#first aid tips for burns

[healthauthentic]

How to Give First Aid for Burns & Fire Accidents | Dr. Bharadwaz | Dr. Ranjith Kumar Konduru | Health Information

Learn essential first aid tips for burn injuries! In this video, we cover the immediate steps to take for minor and severe burns, including cooling the burn, covering the wound, and when to seek medical help. Whether it's a kitchen accident or sunburn, knowing the right actions can prevent complications. Watch now to be prepared and protect yourself or others in emergency situations!

Dr. Bharadwaz | Health & Fitness | Homeopathy, Medicine & Surgery | Clinical Research

#BurnFirstAid #InjuryPrevention #EmergencyCare #BurnTreatment #safetytips

#DrBharadwaz #Helseform #Fidicus #Clingenious

#ClingeniousHealth #HelseformFitness #FidicusHomeopathy #ClingeniousResearch

#HealthAuthentic #Health #Fitness #Homeopathy #Medicine #Surgery #ClinicalResearch

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[drbharadwaz]

First Aid Mistakes to Avoid When Treating Burns | Dr. Bharadwaz | Dr. RanjithKumar

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Health Authentic

true health information

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First Aid Mistakes to Avoid When Treating Burns | Dr. Bharadwaz | Homeopathy, Medicine & Surgery

About Video :

First Aid for Burns involves immediate care to prevent further damage and infection. Homeopathy offers safe, effective, and affordable treatments to relieve pain and promote healing. Remedies like Cantharis and Causticum are known to cure and prevent complications from burns. Trust in homeopathy for a natural approach to burn care, ensuring you get the best treatment tailored to your needs. Choose homeopathy for a holistic way to relieve discomfort and support your body’s recovery.

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.��� Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[nanaslutt]

omg can u imagine gojo being so obsessed with ur pussy lips and before seggs he makes u spread urself for him like he’s the pussy inspector 😵‍💫😵‍💫 or like makes u touch urself and spread ur legs/lips rly wide so he can watch

i can imagine and i am imagining and i will continue to imagine

nonnie you are BRILLIANT<3

contains: fem reader, pussy inspection, masturbation (gojo & reader), he guides you, you’re in front of a mirror, he’s obsessed with your cunt, you finger yourself together, so much praise like so much, dirty talk, he talks to ur pussy, pretty soft i won’t lie~

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

“toru, this ‘s so embarrassing.” your mumbling so quiet he can barely hear, face burning under his scrutinizing gaze with his eyes that can literally see everything

“don’t be embarrassed baby, your little pussy is so pretty,” he assures you, he currently has you on your back, thighs resting over his thicker ones as he’s between your thighs, sitting back on his heels, lengthy cock in hand, “you should wanna show her off,” he smiles sincerely at you

your hands are on the underside of your thighs, holding your pussy lips open for him to get a better veiw,

“you sure ur not jus’ pretending to be embarrassed cutie? little hole is squeezing around nothing down here when i talk to you,” his free hand coming to aid you in holding yourself open, pulling back the hood of your clit to get a closer look at your swollen bud,

“oh fuck,” he laughs, watching it twitch under his watchful stare, “want you to rub your clit a little for me pretty girl, can you do that?” he smiles fondly, eyebrows raising when he looks at you,

“o-okay,” you whimper, he moves his hand from the hood of your clit down to your thigh, rubbing comforting patterns into the skin there

you let one of the hands that was holding your cunt open come around your body and slide down your pelvis, tip of your middle finger coming in contact with your clit, legs trying to squeeze shut around him at the stimulation

“gotta keep ‘em open so i can see okay?” he says, emphasizing his point by using his strong grip to keep your leg in place,

“show me how you touch yourself when your alone.” he bites his lip, watching you look anywhere but his eyes that are trying to make contact with your own as you whimper out at his request,

dipping your finger down to your entrance to gather some of the slick there, you drag your finger back up to your clit and start rubbing quick circles into the angry bud,

not an inch of your movements are being overlooked by his crystaline eyes, he slowly starts to rub his own cock while he watches you, using his dripping pre to lubricate his strokes, jaw dropping in a half smile as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head

a second finger joining the first in rubbing your clit, wetness echoing in the room,

