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seumyo · 7 months ago

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BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 5:48

Bakugou’s in his third year of high school when he finally invites you over to his house. The reason? To finish a calculus project.

You’d think that after surviving through the hardships of being a hero-in-training together for three years, saving each other’s lives (more often you were the one being saved than doing the saving, really), and whatnot, he would’ve invited you sooner to his home (one could dream).

But this was Bakugou, after all.

And he knew that something was off the moment he left you to share a conversation with his mom while he went to get his books from his room—the greatest mistake he could have ever done because by the time he’s making his way back, Bakugou could hear you snickering to yourself.

Not a good sign.

“I’m not going to lie; you looked hideous when you were a baby,” you say, reading through Bakugou’s baby album.

Bakugou froze. He had absolutely no idea why his mother would cave in and give you the godforsaken album from when he was young, but of course she would’ve agreed with your request to see it if you did so much as mention it.

He dropped the books he’d grabbed from on top of his desk on top of the living room table before whipping his attention towards you, an indignant scoff escaping through his nose before he took a few slow, but heavy stomps over to you—practically snatching the album from your grasp when he’s within reach.

“Stop looking through those stupid pictures.”

“Hey! I wasn’t finished,” you reply with a frown. “You’re lucky my phone’s battery just died, or else I would’ve taken a billion photos.”

Bakugou’s jaw clenched slightly as he grumbled curses under his breath, trying to flip through the album in his hands to make sure you hadn’t managed to sneak a photo out—a small sigh of relief rolling off of his tongue to find that, luckily, it was still how his parents had done it.

He shot a glare over towards you, stuffing the album back into its original spot on one of the bookshelves, his nose crinkling as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t care; tell anyone what you saw, and you’ll drop dead,” he tells you.

“Oh, but how could I not? That photo album’s like hitting the jackpot—so many super ultra rare photocards of you,” you gushed, blatantly disregarding his usual threat. “Come on, I wanna see the rest!”

“Absolutely not.”

Bakugou knew the damn photos were in the back of the album. There were probably a handful of the ones where he was in the bathtub, butt-naked—a common photo in most photo albums he’s seen, at least. Other photos include when he was three years old and wore an All Might onesie for his birthday, pictures of him during his school recital where he was the prince, him with a bald haircut, and so much more blackmail material.

It was humiliating, for goodness sake! And he knew you’d just tease him mercilessly if you saw it.

You’ll never let him live it down, so it’s best to deprive you of it.

“Don’t come at me for saying this, but I was the cutest baby in our village back then,” you told him proudly. “Had the roundest cheeks and brightest smile, trust.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, a huff of air forcing itself past his lips. That was one thing about you that he couldn’t stand; you were so full of yourself most of the time—you’d always been like that, and he absolutely loathed it. It could be that it reminds him of himself, so the competitive meter on his head just flares whenever he’s around you.

“I doubt you were even 1% of how adorable I was as a baby.”

“Have you seen me?” you gestured to your face with your hands to emphasize your facial features.

“I’m still as cute even now. And no offense, Bakugou,” you giggled, “you looked like a wrinkly raisin on your first few days on this Earth.”

Bakugou’s smirk dropped. He’d almost forgotten that you had seen the stupid pictures already.

“Shut the hell up. It wasn’t that bad.” He muttered quietly, his hands balling into frustrated fists. His parents always assured him that he was a cute kid when he was small—but to hear that YOU of all people, are in disagreement with that is just aggravating.

“Fine, fine. Quits it is,” you hum. “Let’s do that calculus project so I can get home before sunset.”

Bakugou grumbled something inaudible under his breath, reluctantly nodding his head in agreement. There was no point in arguing about something so idiotic—after all, both of you were there to get a project done, not to sit around and bicker about his past.

He took a few steps over to the living room table before plopping down on the polished floor ungracefully, yanking out his notes before he gestured his hand over towards the free space next to him.

“Sit down. Let’s just get this thing done and over with already.”

Bakugou had already started working silently by the time you sat down; his hand was writing almost furiously as he copied equations onto his paper. He kept his attention focused on his notes, trying to stay quiet as he focused completely on completing the project.

He eventually stopped writing for a moment, turning his gaze over to glance at what you were doing before clicking his tongue at the sight. Bakugou could already see a few mistakes you’d made with your work.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he says.

“Wait, I’ve barely turned on the calculator, jeez.” You shook your head, solving the equation through your calculator.

“And that’s how I know you’re doing it wrong.” Bakugou huffed, shaking his own head in disappointment.

“Formula first before adding 1.3.”

He pulled out a pen and began scribbling down on his own paper, glancing at yours every once in a while to compare the work. He knew from his experience that you were decent at math (he’d rather die than tell you that), but this was just pitiful even by your standards.

“Have you been dozing off during Ectoplasm’s class?”

“Ouch. Do you have a personal grudge against keeping the not-so-nice stuff from leaving your mouth?” you sigh. “You’re hurting my feelings— I’m devastated.”

He had a feeling you’d say something like that, and he was prepared to ignore your attempts at gaining sympathy from him.

“Unfortunately, you’ll fucking live,” Bakugou says, scribbling down the last of his work before turning it towards you. “And learn how to solve equations too, while you’re at it.”

“I know how to do it; calm down.” You huff, rewriting your solutions.

Bakugou raised a skeptical eyebrow, his head tilting with a hint of disbelief. Even if he knew you were capable of doing math, you had a bad habit of missing even the smallest details, like the operation to be used in your work, leading to the wrong answers.

His eyes scanned over the work you’d written on your paper before letting out a small huff. “Looks right. Are you done with your half?”

“Yep, yep. Are you going to write it down on our answer sheet, or should I do it?” you offered.

Bakugou glanced down at the answer sheet set to the side before picking it up and nodding. He was already holding a pen while you were still using a pencil, so it would make more sense for him to be the one to write it all down.

He began copying down the answers slowly and carefully, each number being written out with ease as his eyes flicked back and forth from the worksheet to the sheet of answers.

With him busy jotting down the answers, you occupied yourself with taking in the interior of his living room. It was beautiful, neat, and just screamed rich—not really what you expected (you really didn’t know what to expect, honestly). “Y’know,” you mention, glancing around. “You have a nice house.”

Bakugou hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining focused on his task. It kind of took him by surprise to hear you say something out of the blue—about his house, no less. He’d fully expected you to talk about something else, like school or that new show you’ve been begging him to watch.

It went against what Bakugou had originally thought, which led him to look over at you from the corner of his eye, silently raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a nice house,” he said casually, his pen continuing to move over the paper. His penmanship was neat, and Bakugou hears you in awe.

Bakugou continued to finish writing down the last of the answers, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noticed you looking around his house. It was obvious what was happening, but he decided to ignore it in favor of just getting the godforsaken project done.

He finished soon enough, his pen rolling back with a click before he leaned back a little and let out a small huff. “We’re done. Finally.”

“Nice, nice.” Glancing at your watch, you concluded, “I should get home.”

Bakugou was silent, rolling his shoulders and neck before glancing out of the nearby window. The sun had already begun to set over the sky, the day quickly slipping away into the night.

“Yeah, whatever. You need me to walk you home or something?” He asks gruffly.

“Nah, I’m good. I need to say goodbye to your parents, too.”

Bakugou watched as you packed up all of your belongings, a scoff rolling off of his tongue. It felt almost weird to be civil with each other, neither of you having taken jabs or making snarky remarks to taunt one another.

“Alright, fine,” he finally said, standing up from his seat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go find my parents then.”

He led you down the hall and into the kitchen area, his ears vaguely picking up the sounds of his mother and father talking amongst themselves about… something. He couldn’t tell what exactly, and frankly, he barely even cared.

“Mom, Dad.” He spoke up, capturing the attention of his parents.

Mitsuki looked over at him, a smile spreading across her face. Masaru looked in the same direction, a warm smile forming on his face as well.

“Thank you for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Bakugou,” you said in gratitude. “I’ll be going home now before it gets too late.”

