#I can’t scratch my nose

[lulu-spooks]

Only one correct costume for a girl with big blue eyes and a stupid hat

[themoonunderstoodmydadjokes]

Oh boy we’re feeling like death today 😪😷🤒🤧

[kickbutts-singsongs]

Do you any of y’all’s elbows just randomly seize up?

[bxbyxngxl]

I am so ILL

[ditown-art]

im normal im normal im soooo normal (this user lives in fear that they’ve contracted rabies)

[mars-ipan]

having anxiety sucks so bad when you might have a slight medical problem

[screampied]

C*M RIGHT ON ME, I MEAN CAMARADERIE ☆

☆ sum. what’s bed chem? where they like to finish inside, when you both arrive at the same time, and the thermostat’s set at six-nine. toji, nanami, choso, gojo, sukuna.

warnings. fem! reader, established relationships, unprotected, premature ejac, lots of cúmplay, ōral (m! receiving), praise, dirty talk, overstim, impact play, squírting, bōob job, manhandling, size kink, spít, brēeding kink.

☆ NANAMI KENTO - TUMMY.

nanami was a gentleman—he didn’t mind filling you up, but he’d rather prefer to paint your tummy instead. he’d always have you in missionary too, giving you deep passionate strokes whilst he’s buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “sweetheart, you’re doin’ so good,” he softly rasps as blond tresses of hair glue against his perspiring skin. with just how close he was—you feel his husky pants ghost against your skin, nearly tasting his loud rosemary cologne scent. “mmh, missed you all day at work. had a boner in my meeting ‘n everything.”

“y- yeah?” you pant right with him, weak arms wrapping around his broad narrow shoulders. nanami’s so slow that it’s almost painful, trying to make every thrust count. you’re slathering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the weeping sloshes purr from beneath your folds. he was hitting you good, and the back of your ankles find themselves running down his chiseled back. with a sheepish smile—you meet his mahogany-eyed gaze, moaning put sweet nothings. “you weren’t thinkin’ about me in your meeting, were you ‘ken?”

“ah,” he grunts, “you know i was, sweetheart,” and he’s staring at you with the most warmest expression. his soft fawn eyes linger on you the entire time and he brings a tender kiss near the twitching corner of your mouth. “all i think about is you,” he kisses near underneath your chin. “only you,” and you moan once he sneaks a hand down between your sprawled open thighs, giving your stuffed pussy a loving pat. “and of course her.”

nanami’s pace slowly accelerated as he moved— you can’t help but drag your nails down his back, clinging onto him for dear life. “fuck,” your head falls back against the cushioned pillow that’s laid directly behind you. his hips, they were delicious.

nanami pounds into you in such a romantic way, and yet his thrusts were far more crude. he knew how to fuck, and he knew how to hit all the right spots to make you gasp. “kento, ohmygod,” you’d whine out his name constantly in sweet repeated syllables. “faster, ‘s okay, fuck me. fuck m- me.”

“such a naughty mouth my wife has,” he whispers, and his voice pitches—growing a bit raspy. he’s driving fat inches into you, jaggedly crashing his hips into you again and again. you moan, feeling strands of his hair tickle against your forehead. “oughta clean it,” his voice goes even lower, and the bass that lives on his tone makes you throb. he feels it—your spongy insides desperately convulsing around him. nanami cups your chin, pressing a wet chaste kiss against your lips. “faster, hm? ‘s that what you want, my love?”

as your eyes start to flicker back, rolling toward the very depths of your cranium—you whimper, babbling out pathetic whiny cries by this point. “y- yes, faster please ‘ken. need it, fuck me.”

his body sticks against yours practically - skin against skin, and he’s attached to you like velcro.

your cunt’s soaking him fully and it makes him bite the inside of his hollow cheek. nanami reaches onto the wooden-made headboard with a single burly arm, and you moan at the sight of his bulging muscles flexing from his grasp. “i see you checking me out, honey,” he chuckles, his hips bucking even quicker. you whimper once his cock kisses up against your clit. it scratches such a carnal itch in your brain that makes your thighs almost collapse. fuck, he found the spot, he found that spot and now you were sure your brain was short-circuiting. fuzziness coils at your brain before you cutely try to paw your hands at his arms. “go ‘head. feel me up, sweetheart. these muscles belong all to you.”

as your hands feel against his brick hard muscles, nanami’s blond brows contort into a furrow once he feels a sudden familiar strain. “oh, god,” and you feel this pace gradually slow down. he bites his lip, still holding onto the headboard while another hand grips your waist. “honey, you’re gonna make a mess out of me again, fuck.”

nanami rarely swears—but when he does, it makes you throb. he tries not to, but whenever he’s stuffed deep inside of your cunt, he can’t help it. you’re clinging onto him with your pretty thighs wrapped around his slim waist. “cum, ‘ken.” you moan, flimsy arms wrapping around his tense shoulders. nanami’s weight hovers over you completely, and he feels your finger twirl against his faint blond chest hair. he huskily groans, giving you those last final deep strokes before shooting complete blanks.

with quickness, nanami pulls his cock out— and he sprays globs of satiny ribbons right on your bare tummy. he groans as his pink lips purse together and he’s shaking. your pussy’s so soaked, and he only imagined what would happen if he came inside. the thought purged his mind—flooding his thoughts, and he takes a few seconds before collapsing right on your chest.

“are you alright?” he pants, resting his chin between your breasts. for a faint moment, you see him pouting and you kiss his forehead. a sheepish grin spreads against his lips before you feel him softly pressing down on your tummy. “i wasn’t too harsh, was i?”

“again, kento,” you playfully coo, and he’s taken by surprise once you suddenly get up, lightly shoving him on his back. landing with a quiet ‘oof,’ nanami falls back against the bed with a timid look in his eyes, allowing you to straddle his lap. “this time, inside though.”

“yes ma’am,” he replies in a cheeky tone, still sweating as he brings his broad bare hands toward your waist. “let’s see if you can handle me, sweetheart,” and you moan once he abruptly spanks your ass, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “your move.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO - TITS.

“get on your knees,” choso mumbles, remembering you wanted him to be a bit more rough whenever it came to intimate activities. he’s got the biggest pout though as he’s stroking himself awkwardly, a pout twisting against his pink lips. “…please,” he murmurs quietly, watching as you got down on your knees, reaching an arm behind you to unclasp your bra. choso’s already panting as he gawks, swollen round thumb grazing up against his veiny bulging cock. “good girl, good.”

“you remember what to do next, baby?” you sweetly hum, cupping each of your springy tits. god, you looked so pretty. choso loved finishing on your chest. after you demonstrated to him what a ‘boob job’ was, he became obsessed. sure, he liked finishing inside too but he always preferred this—spraying creamy ropes near your breasts, and his favorite part was to always shove his cock in between them.

you taught him a lot, and maybe he was far dirtier than you expected.

with a nod, he continues to pump his cock into his hand before groaning out a, “mhm,” and he kisses his teeth. already, he was close. you drove him crazy - you and him both knew that, and it makes him get harder at realizing how big of a mess he’s about to make - on you.

choso’s cock was so pretty — it’s long, and stands tall right before your eyes. your eyes rove at how it’s got a slight left lazy curve due to how heavy it was, as well as having a prodding vein running down the middle of his shaft. you can’t help but lean in, lapping your tongue against the vein as you bounce your doughy twin mounds with the palm of your hands. “f- fuck, baby you’re teasin’ me,” he moans, a hand of his grabbing onto the top of your head. dewy eyes of yours slowly glance up at him and you hum, licking a long playful stripe right down from his swollen tip until you reach his shaven base. “ah, you don’t wanna wait, do you? should i just—”

“go ‘head, ‘cho,” you coo, twiddling your thumbs against the sensitive nubs of your nipples. doing so, you make yourself twitch between your legs and you moan, giving his achy tip a quick kiss.