“tell me how it feels,” he’s breathing heavily, focusing on his tip, watching you try to put your pleasure into words for him,

“feels so good, makes my tummy feel all hot,” you pause to gasp, “rubbing it d-directly like t-this is so intense.” you finish, panting in short breaths, finding a good rhythm, one that makes your toes curl,

“oh fuck, i bet it is, looks like it feels so good,” he shakes his head in disbelief, huffing out a half laugh-half moan when he picks up the ministrations on his cock,

reaching his hand back down to your pussy and teasing the tip of his finger in your hole, twisting his palm so it’s facing the ceiling, moaning at the feeling of how warm and wet you feel when he slips it deeper, before pulling out completely

“can you imagine how this feels around my cock?” he asked, watching you scrunch your cute little eyebrows together in pleasure,

“stop for a second.” he says, letting go of his grip on his cock and letting it bob in the air, you look up him confused, barely having time to register the change in position, he picks you up so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed on his lap, facing the mirrored closet, feet perched on the bed by your ass, giving you both a great veiw of your pussy all spread out, his broad chest flexing against your back, feet firmly on the ground,

“gimmie ur hand sweetie,” he speaks, letting him take your hand in his, he places his palm on the back of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before guiding your hand between your legs,

unlocking your finger after he presses you palm over your dripping cunt, his chest vibrates against your back when he speaks, “put two fingers inside yourself,” he requests, “slowly, really feel how soft and wet you feel.” he instructs, hand opting to hold your thigh open for now while he watches your every moment through the mirror,

you dip the tips of your fingers inside your hole, rubbing the wetness on the length of your digits before slowly pressing deeper into yourself, just like satoru asked, your head falling back against his shoulder in a moan when your cunt swallows up your fingers to the hilt, palm pressed firmly against your clit,

“good girl” he draws out, groaning as he thrusts his hips shallowly against you, cock pressed snugly between your lower back and his abs, relishing in the friction,

“feel how good that feels?” he asks, hand he had resting on your thigh coming down to your cunt, teasing the space under where your fingers are currently stuffed in your hole, you whimper out an ‘uh-huh’ while nodding, “that’s what my cock feels every time i’m inside of you.”

his thick fingers slowly joining yours inside your cunt, pushing them in with a little resistance as you gasp, eyes shooting open and head tipping forward to watch his ministrations in the mirror, “fuck! s-satoru!” you moan at the stretch

your cunt and his dick alike throb at the veiw of his fingers along with your own stuffed inside you, “this pussy is so fucking good to me you know that? he whispers into your ear, keeping eye contact with you in the mirror,

starting to pump all four of your fingers together in and out of your gushing pussy, forcing your fingers to curl with his each time he fucks them into you, putting the most mind numbing pressure on your gspot

“always squeezes my cock so good, just like she’s doin to our fingers now.” his mouth is still pressed to your ear, hot breath sending goosebumps all over your body,

“touch your clit, pay attention to how tight she gets when you do that,” he instructs

shaky hand coming down to rub your puffy nub, letting out a long moan of his name at the sensation of your clit getting stimulated along with your gspot being pounded into, thanks to him picking up the pace,

basically holding hands with him inside of you as your fingers tangle and curl together, cum sliding down between your ass as you work together to bring you to your rapidly approaching orgasm,

“fuck you felt that right?” he moans breathlessly into the shell of your ear, “felt how much tighter she got?” humming sounds of approval into the side of your face as the coil in your tummy screws impossibly tighter,

“and when you cum it makes my cock feel even better, try to focus on that, really wan’ you to understand how good you make me feel.” he enlightens you, staring between your pretty face twisting in pleasure and your messy cunt crying out for him as your thrown into your orgasm,

hunching over when the first wave hits you, remembering satoru’s words and trying to focus on how your pussy clenches and spasms around your fingers, and how it feels

his hips fucking up into your back, feeling sympathetic pleasure himself watching your intense orgasm wrack your body with tremors,

whimpers of his name and curses filling the air as your cum drips around both of your digits, letting you catch your breath for a second before pulling out his fingers, yours following shortly after, as he leaves sweet kisses on your sensitive neck.