His parents shared a hum in acknowledgment, with his mother being the one to speak up first. She had a knowing grin on her face as she clasped her hands together, her eyes flickering over to her son.

“You’re welcome. You should come over more often,” Mitsuki said enthusiastically, her voice taking on a slightly smug tone.

Masaru laughed as he nodded in agreement. He gave a knowing look to his wife before he looked back over at you. “You should join us for dinner; we already made enough for you to join us.”

“I’d love to, sir, but my folks are waiting for me at home,” you answered sheepishly.

Bakugou noticed the glance his parents exchanged and immediately knew what they were thinking. He almost grumbled in frustration, already knowing that they’d ask him about you later after you left.

His mother spoke up once again, her smug grin growing wider. “You’re always welcome here,” she repeated, her eyes flickering over to her son as her voice came out teasing. “After all, Katsuki’s always in a ‘better’ mood when you’re around.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, ma'am. I’m a joy to be around, after all,” you lightly joked, though you still maintained a respectful tone.

His parents were easier to get along with than you thought.

Bakugou’s eye twitched in annoyance at your words, almost making him want to quip back at your cocky behavior. However, it was the sound of his mother’s sudden laughter that stopped him from doing so.

Mitsuki mother put her hand up to her mouth briefly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she continued to chuckle. The expression on her face was elated, and it was pissing him off even more, knowing what’s to come.

“I like this one,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

Masaru added, “And clearly, so does Ka—“

“All right! They need to get going to catch the shitty train.”

By the time Bakugou accompanied you to the door, he had this obvious scowl on his face. “You’re never comin’ back here again, dipshit.”

“Wha— no fair! Why am I getting banned from the Bakugou residence when this is my first time here?” you replied.

“Shut up,” he grunts. “I could do whatever the hell I want because it’s my house, too.”

“Too bad I have your Mom’s number—“

“Delete that.”

“Hey— wai— no way!”

It was not the last time you were ever invited to the Bakugou residence.

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bigassmoth · 6 months ago

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yandere! elf x reader

Character belonging to @meo-eiru

(I hope I did him justice)

You are quite fed up with your stupid captor coddling you like a "mother" and then coaxing you to swallow his cum. While you have tried to correct his thinking, talking just didn't cut it. You had to take action now.

"Sit down." You speak to Silas as soon as he comes into the home, tone authoritative. He gives you a large smile, ears flushing- since when have you ever greeted him so cutely!? He happily chirps his assent and sets down a basket of various berries and herbs to sit with you on his couch.

"How are you? Are you hungry? Are you thirsty-"

"Do you remember what I have told you about mothers?" You interrupt him and take a sip from your mug, which contains a latte thankfully absent of his cum.

Silas claps and then finally picking up on your tone, decides to lower his hands and voice to sound serious. "Yes! You said mothers care for their children so they grow into adults and then let them go to support them from afar. And you said that mothers don't....uhm..." It was a genuine mental block, Silas didn't like or understand what you told him about his un-motherly behavior so he forgot it entirely.

As you silently scrutinize him, Silas begins to tear up. "I-I'm sorry I forgot-- I was listening I promise but I just can't- it's so hard." He blubbers and then wails, tears spilling over his cheeks. Months ago you would have thought it was over-dramatic acting trying to gain your sympathy. Ah, such a sweet thought. But no, this elf couldn't help but cry over the idea of disappointing you- or worse, not giving you his full undivided attention.

"That's ok, Silas." His waterworks stop when you softly use his name, a rare treat. "I know, it's complicated for you. So we are going to try something different today, I am going to show you everything that a mother cannot do." You set down your mug.

"Ok! Please show me!" He readily agrees, fired up despite his cheeks still being wet.

"Show you, what mothers never do." You emphasize and crawl into his lap, gently pushing him down on his couch.

He tilts his head in confusion, "Mothers don't do this?"

"They do not." You assert and press your lips to his. You start off the kiss with searing heat, all tongue and teeth. You slurp his own tongue into your mouth and nibble it- he squeaks and jerks but your hands hold his face still. Through the thin gossamer fabric of his clothes you feel his cock begin to harden. Quick to seize the opportunity, you grind down harshly on him, using the rough material of your own pants and the rolling of your hips to push his dick down as it struggles to stand.

Silas is beside himself, his hands have naturally come to rest on your hips and cannot decide if they should push or pull you. His hips have a mind of their own, bouncing up against you as you cruelly keep his now fully-hard member between his thighs. He is seeking friction and relief now, different from the controlled release of his 'feedings'. The noises that come from his mouth are high in pitch and frequent, he slips out 'please's in between your bites. Only after you are satisfied he will remain under you do you pull your mouth away from his.

"Who can do this to someone else, Silas?" You demand coolly. He squirms under you and your hips still. Coming down from the feelings of surprise, Silas thinks hard about his answer.

"M....Mothers?" His hesitant answer is progress.

You briefly lift your hips just so his cock can raise against the back of your ass and then you sit back down- hard. Silas throws his head back and yelps, his thighs trembling.

"No." Comes your rigid response. Silas is crying and squirming, likely without realizing he is doing so. He doesn't give you a response, only moans and sniffles. You grip his face until he looks at you.

"Silas, this is what a lover would do." You lift and roll your hips so his dick can finally stand up, and you place yourself behind it so it sits between your crotch and his stomach. You grind on him without build-up, setting a rough and hard pace. To keep your balance you place your hands on his chest and pinch his nipples hard enough you know it hurts.

He is practically possessed under you, letting out the deepest sounds you had heard from him as they become unlocked from his chest. He fully grinds his hips against yours, holds your ass tightly. Typically he touches himself lightly, as if unsure why he is doing it. The wetness he feels from between your legs, restricted by your clothing. The warmth, angry painful warmth, from his cockhead against his own stomach and the trail of thick cum that has begun sliding down his stomach from all of his bucking. Dimly, Slias is aware of how small you are compared to him, not small like a child anymore. Small in a different way, still exciting but new. Would his throbbing piece fit inside of you? Would you even let him? Small as you are, clearly you are an experienced and controlled adult. For the first time since he found you, you finally hold power over him. Now he wants to relinquish all of his power, trust it in the hands of someone who can make him feel so good, so used, so...in the back of his mind Silas remembers a term he read in human erotica, "sexy".

"Lovers milk cocks, lovers pin each other down, lovers touch these parts. Only lovers, no one else is allowed." He wonders how he could have ever thought your voice was innocent. Just hearing you made his ears tickle and his balls tighten. Would you say his name in that husky tone? Would you say his name the way he is chanting yours, mouth thick with drool and tongue too abused to enunciate?

He is choking under you, at this point you can't tell if he is processing your words or not. Finally without warning he snaps, his orgasm zaps through him with a ruthlessness that he hasn't experienced before. His cum coats your pants and his stomach, his cock twitches under you. He moans softly, erotically, as he comes down from his high. On your ass his fingers are twitching, weak from the strongest orgasm of his life but desperate to continue holding you. You pull away anyway, deciding that your work is done. You could now change into clean clothes and hopefully be done with this strange misguided pseudo-incest coming from the biggest bimbo of his species. No more waking up to hear "A good mother always feeds her children!" and receiving a cumshot to the face. You briefly clean the cum off of your own skin and slip into decidedly more comfortable clothes, finding Silas where you left him.

You are tempted to leave him on the couch, shuddering in his afterglow. But your sympathy wins out, you quickly clean him off with a rag (and ignore the way he starts loudly moaning as you touch him), throw a blanket onto him, and place a cup of water by his head.

"Rest for a bit. Once you can walk, clean yourself up. I'm going to make dinner." You turn to go to the kitchen but Silas catches your wrist.

Patiently, you look at him and wait for him to speak. But nothing comes out, the elf stares at his hand holding onto you, mesmerized by your fragility. Something so dainty he could easily break it- this used to terrify him. But now he can only think of ways to restrain you, or to be touched by you.