“o- okay,” he swallows thickly, and his breaths become more and more shallow. choso’s abs tighten and clench and you watch how a single drop of sweat races down the very center. he’s got the prettiest expressions. his lip quivers before he gnaws on it, letting off a soft whine at the tightening pressure that’s arising against his cock. “baby, tell me if it’s too much,” he mumbles with pouty lips, and that’s when he aligns his shaft in between your jiggling breasts. a perfect fit, he moans immediately once you sit up with a teasing smile, circling your tits around repeatedly. “fuck, keep doin’ that. touch yourself, uh huh.”

as your hands cling onto your plump breasts, he’s slowly thrusting his dick in between your tits. you feel that same prodding vein that runs against his shaft against your skin and you sigh. “cum, choso. give it t’ me.” you softly utter, never breaking eye contact. choso practically had heart eyes — only you could talk to him like that and make him entirely weak. he lets off a sweet elongated moan, watching with saucer-wide eyes as his hardened dick’s gradually disappearing in between the valley of your breasts.

“ngh, ‘m cumming,” he groans in a low voice, inhaling his final sharp breath. as choso’s nostrils flare up, it’s only then that he abruptly cums on your chest, painting the upper part of your frame with his creamy white color. “mmh, shit,” his head tosses back, and his dick finally grows flaccid. choso’s soft now, and his tip’s still the same rosy white, streams and streams of speedily dribbling from the sides. he’s huffing as a bit of it plops on your cheek and you swipe a thumb against it, lapping it right up. “baby, you’re s- so dirty.”

“for you,” you reply in a honeyed tone, leaning in more to slowly swirl your tongue around his throbbing crowned tip. foaming minuscule bubbles ooze from the reddened head of his cock and he groans, still feeling the euphoric after effects of his body. the sensitivity of it all feels good, and it leaves an unforgettable sweet taste in his mouth. you’re still on your knees and as he’s coated the entire parts of your tits with spurts of hot dripping cum. you lick your lips, giving his tip one more kiss. “you did so good, baby. good boy.”

with his dick still in hand, his eyes widen at your praise and it’s so cute—he’s got literal heart eyes forming before his pout returns.

“… say that again,” he gruffs, a thumb delicately smearing against your glossed lips. you were covered in his mess, and he only wanted to do it more. “please, say that again.”

with a sheepish smile, you hum. “good boy?”

“mm,” he moans from just your words, and you gasp once he suddenly lifts you up. choso’s panting, and you realize he’s leading you toward the bedroom. “i- i need to show you just how much of a ‘good boy’ i can be. h-heh.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO - INSIDE.

“fuuckk, dunno who’s the bigger slut right now, baby girl. you or these. damn. hips.” toji groans, enunciating each virile thrust.

raven shaggy strands block his semi-blurred eyesight as his own sculptured hips continue to punctuate each hit against your very core. you’re moaning until the cords in your throat goes strained—he’s got you laid flat on the bed. ass up, face down.

his favorite, toji loved his doggystyle.

not only did he love it though, he was fucking mean. each jackhammering clap of his hips sends you whiplash as multiple breaths snatch out from your throat. “yeaaahhh, take it. fuckin’ take it. move that ass against me, don’t be lazy,” he grunts, verdant eyes peering at the doughy globes of your rear jerk and toss back against him. with a swatting hand going towards your left ass cheek, he grabs your hip with another. “oh, c’mon. you can move quicker than that big girl. thought you could take me.”

“hngh, i can,” you mewl out, hearing your own cunt retaliate against his teasing. he’s buried so deep that the crown of his cock’s just sloppily making out with your cervix. so big, the crooked stretch of his dick always makes you drool, aching for more within each pivotal stroke. you feel a scarred thumb of his caress down the juncture of your jittery waist as your cheek smushes up against your pillow. “toji, you’re jus’ fuckin’ big.”

“watch that mouth,” he swats a palm against your ass again, making you moan. the bed beneath you both wails out a plethora of groans, sounding as if it the headboard was about to shatter into a million pieces. the cocky authority in his low deep voice makes your cunt twitch — and oh, does he feel it. “cute, strugglin’ ‘ta take me ‘n yet your pussy’s tellin’ me something else,” and once he leans further in, his chest brushing up against your back, he’s even deeper. toji’s swollen fat crown massages through your walls and you whimper, feeling his hand softly wrap around your throat. “you’re soaking me, you know that? ‘n you said you weren’t even that wet, liar. .”

your eyes gradually droop once he creeps his hand up toward your face, popping two fingers into your mouth. “put that bratty fuckin’ mouth to use,” a husky voice whispers against the shell of your ear. you happily take his two digits, swirling your tongue around the thickness of them both whilst he’s still ruthlessly pounding you. your ass sticks up in the air and he groans, continuing to hump his hips achingly against your backside. “fuck, good girl. get my fingers wet. gonna shove ‘em right in this sloppy pussy later,” and he hears you let off a sweet needy coo. spanking your cunt with his free hand, he licks near your neck. “oh? you’d like that, huh doll?”

shamelessly, you nod at his words and he darkly chuckles. cute, even with your throat being stuffed with his fingers. and you’re nothing but a mess too. strings of spit drizzle down the inner crevices of your mouth as your tongue curls around his fingers. “shit, y’er gonna make me cum,” his breath grows shaky, and he hears your pussy starting to whine out airy moans of itself. gummy flesh sticks against each other from each thrust and it’s hard. both gripping mounds of skin clash amongst each other at full force and the impact rings through your ears. toji groans, feeling his full base starting to tighten and his jaw clenches. “gotta make this tummy plump again, just … gotta,” and his hips dramatically buck, plummeting every length inch inside of your sopping sweet cunt. “f- fuck!”

toji gets humbled by his own release before he cums—and he groans. that final merciless shimmy of his hips rigidly sealing the deal. within seconds, he’s cumming—emitting out masses of thick slimy ropes that quickly sprays the inner lining of your pussy. your mouth’s still full of his fingers and your lashes flap, eyelids becoming insignificantly heavy. you weakly grind your hips back on him and toji’s loudly grunting. “god, i need .. a minute,” and a drop of sweat races down his sculpted v-line. a hand combs through his shaggy unkempt hair as he’s still pumping you with such salacious virility. “ugh. gonna get ya pregnant at this rate. swollen all u-up,” and his voice falters once his cock finally finishes it’s sloppy spurts.

you felt warm, a few remnants of cum tear and ooze down the undersides of your thighs—he came that much, and you only wanted more. whenever toji came inside, he’d always think about making your tummy round ‘n plump again.

“t- tojiii,” you whine, his fingers popping out of your mouth. he slowly scissors his fingers together, glancing at the glistening trail of saliva you’ve gifted his digits before he gradually pulls his cock out. your thighs were sprawled open and you could just feel his dangerous eyes bore into your back. “fuck, ‘m full.”

“good,” he rasps, smearing a fat thumb down your drooling clit. velvety ropes of cum—globs of it leak out from your folds and you’re just stupidly smothered into the pillows - fucked entirely stupid. toji’s chest heaves in and out before he brings his thumb up to his scarred lips, getting a taste for himself. “hn. not bad. now roll that ass over, baby. ‘m not done givin’ you a good fill.”

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN - ASS.

sukuna rarely pulls out but when he does, he likes to finish on your ass.

he loves more than anything to spank you until you’re whining from the swatting stings, constantly moaning out his name until your voice wears itself thin.

“your pussy’s always so weak,” he snarls, submissively having you on all fours. his chambers were quiet - minus the loud smacks of bodies clapping against each other every few thrusts.

his hips were maddened—he’s got you face down, fat cheek shoved into the silky made sheets with your tongue lolled out of your mouth. “ ‘s a shame, thought i trained it well,” the demon tsks, and your tummy curls once you feel his turgid tip swivel around your spongy insides. riiiight there, he hits every spot, feeling you slather all nth inches of his dick with your honeyed slick.

crimson red eyes peer at how well his dick continues to disappear within your walls—over and over, you’re gripping down on him like a vice and it makes him hiss. “there we go. there’s that pathetic squeeze,” and you moan, feeling him reach down to maneuver evil circles against your cunt. so sensitive, you writhe back against his hips and his forked tongue licks against the inside of your neck. “aw, someone’s pussy needed some lovin’ too, huh,” and as his warm breath ghosts against your skin, his thrusts grow sloppier. you shudder, feeling beads of sweat race down the cracked valley of your ass.