“did such a good job, felt nice when you squeezed all tight on ur fingers when you came, right?” he asked, eyes already on yours when you came to, smiling and nodding at him through the mirror, affirming his words,

“good, now i wanna feel that same thing around my cock, and i want you to squirt for me while we’re at it,” he leaves one final kiss on your cheek, hearts practically in your eyes as he gets you in position for the long and messy night you’re about to experience.

[tearsofcalamity]

(mechanic!reader) cw // blowjob, overstim, robotfucking!! keep in mind I have 0 mechanical knowledge this is just me spitballing

boothill glitches & overheats when he's overstimulated!

it's not super obvious at first, what with going down on him and all, your eyes are kind of downcast as you focus on licking up and down his synthetic cock - the one you'd given him. it feels just as good, better, even, than a regular human's, and you'd made sure to up his sensitivity to touch extra for your little night with him.

his little huffs and pants are quite delicious, trying so hard to fight off the noises that are bubbling in his throat, but he can't help but let off a sharp whine when your tongue drags right beneath his tip, metal hands nearly gouging into the metal examination table beneath him.

"d-darlin', d-did you-" he's just about to figure out your little tinkering with his sense of touch when you wrap your lips around his tip and suck hard, your hand gliding up and down his shaft, aided with the residual slick left behind by your wandering mouth.

"ngh- mmnh! fudge, fudge, fudge!" ah, he curses in his mind that you were so willing to give him all these lovely upgrades, but you weren't quite as eager to fix the 'hilarious' problem with his synesthesia beacon.

he gets as close to cumming as a cyborg can, no liquid spurting from the tip but the heat from his metal body and the way his face tenses, then relaxes, making it all too clear he's reached his climax.

but you don't stop.

"h-hey, sugar? I j-just- oh, god, mmmh-" he can barely get the words out as you go in again, just as enthusiastic, if not even more so than before.

your tongue sliding back over his cock was absolute heaven, but also - man, was it also torture. he was already nearly at the edge again, his fingers actually making divots in the metal of the table this time. if boothill could swear, the words would be pouring out of his lips, but he settles on biting down on his lip instead, drawing some of that blue blood he's now been built with.

"h-honey? s-sugar, fudge, ahh, ahhh! I ca-ca-can't-!"

you look up at that, noticing the way he's stuttering, stammering more than usual even when he's overwhelmed. his lip is twitching, almost as if he's going to cry, but then you see his arm spasm unusually, jerking to the side when you get in one last little kitten lick on his aching cock.

he came again.

his face was utterly debauched, and he stared you down with a look of utter shock, his jaw twitching a bit as he tried to think of the words to say. you reach up to cup his cheek, your other hand landing on his abdomen, which results in you quickly pulling away with a sharp hiss.

he was burning up!

"darlin', I'm so-so-so-so-" he jittered out, the voicebox in his throat malfunctioning from the heat. he reaches a working hand up to grasp his throat, his lips moving but the sound not quite working in sync with them.

you paused, watching the way he glitched about, and then began to laugh. boothill shot you a betrayed look, but you just sighed with a smile and grabbed your tools, pulling over your swivel chair.

"okay, this'll be a lesson learned for upping your sensitivity next time."

"I k-k-k-knew it!"

"yes, yes. can't have your wires frying every time we fuck, love."