"Ok, let go. We need food." You sigh and pull your hand back but his grip tightens.

"I am not your mother."

Your face lights up, thank god! He caught on way faster than you thought he would! You should have done this ages ago! Of course some backwards pervert elf would respond to backwards pervert reasoning.

"Yes! Perfect!" In your excitement you are patting his massive shoulder and grinning, "You got it. I am an adult, not a child. You are not my mother, and I don't need a mother. So no more feedings-"

With a speed you didn't know he had, Silas pulled you against his chest. You groan with frustration.

"Fuck! Not this again! I'm not going to suck your tits, your mammary glands don't produce milk if not pregnant-"

"Lovers..." He rasps against your ear. You still as one of his hands, suddenly so intimidatingly large, slides down your back and pushes itself into your pants. His fingers glide between your asscheeks and curiously rub at your hole. You are flinching from the contact, his arms iron cages. He raises his legs and puts them between your own, then spreads them so your hole is forcibly exposed for his fingering.

"No- this isn't what I meant. We aren't lovers, lovers are- it's different. It requires a mutual component of emotional intimacy and chemical responses from environmental circumstances-" He presses a kiss to your ear and then wiggles his tongue inside. You writhe against him until he withdraws.

"Hmm~ I don't get it." He cheerily says and his fingers begin thrusting into you. "But I am not a mother, I understand now. I'm sorry for making so many mistakes." Your clean pants are becoming drenched in your own slick. "We will only do lover things from now on. Milking, Pinning, Touching. Both of us." He whispers sappily into your ear, positively lovestruck. You are still as cute as ever, protesting against the things that make your body feel good. He understands now that you are used to giving, which is why you gave him so much pleasure. He will have to be more assertive a lover for you, to make sure that your body is milked, pinned, and touched.

#yandere elf #yandere smut

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chalkscene · 1 year ago

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tokyo revengers ⇢ YOU’RE TOO DRUNK TO RECOGNIZE YOUR BOYFRIEND

ft. manjiro “mikey” sano, ken “draken” ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani & shuji hanma

warnings: alcohol and a very hammered reader. the boys are more responsible than you <3

this is one of the rare occurrences wherein MIKEY actually shares his food. when you’ve finally given up on fighting him for the last bottle of alcohol, you start whining about your sudden hunger so he slides his plate of nachos over to you. he watches you eye it for a second before you drag your gaze up to him. “i have a boyfriend you know?” you tell him, your attempt to be menacing coming out pathetically as the attitude dripping from your tone is dampened by your slurred speech. mikey doesn’t need the club to be well lit. the strobe lights already illuminate your face enough for him to get a clear view of your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. “i know,” he confirms with a tinge of exasperation, “because it’s me. mikey. your boyfriend.” he emphasizes his last words, his last effort to knock some sense into you but you only let out a cackle which catches him off guard. “nice try but mikey never shares his food.”

“that’s enough.” DRAKEN snatches the last of your many drinks for the night before you can gulp it down. being the perceptive boyfriend he is, he can already hear the complaint that’s about to slip from your tongue so he’s quick to pull you by the wrist, up from your seat and out the door. “where are you taking me?” you ask as clearly as your drunken state can let you—not so much but enough for your boyfriend to understand. “home.” at his curt reply, you yank your hand from his grip with a strength that startles even toman’s former vice president. “what the hell are you doing?” draken hisses lest you make a scene in public. “i’m calling my boyfriend,” you warn him, “bet he can kick your ass.” “yeah? i’d like to see him try.” he dismisses your empty threat, reaching for you once more to guide you to the exit but upon hearing a few whispers from prying strangers who are clearly getting the wrong idea, he stops in his tracks and turns to no one in particular, no longer caring about whatever commotion he may cause as his voice booms over the loud music: “i’m the boyfriend!”

“let me go!” you relentlessly thrash around, yelling out threats of calling your boyfriend, while BAJI—the boyfriend in question—pulls you into an empty alleyway to avoid any possible public humiliation for the both of you. “fuck,” he huffs out a breath, “when did you get this strong?” some time in the night, he’s tuned you out telling him off, on a sole mission to stop you from drinking more than you already have. and he’s relieved he managed to get you out of the bar—that is until he hears a weird noise coming from you. “wh-” baji doesn’t get the chance to utter a single word as you begin to throw up. in a panic, he hastily puts your hair up with his spare tie before rubbing soothing circles on your back. your hair looks real messy, he notes, but that’s the least of his worries. “you feeling better?” he checks on you after a while, only to be met by more retching, making him grumble to himself, “and i get an earful when i drink too much.”

MITSUYA is helping you get on your feet—sweet boyfriend he is—but as soon as you find your footing, you give him a hefty shove. “i have a boyfriend, jackass!” you seethe, too drunk to recognize him, and all he can do is sigh as he regains his balance. “yes. me.” something clicks in your brain at his response and you squint your eyes to get a better look at him. “takashi?” “hi, love.” and just like that, you perk up, your mouth stretching into a wide grin. “taka,” you squeal, excitement coursing through your veins when you recognize your boyfriend, “hiiiii~” he laughs at the shift in your tone and takes the opportunity to slide an arm around your waist once more. “let’s get you home okay?” “mhm.” you wrap your arms around him and he lifts you with ease. mitsuya assumes you’re fast asleep until a few minutes later, you mumble something against his skin, “someone tried to flirt with me but i said no.” a chuckle bubbles past his lips as he adjusts his hold on you. “really?” “mhm,” you nod into his neck as you snuggle closer, “i only love you.” “i love you more.” “love you most,” you reply before soft snores fall from your lips and your breathing evens out.

you’re rambling about RINDOU to rindou himself, going on and on about the reasons that made you fall in love with him. and while you’re occasionally interrupted by your hiccups, he patiently listens to your every word then he hears a “but.” the ways you describe him next are less flattering, less romantic—how he tries so hard to act indifferent to your cooing as if the tips of his ears don’t instantly turn red. or how he has a permanent scowl etched on his face. and other things you already tell him even when you’re sober. “he’s really lucky he doesn’t have any wrinkles yet,” you add with a giggle. “you’re really annoying when you’re drunk, you know that?” rindou deadpans. despite the lack of lighting in the club, he doesn’t miss the shock washing over you, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “what?” your voice comes out shaky and your bottom lip starts to wobble, making rindou release another groan. “for fuck’s sake.”

in spite of your insistence to stay at the club, RAN easily managed to drag you to his car. this isn’t his first rodeo. as an older brother, he has had to deal with rindou when he was blackout drunk. “where are we going?” you mumble as you begin to stir in the passenger seat. “home.” “i wanna see ran.” your boyfriend throws you a quick glance—your eyes remain closed and the rest of your words are incomprehensible—before he focuses back on the road. amused by your drunken state, he plays along. “alright, we’re going to ran.” the stretch of silence that follows is cut short when you speak again, “i’m thirsty.” so ran makes a quick stop at a convenience store, coming back shortly with a bottle in hand. he unscrews the cap before he gives you the drink, “careful.” you take a big gulp, instantly grimacing at the taste and it elicits a snort from your boyfriend. “what is this?” “water.”

“want more,” you slur. across from you, HANMA watches as you clumsily reach for the empty shot glasses on the table, flipping them upside down as if more alcohol will magically appear. he’s not going to lie—he finds it funny. entertaining, even. and if the circumstances were any different, he would’ve even encouraged this behavior. but he’s your boyfriend now and if there’s one thing he truly cares about, it’s you. drunk out of your wits, you don’t notice when hanma slides out of the booth until he’s soon presenting two more glasses to you. even though the contents are the same, he asks you to choose, “which one?” “hmm… that.” before you can get your hands on your drink, hanma intercepts and downs it in one go. you’re about to protest when he throws you over his shoulder and chugs the other drink out of your sight before heading for the exit. “let’s go.”