“suku—”

“quiet, woman,” he shushes you, a sharp nail softly grazing down your skin. you moan, taking in every lengthy inch until your toes curled. sukuna’s hips were just downright brutal—you were gasping as he moved, his pace growing completely crazed and relentless. you could barely keep up, and although he’d never say it aloud because his pride wouldn’t let him, he found it adorable. as his hands continue to toy against your stuffed squelching cunt, he groans against your ear. “hear that?” he purrs against your skin, each saturated slosh getting louder than the next, a wolffish grin curls against his lips. “you wait your turn to speak, right now it’s hers.”

your eyes were already starting to roll back, he’s hitting you deep, and that crooked curve of his cock makes you salivate everytime. “o- ooh,” you’d whimper out, feeling the fabric of his kimono tickle against your skin from each swift movement he makes. his angry tip smacks against your clit and it’s just so rude - hitting and slapping away repeatedly until your brain’s complete mush. he was right though - you were incredibly wet. your pussy was more of a crybaby than you were. the sloshing sounds pour out from your cunt bounce off the regal walls of his royal chambers and that’s when you shriek. “ ‘m gonna cum, gonna cum ‘kuna—fuck.”

“thought i told ya to keep quiet, princess,” bruising your pulsating clit continuously until you’re seeing nothing but stars. your vision glimmers, and you can see the entire galaxy, all from his deep, deep thrusts. “but, fine,” and the curse groans, knowing he was reaching his monumental high too. sukuna’s giving you his all, his pace was insanity, insane—just like he was.

his skin glues against yours after each hard ferocious thrust, sharp smacks swatting against your skin. “fuck, better take it,” and you moan once he spanks your ass again. “i didn’t tell you to stop arching, little girl. keep up.”

you moan, his swollen fat ridge of his cock continuing to drag in and out of your dripping cunt, screaming out cute squelching ‘pop’s until you’ve just about had it. here it comes, you prepare a long breath before you end up squirting right down on his cock. you’re squeezing around him tightly, clamping against him and he grunts before shortly following your lead. sukuna’s hips get sloppy, and by this point he’s just humping you from behind.

“k- kuna, fuck,” you whimper, growing quiet once clods of frothy white cum start to bubble down the sides of his thick shaft. veins prod from each sides as he’s filling you up, and it’s so much. you’re salivating, feeling his hands claw up and down your body — a wordless indication that you’re his and his alone. both of you groan in unison and as you finish gushing out on him, sukuna grunts.

“good,” he murmurs, glancing down at the translucent ring that starts to form around his full base. you’re sopping wet, so much that it’s almost pathetic. even more now that he’s gave you his cum, and sukuna watched as you bawl your empty hands into the ivory colored sheets, making a cute attempt at trying to crawl away.

“runnin’ away so soon? get back here,” he purrs, and you moan once he drags you back with his hips, a low chuckle leaving from his lips. sukuna licks down your spine before a wide thumb smears against your cunt. your folds still ooze with sultry cum before he playfully bites against your neck. “you’re still weak. pussy needs more training,” and you gasp once he leans further in, pulling your hips back down once you tried to sit up.

“now, arch girl.”

☆ GOJO SATORU - MOUTH.

whenever you go down on satoru, he’s just so pretty.

leave it to him to always make the most sluttiest facial expressions, while moaning out even sluttier moans. his long, slender fingers grip against your hair, tugging at your scalp lightly as your head continues to bobble.

“oh, fuck. that’s it baby. god, you ‘n that mouth,” he huffs, and you can hear his tone shake once you teasingly skim your tongue down the side of his cock. streams of saliva pour past the corners of your lips as he’s encouraging you to go faster and faster. thin snowy brows compress together and he even bites down on his bottom lip, flexing his perfectly chiseled muscles all because of you. satoru’s right thigh starts to bounce and he grunts, hearing the sloshing wet sounds—the way you take him fully in your mouth. his flushed tip continues to thwack back against your uvula and he hears you moaning yourself, despite it being muffled. “mhm, use that tongue. don’t be shy, wanna see you do that thing again, b- baby. spit on it.”

departing your lips from his dick, you take a second to breathe—satoru watches with dilated pupils and needy eyes, cupping your chin. “go on,” his bottom lip quivers, and although he’s trying to keep up his tough dominate act, he’s already pouting. you have a smug smile, positioning your spit-slick lips toward his crimson tip, before gathering up a nice amount of saliva. lustrous strings tug from your lips, landing on the head of his cock and he grunts—you go back to sucking him off again with a few croaking sounds leaving the back of your throat. his tip’s fat, his girth even fatter. it reaches all the way inside of your mouth, until your pretty cheeks were all puffed and full. “god, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, baby,” he starts to whine, and he can feel himself getting close - too close. with low half lidded eyes, he watches as you use a hand to stroke up and down his length, sliding your tongue all around his twitching veins that print on his hardened cock.

satoru’s legs were about to collapse—he felt it. there’s a lump growing in the back of his throat as he watches you, sloppily thrusting his hips into your mouth. “talk s- so much, all you needed was dick ‘ta keep you fed, huh?” and even his dirty talk’s becoming whiny. you had him weak, he’s feeling himself tighten and he groans once your eyes meet his. you’re so smug, he hates it - but it secretly turns him on. your pace grows relentless. as he continues to have a big hand gripped on the back of your head, making you go even further down—he lets off a gasping wheeze. “shit, ‘m gonna cum. ugh, gonna cum baby,” and as his breath starts to grow more shallow, he uses another hand to stroke your cheek. “c- can i fill up this mouth again, angel? pretty please?”

“mmph,” you nod, finding your own hand creeping down between your legs to touch yourself. you were soaked, briefly drooling from the crevices of your thighs with slick. satoru’s breath hitches before his weak pumps inside of your throat starts to get slower and slower.

the second he cums—he lets off a maddened growl. it’s cute, it shoots out in thick ropes that paint all over your tongue. it was a lot too, his poor swollen tip’s all red as you’re letting him fill your mouth with such bittersweet heaps of cum. he perfectly paints near the roof of your mouth too. satoru’s face twists as he’s dumping everything out—he’s got the cutest expression, but with the way he’s panting and moaning loudly, it’s even more lewd.

his brows furrow and he’s still trying to pump his flaccid dick into you, he wraps a hand around it before letting off a shivering groan. “that’s a g- good girl,” he says through clenched teeth, slowly dragging his cock away from your lips. he loved seeing you like this, on your knees with your lips all swollen and plump. “hah, don’t swallow yet baby. let ‘toru get a good look first.”

as your knees bury into the soft minuscule fibers that make up the carpet floor, he cups a hand under your chin. your cheeks were still full and round, storing such amounts of his candied seed before he leans down. “say ah,” he demands in a shaky tone, watching as you immediately pry open your mouth. satoru feels his dick twitch at the sight of how he poured so much down your throat, tiny velvety bubbles bubbling all around. “good. . good girl,” and he finally tells you to swallow, ogling once you take in, savoring every bittersweet drop. a thumb briskly swipes against your damp lips slowly before he inhales a sharp breath, lowering himself to your head level. “now gimme a kiss. don’t be g- greedy, i want a taste too.”

once you lean in to kiss him—he moans right inside your mouth, luxuriating in the taste of himself lingering on his tongue. satoru tastes minty, a coolly mint taste forevermore stays on his tastebuds. “fuck,” he groans between sloppy kisses, and you feel his hands slither around your waist. they go toward your ass, giving it a nice squeeze and hearing you cutely gasp. once your mouth opens just a bit more, he delves his long tongue down your throat. satoru keeps moaning in your mouth, and that’s when you feel him starting to grind himself against you. his cock that now hangs was so soft, tears of dried cum pathetically leaking from the sides. with loud lips and teeth clashing amongst each other, he abruptly stands up again, wrapping a hand around his cock. “ngh, tongue. stick it out again, baby.”

you do, lolling it out and he whispers out a ‘fuck,’ once he sees your own drool streaming down your chin, landing on your tits. such a tease, satoru scoffs with a pout before bringing his achy cock up to your lips. “s- still hungry?” the white haired man asks with a quivering lip, smacking his tip against your tongue. you moan, the loud echoey slaps from his dick slapping on your tongue. you give him a nod and he’s got a sleazy grin, staring at your cute attempts to try and suck him off again. “heh, ‘course you are. such a cock drunk baby,” and with one more smack against your twitching tongue with his swollen tip, he starts to ease his way down your tight throat again. groaning, he huffs.

