled—desperately hoping she wasn't blushing.

"How long have you friends with Angelina?" Fred asked, snapping Y/n out of her mental freakout.

"Oh—uh, since first year. We met on the train." Y/n cast a spell to turn Fred's suit brown. "Yeah that looks better—you looked like you were going to a funeral."

“Then why do I never see you guys hang out?”

Y/n thinks before answering. “I like to keep myself busy, that or I just eat in the kitchen.”

“Why not hang out with Angelina?”

“Uh- Well Alicia and I don’t really get along so I don’t want to make it weird for Angelina. Besides, most of the time Angelina hangs out with me in the kitchen.”

So that’s why Fred never sees Angelina in the Great hall. “Why the kitchen?”

“Because the house elves love me.” Y/n smiled, writing her to do list. “Besides, I like baking.”

Fred stepped off the platform and watched Y/n write. “Do you bake any of the food in the Great Hall?”

“The brownies, but sometimes I also cook the ribs but I like baking more than cooking.”

Fred loves the brownies, he eats them every time they show up on the table.

“Speaking of food… It’s dinner, you better hurry before all the seats are taken.” Y/n starting putting things away and getting out a dress presumingly belonging to her next appointment.

Fred stepped off the small platform, checking his covered hickey once more before starting to turn around. "You aren't going to dinner?"

"Maybe later." She responded quickly, casting a spell on the dress. "Not hungry. " She said briefly. "You can pick up your tie by like tomorrow."

"Alright then, I'll see you around?"

"Sure. Angelina! Can you grab that?" A piece of fabric swirled away in the wind near an approaching Angelina.

Fred walked away, happy with his day and his fitting appointment.

(A/N lmao I have nooooo idea how to end these. Part two could be ready tomorrow or in 3 months, we'll see.)

[xmads-omensx]

Pairing: Dad!Noah Sebastian X Reader

CW: angst, mentions of long distance relationships, sad, sorry for being sad again whoops

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @tosoundlessdarkistare @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986  @dominuslunae @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @overmydeadbodysblog @illmakeyousaywow @dsireland86 @missduffsblog  @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @dontwantthemoney @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm @museonfilm @death-ofpeace-ofmind @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kissestomyomens @flowery-mess @athenexe @anything-more-than-human @oobleoob @dollieomens @astronoids @pipidoll @geminigirlfromfinland

It was bath time when Alley asked the question that broke your heart.

She was playing with her rubber duckies, lining them up on the edge of the tub like she always did, talking to them and telling you stories about each one, when she suddenly stopped.

"Mommy?" She asked, her brow furrowed as she turned to face you.

You were knelt beside the tub, hands in the warm soapy water as you replied "yeah sweetie?"

"Does daddy go away a lot because he doesn't love me?" She asked, her innocent voice echoing in the now silent bathroom.

"Oh honey..." You sighed, devastated at how your daughter perceived her father. "No baby. Your daddy loves you so much."

"Then why does he go away all the time?" She asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Honey your daddy has to go on tour to play his music." You tried to explain.

"But why? They can just hear it on their phones like we do." She asked, still not quite grasping the concept of concerts since she still had yet to see Bad Omens live.

"Baby... it's not that simple." You tried to explain.

"But why!" She was becoming more desperate a she tried and tried to understand why her father left so often.

"I have a better idea. Why don't I show you?" You suggested, a desperate and last-minute plan forming in your head.

Alley simply nodded, going back to her ducks as you finished the bath.

You packed a suitcase with enough belongings for yourself and Alley to take a trip to the city Noah and the guys were playing their next show at.

Alley was still none the wiser about your plan.

Matt had arranged VIP entry for the two of you and had planned for you both to stand with him during the show.

You arrived at the hotel and used the key that Matt had left behind the desk at reception to get into Noah's hotel room.

That's when Alley began to clock onto what was going on.

"That's mine." She whispered, pointing at the Eeyore plushie that lay against the pillows.

Noah took it with him every time he left for tour as a reminder of the little girl who waited for him back home.

You smiled at her recognition of the plushie and helped her get ready for the show.

She wore pale pink leggings and a black Bad Omens shirt that had been specially made just for her by Noah and Davis.