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hoe4hotchner · 1 month ago

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the team meeting aaron's lawyer!wife who's personality is similar to his + she's the best in her field

Langston & Bell | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer wife!reader | WC: 1.2k | CW: Not really anything except for a little law jargon and mentions of a case the BAU is working on.

A/N: My brain hurts from looking up law terminology, and I'm not even sure if I used all the words correctly

The glass doors of Langston & Bell opened as Hotch led the rest of his team inside. The air felt heavy—as they entered—from the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a faint lemony aroma.

The firm itself was one of the most prestigious ones in all of Virginia, and its reputation suited it. Everything about the space was designed to impress—shining marble floors in the lobby, towering bookshelves filled with thick leather-bound volumes of law books and journals, and abstract art that screamed of a space aimed to do business with rich and pretentious people.

Emily glanced around, clearly trying to process how they’d ended up here. “Langston & Bell?” she muttered under her breath. “Isn’t this place out of our league?”

“They’re not dealing with criminal justice,” Spencer pointed out. “They specialize in corporate litigation and high-profile estate law. The firm is known for taking on cases that require absolute discretion.” Emily tried her best not to roll her eyes at Spencer's outburst of knowledge but failed.

Hotch didn’t respond, he kept his pace steady as he approached the front desk. His usual stone-faced demeanor was on full display, his features—although set not completely in a frown—were unreadable. He seemed unbothered by the hushed stares they received from the staff as they had entered with their badges held out in front of them.

The receptionist, a young woman with a straight posture and a sharp smile, greeted them. “Good afternoon. How may I assist you?”

Hotch stepped forward, his voice even. “We’re with the FBI. We’re looking for the attorney who handled the probate case for Samuel Larkin.”

The receptionist’s fingers danced quickly over her keyboard, her expression unchanged. “That would be Attorney Hotchner.”

Dead silence.

Emily blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say Hotchner?”

“Yes,” the receptionist replied, unfazed, almost on the brink of annoyance. “Would you like me to see if she’s available?”

“She,” Morgan echoed, his brows furrowing a little as his gaze flipped from the receptionist to Hotch.

Before anyone could recover from their shock, the sound of sharp heal clicks echoed through the lobby.

“Aaron,” came a clear voice from behind. “If this is your idea of surprising me, I’ll admit it’s more creative than flowers. But I have a deposition in thirty minutes.”

The team turned as one, their collective gazes landing on the woman who had just entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored navy suit that emphasized your poised demeanor. Your expression was both curious and faintly amused as your eyes locked on Hotch.

“Counselor,” he greeted smoothly, his tone carrying a subtle warmth that the team rarely heard.

“Counselor?” Rossi asked, a slow grin forming as his gaze flicked between you and Hotch.

Your lips quirked up in a small smile as you approached, your heels clicking against the marble with each step. “I assume this is your team?”

“It is,” Hotch confirmed.

You turned your attention to the group, giving them a brief once-over with an expression that wasn’t unkind but clearly measured. “Well, where are my manners? I’m Y/N Hotchner, senior litigation partner here at Langston & Bell. And yes, I can see the wheels turning in all your heads.”

Morgan crossed his arms, already grinning. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of questions right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Feel free to ask them, Agent Morgan. I’ve been cross-examined by some of the sharpest minds in the country—I’m sure I can handle you.”

JJ stepped forward, clearly trying to keep her surprise in check. “Wait, you’re married?”

You tilted your head toward Hotch, your expression softening just a fraction. “You didn’t tell them?”

“It never came up,” Hotch replied with a shrug, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you.

You shook your head, exhaling a soft laugh. “Aaron’s great at compartmentalizing, isn’t he? Well, to officially answer your question—yes, I’m his wife. And judging by your expressions, this is news to you.”

“Big news,” Emily muttered, still processing.

Hotch cleared his throat, subtly redirecting the conversation. “We need access to the probate records for Samuel Larkin. Anything that might help us build our case.”

Your demeanor shifted instantly, professionalism overtaking the playful edge. “Aaron, you know I can’t just hand over client information without a court order.”

“We’re only asking for publicly available records,” he clarified.

You studied him for a moment, a silent exchange passing between you. Then you turned to your assistant, who stood nearby. “Jane, pull the Larkin docket and bring me all publicly filed documents. Annotate them if you have time, and leave them on my desk before your shift ends.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane replied, already moving toward the elevator.

“You always find a way around the rules,” Hotch said, his voice was low but carrying a note of fondness.

“And you love that about me,” you shot back with a wink, your eyes glinting with mischief.

Morgan leaned closer to Emily, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—the fact that he’s married, the fact that she's a lawyer, or the fact that she might be scarier than him.”

Although Jane hadn't gone through the records yet, she sent you a digital copy as soon as she had found them. You walked the team through them with ease. Every legal term you used was calculated, giving away as little about your client as you could, while still helping your husband and his team. You made sure to translate every dense legal jargon into actionable insights every time you saw one of their faces pull an expression.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a transaction on the financial statement. “These wire transfers are from an offshore account linked to Larkin. It’s not evidence of criminal activity, but it raises enough red flags to warrant further investigation.” If Larkin found out you had helped the feds, you could be in big trouble, you thought as you revealed the account.

Spencer leaned in, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “If we trace the accounts, we might uncover a connection to our unsub.”

“Precisely,” you replied, offering him a small nod of approval.

By the time the team wrapped up, they had everything they needed to move forward. As they gathered their materials, you leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms as you looked at Hotch.

“Dinner at seven?” you asked, your voice softer, the edge of professionalism giving way to something more personal.

“Seven,” he confirmed, his tone lighter than usual.

You smiled, leaning in just enough to lower your voice. “Try not to scare anyone off before then, okay?”

“No promises,” he replied, his lips twitching upward in the faintest of smiles.

As the team exited the building, Morgan shook his head in disbelief. “She is definitely scarier than Hotch”

Emily grinned. “I think I like her better.”

“I like her too,” Rossi added with a chuckle.

Hotch walked ahead, the faint smile still playing on his lips, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The team had seen enough to know he’d married his perfect match—an equal who could still challenge him enough to keep him on his toes.

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ddejavvu · 4 months ago

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Helloo!! Sooo I have a picture of mgg as my lock screen but his face isn’t in the picture and I was wonderinggg if you could write about the girls at the bau seeing your background of your phone and it’s some guy but they don’t know it’s spencer and they ask all these questions about this mysterious secret boyfriend you have and asking to meet him and r is just like maybeeee idk knowing that they have in fact met him and maybe spencer is near by and hearing all this and is just all shy and flustered. If you do write this THANK YOUUU you’re writing it phenomenal, one of a kind, it’s so good!!! <333

"Woah, hubba hubba," JJ's eyes bug out at your phone screen, and Emily, forever on JJ's wavelength, snatches it out of your hands before you can properly dim the screen.

"Who is that?" Emily asks everyone's burning question, and one of Penelope's hands squeezes yours, with nails, to emphasize her urgency.

Your lock screen is a picture of Spencer's bare chest clad only in a blazer, the front open in a lewd V that showcases the dark pink kiss marks you'd spread across the smattering of wiry curls he's grown. It's not something you'd meant to flash your coworkers with, and Spencer chokes on his water while Derek hoots and hollers at it.

"There are some things that should be kept private," Rossi drawls, eyes wide and haunted as he stands, "I'm going to get Aaron and myself another refill, just in case any worse pictures get shown around the table."

Hotch laughs at the older man, amusement lining his features handsomely as the group continues to tease you.

"So, when are you bringing this guy around? Not that we'd recognize him anyways, unless he showed up shirtless with lipstick all over him."

"Derek, you-" You barely stop yourself from saying, 'you have met him', instead swerving into an easy insult, "You're the last person I want to introduce him to. You'll never let us live this down."

"None of us will." Prentiss promises, her grin wolfish, "You'll be lucky if Garcia doesn't manage to track him down using nipple-recognition software."

Your technical analyst cackles into her drink, and Spencer makes a hasty getaway.