“n- now open niiiiice ‘n wide, baby. ‘m gonna give you that full, all you can eat, f- fuck.”

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[writers-potion]

Writing Character Accents in Fiction

Hey there, thanks for the question! I speak English as a second language; most English speakers I encounter aren’t native (yes, including fictional people); thus, this is a concern I’ve explored personally when I write. 

I think the core principle regarding accent writing is this: it shouldn’t be distracting. 

For the same reasons why Stephen King prescribes the basic dialogue tag “said” rather than fancier alternatives like “whispered”, “shouted” or “screeched”, dialogue must be first and foremost easy to read. It must flow like a real conversation – the pace and tone are a lot more important than how specific words are being pronounced by the character. 

Focus on what effect the accent has:

Using adjectives to describe their voice in general. Different types of English (American, British, Australian, etc.) will give off a different vibe, also partly dependent on how your character speaks in general:

Lilting: Having a smooth rise and falling quality; sing-song like. Welsh accent is often described as singing. 

Posh: from a high social class. This is the term generally used to describe the upper-class British accent.

Nasal: this happens when the sound goes through somebody’s nose when they’re speaking. North American accents are more nasal than, say, British pronunciations. 

Brash: harsh, loud, indicative of sounding a little rude. 

Slur: speaking indistinctly; words merging into one another.

Using metaphors.

Her voice was cotton and fluffy clouds. 

When he spoke, the ‘r’s scratched the insides of his throat. 

Mentioning their accent with a brief example(s). 

“Would you like to drink some wine?” she said, though her Indian accent gave extra vibration to her ‘w’s and ‘r’s, making the words sound more like ‘vould you like to drrrink some vine’.

“I want some chocolate.” His syllables were choppy and ‘l’s rather flat, saying ‘cho-ko-lit’. 

Some Tips:

Don’t phonically spell out everything. Perhaps give a few examples in the beginning, but stick to standard English spellings. 

Pay attention to word choice, slang, and colloquialisms. 

An Australian person would say “tram”, not “trolley; “runners” instead of “sneakers”

A Canadian may refer to a “fire hall” – what Americans call a firehouse or fire station

If your character comes from a non-Enligsh background:

Use vocabulary from other languages. 

“What time was the exam, ah? Two o’clock? Jiayou!” → putting “ah” or “la” at the end of sentences + Jiayou means “break a leg” in Singlish. 

“I can’t believe that 4-year-olds have their own SNS accounts now.” → “SNS” is short for “social networking service”, a term used to refer to social media in Korea. This would a subtle difference – even though it isn’t technically Korean at all!

Transpose grammar from different languages. 

For example, in French, plural nouns take plural adjectives (whereas in English, you would speak of ‘white cars’, not ‘whites cars’).

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! Also, join my Tumblr writing community for some more fun.

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

[toji-bunny-girl]

Toji with a puppy girl👀

Nah cuz puppy!reader…x wolf!toji‼️⁉️ GOODBYE YALL🫡

Alright imagine wolf cop!Toji and puppy!reader who accidentally got caught speeding and acting all fidgety and nervous when he made her roll her window down. Wolf cop!Toji’s leaning against your car door, merely asking for your driver’s license and you’re already shaking in your seat.

The first thing you did was trying to explain why you were speeding just a little, to buy some heat suppressants and Toji could see that you weren’t lying about that. Puppy girl is all sweaty, your eyes are droopy with indecipherable lust and your aromal pheromones were begging him to breed you. He is a servant of the law, supposedly having to be professional on his job, but fuck did he want to help you with your heat.

He doesn’t know the extent of his self-control and he has no interest in testing it today—so he promptly sends puppy off with a warning, he’d better not catch you speeding again.

The next time he saw puppy was a few seasons later—when he was passing by an alley on the way home from dinner with the chief. There was a little yelp of desperation, and what seemed to be someone calling for help. He could smell the scent fraught and despair, along with a familiar whiff of feminine pheromones.

Stalking into the tenebrous alleyway, he found you cowering all scared over the corner, ears back and tail between your legs as a hooded male prowled closer to you. 

Without much thinking, Toji hauled the male away from you, smashing his frame against the wall before locking his hands behind his back. 

The man tried to fight back but it was all simply in futile. He could try all he want but Toji would still have him subjugated under his strength. Ripping the hoodie off of him, and as his features were described; it was the serial rapist around your area. 

“Oi!” he called for your attention, sobbing as you shut your thighs tight together. “Get my phone outta my pocket.”

You did as you’re told, dialling the number he chanted aloud and soon the cops were there to bring the male under custody. 

“Thank you for saving me, sir,” you spoke to the intimidatingly huge wolf. And Toji returned with a terse ‘welcome’, noting the crimson blush you wore underneath your cheeks and your strong intoxicating scent; it made his head heavy and the world seemed to whirled in his sight. 

“Yer’ alright?” his voice was comfortingly deep, the grizzly pitch scratching the nerves in your ears. You’re practically sweating, and acting like how you were the first time he saw you. “Why are you out here alone this late?”

“I was going to get some heat suppressants and my car was getting fixed. So I had to walk…” you embarrassingly cried. Fuck, he swore in his head, not again. The officers were busy with the rapist bastard and letting you continue your walk alone seemed unsafe. So, he’d better send you back as quickly as possible and get on his merry way home. 

Or so he thought. 

“Please, please, please…!” you tearily whined, rubbing yourself against his knee, nose buried deep in his neck, breathing in his manly essence. Toji was beating back a groan, your scent punching his nostrils and messing up his heartbeat. He was supposed to drive you home, and somehow you’re straddled on top of him just as he has reached your home.

“Hey—”

“It hurts s’much, sir!” you’ve balled his shirt into your fist, staring at him with those wet puppy eyes. It’s your hormones against his instincts, and he has to put himself under control no matter what. “The toys are no use, I can’t do it anymore!”

“Where’s ya suppressant?” Toji sighed as he rummaged through your bag, his thigh began to dampen and the bulge in his pants pumped against the restraints of his brief as it grew in size. You didn’t manage to buy it, did you?

“Please, save me,” your voice broke as you cried, desperation oozing out of your eyes along with your tears. He could feel your pulse through his pants and your drenched panty, and fuck were you pushing him towards the edge of his limits. “It’s just this once, please…!”

Your words were the breaking point that wrenched the very last of his self-control out of his wavering self. But rules are still rules, and he worked quickly to call his partner, instructing him to help log out of his shift system for him. You were practically all over him when the phone call ended, your little teeth nipping and licking over his saliva-coated neck.

“Bad girl,” Toji clicked his tongue, his voice was low, almost predatory with a growl. You let out a yelp when he grabbed your face, forcing your head to the side as to expose the supple skin of your neck. It wasn’t fair for you to mark him without expecting him to imprint on you. Especially when you’d let out your adorable gasps as he sunk his sharp teeth into your flesh, your skin threatening to break and blood ready to flow under the subjugation of his canines.

He would only learn more of the sound you’d make when he pressed a finger against your pulsing clit through your embarrassingly wet panty, teasing and rolling your bud until your body shook and voice begged him to touch you more.