[health0111]

The "Home Doctor book" is a practical medicine for every household. It is a book specifically designed for isolated clients and contains all the information required to diagnose and treat common diseases at home. The Home Doctor also includes a list of common medicines and their uses you should purchase to save your family. Go Here

[luveline]

I'm in an angsty mood.. and I love love love Spencer x bombshell!reader.

maybe she gets hurt somehow (maybe like an unsub or something) but refuses to get checked out

ty for requesting!! sry this isn't super angsty 

cw criminal minds typical gun violence

Blood is a strange thing. It can run quickly or slow, feel tepid or burning hot. It's warm and uncomfortable as it slinks down the curve of your shoulder to the very tip of your index finger, dark as coal pitch in the poor lightning. 

The gunfight is promptly ended, so quickly that no one even knows you've been hit. Morgan throws himself at one unsub and the other is shot in the thigh. Your ears ring, a gun firing too close to your head, clearly. 

In all the hubbub, nobody notices you're hurt. 

You'd like to keep it that way. 

It's not that you believe you're infallible, nor that the others believe it either, but in the grand scheme of things it is a very small cut that you can attend to in your hotel room alone with a butterfly stitch or even a roll of bandages. There's no way it requires real stitches, and no way you're gonna sit in the back of an ambulance for the next hour. 

Your jacket is black. The wound clots itself while you're in the SUV —you choose a window where your arm faces away from everyone and you manage it. And truthfully… you would like the others to think you're smarter than getting hit by a stray bullet. After everything that's happened lately, you've reason to build yourself up. Let the others hold you in some prestige again. 

It works for a time. You get back to the hotel, and everyone says goodnight. Your room is clean and waiting for your return. 

You'd collapse into bed if it didn't mean you'd leave a bloody line on the linens. You shed your ruined jacket and throw it in the trash. Your shirt is split where the bullet nicked you, and that comes off next. The wound begins bleeding sluggishly at the agitation but doesn't erupt, and stays strong as you wipe the skin clean around it. Your fingers mar with copper stain, the face cloth you've sacrificed turning an ugly brown, but eventually you've cleaned the skin enough to see the damage. 

It's deep but small. A nick. 

The issue is your lack of bandages. It's a hotel room, a small one. There's no first aid kit and your go bag is sorely lacking. Which means… 

You have to go bat your eyelids at someone, and if you're being honest, you only ever want to do that to one Dr. Spencer Reid. 

He's not expecting you, clearly. You weren't expecting it either. "Hey," he says, rubbing his eyes, his pyjama pants flush to the floor. 

"You were sleeping? I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry, are you kidding me?" He opens the door wider to encourage you in, turning away from you as he murmurs, "S'like my dream." 

He must be very tired. You beam like a fool and follow him inside. "I had a dream like this once, too. Same kind of dream, do you think?" 

"Knowing you, probably." He's growing more comfortable with you, but he's still clearly a little flustered to be this suddenly presented with you, wrapping himself up in a cardigan hanging over the single sad chair. "What's up?" 

"I'm glad you asked." You take your uninjured arm out of your coat, and then the other. You know what you're doing, laughing softly as his eyes turn to dark dimes in an otherwise pale face. "I need your help with something, Spence." 

"Uh–" He stammers, looking you up and down with shock. "Um, I–" He licks his lips quickly. "Okay." 

You kind of hate that you aren't there to seduce him for a split second. Too bad your arm has started to throb. "I need a bandaid," you say, turning your arm into his line of sight. "Help me out?" 

—

"I know something you don't know," Morgan sing-songs. Emily sips her coffee, mildly interested by her friend's taunting. She doesn't give him any feeding, waiting, and sure enough he cracks. "What, you don't want to know?" 

"You want to tell me, right?" 

"Mm, no. I'll tell Penelope." 

"Fine! Alright, what is it?" She breaks, putting her coffee down on the little table in front of her. They're sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for Hotch and the others to collect their things. The jet awaits, as do a few hours in the air before she gets to sleep in her own bed again. 

"I saw–" Morgan laughs. "This is too good. I saw a certain bombshell visiting Reid last night. After hours."

Emily's heart kicks in. "No way!" she gasps. "I mean, I know there's something between them, we all know that, but– his room, seriously?" 

"He didn't even question her. She knocked, he answered, she went inside." 

