#my lil troublemaker ;-;

[cherrybeez]

my pyro :]

[junsoe]

CHOI YOUNGJAE as NAM BYEONGJIN Friendly Rivalry / 선의의 경쟁 (2025)

[hippolotamus]

Sunday Sentences 🧜‍♂️

tagged by the lovely and talented @diazsdimples @bidisasterevankinard @rewritetheending with some excellent words 🥰 do go check them out. i wasn't gonna post today but hey why not? More Maddie and Buck from the mermaid fic

“Your- Eddie. You imprinted on him.” Maddie gives him a sympathetic look, like that’s supposed to explain everything.  “What- what does that mean? Imprinted.” “It means that you’re bonded. The way I understand it, you’ll always have a connection to him. You’ll know when he’s nearby, maybe even how he’s feeling.” “That doesn’t make any sense. I made him forget. Drowning, me saving him, us talking. All of it. How can we have a connection? Shouldn’t that have disappeared too?” She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head. “I don’t think it works that way. It’s all about your tether to him. Even if you hadn’t made him forget, he wouldn’t be able to perceive you like that.” “Great,” Evan sighs. “He’ll go home like everyone else and that’ll be it. If I’m going to do something no one else has done in ages, couldn’t I have at least imprinted on someone nearby?”  “Oh, little brother.” Maddie ruffles his hair. “The good news is that what you’re feeling will even out. It’s only like this until you and your person sync together. I’m sorry, I don’t know how long it takes or if it’s the same for everyone. Supposedly it goes faster if you’re super close to them, but that’s crazy.” Well now, that’s helpful information.

np tagging a few folks @stereopticons @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley

@theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @bekkachaos @tizniz @actuallyitsellie @giddyupbuck

@monsterrae1 @midsummersmorn @inell @steadfastsaturnsrings @bi-buckrights

@spaceprincessem @thelikesofus @thekristen999 @buddiekinard @elvensorceress and anyone else who wants to throw something out there 😘

[kamisadopteddaughter]

When Rhea started talking about her matching tattoos with Dominik, I had to pause the video and walk around my room for a bit.

[anrisimps]

Kishiar causally cheers in the background for his arsonist husband before remembering that he is the boss and should be stopping the fire instead of simping for his husband

[la-nute]

For the village I want the homes to have almost no wood in their structures. They will have low profiles to reduce damage from weather and high winds, with sturdy dense building materials. Kind of a hobbit vibe mixed with Machu Picchu. When present the soil is thin and the few treea that do grow are compact and short.

I thought about giving the village terrace farming, but have switched that up a bit. They have small gardens at their homes, tucked beside the building for wind protection. A few plants could grow on the roof, but they have to be sturdy varieties. One of the other plant people settlements specializes in terrace farming. They have access to more soil and plant abundance. The plants they grow show signs of selective breeding and the seeds are hoarded by this tribe. So farming is not readily practiced by other villages and they are more dependant on foraging.

Unfortunately foraging is dangerous. Besides traveling and deep mining, foraging has become one of the main causes of death to the people. Many villages have depleted the plants close to the settlement and foragers must venture further and further. Many have opted out of foraging, becoming highly dependant on their personal gardens and mining to supplement their photosynthesis.

I like the idea of each village having slightly different cultures and specialties. More like distinct tribes that all fit under an overarching cultural umbrella. They all pay reverence to the Mother Mountain, have the same rebirth rituals, and participate in some form of mining. Each has their own slight spin to the traditions though. Like the terrace farmers, maybe there are those that mine pigment more, or some who focus on carving or building. And each trade between eachother with varying levels of secrecy on their specialties.

Basically Mio is a curiius and rebellious bean that hates being denied access to knowledge. They break rules in order to help their home village, but become more of an outsider because of it. In the end maybe they do help their village, or maybe all their isolation and exploration is for nothing.

At the moment the largest interaction between Mio and the villages will be with the terrace farmers and the annual intervillage gathering. I have this fun idea of Mio wanting to learn better farming methods but being denied access to that knowledge. Mio being a stubborn creature steals seeds or sneaks into their archive to obtain some of that knowledge, which ostrasizes them from their own tribe a bit more.

[symliadoo]

love my boyband boys...

[stripesysheaven]

you have to dress kitten benry up as ben for halloween. give him little glasses idk

GDYUDUDUXU WONT LIE I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR A BEN COSPLAY FOR HIM

ggxhcucudhcuu i keep looking for a vaguely ben styled outfit but nothing feels right, might stick with the glasses if i can find them in time

[quietlyblooms]

i need to write my reapers i gotta gush about the lil details i gotta dig into the story i gotta i gotta--

[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

[short-honey-badger]

Lipstick Stains

Another lil quick blurb cause Law has a hold of me right now. Enjoy!

Summary: Law's crew keeps laughing at him, so he goes to the one person who can't lie for shit. You.

Masterlist

Law didn't understand why his crew was laughing at him. Even Bepo had giggled at Law the moment his captain strode into the cafeteria on the Polar Tang. He'd frowned at all of them and demanded if he had anything on his face, which every one of them had assured him No. Nothing at all there.

His day continued in a similar fashion, and to say he was annoyed by the end of the day was an understatement. Trafalgar was downright pissed. So. He went to the one person he knew couldn't lie to him, You.