"I need the bathroom," He paws with burning cheeks at Derek's leg, ushering the man out of his way so that he can speed-walk to the bathroom. You watch him go, hearing Hotch let out a rare laugh at his urgency.

"Poor Spence," JJ croons, "Did you see how red his face was?"

"That kid's almost thirty and I bet he can't even say the word 'sex' without blushing." Derek scoffs.

"He can't. I've seen it." Garcia confirms, "It's pathetic."

"Pathetic," You snort, but what your team hears as agreement, you mean as contradiction. Spencer was nothing close to pathetic that night- sweet and tender, yes, but pathetic, no. He'd cupped your face while you'd spread a smattering of sticky kisses across his chest, and he'd stared into your eyes when you'd taken the picture, a smile on his face even though he'd known his grin wouldn't be in frame.

"Well get all of it out now," Hotch advises, a teasing tone in his voice, "Spencer won't come back if we're still talking about it."

"I'm happy for you." Dave states, setting his and Aaron's drinks down, "But so help me, Y/N, if I ever see your boyfriend's naked torso again, I'll kill myself."

You refrain from telling Rossi he had just seen your boyfriend's bare torso, last week when Spencer had needed to be stripped of his cold, wet clothes, and thrust into a heated blanket for warmth. No one had batted an eye at his brief nudity, and neither had you, because you'd memorized every inch of his skin. You didn't need to ogle him; you could recall his body from memory.

"I'll keep that in mind." You nod at Rossi sagely, "Just don't go through the rest of my camera roll." You see Spencer exit the bathroom, peering cautiously at your table to see if he can predict the conversation before returning, "Or you'll find a lot worse than his chest."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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promptedwordsmith · 10 days ago

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LADS guys in the morning

Caleb

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. It was early, the kind of early that still felt like the night had only just let go of its hold. You stirred in the bed, the familiar warmth of Caleb's presence gone, but it wasn’t the absence of him that made you blink awake—it was the little things he always left behind.

The scent of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint smell of something sweet. Caleb’s careful hand had already prepared breakfast—your favorite pancakes, golden and soft, stacked high on the table with syrup and fresh fruit. The toast was perfectly browned, just the way you liked it. A glass of orange juice stood beside the plate, and a small note was tucked under the edge of your mug.

“Eat up. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you deserve to start it right. I’ll be back soon. – C”

You smiled, feeling a soft warmth spread through you. Caleb had a way of making you feel loved, even when he wasn’t there. It was in the little gestures—the things he did when you weren’t looking. The things that told you more than words could.

He’d also laid out your clothes from the night before—your favorite sweater, jeans, and boots—neatly folded on the chair beside the dresser. It was the kind of thoughtful detail that had become second nature to him. Even when he wasn’t physically present, he made sure your world was as comfortable as possible.

Today, though, was different. Today, Caleb had the rare gift of a day off. It wasn’t often, especially with his responsibilities as a Colonel, but when he did manage to carve out time for himself, he always spent it with you. You didn’t rush to get up this time. Instead, you lingered under the covers, wrapping yourself in the softness of the sheets as you listened to the quiet of the house.

You could hear the subtle sound of him stirring just before you opened your eyes. He was always the first to wake, even when he had nothing pressing to attend to. As you slowly turned toward him, you found Caleb already looking at you, his deep purple eyes soft and tender, a gentle smile curving his lips.

Without a word, he pulled you into his chest, his warmth surrounding you like a protective cocoon. His fingers brushed through your hair, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. In his arms, there was nothing but peace—no Colonel, no responsibilities, just Caleb, quietly loving you in the stillness of the morning.

Rafayel

Mornings with Rafayel were something else entirely. The room would be painted soft golds and pinks from the sky outside, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke you. It was the quiet rustling of paper, the scratch of a pencil on canvas.

Most mornings, Rafayel was already awake before you, his long, lean form sat up against the headboard, his back slightly arched as he studied you. There was something so serene about the way he observed you while you slept, his purple eyes filled with quiet fascination. His pencil would move swiftly, capturing the curve of your lips, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes as you dreamed.

Sometimes, he’d exaggerate the softness of your expression, emphasizing the way your mouth hung open just the slightest bit, or the way your hair curled around your face. Other times, he’d capture the stillness, the peacefulness of you in your slumber. Each sketch was a reflection of how deeply he saw you, how much he cherished those fleeting, quiet moments when you were unaware of his gaze.

You never seemed to mind when you woke to find his sketchbook open beside him, his focused eyes glimmering with excitement as he waited for you to stir. Sometimes, when you finally blinked awake, he’d stop mid-pencil stroke and reach out for you, pulling you into the warmth of his arms. You’d feel his warmth as he buried his face in your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, as if the morning was simply an extension of his affection.

“Good morning, my muse,” he’d murmur with a lazy smile, his voice thick with sleep. His hands would cradle your face gently, before guiding you to look at what he’d drawn. His eyes were bright with that gleam of expectation, the same one he wore when he’d created something he was proud of.

“Do you like it?” he’d ask eagerly, always seeking your praise. He was always so excited, like a child showing off a new treasure.

You’d smile, tracing the sketch of your sleeping self. “It’s beautiful, Rafayel,” you’d say, meaning it with all your heart.

He’d grin, a little smug but undeniably pleased. “I always capture the best parts of you,” he’d reply, his voice soft but full of pride.

And then, without fail, he’d pull you back into his arms, content to simply hold you there. His mornings were filled with soft gestures, a quiet intimacy, and an overwhelming love that he could never quite put into words—but his sketches said it all.

Sylus

Sylus would, of course, be the kind of man who is already awake by the time you stir, his movements as precise and controlled as everything else in his life. He rises before the sun, not because he must, but because the silence of the early hours gives him the space he craves to think, to plan, and to stay one step ahead. His study, as usual, is a place of order, with books stacked neatly, papers spread out in meticulous arrangements, and the dim glow of a single desk lamp casting a warm light over the room.

Mephisto, ever loyal and ever watchful, is stationed by the door, alert for any shift in your slumber. As soon as you stir, the smallest of movements, Mephisto’s sharp eyes are on you, and in an instant, Sylus is informed. There's no urgency in his steps as he moves toward you, only a quiet confidence as if he’s already planned this out in his mind.

When he finds you awake, bleary-eyed and still wrapped in the soft warmth of sleep, he’s already there—waiting, his hands gentle as they guide you back to a state of comfort. He bundles you in a blanket with a tenderness that few would expect from someone like him, his touch both soft and commanding as he settles you in his lap.

"Rest," he murmurs, his voice low, smooth—too soft for anyone else to hear but just right for you. "You’ve been working hard enough already." He adjusts the blanket around you, pulling it tight so that you can feel nothing but the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath.

Though he's clearly busy with his work, papers and books spread across the desk in front of him, there’s a quiet attentiveness to his actions. He’s accustomed to juggling multiple tasks at once, but now, with you in his lap, the world feels a bit more still.

“Such a lazy morning,” he teases, his fingers brushing the hair from your face. His eyes glint with mischief as he watches you try to fight the sleepiness tugging at your mind. “I should be the one napping, don’t you think?”

Every now and then, he’ll steal a glance down at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as he listens to you breathe, the warmth of his hand gently stroking your arm or tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he continues with a wry smile, voice still a teasing whisper, “if you insist on being so adorable, I’ll have to keep you here all day. It would be a shame to let you go back to the world just yet.”

Even in moments like this, when he’s clearly enjoying the quiet of the morning, there’s an air of command in his voice—playful, but still deeply controlling, as though everything, even this, is part of his careful design. The contrast of his calm authority and the tenderness with which he holds you makes it clear that he’s in no hurry to let this peaceful moment end.

Xavier

The early morning light barely creeps from the windows, soft and cool, just enough to cast a faint glow over the room where Xavier stirs beneath the covers. Silver hair tousled, his blue eyes squinting against the early light, Xavier slowly wakes, blinking like he’s not sure if the world around him is real or if he's still trapped in the fog of a dream. His tall frame is partially buried beneath the sheets, and for a moment, he seems so much younger, more vulnerable than he usually does in his usual, mysterious Lightseeker uniform.