You were all he could smell and hear, his mind and body nearly drunk off of your pheromones that bubbled into the sizzling hot air. And it took the rest of a pathetic amount of restrain left in him not to eat you whole. He would have to compromise on the honey that seemed to coat your skin, sucking and biting the sweetness off of you.

Your gasps turned to whines when he stuffed a finger into your heat, a single digit of his large enough to please your squeezing cunt. But he expected you to take more than that, stretching out your slick-dripped pussy with two of his thick fingers. Your cavern squelched as he slipped them in and out of you, your head growing heavy and your eyesight turning hazy.

“Feel so—nnh, good…!” you slurred through the pleasure that shook your nerves. Your movements did nothing but agitated the bulge in his trousers, and Toji hated being edged of all things. So he had your wrists bounded by his cuffs, your arms raised above his head and your motions then restricted to your hips as you buckled them from the tingles in your core.

Toji smirked through one of the bite he was marking on your chest when he pumped his digits in and out of your sloppy cunt faster, his thumb reaching your clit and stimulating both of them at the same time. You burst into heightened cries as you felt your orgasm coming close, your hips rolling with his thick fingers as they curled over the gummy part of your wall, your eyes rolling to the back of head as pressure started building in your core.

“Mmnh—I’m cummin’, I’m cummin’!” you repeated into a chant, your features twisting to his enjoyment as he watched you come undone from his mere fingers.

From the look of it, Toji knew you haven’t had enough. You were at the height of your heat, any coherence long melted into your innate desires to mate, for hours at least. You tried to free yourself from the cuff he’d locked you in, your eyes raking over his body down to the pumping size in his pants, a spot of pre-cum damp from your doings.

“Please, sir…” you whined through your adorable doe eyes, your craving for his cock to fill your cunt catching up to your limit. “Please fuck me.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Toji smirked, nipping the end of your sensitive ear, causing you to shudder from his touch. He loved the fact that he doesn’t have to ask for you to beg for him, his animalistic ego stroked by your adorable neediness.

Your eyes nearly popped out when you watched him unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to release his fat cock, veiny and pulsing and ready to pump you full. You were almost too eager to fit him inside of you, your hips sinking down a little too quickly. But Toji was quicker to grab you before you hurt yourself. You were already well prepared, your body releasing all the hormones necessary but still, you were built a little too small for him.

“Someone’s impatient,” Toji chuckled as you wriggled in his hold. Just as he thought, your lips paused open when he slowly sank you halfway down his length, his thick cock pushing against the wall of your tummy, a little bump from the shape of his bulging from the inside of your stomach.

The both of you swore underneath your breaths, and you threw your head back when Toji started shifting into your hips. You were so damn tight and warm and wet that his carnal need to breed hit him like a fucking truck.

His jaw clenched as he forced his whole length into your pulsing hole, your eyebrows furrowed and teeth sunk into your bottom lip from how full you felt. Your breaths left your mouth as dragged moans when Toji began to draw his hips out and into your weeping cunt, slow but deep.

His thumb drew circles upon your hardened clit once again, attempting to ease your clenching hole but it did nothing but tightened your grip around his girth. “You gotta relax, pup,” he groaned into the sultry air, and you cried as you shook your head.

“M’ can’t! Please!” you mewled, rolling your hips for the least bit of friction, itching to ease the tingle between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Toji growled as tears of frustration began forming in your eyes. You weren’t the only one starved for sex, he’s been holding on for so long just not to hurt you. But you’re an eager one, can’t even wait for his cock to start moving and you’re sniffling your tears aback. “You better not regret this,” he clicked his tongue before drawing his hips back, slamming them up into your weeping cunt.

The car shook from the force and a scream lodge itself in your throat, your pussy ached with his cock dragging against your walls, and a pulsing warmth began to swarm all over your belly. “Haah—it’s s’good!” you mumbled unsteadily, your back arching into him and eyes turning crossed.

“I need you to be, shit—clearer, sweet.”

“Your cock f-feel s’good, sir!” you could feel the way Toji twitched inside of you, his pace relentless and rough. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the crack of the pressure in your core, and your released gushed all over his lap and car seat, the scent of your essence making his head heavy.

He doesn’t stop even when your lips spewed nothing but rambles, your drool slipping down your chin and onto your marked chest. Instead, he began to fuck himself into you, harder and faster. Your thighs shook for the way his cock spurred up your insides, it was as if he was trying to bring you apart then and there.

Toji bellowed out a low growl as his nails sank into the flesh on your hips, using your body like a fleshlight and messing up your sore cunt. Your slick cavern hugged his cock tight as he twitched, the nerves on his tip dancing upon the fire of pleasure before you feel a rope of his velvety semen paint your insides white, a wave of orgasm crushing down over you soon after.

You’re too drunk and dumb off his cock to stop him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and tongue idly lolling out. Toji had spent too much of his time enveloped in your mating pheromones, his hormones raging all over his body, twisting the levels until he was down to nothing but a hulking body of a male intending to impregnate.

Unbeknownst to you, it would take days for a wolf’s rut to wear off.

[solxamber]

And I Pick...

In which you choose the club that caught your eye

Part 1

After much contemplation you've finally decided to pick the:

Basketball Club

The basketball court was quiet for all of two seconds after you announced your decision.

Then Ace exploded.

"HA! I knew you’d pick us! I called it!" He was practically doing laps around the court, pointing at nothing in particular. "Ace Trappola: the ultimate recruiter, the club MVP, and now the guy who brought you on board! This is the best day of my life!"

"Eh, it’s about time," Floyd drawled, stretching lazily. "Took ya long enough to figure out where the fun is." His sharp-toothed grin widened. "Now we can play my version of full-contact basketball. Hehehe."

"Absolutely not," Jamil cut in, but Floyd wasn’t listening.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’d been lifelong teammates. "If you survive the first practice, you’ll survive all the practices. Probably."

Ace jogged back over, breathless but triumphant. "I told you we’re the best club! No boring rules, no endless laps like in Deuce's lame track team, and best of all—" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide. "You get to hang out with me every day!"

"Please don’t make them quit on the first week," Jamil muttered, giving you a look that seemed to say, Are you sure about this?

"Quit? Nahhh!" Ace grinned. "They’re gonna thrive here. I’ll even teach them my signature moves—like my no-look, backwards, mid-air layup."

"You can’t even do that," Jamil said flatly.

"Not yet," Ace shot back. "But it’s the thought that counts."

Floyd leaned in closer, his grin somehow growing wider. "You better keep up, shrimpy. Otherwise, I might have to… spice things up a little."

"Spice things up?" you echoed, immediately suspicious.

"He means doing things like replacing the basketballs with watermelons," Jamil deadpanned.

Ace snorted. "Or throwing the ball at the hoop so hard it breaks the backboard. Oh wait, that actually happened. Twice."

"It was fun," Floyd said, completely unrepentant.

Jamil sighed like a man who’d aged a decade in the last five minutes. But then, to your surprise, he turned to you and offered a small, genuine smile. "Still… I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the team."

The words were simple, but coming from Jamil, they felt like a warm endorsement.

Ace clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move things along. "Alright, enough talking! Let’s get you on the court and see what you’ve got!"

"Or we could start slow," Jamil suggested, but Ace was already dragging you toward the center of the court, Floyd trailing behind with a basketball under one arm.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. "If ya mess up, we’ll just laugh at ya a little. No big deal~."

"No one’s laughing at anyone," Jamil said firmly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ace threw an arm around your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Ignore him. We’re gonna have a blast! First practice starts now!"

You weren’t sure what you’d gotten yourself into, but judging by their enthusiasm (and Floyd’s maniacal laughter), you were in for one chaotic ride.

Track and Field Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the track and field club, Deuce’s face lit up like someone had just told him he passed his midterms.