Alley was practically vibrating with excitement as you both stood beside Matt in the sound booth.

She sang her little heart out to the songs that she knew to words to and giggled and clapped along with the crowd, excited about finally seeing her dad live.

Matt led you backstage once it was safe to do so and into the green room in which the band hung out.

Folio noticed you both first, eyes lighting up at the sight of his 'favourite little troublemaker' as he called her.

The other guys turned around to face you both whilst Noah's nose was glued to his phone, presumably sending his post show text that he always sent.

Jolly nudged him, making him look up.

His eyes lit up at the sight of his daughter in your arms who was wriggling like mad trying to free herself to get to her father.

You placed her on the ground and she sprinted over to Noah, throwing her small body at him with enough force to knock him back into the pillows behind you.

"I love you kiddo." He muttered into her hair as he looked at you with teary eyes and a grateful smile, holding Alley close to his chest.

"I love you more daddy." She whispered, kissing his cheek with a smile.

[satansdarlin]

can i PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE have a fic where gambit and reader have a baby/kid, i don't care about anything else i just want a kid with that man PLEASE (I am on my hands and kness begging you)

Pa's Lil spade

I know this is a bit more than you asked for but I went nuts with it. You are so fr for wanting a baby with this man (me too nonny me too). The reader is a mutant but I left that up to whatever you guys want. It is implied to be AFAB reader with how they refer to them but nothing is explicitly depicted. Could be read as a follow up to royal flush or a stand alone

Rating: T

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: bad French, some anti mutant bull, remy being the best dad to cure my daddy issues, pure family fluff with a little angst, talk of explosions

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

You padded through the quiet house in the early morning. Remy had been missing from the bed when you woke up, but you had a feeling you knew exactly where to find him. Pushing open the door to the nursery, you paused in the doorway, taking in the tender scene before you. Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over Remy as he cradled your one-month-old daughter in his arms, her tiny form still peacefully asleep.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered as he heard you enter, his voice thick with emotion. "Remy never expected 'er to be so... petit."

"She is small," you agreed softly, moving closer to them. "A tiny little miracle."

Remy turned to face you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "She's perfect, ain't she?" he said, gazing down at the small, sleeping bundle in his arms.

"Absolutely perfect," you agreed, watching your husband hold your daughter with such reverence that your heart swelled. You knew he'd probably stand there holding her for hours if he could, perfectly content.

He chuckled softly, his attention never wavering from the baby. With infinite gentleness, he stroked her velvet-soft cheek with one finger. "She goin' be a troublemaker, Remy can tell already," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Wonder where she'll get that from," you laughed softly, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

He feigned shock, placing his free hand over his heart with dramatic flair. "Remy, trouble? Never," he protested, shaking his head with exaggerated innocence before pulling you closer with his free arm, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"You're a poor liar, mon cœur," you hummed, gazing down at your daughter. Your little Spade. You'd had to talk him down from naming her Queenie – Remy's taste in baby names had been a bit more... eccentric.

"Can't believe you made Remy change the name," he pouted, though his eyes never left their daughter's face as he traced her features with a gentle finger. "Queenie woulda been a good name," he added teasingly.

"Spade is perfect," you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

He let out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, though he couldn't quite hide his smile. "You're right, cher. Spade is perfect," he admitted, gently rocking the bundle in his arms.

"I'll go make breakfast," you said softly, reluctantly pulling away from their warmth. In the kitchen, you found yourself wrestling with the baby-proofed cabinets. You'd tried telling Remy there was no way Spade would be getting into cabinets when she could barely roll over, but he'd insisted on "better safe than sorry."

From the living room, Remy's teasing voice called out, "Careful, darlin', you might get trapped in there!"

"And whose fault would that be?" you called back. The sound of your voices stirred Spade, who responded with happy coos directed up at her father.

Remy's expression melted at the sound. "Not Remy's fault if you're too weak to open a cabinet, cher," he teased, though his voice was warm with affection.

"I'm gonna baby-proof your bedside table," you threatened playfully as you finally conquered the cabinet. In response, Spade began wiggling energetically in her father's arms.

Remy clutched dramatically at his chest with his free hand. "Not the bedside table, cher, that's low!"