You smile to yourself, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you quietly slip out of bed. The bed is warm from the shared comfort of the night, and for a second, you pause to glance at him. His usual calm demeanor is almost absent this morning—he’s just a groggy, sleepy version of the man you know, the one who would casually step into a battle against Wanderers and come out without a scratch. Yet here, in your space, he seems so much more human.

Xavier's eyes follow you as you get up, still too tired to make a move but enough to watch you. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep, like the words are coming from somewhere deep inside, half-asleep and disoriented.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you tease lightly, but he doesn’t even attempt to push himself up. Instead, he just watches you, his gaze soft but filled with that ever-present curiosity, that hunger for knowledge—the kind that always makes him so intent on understanding you, even in the quietest of moments.

Despite the fact that he’s clearly still too tired to function properly, Xavier pulls himself up when you do, following you with an almost submissive air, like he's too comfortable to not move with you. It’s such a gentle, rare thing to witness in him, the man who always carries a burden heavier than most can even fathom. His silver hair, tousled and messy from sleep, contrasts with the light, soft fabric of his white sweater, giving him an almost ethereal, boyish charm in these quiet mornings.

You head to the kitchen, and without missing a beat, he lumbers after you, his long limbs sluggishly following your movements. His big armored gloves are nowhere to be seen, of course—he’s not in his Lightseeker uniform—but there's something about the absence of his usual intensity that makes him even more approachable.

He watches with barely contained interest as you move around, setting the coffee to brew and preparing some pancakes. He leans against the doorway, eyes still half-closed. “I’ll cook,” he says lazily, but you can tell by the way his voice drifts off that he’s not awake enough to do much of anything.

“Mm, no, Xavier,” you say with a laugh, nudging him back. “You’re way too sleepy. Go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.”

He gives a half-hearted sigh and turns toward the bathroom, shuffling with slow, uncertain steps. He moves like a person still tangled in his own dreams, like the weight of the world has yet to catch up with him this morning.

The sound of the shower runs as you prepare the pancakes, the soft scent of cinnamon drifting through the air. It’s simple, but in these moments, you both share something more than words could express—a rare quiet that only deepens the connection between you.

When he returns, freshly showered and looking like he’s been reborn, he crosses the room with that natural, quiet grace of his, now wide awake and looking as close to perfect as he ever does. There’s an elegance to the way he moves, even in something as mundane as getting ready for work, a hint of old-world nobility that you find hard to ignore.

The pancakes are ready, steaming and golden brown, and you hand him a plate. His blue eyes meet yours, still warm and soft but hinting at something more. “Thank you.”

You just smile, nudging him gently. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get ready for the day.”

You both slip into the rhythm of preparing for work—two different lives interwoven in a moment of quiet normalcy. The contrast between Xavier’s world of danger and the soft simplicity of your mornings together always catches you off guard, but somehow, you’re learning to treasure it.

And as you move through the motions of the day, whether it’s grabbing coffee or quickly packing your bag for work, you’re already looking forward to the next moment you’ll get to share with him—however simple or mundane it may be. It’s those quiet, everyday moments that make you feel like, despite everything, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

Zayne

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Zayne’s alarm had gone off—right on time, as it always did—but he stirred only slightly, his brow furrowing slightly before he reluctantly pulled himself awake. He was a light sleeper, and mornings were often a quiet struggle for him, though he tried his best not to show it. He reached over and turned off the alarm, the small action marking the start of his daily routine.

Though you were still wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, you could hear the quiet rustling of his movements, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. Zayne, ever the early riser, always took his time in the mornings, careful and deliberate in the rituals he’d perfected over the years.

By the time you finally rolled out of bed, still half-dreaming, you found him in the kitchen. The faint scent of jasmine filled the air as he brewed the tea, its delicate fragrance wafting through the room and wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. He turned as you entered, offering a small, but knowing smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice clearer after drinking some of the tea. He handed you the steaming cup of tea, his eyes warm but steady. “Doctor’s orders,” he said with a teasing glint, knowing full well that his gentle insistence was more of a care than a command.

You took the cup, savoring the warmth as you sat down at the kitchen table. Zayne began to move with quiet purpose, grabbing his things from one room to the next. The soft sound of his footsteps was familiar, grounding. First his jacket from the hallway, then his watch from the bedroom, and finally his stethoscope from the counter.

As you brushed your teeth together, the sound of the water running and the occasional soft hum of conversation filled the space between you. His words were thoughtful and calm as always, asking how you slept, commenting on the weather, or offering little pieces of advice about your day. His routines were steady, predictable, and somehow comforting.

Eventually, he stood by the door, ready to go. His eyes softened as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as he turned to leave. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the front door closed behind him, you made your way back to bed, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air—a reminder of the soft start to your morning, and the quiet love that filled it.

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 5 days ago

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.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ 𝑶𝑯 𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫, 𝑴𝒀 𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 !!

. . . or how they react when you call them your husband.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: hey guys!!! kind of a new format here, i hope you like this <33 no warnings, just pure fluff and some mild suggestiveness. enjoy!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ nanami kento;

it’s a quiet evening, one of those rare nights where the world slows down just enough for you and nanami to breathe. he’s sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping on his coffee, his glasses low on his nose as he reads through some paperwork. the soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light across his features, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“hey, husband,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think about them.

nanami’s hand stills mid-sip. his eyes flick up to meet yours, the surprise clear in his gaze before his expression softens. the corner of his mouth tugs up ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make your heart skip.

“what did you just call me?” he asks, voice lower than usual, and you can see the shift in him—the way his shoulders relax, like the simple word has settled something deep inside him.

“husband,” you repeat, grinning a little at the effect it’s clearly having on him. “you know, because you’re mine.”

nanami places his mug down with a little more force than necessary, his gaze locked on you now, and for a moment, you think he might say something—something serious, maybe—but then he just shakes his head with a small, amused sigh.

“you’re lucky you’re so cute,” he mutters, standing up and walking toward you. his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel his breath against your forehead as he leans down.

“because i’m not sure i’m going to survive being called that,” he whispers, his voice a little strained.

you laugh softly, your arms wrapping around his neck, and nanami presses his lips to the top of your head, lingering there for a moment.

“my husband,” you say again, just for the thrill of seeing the way he melts every time.

this time, when he pulls back, his smile is full-blown, and you can practically see the little spark in his eyes. “don’t do that to me, or we won’t make it to the couch.”

you laugh, tugging him closer, because you know exactly what you’re doing—and honestly, he isn’t worried about it at all.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ gojo satoru;

it’s a lazy afternoon, the kind that stretches on forever with no real plans except being near each other. gojo is lounging on the couch, wearing his usual smirk as he scrolls through his phone, while you’re curled up beside him, reading a book. the soft hum of the room and his occasional teasing glances are enough to make you feel like you’re in your own little bubble.

you’re halfway through a page when you glance at him, the words slipping out before you even realize what you’re saying.

“hey, husband,” you murmur casually, not expecting any reaction.

gojo freezes. his finger stops scrolling, and for the first time in a while, he looks at you with a completely genuine expression—no teasing, no smirks, just raw surprise in his eyes.

“what did you just call me?” he asks, his voice low, almost too calm, and you can see the hint of something dangerous flicker in his gaze.

you look up from your book, blinking innocently. “husband,” you say again, this time a little slower, emphasizing the word as you let it hang in the air. “because you are, don’t you know that?”

you watch as gojo’s lips part slightly, like he’s trying to process the word and what it means coming from you. his usual smugness is gone, replaced by something softer, a bit shaken, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“you just…” he starts, but his words trail off as he stares at you, his expression too focused. then, without warning, he’s up on his feet, his hands grabbing your shoulders, pulling you up to face him.