“You’re… really joining?” he asked, like he needed double confirmation. When you nodded, his grin widened, the kind that made him look both relieved and excited. “That’s awesome! Uh—welcome to the team! Seriously, it’s great to have you.” His usual earnestness shone through, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m still kind of learning the ropes, but we can figure things out together. It’s gonna be great!”

Jack, standing beside him, gave a firm nod of approval. “Good call. Track and field’s a solid choice. You’ll fit right in.” His tail wagged just enough to betray how happy he was, even if his tone stayed calm.

"Yeah!" Deuce agreed. “And, uh, don’t worry about keeping up or anything. It’s all about improving at your own pace. Right, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, glancing at you. Then he added, almost casually, “We’ll work on your stamina. You’re gonna need it.”

It took you a second to catch the faint glint in his eye, and then you remembered—oh no, the fridge comment. Jack had been disturbed ever since.

Deuce, oblivious to the subtext, chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s great at that stuff! He’s got this crazy endurance. Like, he can run forever. I’m still working on it, but, uh, you’re in good hands!”

Jack’s tail swished again. “Just be ready to push yourself. But don’t worry—we’ve got your back.”

“Exactly!” Deuce said, his fists clenching like he was ready to run a marathon right there. “This is gonna be awesome. I mean, not that it wasn’t already great, but now it’s even better. Right, Jack?”

Jack gave a small, satisfied smile. “Right.”

As they led you toward the field, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just signed up for. One thing was certain, though—Jack’s still thinking about that fridge, and he will make sure it’s not an issue anymore.

Board Game Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the board game club, Azul adjusted his glasses, looking smugly pleased with himself, like he'd just negotiated the deal of the century.

"An excellent decision," he said, his voice as smooth as the perfectly polished board games stacked behind him. "With your addition to our club, I foresee a new golden age of strategic victories."

Idia, sitting half-hidden behind a pile of unopened game boxes, choked on his energy drink. "W-Wait, you’re serious? They actually chose us?" His hair flared a brilliant shade of pink for a moment before he pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. "Th-this isn’t some prank, right? Like, I’m not gonna look up and see them bolting out the door laughing, right?"

"Nope," you replied with a grin. "I’m all in."

Ortho, ever the enthusiastic hype man, zipped into the room with his jet thrusters. "Welcome to the club! Now we have a full party for dungeon raids. This is amazing!"

Azul cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Ahem, while cooperative RPGs are certainly an option, I believe we should start with a game of strategy and wit to introduce them properly. Perhaps a round of Chess of Betrayal?"

Idia groaned, sinking further into his hoodie. "Ugh, that game takes, like, three hours. If you’re gonna scare them away, at least wait until they’re too deep in to quit. Why don’t we start with something easy, like Goblin King Gauntlet?"

Ortho clapped his hands. "Ooh, I love that one! It has a random trap mechanic! Let’s play that!"

Azul raised an eyebrow, his smile shark-like. "Trap mechanics are hardly a proper welcome. It would be far better to demonstrate the finer nuances of strategy, wouldn’t you agree?"

Idia muttered something about Azul turning everything into a power play, but you interrupted before they could spiral into a full-blown debate. "Honestly, I’m fine with anything. Just deal me in."

Azul’s smirk widened. "Very well, then. I shall prepare the game board. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain you’re fully equipped for our upcoming campaigns. You’ll find we offer more than just fun—we offer victory."

Idia peeked out from his hoodie, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto his face. "You’re not bad at this whole club thing. Maybe this won’t be so terrible."

As they started setting up the game, you felt an unexpected warmth. Sure, it was just a board game club, but there was something endearing about their chaotic enthusiasm.

Though one thing was clear—Azul would probably try to sell you game tokens at some point, and Idia would absolutely try to teach you how to min-max your dice rolls.

But hey, you were ready for it.

Film Studies Club

When you announced your decision to join the film studies club, Vil paused mid-sip of his herbal tea, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising. For a moment, he looked like he was considering whether he had heard you correctly. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, he set the teacup down.

"Hm. Acceptable," he said coolly, though his tone betrayed a slight uptick of satisfaction. "It’s rare to find someone with enough taste to appreciate the art of cinema. I suppose your presence will be… useful."

But the slight curl of his lips gave him away.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and gave you an appraising look. "We have much to discuss. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to commit entirely—no half-measures, no excuses. The camera is unforgiving, and I have no intention of allowing this club to falter under subpar contributions."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pacing, gesturing dramatically like the star of an avant-garde production. "Lighting, blocking, composition—they are all integral to creating art, not merely entertainment. I trust you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, for that matter."

Despite his words, you caught the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned to face you fully. "And, if for some reason, acting isn’t your strength, there are other roles. Cinematography, set design, editing… Perhaps backstage work would suit you, should you fail the audition."

He didn’t say it to be harsh; this was Vil’s version of encouragement. And as he continued outlining the club’s vision—"a modern renaissance in storytelling"—you realized he was genuinely excited to have you there, even if he’d rather gargle poison than openly admit it.

Finally, he stopped and gave you a small, approving nod. "Welcome to the film studies club. Don’t make me regret this."

Translation: I’m glad you’re here.

Science Club

The moment you announced your decision to join the science club, Rook’s eyes lit up like you’d just declared him the ruler of the universe.

"Ah, mon ami! What a magnifique choice!" he exclaimed, sweeping you into a theatrical bow so deep you thought he might topple over. "You possess the soul of an explorer, a true seeker of knowledge! Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of nature and celebrate its beauty in all its forms!"

"Uh… don’t scare them off, Rook," Trey interjected, though he was smiling. He adjusted his apron, clearly relieved that you hadn’t bolted under Rook’s enthusiastic greeting. "We’re glad to have you. Really. It’s nice to have someone else around who won’t accidentally set the lab on fire."

You raised an eyebrow. "That’s a low bar."

Trey shrugged. "You’d be surprised how many fail to meet it."

Before you could respond, Rook was already spinning grand plans. "Imagine the adventures we will have! Scaling mountains, crafting elixirs, nurturing delicate blossoms—ah, the poetry of science!" He clasped his hands to his chest, radiating so much joy that you were worried he’d break into song.

Trey, ever the grounded one, sighed fondly. "What he means is: we do a little bit of everything. Growing plants, chemistry experiments, cooking—you’ll fit right in. Assuming Rook doesn’t scare you off first."

Rook turned to Trey with an exaggerated gasp, as if the very suggestion of him being overwhelming was the greatest insult he’d ever received. "Chevalier des Roses, how could you wound me so?" He turned back to you with a theatrical flourish. "Fear not! I shall be your guide, your companion, your—"

"Assistant," Trey cut in, giving you a knowing look. "We'll assist you. Don’t let him take over your projects."

You grinned, feeling oddly at home already. Between Rook’s boundless enthusiasm and Trey’s steadying presence, you realized the science club might just be the perfect balance of chaos and calm.

Pop Music Club

When you announced your decision to join the Pop Music Club, Lilia was the first to react. He shot up from his chair with a dramatic flourish, his cape—where did the cape come from?—billowing as if on cue.

"Ah, an excellent choice! Welcome to the most electrifying club in the entire school!" Lilia declared, his voice reverberating like an arena announcer. He played an imaginary riff on an air guitar, complete with sound effects that you were almost certain were magically amplified.

Kalim clapped his hands, beaming as brightly as the sun. "This is going to be so much fun! We can sing duets, make up dances, throw a party for every new song we write—oh! We should have a welcome party for you right now!" He was already halfway to grabbing balloons out of thin air before Cater stopped him.

"Easy there, Kalim," Cater said with a laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "We haven’t even started jamming yet! Gotta document this first—‘New Member Alert 🚨🎶! Welcome to the coolest club at NRC!’” He posed next to you, flipping through filters. "Ooh, should we do a pastel vibe or go all-out neon?"

"Why not both?" Lilia suggested, somehow holding a tambourine he hadn’t been holding two seconds ago. He shook it with gusto, the jingles creating an impromptu beat.

Kalim joined in instantly, dancing around the room with energy that could probably power a small city. "This is going to be amazing! Do you play any instruments? Can you sing? Or maybe you’ll write the songs? Wait, can you do all three?!"