As you started on breakfast, Remy found himself locked in battle with an infant determined to make a meal of his shirt. He tried redirecting her attention to a soft, chewable toy, but Spade remained fixated on her chosen target.

"Why does she only want to eat Remy's shirt and not the damn toy?" he grumbled in French, looking up at you with clear frustration.

"She's gotta soften her pa up to eat him when she's big enough," you quipped back.

Remy rolled his eyes but couldn't help chuckling. "Remy is not on the menu," he protested, still struggling to keep his shirt out of Spade's surprisingly strong grip.

"She doesn't seem to agree," you laughed, watching your husband's losing battle with your determined daughter.

"How can one little baby be so strong?" he complained, shooting you a desperate look.

Taking pity on him, you crossed the room and, with perfect timing, swapped his shirt for her pacifier just as she was about to chomp down. "Baby strength is no joke, hubs."

Remy sagged with relief as Spade happily accepted the pacifier, her mission to devour his shirt temporarily forgotten. "Thanks, cher," he said, flashing you a grateful smile. "Remy was about to lose his shirt there."

"And if Remy doesn't do something about the mosquito catcher on the fritz, he'll have to do more than worry about one baby-slobbered shirt – he'll have to do all his laundry," you warned playfully before returning to the stove.

Panic flashed across his face at the prospect. "Damn, okay, okay, Remy'll fix it," he quickly agreed, bouncing Spade gently in his arms. The laundry threat never failed.

"Good. 'Cause I can't even step outside without being eaten alive," you grumbled. "I told you the kiddy pool was a bad idea."

Remy chuckled sheepishly. "Remy didn't know the mosquitoes would love it so much," he admitted, guilt coloring his voice as he patted Spade's back, deliberately avoiding your pointed look.

The sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen as you worked at the stove. Remy wandered in, still cradling Spade, who had finally given up her campaign against his shirt in favor of contentedly gumming her pacifier.

"Smells good, cher," he said, peering over your shoulder. "Need Remy to set the table?" He shifted Spade to one arm, already reaching for plates with his free hand.

"If you can manage without putting our daughter down for two seconds," you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile.

Remy huffed indignantly. "Remy is perfectly capable of multitasking," he declared, though his grip on Spade remained secure as ever. As if to prove his point, he began one-handedly arranging plates and silverware on the table, adding a little flourish as he set down each item.

"Show-off," you muttered fondly, hiding your smile as you flipped the bacon.

"You love it," he shot back with a wink, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief. Spade chose that moment to spit out her pacifier, which Remy caught with lightning-quick reflexes before it hit the floor. "Ha! See? Master of multitasking!"

"My hero," you deadpanned, but couldn't help laughing at his triumphant expression.

The morning sunlight had grown stronger now, streaming through the kitchen windows and catching the auburn highlights in Remy's hair. Spade reached up, trying to grab at the light playing across her father's face, making happy gurgling sounds.

"What you reaching for, petit?" Remy cooed, bouncing her gently. "You trying to catch the sun? Just like your papa, always reaching for things you shouldn't."

"Speaking of things we shouldn't reach for," you said, sliding the last of the bacon onto a plate, "I saw you trying to teach her how to shuffle cards yesterday."

Remy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Was just showing her the basics, cher. Never too early to learn."

"She's a month old, Remy."

"And already showing great potential!" he insisted, grinning as Spade grabbed his finger and tried to stuff it in her mouth. "See? She's got quick hands!"

You shook your head, carrying plates to the table. "No daughter of mine is going to be running card scams before she can walk."

"Of course not," Remy agreed too quickly. "Maybe after she walks though..."

"Remy LeBeau!"

He laughed, dancing away from your mock-threatening spatula. "Remy's kidding! Mostly," he added under his breath, pressing a kiss to Spade's forehead as she yawned widely.

"I heard that," you warned, but couldn't keep the smile from your voice. "Now sit down before breakfast gets cold. And yes, you have to put her in her bouncer."

Remy pouted but carefully settled Spade into her bouncer next to the table, making sure she could still see both of you. "There you go, petit. Watch your old papa eat his breakfast before your maman makes him fix that mosquito trap."

"And the gutters," you added sweetly, passing him the coffee.