“say it again,” he breathes, his tone a mix of disbelief and pure want, like he’s hanging on every syllable.

you can’t help but grin. “husband,” you say again, this time with a little more emphasis, and that’s all it takes.

gojo’s eyes darken in an instant. his hand reaches for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in the softest, most desperate kiss. it’s nothing like his usual teasing or showy affection. this is pure, raw, and filled with a level of emotion that makes your heart race.

when he pulls back, he’s breathing hard, his fingers tracing the side of your face like he’s trying to memorize the moment. “i think you’re gonna kill me, you know that?” he mutters, his voice husky, eyes still searching yours.

you smile, softly, knowing that you’ve completely undone him—and that’s exactly how you like it. “sorry, husband,” you tease, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

he groans, leaning his forehead against yours, the smile he can’t hide slowly spreading across his face. “god, i love it when you call me that.”

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ toji fushiguro;

toji doesn’t react to many things, not in the way most people would expect. his life is full of chaos, violence, and uncertainty, but he’s always been the type to keep a level head. nothing shakes him. nothing surprises him.

but when you say it—husband—his whole world tilts.

it happens as you’re standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you chat with him. you’re discussing plans for the day, your voice light and easy, when you just… drop it.

“well, my husband can take care of that,” you say, dismissing the matter, your eyes not even leaving the sink as you dry the dishes.

and boom.

toji freezes. his hand, halfway to his cup, stills in mid-air. his breath catches, but he doesn’t let it show. still, his heart is beating a little faster than usual.

husband.

he swears the word rings in his ears, louder than anything he’s heard all day. husband.

his lips part as if he’s about to say something, but no words come out. he clears his throat, finding his voice a little rougher than he’d like.

“did you just say…?” his voice is lower than usual, darker, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s imagining things.

you glance up at him, blinking innocently, like you’ve said nothing extraordinary. “huh?”

he steps closer, his gaze unwavering, but there’s a glimmer of something new there—something raw, something that cracks his usual calm.

“husband.” his voice is a little rougher now, the word hanging in the air.

you laugh softly, but there’s that playful glint in your eyes. “yeah, that’s right. you’re my husband, aren’t you?”

toji’s chest tightens, a low growl escaping him as a smile creeps onto his lips. fuck.

“you can’t just say that so casually,” he mutters, voice laced with something dangerously close to satisfaction. “makes me wanna drag you off to bed every damn time.”

you raise an eyebrow, teasing. “oh? is that so, husband?”

he steps forward, now inches from you, his usual intimidating presence only amplifying. “damn straight.” his hands grip the counter on either side of you, caging you in, as his voice drops into a low murmur. “you’re gonna make me lose my mind, y’know that?”

and just like that, the man who rarely loses his composure, is falling apart—and it’s all because you called him your husband.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ sukuna ryoumen;

the air is thick with tension, but in that moment, everything feels still. sukuna lounges in his usual spot, perched with an air of arrogance that would intimidate anyone else—but not you. you’re sitting across from him, teasing him with a casual smile as you scroll through your phone.

suddenly, you glance up at him and, without thinking, the words slip out—perfectly natural.

“hey, husband,” you say, your voice light, casual, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

time stops. sukuna’s sharp eyes snap to you, narrowing in disbelief as his posture shifts, something flickering in the intensity of his gaze. he freezes, his usual confident sneer falling away just enough for you to notice.

“what did you just say?” his voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it now—something that wasn’t there before.

you blink, catching the shift in his demeanor. “husband,” you repeat, your tone playful. you’re not sure why you said it, but now that the words are out, you’re curious to see his reaction. “you know, because you are, aren’t you?”

sukuna’s eyes darken, the way his mouth twitches betraying the storm brewing beneath the surface. he stands slowly, his movements deliberate and precise, as if he’s trying to contain the surge of emotion that’s caught him off guard.

he closes the distance between you with a single step, and you’re already regretting your teasing. but then, he’s right in front of you, his hand cupping your chin with a grip that’s firm but not painful.

“you think you can just… say that to me?” his voice is gravelly now, laced with something darker, more possessive. there’s no hint of the cold detachment he usually carries—just raw, simmering intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

you swallow, looking up at him with a playful smile. “why not? you’re mine, after all.”

sukuna’s expression shifts—just slightly, but enough to make your heart race. he’s flustered. you almost can’t believe it.

without warning, he pulls you into him, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that’s almost feral. you gasp into the kiss, your mind reeling as he deepens it, his hand threading through your hair with an urgency that makes it clear how much he’s affected by those simple words.

when he finally pulls back, his breath is heavy, and he’s staring at you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “husband?” he repeats, his voice hoarse now. “you really think you can call me that and not expect consequences?”

you grin, looking up at him through your lashes. “well, if you’re my husband, then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

sukuna smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, something that makes you feel like you’ve won—this battle, at least.

“god help you.” he mutters, but his fingers brush gently against your cheek, and you know you’ve completely undone him.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ geto suguru;

it’s a quiet evening, the kind where everything feels too perfect, too serene. you’re sitting on the couch, tucked into the warmth of geto’s side, with a book in your lap. he’s absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, his other hand loosely holding his phone, but his attention is clearly more on you than anything else.

in a comfortable, almost lazy moment, you glance up at him, a soft smile curling at your lips.

“husband,” you say lightly, the word just slipping out as you continue to flip through the pages of your book.

geto’s entire body tenses, and for a split second, you wonder if you said something wrong. his gaze snaps down to you, and there’s something… off about the way he’s looking at you.

“what did you just call me?” he asks, his voice so smooth, so calm, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that betrays his sudden shift in mood.

you blink up at him, a little surprised. “husband,” you repeat, glancing at him with an innocent smile.

the change is immediate—his phone is forgotten, dropped carelessly to the side as he turns toward you fully, eyes darkening with something far more intense than just the usual affection.

“don’t say that again unless you’re ready for me to do something about it,” geto says, his voice dangerously low, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you raise an eyebrow, unbothered by the sudden shift. “why? what are you going to do, hmm?”

the playful challenge in your voice makes his restraint snap. he pulls you to him in one fluid motion, pressing his lips to your forehead before trailing them down to your jaw, whispering in a tone that makes your heart race, “i’m going to make sure you never forget who your husband is.”

his hands find their way to your waist, and you can feel how he’s trying to hold himself back, his breath shallow as he searches your face for any sign that you’re joking. but there’s nothing in your eyes but genuine affection, a little teasing, and definitely not a hint of regret.

he groans softly, pressing his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he’s just discovered his favorite scent. “you’re killing me, you know that?”

you laugh, fingers brushing against his chest. “well, husband, looks like you’re stuck with me.”

he chuckles darkly, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “you have no idea what you’ve just started.”

but as he pulls you closer, as his lips finally claim yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, you know he wouldn’t want it any other way.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ higuruma hiromi;

the courtroom is silent, the weight of the day’s cases heavy in the air. but you and higuruma are taking a small break in his office, your presence calming after the whirlwind of legal battles. he’s sitting behind his desk, scribbling notes, but every now and then, his eyes drift to you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you read through a document.

you look up at him, the word slipping from your mouth without any hesitation.

“husband.”

his pen freezes mid-air. for a few seconds, it feels like the world pauses. his eyes widen, and his face flushes, a deep crimson spreading across his cheeks.

you blink, a little confused by his reaction. “husband?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow as you try to gauge his response.

higuruma clears his throat, his hand awkwardly adjusting the pen, as if he can’t quite focus on anything other than what you just said. “wait, you… you just called me—”

“husband,” you say again, this time with a grin.

he blinks rapidly, his mind clearly racing, and you can see the subtle shift in his demeanor. the normally composed lawyer seems completely rattled, and it only makes you want to tease him more.

“you—you’re calling me your husband?” he asks, his voice shaking just a little, like he’s struggling to believe it.

you nod, your smile widening as you slowly rise from your seat and walk toward him. “yeah, you’re my husband.”

higuruma’s breath catches, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that catches you off guard. before you can fully process it, he stands quickly, moving toward you in one swift motion, as if your words just completely shattered the calm exterior he always presents.