Before you could answer, Lilia leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Don’t worry, even if you’re terrible, I can teach you. After all, I’ve had centuries of experience."

"Centuries of experience at what exactly?" you asked, though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer.

"Everything," Lilia replied cryptically, shaking the tambourine once more for emphasis.

Cater gave you a wink. "Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s mostly harmless. Mostly."

As the chaos swirled around you, you realized joining the Pop Music Club was probably going to be as much about managing everyone’s energy as it was about making music.

But looking at their genuine excitement, you couldn’t help but feel you’d made the right choice. It was going to be loud, unpredictable, and—most importantly—a lot of fun.

Equestrian Club

When you chose the Equestrian Club, Riddle’s reaction was immediate and deeply Riddle. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and gave you a small but dignified nod, though his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“A wise decision,” he said primly, but his voice wavered just enough to give away his excitement. “The Equestrian Club values discipline and care, and I trust you will uphold those values. Welcome.” He paused, then added with uncharacteristic softness, “I’m glad you chose us.”

Sebek, on the other hand, reacted with his usual intensity, which was to say, very loudly.

“AS EXPECTED OF SOMEONE WITH DISCERNING TASTE!” Sebek bellowed, saluting for no discernible reason. “THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB IS A PLACE OF HONOR AND DILIGENCE. YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, AND I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU MEET OUR HIGH STANDARDS!”

“You’re going to scare the horses,” Silver muttered, patting a dozing mare who didn’t even flinch at Sebek’s volume. Clearly, she’d built up an immunity.

Silver turned to you with a sleepy but genuine smile. “Welcome. It’ll be nice having another person around who actually seems calm. I’ll show you the best places to ride, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with the horses.”

“And with the rules,” Riddle interjected, already retrieving a stack of laminated pages. “Equestrian care is not something to take lightly. You’ll need to memorize these guidelines to ensure both your safety and that of the horses.”

Sebek leaned over your shoulder to inspect the stack and immediately saluted again. “AN EXCELLENT INITIATIVE, HOUSEWARDEN ROSEHEARTS! I, TOO, WILL MEMORIZE THESE IN CASE THEY EVER REQUIRE REINFORCEMENT!”

“I think they’re fine,” Silver said. “We don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

Riddle frowned. “Standards exist for a reason, Silver. Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps we can—Sebek, stop shouting—perhaps we can go over the basics first before overwhelming them.”

As Riddle and Sebek debated, Silver handed you a carrot to feed one of the horses. “Don’t worry,” he said, as the horse happily munched away. “It’s not as intense as it seems. Usually.”

You glanced at the stack of rules in Riddle’s hand and the fervent look in Sebek’s eyes. It was definitely going to be an adjustment. But seeing how genuinely happy they all were to have you—yes, even Sebek—you felt like this would be worth it.

Magift Club

When you announced your decision to join the Magift Club as their manager, the reaction was instantaneous and… surprisingly chaotic.

Ruggie let out a whoop, immediately dropping to the floor in a mock bow. "Ayo, everyone, bow to the boss! Finally, someone who can keep this circus in line!"

Leona, lounging on the sidelines, cracked open an eye and smirked. “’Bout time. Herbivores usually flake out, but I knew you were better than the rest.” He stretched lazily, like he’d personally orchestrated your decision. “Just keep the snacks coming, and we’ll get along fine.”

Epel looked between them and grinned, his enthusiasm much more grounded. “It’s great to have ya! With you around, maybe Leona will actually show up to warmups... or not just sleep through it.” He shot a pointed glance at their captain, who was, of course, ignoring him entirely.

“Eh,” Leona drawled, flicking his tail dismissively.

“You could work on that attitude,” you muttered, earning a low chuckle from him.

“See, I told you they’d fit right in!” Ruggie said, gesturing at you dramatically. “They’re already roasting him. This is gonna be great!”

Epel, suddenly inspired, added, “And they’ll keep Ruggie from stealing the fresh apple juice we get after games. That’s worth it alone.”

As the reality of your new role settled in, you felt a bit like a lion tamer walking into a den of mischievous cubs and one very lazy big cat. But their enthusiasm—expressed in their own peculiar ways—was endearing.

Ruggie threw an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, boss, first order of business: snacks! Let’s discuss our game day budget and whether I can convince you to sneak me a sandwich before practice.”

Leona snorted but didn’t argue, which you took as a sign of approval. Epel pumped his fist. “We’re gonna crush it this year!”

Maybe managing this bunch wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, it’d definitely be entertaining.

Mountain Lovers Club

When you joined Jade for a hike to "test the waters" of the Mountain Lovers Club, you had your doubts. You were prepared for a lot of things—maybe getting lost in the wilderness, maybe Jade pulling out his eerie cryptid knowledge, or maybe just a weirdly formal lecture about moss. What you weren’t prepared for was… actually enjoying yourself.

Jade led the way with an unhurried confidence, pointing out various wild plants, their uses, and fun facts about the environment. He wasn’t his usual enigmatic self, either. He seemed lighter, almost enthusiastic, as he described a tiny wildflower you would’ve missed entirely.

“This particular species only blooms during the autumn months,” he said, crouching to show you. “Quite fascinating how it adapts to the cooler temperatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded, trying not to stare too hard at how his face lit up when he spoke. Jade was… cute? When he wasn’t talking about mushrooms in a way that made you question your mortality, he was actually kind of charming.

By the time you reached a rocky outcrop with a gorgeous view of the campus, you realized you’d been smiling for most of the hike. Jade noticed too.

“It seems I’ve made a decent impression,” he said, turning toward you with a soft grin. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… relaxing,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

Jade tilted his head. “Does that mean you’d consider joining the Mountain Lovers Club?”

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked at the breathtaking view and the rare, genuine smile on his face, the answer came easily. “Yeah. I’ll join.”

For a split second, Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual composed smile. “Wonderful. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this outcome, but I’m glad. It’s not every day someone sees the beauty in what I love.”

There was an odd warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. As he turned to lead the way back, he added, “Now that we’re a team, I look forward to our next adventure.”

Jade Leech was genuinely happy. And, you realized, so were you.

Gargoyle Research Society

When you told Malleus you were joining the Gargoyle Research Society, his reaction was almost imperceptible at first. A slight widening of his eyes, a pause as though he was waiting to see if you were serious, and then—pure, unfiltered delight.

"You have an interest in gargoyles?" he asked, his voice both surprised and reverent, as if you'd just confessed to enjoying a rare and ancient art form.

You nodded. "Yeah. I think they're fascinating. The designs, the history… They’re like stone guardians with stories etched into them."

For a moment, Malleus simply looked at you, his emerald eyes shimmering like the light of distant stars. Then, as if unable to contain his joy, he smiled—a soft, genuine expression that sent a wave of warmth through the chilly Ramshackle evening.

"This pleases me greatly," he said, his tone unusually light. “Not many share my appreciation for gargoyles. Often, I speak of them, and others… how do I put it? Pretend to listen.”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretending,” you said, grinning. “I’m in for real.”

Malleus clasped his hands together in what could only be described as regal excitement. "Then I must share something with you. Sometimes, I create gargoyles myself."

“You what?” you asked, laughing in delight.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly, his eyes alight. “Carving stone requires patience, but there is a certain satisfaction in breathing life into something lifeless. Well, not literal life, of course, but a soul of sorts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the image of Malleus with a chisel and hammer popping into your head. “I never would have guessed. That’s… really cool.”

“I can show you some of my creations, if you’d like,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’d love that,” you said, genuinely glad to have joined him. “I think I’m going to enjoy this club.”

The glow in his expression was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just that you had joined his club—it was that, for once, someone truly shared his passion. “And I am glad to have you,” he said softly.

In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the stone guardians scattered around campus, it felt like you had chosen exactly the right place.

Masterlist

tags: @techno-danger

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is a part of film studies sorry :(

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.