He nearly choked on his first sip. "The gutters? Remy didn't hear nothing about gutters!"

"Must have slipped my mind," you said innocently. "But while you're up there..."

"This is blackmail," he grumbled, but his eyes were twinkling as he watched you over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I prefer to think of it as creative motivation," you replied, reaching over to wipe a bit of drool from Spade's chin as she watched you both with wide eyes.

"You're lucky Remy loves you both so much," he said, his mock complaint softened by the genuine warmth in his voice.

"We know," you smiled, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "And we love you too, even if you do install unnecessary baby-proofing and create mosquito breeding grounds in the backyard."

"Remy's never going to live down that kiddie pool, is he?"

"Not a chance, mon cœur. Not a chance."

--- Two Years Later ---

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau, you get back here right now!"

Your toddler's delighted giggle echoed through the house as she zoomed around the corner, still in her pajamas, clutching one of Remy's playing cards in her tiny fist. Her dark hair bounced in messy curls around her face, and her red-on-black eyes – so like her father's – sparkled with mischief.

"Non!" she called back in a perfect imitation of Remy's accent, disappearing into the living room.

You shot your husband an accusatory look as he leaned against the doorframe, trying and failing to hide his proud grin. "This is your fault. She's picking up your accent AND your sticky fingers."

"Remy has no idea what you mean, cher," he said innocently, but the effect was ruined by his barely contained laughter. "Though you got to admit, her form is getting better."

"She's two, Remy. She shouldn't have any 'form' for stealing."

"Borrowing," he corrected automatically. "And did you see how smooth that lift was? Didn't even feel her take it from Remy's pocket."

A crash from the living room interrupted your response, followed by a small "Uh oh."

Both of you rushed in to find Spade standing amid a scatter of books from the fallen bookshelf, still clutching the Queen of Hearts. She looked up at you with wide eyes, lower lip trembling slightly.

"Accident?" she offered hopefully, in that same Cajun lilt that made it impossible to stay mad at her – a fact she had definitely figured out and used to her advantage.

Remy scooped her up before you could respond. "What's the rule about climbing, petit?"

"Only climb with Papa?" she tried, wrapping her arms around his neck and batting her eyelashes.

"The real rule," you prompted, trying to keep a stern face despite how adorable she looked.

Spade sighed dramatically – another trait she'd picked up from Remy. "No climbing furniture 'cause it's dangerous an' Maman will make Papa sleep on the couch."

"That's right," you nodded, then paused. "Wait, who taught you that last part?"

"Papa did!" she announced proudly, while Remy suddenly became very interested in straightening her pajama top.

You shook your head, bending to pick up the scattered books. "And what do we say when we make a mess, baby?"

"Sorry, Maman," she said, looking genuinely contrite now. Then she held out the playing card. "An' sorry I took Papa's card."

"Good girl," you smiled, kissing her forehead. "Now, how about breakfast?"

"Beignets!" Spade cheered, bouncing in Remy's arms.

"Non, petit," Remy chuckled. "Remember what happened last time? You got powdered sugar everywhere."

"But Papa," she whined, giving him the puppy-dog eyes that usually worked like a charm. "You said I was getting better at being sneaky quiet! I can be sneaky quiet with beignets!"

You raised an eyebrow at Remy. "Oh? Teaching our toddler to be 'sneaky quiet' now, are we?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Just... general life skills?"

"Down!" Spade demanded suddenly, squirming in his arms. The moment her feet touched the ground, she was off again, this time making a beeline for the kitchen.

"She's not..." Remy started.

"Going for the lower cabinet where you hide the beignet mix?" you finished. "The one you think I don't know about?"

A clatter from the kitchen confirmed your suspicions, followed by Spade's triumphant "Found it!"

"Now that," Remy said admiringly, "she definitely got from you, cher. Remy's not nearly that good at finding hiding spots."

"Keep telling yourself that, hun," you laughed, heading to the kitchen where your daughter was already trying to climb onto the counter. "Though we might need to work on her subtlety."

"Subtlety comes later," Remy assured you, catching Spade mid-climb. "Right after we teach her proper card handling and basic lock picking."

"Remy!"