"What were you doing up?" 

"That's my business," Morgan says. 

Emily leans forward to gossip. This is insane. Sure, you flirt with Spencer relentlessly, and sure, he blushes like he loves it the majority of the time, he even manages to get you back, but you're sleeping together? "This is so scandalous," she whispers. 

Her job is hard, but God does Emily love her team. She's genuinely happy for you both, but seriously! She giggles to herself at the drama of it all, and Morgan looks like he might say more, but then he looks behind her and stops. 

Emily turns. You and Spencer are walking out of the elevator together, and while you aren't looking more coupled than usual, Spencer's acting unusually. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks, hushed but carrying in the relatively quiet lobby. 

"I promise I'm okay, Spence." Your voice drops. "It's our secret, okay?" 

"Sure, but–" He takes your hand, there, where everyone can see, the love in the line of his shoulders clear to anyone who might be watching, which Emily and Morgan very much are. "Can I look at it again?" 

Morgan laughs into his hand, hiding it with a cough too late. Emily kicks his leg and he looks admonished, but it doesn't convince you where you look up from your conversation, the same surprise written in your features as Emily herself feels while Spencer continues, "You need to let me take care of you," he says, practically pleading. 

"Spencer," you say, looking Emily straight in the eye, "you took care of me just fine last night." 

She gawps. 

Spencer whispers in response to your lowered tone, making his answer partially inaudible, "It was my first…" He shakes his head. "I've never…  and I know you said it didn't hurt that much but… go see a doctor–" 

You stop him with an affectionate smile. "You could never hurt me, handsome. Do I look like I'm in pain?" 

"No." Spencer drops your hand. "If you're sure. Let me go get you a drink, okay? Go sit down." 

"Yes sir." 

Nothing about you says anything different to usual as you sit on the lobby chair next to Morgan's, beside your worn hoodie. You fiddle with a fraying sleeve as you kick one leg over the other, giving your friends a pleased smile. "Morning," you say lightly. 

Emily genuinely doesn't know what to say. Her mouth hangs slightly ajar. "I…" 

"You're shameless," Morgan says with a laugh. 

"Look," you say, shrugging though the action makes you wince, "I could tell you the truth and you wouldn't believe me." 

"Sure we wouldn't. Reid looks like a lost puppy right now." 

Spencer stands anxiously by the coffee machine across the way, his gaze locked solidly on you where you sit. You throw him a smile and he looks away. 

"I don't deserve him," you say softly. 

Spencer carries your bag for you all the way to the BAU. Emily doesn't think it's a question of deserving, though you do, only an example of Spencer's big heart. And, you know, post hookup appreciation, or something. 

[pellucid-constellations]

Lessons in Care

Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel loves you so much. Even though you can't cook. You're trying though.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: A small injury

a/n: Consider this a small gift to make up for me disappearing for a month <3 This is part of the line cook au, but as I've mentioned, nothing is really in order so read however you want :) The rest of this AU can be found in my masterlist right there ⬇ love you <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“Like this?” You shook the pan a little harder, the handle's weight tweaking your wrist at an odd angle. 

“Almost. Try not to hold your elbow so close to your body. It won’t flip right.” 

You pressed your lips together and narrowed your eyes. “This is so hard.” 

“I believe in you,” Azriel teased, an amused upturn of his eyes as he watched you struggle. 

“Why is this pan so heavy? It’s literally like 40 pounds.” 

“It’s cast iron, baby.” 

“That’s stupid.” 

Azriel barked out a laugh, red tinting his cheeks as if he hadn’t expected the sound to leave his lips. Your mouth quirked up in a small smile despite your struggle. You shot your gaze to the side to try and catch the sweet expression that still lingered on Azriel’s face.

“Would you like me to do it?” Azriel posed after clearing his throat. 

“Of course not. I came early so you could teach me.” 

“I could teach you another time. You have class soon.” 

“Why do you want me to fail?” 

“I don’t—” 

“You totally do. You want me unable to cook for myself so I’ll always have to rely on you, and then I’ll never be able to leave you.” 