“god,” he mutters, his voice low and trembling as he pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “i wasn’t ready for that. you—you really just called me your husband.”

you giggle softly, feeling the way his heart beats rapidly against your chest. “well, you are my husband.”

“and here I thought I was the one who needed to keep it together,” he chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his voice that makes your heart flutter. “you just—”

he pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “you just made me fall even more in love with you.”

you smile softly, your fingers gently brushing his cheek as you look up at him, your eyes meeting his with the kind of tenderness that only comes from the two of you together.

“higuruma,” you say, your voice teasing. “you’re mine. husband.”

and with that, he loses it all over again, pulling you into a kiss that feels like everything he’s been holding back is finally pouring out.

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lymtw · 8 months ago

Text

Soft and Slow

Thinking of a soft and slow, but heated make out session with Toji, where he's got you beneath him, brushing his lips against yours with the intention of not stopping until both his lips and yours feel raw.

One of his hands is on your waist, squeezing tenderly, while the other is in your panties, thick fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. You're humming little whimpers into your kisses, pushing at his chest every once in a while and breaking the ongoing kiss.

"What, ma?" Toji asks, his voice deepened with restrained lust. His eyes are so dark, you can barely see the green that naturally brightens them. "Why're you pushing me away, hm?" He asks, kissing the corner of your lips.

"Please... slow down," you say, breathily. "I don't want this to end so soon."

"Baby, that was slow," he says, with an amused grin on his face. "Was being gentle and barely moved my fingers."

You sigh, embarrassment coursing through you and showing itself in your face through a bright shade of red that smothers your cheeks.

"Come on," he says, softly, leaning in again to continue where things were left off. Toji's lips lock with yours, the gentle synchronization egging on the pleasure he draws from you. He wasn't lying when he said he was barely moving his fingers. He just knows you've always been a sensitive little thing for him, and because of that, he loves testing your sensitivity in moments like these. Moments where even just the kissing part would have you squirming, and his weight on your body makes you need him so bad that you feel filthy for letting your thoughts of the situation evolve into something sinful.

"Kiss me back, princess," he murmurs, noticing the way you're heavily slowing down, not fully reciprocating his kisses like before.

"W-Wait-" you gasp, slapping a hand on Toji's wrist. "I'm gonna-"

"Then cum, sweetheart. We can do it again and again if that's what you're stressing over."

"Mm-mm." You shake your head to emphasize your response. "The first one is always the strongest. Please, Toji. Pretty please, not yet," you beg.

Toji has a look of strange disbelief painted on his features. How could you not want this? It's been going on for the better part of half an hour, now. The edging must be driving you crazy.

You pull his hand out of your underwear and the other one off your waist, bringing them both up to your lips. "Please, baby..." you murmur into his palms, kissing them both repeatedly. "...not yet. Just a little longer." You change the position of your hands and hold his hands tight, bringing his knuckles up to your lips this time.

Toji clicks his tongue, making it clear that he's the one who's being impatient. He just wants to see and hear the side effects of your pleasure. You're teasing him with those little whimpers and gasps between kisses. The reason it's so hard to bear is because he's so used to you giving him what he wants, when he wants it. This is one of the rare times where you're trying to stand your ground against him. You always hope you have enough willpower to keep up your defense because Toji knows every way to sneak through it or tear it down. Your love for him is a severe disadvantage, and because of it, all it takes is a few words and it's as if your defense was made of flimsy paper.

"Alright, alright, little masochist. I'll slow down even more, for you."

You giggle at the nickname, welcoming Toji's weight on you again. He makes a brief detour and directs himself towards your ear to whisper some much needed information.

"I'm not going any slower than this, you understand?" He mutters, into your ear.

"But-"

"Princess," he says, cutting you off. "It's yes or no. Do you understand or not?" he asks, stomping all over your wants because for once his needs outshine them. You nod, silently, in response. "Good." He pecks your cheek, leaning back to look at you. You look... not all there, or at least not like you did just seconds ago. It's not what he wanted. He sighs, knowing what it's gonna have to come down to as he cups your cheeks in his warm hands. He knows there has to be a different approach. One that doesn't involve him making you feel like you were in the wrong for wanting him in a specific way.

"Wanna cum? For me, mama?"

There he went, tearing down your defenses like they're party streamers. For me. Those two simple words were all he needed. He knew exactly how to catch you in his trap. Redirection was key. If he made it seem like a favor to him, you would do it with zero hesitation. It's one of the many pros that came with you and your constant need for his praise... He just knew you too well. Well enough to know that it worked the second the twinkle in your eyes returned.

"I'll take it slow, just like you wanted," he promises. "but, you can't push me away. Even if I bring you to the edge with that same pace you begged for." He knows he'll bring you to orgasm even with the limited movement you allow him.

There was a beam of tranquility in your eyes, a twitch in the corners of your lips, where the key to unlock the two words you strived to hear as many times as you could in a day, rested. It was only a matter of seconds before you would give in. You were right there, centimeters away from his clutches.

"Mama..." he says, pushing for you to answer him while leaning towards your lips again. "Let me make you cum," he says against the corner of your lips, a devilish smirk on his face.

"Fuck- Fine, okay," you say, waving your imaginary white flag.

"Mhm... that's my good girl."

And there they were, those two words you forever longed to hear from Toji. If he wanted you to be on the edge again, he did a great job of getting you there without having to do much.

Toji centered his lips on yours again, starting out with that same slow rhythm, as to not rile you up so quickly. He incorporated his touch a couple minutes later, his hands returning to the previous positions they held on your body—one on your bare waist, the other slipped into your underwear. You jolted at the reintroduced stimulation his fingers offered your clit, a sharp gasp breaking the passionate kissing.

"Shh... It's okay, doll," he murmured, quickly directing your attention back to his lips. He was feeding off your breathy moans and whimpers. If he hadn't pressed you so hard before with the promise of pacing himself with you, he would have gone back on his word and quickly made you cum so that he could work you up to the next orgasm, already.

Truly, you were heaven in his ears, on his lips, and in his hands. Despite not looking at you, he knew the sight to be insane, as well.

Your hands went to the sheets, the material balling up messily in your fists as Toji brought you closer to your peak. You did your best to keep up with his lips, but nothing was as clear as the strokes being drawn between your legs.

By the four minute mark, you were a panting mess, shamelessly chasing more friction from his whole hand. That's where the hand he had resting on your waist came into play. It lowered down to your hip, immobilizing you enough to stop you from taking more than what he was offering until he gave you permission.

"Be good," he mutters, cutting through the soft sounds of your whimpers. He knew you were close. So, so close. Your moans were getting higher in pitch and you were trembling beneath him. He just kept rubbing his fingertips against your clit, over and over, bringing a lingering—echoing sensation throughout your entire cunt. You completely fell apart after a few more strokes, each more pressurized than the other until you snapped. You lost the ability to kiss Toji back when he used the entirety of his hand on you, cupping your cunt to draw out as much of your pleasure as he could. Your head was thrown back into the pillow, waterfalls of lewd moans and cries filling the room. "There you go, mama," he coos, allowing you some freedom to roll your hips against his hand. He presses quick kisses into your jaw and the column of your neck as your face is aimed towards the ceiling.

You surpassed the zenith of your pleasure and in time treaded towards more than you could handle. You nonverbally begged Toji to stop, wrapping your much smaller hands around his forearm. A couple whimpers and squeaks of overstimulation were required for him to slow down to a halt, even after your quivering thighs trapped his hand between them.

Your eyes fell shut and you sighed, contentedly. Toji observed your state of bliss, a shade of pink dusting lightly over his cheeks. You looked so pretty, lying there on the pillow for him. He can see you clearly, despite the curtains being shut to keep your little world safe inside. This allows nothing and no one to peek in, not even the moon and its guiding light. You're more brilliant than the moon, anyway. Much prettier, as well. It doesn't take a genius to establish this, especially when you look at Toji with all the stars in your eyes.

"Let's go again."

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