"Kidding!" he protested, then whispered loudly to Spade, "We'll talk about it when you're three."

Spade giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Promise, Papa?"

"Promise, petit. Now, how about we make Maman some proper breakfast to make up for the bookshelf incident?"

"Can we make it explode?" Spade asked hopefully.

"NO!" you both shouted, remembering all too well the "glowing" pancake incident from last month.

"Just a little boom?" she bargained, making her eyes go wide and innocent.

--- Ten Years Later ---

The first sign something was wrong came at breakfast. Spade sat hunched over her untouched cereal, her normally bright red-on-black eyes dulled with discomfort. At twelve, she was all gangly limbs and attitude, her dark curls pulled back in a messy ponytail.

"You feeling okay, petit?" Remy asked, concern evident in his voice as he watched her push the cereal around her bowl.

"M'fine," she mumbled, then winced and pressed a hand to her stomach. "Just... crampy."

You and Remy exchanged a knowing look. You'd been expecting this, had prepared for it, but somehow it still felt surreal that your baby was growing up so fast.

"Why don't you go lay down, sweet?" you suggested gently. "I'll bring you some pain medicine and a heating pad."

Spade nodded miserably and stood up – then froze, her face flushing red. "Maman," she whispered, panic in her voice. "I need... I think I..."

"Go on to the bathroom, baby. I'll be right there," you assured her, already heading for the cabinet where you'd stashed supplies months ago.

Remy looked slightly panicked himself. "Should Remy... do something?"

"You can start by not freaking out," you told him with a small smile. "Remember what we talked about?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Oui. Normal, natural, nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Good man. Now go call the school and let them know she's staying home today."

As you headed to the bathroom with supplies, you heard Spade sniffling. "Maman? This really sucks."

"I know, baby," you said softly, letting yourself in. "But we've got this, okay? Let me show you..."

Twenty minutes later, Spade was curled up on the couch in fresh clothes, a heating pad pressed to her stomach, while Remy hovered nearby like an anxious mother hen.

"Papa, you're being weird," she grumbled, though there was affection in her voice.

"Remy's not being weird," he protested. "Remy's being... supportive."

"You've asked if I'm okay twelve times in ten minutes."

"Because Remy loves you, petit," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Even if you're growing up too fast."

She rolled her eyes but smiled – then suddenly yelped as the TV remote in her hand began to glow with a familiar magenta energy.

"Papa?" she asked, voice shaking as the glow intensified.

Remy moved fast, snatching the remote and absorbing the charge before it could explode. "Well," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "looks like you're getting more than one kind of change today, petit."

"Is... is that what your power feels like?" Spade asked, staring at her hands in wonder and fear. "Like everything's buzzing under your skin?"

"That's right," Remy nodded, sitting beside her. "Been wondering if you'd inherit that particular family trait."

You joined them on the couch, wrapping an arm around Spade's shoulders. "How are you feeling, baby? And don't say fine."

"Scared," she admitted quietly. "And excited. And my stomach still hurts. And..." She gestured helplessly at a decorative pillow, which had started to glow. Remy quickly grabbed that too.

"Hormones probably triggered it," you mused. "Logan mentioned that happens sometimes with mutant teenagers."

"Great," Spade groaned. "So not only do I have to deal with... this stuff, but now I might blow things up when I get cranky?"

"Just like your papa," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey!" Remy protested. "Remy has excellent control... most of the time."

Spade giggled, then winced and curled tighter around the heating pad. "Can we just... watch movies today? And maybe Papa can teach me how to not explode things?"

"'Course, petit," Remy said softly. "Though maybe we start with something less explosive than the remote, non? Playing cards are made to handle a charge better."

"Is that why you always have them?" she asked, perking up slightly despite her discomfort.

"Partly," he admitted. "Also 'cause they look cool when Remy throws them."

"Can I learn that too?"

"Let's master 'not blowing up the furniture' first," you suggested firmly.

"Maman's right," Remy agreed. "Besides, you need to rest today. Movie first, mutation training later."

Spade nodded, then suddenly looked mortified. "Oh god, do I have to tell people at school about... either thing?"

"Only if you want to, baby," you assured her. "Though we should probably let Uncle Logan know about your powers manifesting. He'll want to start training you."