Not from some sense of loyalty, but because you were shit at it.

Law hadn't seen you since this morning when you'd kissed him goodbye in his office before you'd slipped away to begin your own duties aboard the submarine. He finds you in your own office, sitting behind your desk and filling out paperwork that he would no doubt look over at a later date. He stalks forward, his frustration plain as day on his face, and slams his hands down on your desk, making you jump and glare up at him.

“Do I have something on my face?” Law nearly shouts at you and searches your face for any hint of deception. He catches your eyes flick over his visage, and then lands on his mouth, lingering there before you look away. He watches your cheeks go dark, and you avoid his gaze as you say in the most unconvincing tone imaginable.

“No.”

“Bullshit,” Law snaps immediately and leans in, eyes narrowing as you lean away from him, though your chair prevents you from escaping him, “Tell me the truth, _.”

You break within seconds and reach forward to dig through one of your drawers. You produce a compact mirror that you hand over to your boyfriend.

Trafalgar flips it open and looks at his reflection, expecting to see something far worse than the dark lipstick stain that covers the left corner of his mouth. There is another on his forehead, though this one is smeared from where he'd rubbed his brow at some point.

Law's shoulders slump, and he lets out a loud, drawn-out sigh and gives you a narrowed eyed look, though his lips have twisted into a fond smile.

“Troublemaker,” Trafalgar rumbles and then reaches forward, his hand wrapping around your jaw as his lips press into yours. When he pulls away, his lips are stained with the shade you wear.

[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.

[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

[sleepyorchidmonster]

Okay, but what if Riddle attempts to fight Malleus alone to buy Idia some time?

Like, we know Riddle is both reckless and confident in his power, also, if timed correctly, Off With Your Head can be make a difference in a fight, and even Leona was having trouble with it (granted it was normal not-overblotted Leona and this is Malleus we're talking about).

It can also play with the reveal that Riddle thinks everyone hates him, so he convinces himself that the least he could do is make sure Idia stays safe, both for the mission and Ortho (and maybe he's feeling guilty because last he checked Ortho required urgent repairs and it's his fault). Or maybe Riddle just feels like his lack of understanding of technomancy is not being helpful enough andhe is eager to actually do something right (he doesn't understand the situation and, as far as he can tell, everything went wrong after his dream).

And then Idia has to stop his doomed typing with a side of panicked ramblings to take a deep breath and tell the 17-year-old kid to "Calm Down. We're not dead yet, and I'm not letting you go on a suicide mission."

And before Riddle can make a counter-argument, Idia is already following up with some extra points:

1) "Yeah we're both housewardens and troublemaking SSRs. I'm also older so I'm supposed to be the responsible one here."

2) "Technomancy is my domain, so if I say you're doing okay, you're doing okay. It's natural for veteran players to carry the noobs when they're just starting out!"

3) "You're a powerful DPS, but you're also a glass canon. Meta dictates that good DPS units need great supports, and I'm trying to summon them with negative gacha pulls and a dream here!!!!"

4) "If we open the door to let you fight Malleus, then the door will have been opened anyway, and that guy can multitask like a PRO..."

5) "You know chess right? Great. We're currently in check, with the only thing between total anihilation being a Rook (A.K.A. my precious door) and the Queen (A.K.A. you). The lil' pawns may have metamorphosized into a murderous army, but there's still a whole board between us, so we have to hold on!!!"

6) "And before you get the chess analogy wrong, I am NOT keeping you around just because of your magical power. You're a TEENAGER not a weapon, for crying out loud. Did you really think I'd be that stupid?? Ortho is literally my brother and I'd rather DIE than treat him like a weapon!"

7) "Is it really that hard to understand that I don't actually hate you? Sure, you have zero E.Q. and is in my "Top 5 Most annoying Students in NRC", but I don't want you dead! Who would drag me to dormhead meetings then? Vil and Ortho need a buddy who's not afraid to break the doo- NOT NOW MALLEUS"

8) "I actually like being alive and don't want Trey and Cater to kill me, and neither that freaky cat friend of yours. Or Floyd, Kalim, Sebek, Silver, Vil..."

Idia: And that would be all! Thank you for coming to my TED Talk! Now, I know the Final Boss is right outside that door, but why don't you read a manga or two to pass the time? You've already helped me A LOT, so why don't you rest a bit?

Malleus, from the other side: You should listen to Shroud, Rosehearts. I will even refrain from tearing the door down while you read, rest assured!

Malleus: Also, who gave you the idea that everyone hates you? I just want to have a pleasant chat with them! Lillia taught me the importance of understanding the point of view of others! :)

Meanwhile the others are trying to use Meet Me in a Dream while driving a gigantic Blastcycle so they can speedrun the dream hopping and get back to Idia's dream so they can make sure Idia is okay (Ortho), complete the final stage of the plan (the others) and locate Riddle (Heartslabyul and Equestrian Club mostly, but everyone's at least worried that he's MIA). Also Silver is resting while Ace uses his UM and Deuce drives.

Leona got what he wanted (a better mean of transportation between dreams) but at what cost (two freshmen at the wheel, and they're not the competent robot kid).

[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.)