Azriel laughed again, a quiet, rumbling sound. “You caught me. Now hand that over before you hurt yourself.” 

You groaned and turned slightly to evade your boyfriend’s reach. “Az, I’m serious. Teach me how to flip these stupid eggs right now.” 

“Okay, okay. Just let me help.” 

The feel of Azriel’s hand lightly sliding over yours startled you. You jumped and your fingers twitched, the sudden motion sending the tips of your fingers too far forward until a simmering pain shot through your skin. You flung the pan back on the burner instantly, its contents splattering along the stove and into the open flame. It burned a bright orange and then settled as you held your hand close to your chest. 

You hissed a breath through your teeth and Azriel’s hands were on you. 

“Shit, baby, let me see, yeah?” he stressed, mindlessly turning the burner off without taking his eyes off you. He tugged your hand at your chest with gentle fingers. “Let me see.” 

You released the tight grip on your fingers and rested them in Azriel’s open palm. “I was just surprised. I don’t think it’s that bad.” 

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he examined your burn. He tsked, pulling you gently by your wrist over to the sink. “It’s going to blister.” 

Cool water rushed from the pipes and soothed your skin. Azriel held your wrist in a soft grip and turned your hand slowly, back and forth in a repetitive motion. 

“I don’t think so, Az. It’s not that bad.” 

Azriel shook his head. “That pan was pretty hot—I’d be surprised if it didn’t.” He looked up at you. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

You offered a gentle smile and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “You didn’t scare me.” You raised your brow playfully. “You just made me nervous. A cute guy like you holding my hand—reaching over to help me to cook. Made me all jumpy.” 

Azriel breathed out a disbelieving scoff. “I’ve done far worse than just hold your hand.” 

“Scandalous!” you proclaimed, affronted. “How can you say such things at work, Azriel? You’ll be fired.” 

“I can only hope,” Azriel grumbled. 

Azriel directed you to keep your hand under the water as he dug through a cabinet for the first-aid kit despite your protests. You truly felt that you were fine and didn’t even need a bandaid, but it was easy to forget the multitude of scars that littered Azriel’s hands and how they contrasted with your completely unmarred skin. 

That was purposeful, meaningful—Azriel worked hard so you wouldn't have to. Azriel found peace in keeping you safe and happy. 

So you let him fuss. 

“Okay, let me see again, baby,” Azriel requested, flipping the water off and reaching for your hand. Your skin stung as it met the air beyond the sink, but Azriel’s caring touch was like a balm. 

He dried your fingers with a towel and uncapped a spray bottle, coating your burn with too much of the medication before grabbing a set of gauze and tape. You stared at the materials in exasperation. Azriel didn’t notice the expression and continued to admisinister care as if you’d been in a fire.

“Az, I love you so much, but I don’t need all of that. It’s a small burn. I’ve probably done worse with my curling iron.” 

Your boyfriend only hummed and continued his work. “I don’t want it to scar. It blistered already.” 

“Yes, but—” 

“Almost done.”

You let him work. A few moments of silence passed. Azriel kept his gaze hard and his brow set in a harsh line. 

That wouldn’t do. 

Once your finger was fully wrapped and protected from everything Azriel could fear, you puckered your lips in contemplation and shook your head. 

“Still hurts really bad,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. Azriel followed your movements, leaving little space between you. 

“What?” he questioned, a tinge of panic in his tone. “That should’ve numbed it. How bad does it hurt?” 

“Really, really bad. Like my whole hand is on fire, actually.”

Azriel—who had yet to release your fingers—stared down at them in startled befuddlement. He turned them one way and then another as if that would answer his questioning gaze, and then looked back up to meet your eyes in a way that was almost pleading. 

“I’m sorry, maybe I should—”

“You have to kiss it,” you revealed, not wanting the sad expression to linger on his face any longer. “Duh.” 