"Can we not call him Uncle Logan anymore?" Spade groaned. "I'm not a little kid."

"You'll always be Remy's petit," he said, ruffling her hair and expertly dodging her swat.

"Papa!" she protested, but she was smiling. Then she looked down at her hands again, watching the faint energy dance across her fingertips. "Will... will it always feel like this?"

"Non," Remy assured her. "You'll learn to control it. Channel it. Make it part of you instead of fighting it. And your maman and papa will be here every step of the way."

"Promise?"

"Promise, petit. Now, what movie you want to watch while Remy teaches you the basics of energy manipulation?"

"Something with explosions?" she asked hopefully.

You and Remy shared a look over her head – equal parts exasperation and love.

--- Five Years Later ---

You knew something was off when Spade started wearing long sleeves in summer. At seventeen, she'd grown into her powers beautifully, the same casual grace with kinetic energy that Remy possessed. But lately, she'd been jumpy, secretive – and definitely not charging anything she touched, which was unusual for a girl who typically left a trail of glowing objects in her wake.

The truth came out on a humid Tuesday evening, when Remy came home early from a mission.

"Petit?" he called out, heading upstairs. "Remy brought those macarons you like from that place in–"

He stopped dead in Spade's doorway. Your daughter was hastily pulling on a hoodie, but not before both of you caught sight of the suppression collar around her neck. The kind sold in sketchy places to mutants who wanted to "pass" as human.

The box of macarons hit the floor.

"Papa!" Spade yelped, yanking the hood up. "You're supposed to be in Paris until tomorrow!"

"And you're supposed to be at study group," you said from behind Remy, making her jump. "Want to explain the collar, baby?"

Spade's eyes darted between you both, then to her window, clearly calculating if she could make the jump. A habit she'd definitely picked up from Remy.

"Don't even think about it," you warned. "Sit."

She sat on her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It's not what you think."

"Non?" Remy's voice was dangerously quiet. "Because what Remy thinks is his daughter is ashamed of being a mutant."

"I'm not!" Spade protested, eyes filling with tears. "I just... I wanted..."

"To be normal?" you asked softly, sitting beside her while Remy paced the room, playing cards flickering with agitated energy between his fingers.

"To go on a date without setting anything on fire!" she burst out. "To hold hands without worrying about blowing someone up! To be able to... to kiss someone without..."

The cards in Remy's hands stopped moving. "Kiss someone?"

Spade went pale. "I mean... hypothetically..."

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau," you said firmly. "The whole truth. Now."

She took a shuddering breath. "His name is Alex. He's in my AP Chemistry class. We've been dating for three months and he doesn't know I'm a mutant and I really, really like him and please don't explode anything, Papa!"

The last part came out in a rush as the cards in Remy's hands began to glow ominously.

"Three months?" Remy's accent got thicker with emotion. "You've been hiding this for three months?"

"Remy," you warned, seeing the hurt in your daughter's eyes. "Let her explain."

"I wanted to tell you," Spade whispered, fingers twisting in her sleeves. "But I was scared. Not of you!" she added quickly. "Of... of messing it up. His parents are kind of... they don't like mutants. And Alex isn't like that, he's different, but I just wanted a chance to show him who I am before he found out what I am."

"You are not a what, petit," Remy said fiercely, the glow fading from his cards as he knelt in front of her. "You are a who. A beautiful, powerful, amazing who. And anyone who can't see that..."

"Isn't worth hiding yourself for," you finished gently.

"But what if he is?" Spade's voice cracked. "Worth it, I mean. He's smart and funny and he doesn't make stupid jokes about the school being full of freaks like the other kids do. He stood up for Jamie last week when someone was bullying him about his scales. He doesn't even know I go there, but he stood up anyway."

You and Remy exchanged a look. You remembered being young, remembered how hard it was to bridge the gap between mutant and human worlds.

"Take off the collar, petit," Remy said finally.

"Papa..."

"Take it off," he repeated, gentler this time. "If this boy is worth your time, he's worth your trust. And if he breaks that trust..." The cards flickered again.

"You will not threaten a teenager," you told him firmly, then turned to Spade. "But your father's right about the collar, baby. It's dangerous, and it's not healthy – physically or emotionally."