[planetsage]

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🌱 INTOLEWD 𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── kento nanami . . . SAVE ?

“you’re a kind of angel, dancing by the table, i was doing fine till i met you”

contains. nsfw so, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. f!reader, dirty talk, fingering, pussy slaps, “good girl,” squirting. cheating. mentions of age gap.

“awwh, my sweet thing. loosen up for me, baby” the palms of nanami’s large hands rub and soothe over your pussy. cupping, caging in your warmth like a little dove. with care, covering your entire cunt before dipping a thick knuckle back into your walls. “you were acting so needy earlier, baby, let me in. cmon, let me in that pretty pussy”

the sounds you’re making are just filthy and nanami drinks them in like that very first sip of morning coffee pushing past pursed lips. your body falls limp like a pretty rag doll against the broadness of his chest, caving into his warmth as you weakly grab and paw at the blades of blonded bahia on his wrist. scratching the polished metal of his watch “w-wasn’t begging, ken”

a laugh rumbles from deep in his chest with no other purpose but to make you feel so small in him. heat threatening to burn the flushed skin on your cheeks right off. “so grindin’ on my thigh like a needy mutt isn’t beggin’? was finishing up some work and you couldn’t even wait, baby. kept pressin’ that needy little clit on me.” his voice vibrates thick vocal chords, producing a rasped melody that lingers and releases a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach.

“no i- aah!” another finger slips into your cunt, curling up, scissoring against your wet walls.

“there it is. riiiight there. that’s where you want me, huh, baby?” he’s pushing against that swelled spot he knows you love more than life itself with the lined sensitive tips of his lengthy fingers making your brain mush.

your thighs part instinctively, your neck failing, making your head dip and fall to watch how lewdly his fingers disappear into the folds of your fat cunt, “see look. so messy, but i barely started touching you. was this already here?” he pulls at the strings of webbed silk that drip out your cunt, “got all wet grindin’ on me, hm? left me a little present?” he coos at you from behind your neck. the blushed tip of his pointed nose brushes against warmed skin softly when you buck up and whine. “poooorr thing,” he drags, “what’s wrong? want me to fuck you? want me to stretch that little pussy out? talk to me, baby”

and you just can’t because your jaw slacks at the curve of his finger dragging and massaging against your fluttering walls. his thumb moves to draw his name on your clit, to soothe his existence onto every inch of your body so you’d never forget how he makes you feel, groaning at how you squeeze and hug him.

“uhn uh, i asked you a question,” slap “i expect” slap “an answer”

your clits throbs at how he swats down on your pussy, “hnngg— want it, want it so bad” you whine. thrashing in the solitude of his warmth. he eggs you one with a “yeah?” moving back to press up against your clit, “what are you, baby? tell me and i’ll give you what you want. you remember, hm?”

he sweetly kisses the hairs on the back of your neck, little pins poking across the length of your body. you give him a nod and a whine and he smiles at both, “y.. your good girl. i’m your good girl, ken.”

“mhm, always so good for me, yeah? now let me make you feel like it, pretty” his lips press against your neck, again, then he’s licking and whispering into your caved ear as he lets his fingers sink back into your pussy, “give it to me, make a mess for me”

he moves to hold down the curve of your hip, ”yeeaa, my twitchy little thing, cmon” stilling you as his fingers rush deep, deep inside you, reaching places only he can.

your knees fight and knock against each other and he pushes against the mound of your tummy, coaxing you to give him want he wants. make him proud. and you do. throwing your head back against the strength of his angled shoulder as you squelch and squirt on fresh fitted sheets, “ohhh, fuck baby. mhm, juuustt like that. let it all out”

he hums and encourages you while his fingers move out to messily rub at your clit and your body feels like it’s engulfed in angry blued flames, eyes squeezing so hard the darkness is punctured by coils of swirling colors.

tears brim as you come down and they fall when you finally peel your lids back open, nanami kissing you so gently you melt like warmed wax but harden and mold back into him.

“ino ever make you feel this good? does he make this pretty pussy squirt like that, hm?” he pets at your head as it shakes, then at your pussy before moving to lap up the mess you made on his fingers. “that’s okay, my dove. just need someone older, more experienced to take care of you. that’s what i’m here for”

© planetsage 2024 all rights reserved. no part of this may be reproduced in any form.

[luveline]

spencer x reader where she kisses his forehead and he’s 🥹🥹

“Spencer, are you dead?” 

Spencer ignores your question by accident. Heavy head in hand, he’s slowly sinking closer and closer to the hotel breakfast table to rest. His neck twinges with the effort it takes to stay up. 

“Spencer,” you say more sharply. 

His eyes track like the air is honey. He settles on your sluggishly while offering no greeting, tiredness pulling at him. “My eyes hurt,” he offers. 

“Make you some tea.” 

“Um, okay.” He’s disappointed when you leave, then dozing, face pressed to his desk as itchy eyes press along lids. It feels as though his eyelashes have turned inward. 

You return with a cup. Spencer grabs it blindly, lifts his head to squint one eye open. “What?” he asks. 

There isn’t tea in the cup. There are tea bags, two of them, wetted and leaking tan beige along the white china of the mug. Distinctly no tea. You must be tired too. 

“They’re for your eyes, Spence. They’ll make your eyes hurt less. The caffeine restricts your blood vessels to calm the inflammation, and the tea itself soothes sore skin.” 

“How do you know that?” he asks. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder. “I read about it in a book of modern home remedies. It really works. Here, can you tip your head back?” 

Spencer is very, very tired, but your voice is nice, your fingertips gentle against his neck, so he tips his head back. He doesn’t know how terrible he looks, having forgotten his untucked shirt, his rumpled sweater vest, his hair sticking up all over the place. 

“Close your eyes,” you murmur. 

Spencer shuts them. 

“It’s cold,” you warn, “but it’ll feel nice.” 

Spencer doesn’t care. He waits for you to move. The tea bags you place on his closed eyes feel cold and at first they sting just a touch, perhaps tea finding its way through his lashes, and he can’t confess to noticing a difference in soreness. 

“Hey… what’s this? It looks like it hurts?” you ask, drawing a short line over the side of the bridge of his nose. There’s an indent there that feels like a bruise.

“I fell asleep at my desk with my glasses on,” he says. “They dug in.” 

“You were up late, I’m guessing. Maybe you should go back to the room.” 

“No, I can’t. I’ll be okay. Thank you for the… tea.” 

Your hand rests tentatively against his cheek. He can’t open his eyes to see what you're feeling, and he doesn’t need to. There’s emotion to be felt in your slow strokes, how your thumb rests along his jaw as your nail scratches to the top of his ear, then behind the shell of it. It’s intimate enough to summon a different kind of tiredness. Exhaustion swapped for content. He could sleep in the curve of your palm all day. 

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m gonna take them off for a second to check the damage.” 

You take them. Your breath draws near. 

A warmth presses to his forehead atop his left eyebrow. Spencer doesn’t know what it is until your nose graces just above it, and your lips part —it’s a kiss. You’re kissing him sweetly, your fingers sewing through his hair. 

He peels his sore eyes open to look at you. You lean back as unhurried as you’d ferried forward, your hand cradling the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask. 

Spencer stares up at you. In that moment, tired, aching, and balmed, he’s completely in love with you. You must see a little of it, your lips parting again in an unnamed emotion. It’s sheer luck that you’re the only one awake with him, because if any of his teammates saw the way he was looking at you they’d never let him forget it. And, he gets to see your reaction. Your partial smile. 

“Did that help?” you ask. 

You must mean the tea. “I feel better.” 

“Yeah? Do you…” Your voice turns to cashmere, a thread of bemusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Would another one be okay?” 

Spencer can only nod as you wrap your arms around him and position your mouth at the soft skin where his hair meets his forehead. When you kiss him again, his eyes flutter shut. 

“You really need some help with your insomnia,” you murmur. 

Spencer wonders if maybe you’d want to be that help. You must have melatonin in your kisses.