Spade's hands shook as she unclasped the collar, her natural energy immediately sparking at her fingertips. "I don't know how to tell him."

"Start with the truth," you suggested. "And maybe somewhere without too many breakable objects."

"And if he runs?" she asked in a small voice.

Remy sat beside her, pulling her into a hug. "Then he's not the one, petit. But you don't know until you try. Just... next time? Tell Remy before you start dating the normie boy? So Remy can do a proper background check?"

"Papa!"

"What? It's what any responsible father would do!"

"You are not running a background check on my boyfriend!"

"Too late," you muttered, making them both turn to stare at you. "What? You think your father's the only one who knows how to do research? He's got a B+ average, one speeding ticket, volunteers at the animal shelter, and his Instagram is full of science puns and pictures of his little sister's soccer games."

Spade groaned and flopped back on her bed. "I hate this family."

"Non, you don't," Remy grinned, ruffling her hair. "Now, about those macarons Remy dropped..."

"Are they stress-eating macarons?" Spade asked hopefully.

"They are now," you agreed. "And while we eat, you can tell us more about this boy. Like why you didn't mention that he's in your AP Chem study group – the one you're supposedly at right now?"

Spade's eyes widened. "How did you..."

"Parent knowledge," you and Remy said in unison.

---Three months later---

The Greene family's dining room was impeccably decorated, all crystal glasses and polished silver that made you grateful for all those etiquette lessons Storm had insisted on. Spade sat beside Alex, wearing her favorite dark purple dress, her power carefully controlled despite her obvious nerves. Remy, for once, had traded his usual trench coat for a proper blazer, though you'd caught him shuffling cards in his pocket on the drive over.

"So," Mrs. Greene said, cutting her chicken with precise movements, "you teach at that... special school?"

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," you confirmed, noting how she avoided saying the name. "Yes, we both do."

"And that's where Spade attends?" Mr. Greene's tone was carefully neutral, but his grip on his fork was too tight.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. He'd been wonderful when Spade had told him about her powers, had even thought they were cool, but this dinner had been his idea – wanting to do things "properly." Now, watching his parents' barely concealed disdain, you could see him regretting it.

"Best education a parent could ask for," Remy said smoothly, his accent deliberately softened. "Top test scores in the state."

"I'm sure," Mrs. Greene murmured, then added with false brightness, "Though it must be... challenging, dealing with all those special needs children."

Spade's glass began to glow faintly. Without missing a beat, Remy reached over and touched it, absorbing the charge.

"Actually," you said pleasantly, "our students are quite gifted. Spade's in line for early admission to NYU's biochemistry program."

"Really?" Mr. Greene looked surprised, as if he couldn't quite reconcile this with his preconceptions. "That's... impressive."

"Our Spade's always been remarkable," Remy said proudly, then added with deliberate casualness, "Gets it from both sides of the family."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as understanding dawned on the Greenes' faces.

"Both sides?" Mrs. Greene's voice had gone up an octave. "You mean you're all...?"

"Mutants?" Spade finished quietly, lifting her chin with a defiance that was pure Remy. "Yes. We are."

"Alex!" his mother hissed. "You didn't tell us..."

"Because it doesn't matter, Mom," Alex said firmly, reaching for Spade's hand under the table. "Spade's brilliant and kind and amazing, and her being a mutant is just another part of who she is."

"Doesn't matter?" Mr. Greene's fork clattered to his plate. "These people are dangerous! They're–"

"Very capable of hearing you," you interrupted coolly. "And 'these people' include your son's girlfriend and her parents, who are sitting right here."

"How do we know she hasn't... done something to him?" Mrs. Greene demanded, standing abruptly. "Used some kind of mind control or–"

"Maman's not a telepath," Spade said, her voice shaking slightly but determined. "And neither am I. I can charge objects with kinetic energy, like my father. That's all."

"That's all?" Mr. Greene laughed harshly. "You mean you can make things explode? And we're supposed to be comfortable with you dating our son?"

"More comfortable than Remy is with his daughter dating someone whose parents think she's a monster," Remy said quietly, but there was steel beneath the silk of his voice.

"Mom, Dad, please," Alex pleaded. "Just give them a chance. Get to know them. Spade's family is amazing – they've been nothing but welcoming to me."

"Of course they have," Mrs. Greene snapped. "They're probably thrilled their daughter managed to snare a normal boy–"

The wine glass in Remy's hand shattered.

Everyone froze. Slowly, deliberately, Remy uncurled his fingers, letting the charged fragments fall harmlessly to the tablecloth.

"Remy suggests," he said softly, his accent thick with controlled anger, "that you think very carefully about your next words regarding his daughter."

"Are you threatening us?" Mr. Greene stood, reaching for his phone. "In our own home?"

"Non," Remy smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Remy's just making sure we understand each other. Because Remy's daughter? She's been crying herself to sleep worrying about making a good impression tonight. She pressed her best dress and practiced controlling her powers for hours because she wanted you to see her as a person first. But clearly," he gestured to the ruined tablecloth, "Remy wasted money on this nice jacket."

"I think," you said, standing and placing a calming hand on Remy's shoulder, "we should go."

"Wait!" Alex stood too. "I'm coming with you."

"Alex, sit down!" his mother ordered.

"No." He moved to stand beside Spade, who was fighting back tears. "I'm seventeen, I can make my own choices. And I choose not to stay here and listen to you insult the girl I love and her family."

The word 'love' hung in the air. Spade's eyes widened, and even Remy's anger faltered for a moment.

"If you walk out that door with them," Mr. Greene warned, "don't bother coming back tonight."

"Fine," Alex said, his voice steady despite his pale face. "I'll stay at Connor's. At least his parents judge people by who they are, not what they are."

You gathered your things in tense silence, Remy's hand protectively on Spade's shoulder. At the door, Mrs. Greene made one last attempt.

"Alex, please. We're just trying to protect you."

"From what?" he asked tiredly. "From Spade, who helps me with calculus and volunteers at the shelter with me? From her mom, who makes sure I eat properly when I'm studying late? From her dad, who's been teaching me to change my own oil so I don't get ripped off at mechanics?" He shook his head. "The only thing I need protection from is this kind of prejudice."

You and Remy shared a look as you walked out with the teens in front. You might have had your opinions at first but you definitely liked Alex now. 

[sxprot]

Can I request for Platonic Sprout with f toon reader that's his lil sis and also clingy af? Reader is all chaotic and likes pranking and messing with others especially Sprout and Cosmo!!! But ofc they're still siblings at the end of the day and will always have each other's backs <33

Divider cred: cafekitsune n chachachannah

Note: That's cute. I hope I portray the dynamic well. I'm sorry if I took that long, dear user. Also thanks everyone for all the likes I've gotten in almost a month, I appreciate it...!

Platonic-Sprout xf!reader

You're quite the troublemaker. Often seek the joy in causing problems and pranking others, especially your brother and his friend.

Cosmo doesn't mind it sometimes, he treated you as his little sister, gifting you cakes and cookies whenever you apologized for your actions.

Although the strawberry asked if you had upset Cosmo, he just shrugged. You never caused any harm to him, so it's alright.

Sprout wasn't keen on you putting random things on his head! Or spilling flour over his face! Gah, he hates the time when he tripped over his friend, your laughter echoes around the room at their suffering.

He often berates you when you accidentally hurt yourself. Seeing you getting hurt is his worst nightmare, any stain of bruises and wounds leave him in a state of panic. Later, when he's alone, Sprout mentally scolds himself about not being a good brother to you.

I think the way he shows his affection is spending time with you, doing activities that you're fond of. But sometimes, he would partake in those activities of yours to prank others that have been bothering you, bullying his little sister will lead to a big consequence to those idiots.

Other than that, he's pretty chill. If you want hug,,alright here's your big brother hugging you with his signature smile, a rather pleased type of smile etched on his face.

You were embarrassed with that, he knows. Mainly because of those troubles that you've caused around, doubts flooding your mind about Sprout hates you. But everything soon perishes when he comforts you, stroking your head.

"Stop thinking like that." He declares.

"You're my sister. And that's my job to look out and take care of you."

Sorry for the rushed ending D: GRRR I NEED TO HAVE MORE IDEAS