Azriel let out a breath that bordered on relief, but most of it seemed founded in exasperation. He shook his head and brought your fingers up to his lips all the same, smiling to himself as he began to kiss each of your fingertips. Even the ones that clearly weren’t burnt. He flipped your hand over and kissed the knuckles, too, capturing your eyes as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. 

“‘M sorry you got hurt,” he mumbled with his lips against the back of your hand. “Told you you shouldn’t try cooking, baby.” 

The warm feeling that had begun to seep into your chest paled in comparison to the offended scoff that echoed in the empty kitchen. Azriel’s poorly concealed, devious smile was hidden in the kisses he started pressing into your palm, and although it would have fit the sound you let out, you didn’t pull away. 

“Azriel, you are just asking for me to—” 

“The hell is going on in here?” The kitchen door smacked against the frame as Cassian made his entrance. “Someone get hurt?” 

Azriel dropped your hand just as soon as Cassian had spotted him pressed against you, clearing his throat and turning to the disheveled first-aid kit on the counter. You brought your knuckles up to your mouth to hide your laugh at Azriel’s expense, his face flushing in vulnerability. 

“Oh, I see what was going on. You were romancing your girl, weren’t you, Az? Well, don’t let me interrupt. You came in early and everything,” Cassian teased, his hands raised in surrender. 

“We were just finishing up,” you countered, a laugh trickling through. “I have to get to class, Cass. You can start your shift.” 

“Uh huh,” Cassian smiled, raising his brows and then lowering them when he caught your hand reaching for your backpack. “You okay?” 

“She’s fine,” Azriel interrupted. He took your bag from you and slung it over his shoulder, pressing a nonchalant kiss to your head that you knew was actually not nonchalant. “I’m going to take her to school. Cover for me for 20?” 

“Sure, man.” 

“Az, I was going to take the bus you don’t have to—” 

“C’mon, baby.” 

“But I don’t even have my helmet for your bike.”

“I always bring your helmet.”

[rhysazriel]

Kinktober Day 1: Choking

A/N: We’re kicking off the first day of Kinktober with a beautiful little choking blurb. I have the majority of these already written and scheduled hehe, enjoy!! 18+ only!! Includes sexual themes and choking!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You’d always had a fascination with Azriel’s hands. His long, slender fingers that always rendered you to a less than coherent state. You saw past the scars and marred flesh, the slight divots and callouses that only ever aided in your pleasure.

His hands were manly, strong. Yet his hold on you was usually tender, soft. You loved it. You loved him. But sometimes, a girl needed more. Sometimes, a girl needed to be manhandled a little once in a while.

Azriel’s hips rolled against yours, the curve of his thick cock causing his ruddy tip to nudge at your cervix. You were close, almost at that tipping point between heaven and reality.

Those gentle, scarred hands gripped tighter on your hips, fingernails indenting promises of half-moons into your flushed skin. More. You were desperate for more.

You knew Az tended to hold back more often than not. Knew he was always afraid of inflicting harm and pain. But you needed it, needed something else. Something to add to the pleasure. To amplify it.

"Az," you breathed his name, watching his gaze move from your gushing cunt to your eyes.

He looked wild, his mind barely able to keep his filthiest desires tamed. You wanted him to unleash himself onto you...even if just something extra.

The sheer magic of his solid gaze surged you closer to the edge, adding that fuel to the fire. Almost, almost there.

You were holding your breath, desperate to chase the overgrowing high and not lose sight of it. A gasp tore through your throat until you were withholding your lungs of their deepest need again.

Your eyes fluttered, hand reaching for Az's marred one. "Choke me."

There was a mere moment of inner turmoil on his face, a brief second or two of severe contemplation before his hand left your hip and his slender fingers wrapped tightly around your throat.

Your head rolled back into the pillow, eyes closed and back arching until your pearled nipples scratched against Azriel's hard chest.

"You like that?" He gave your throat an experimental squeeze, and an incoherent sound blubbered from deep within you.

"Fuck, yes." Your words were barely audible, your skin burning beneath his dominating hold.

That overwhelming sensation began to bubble in the pit of your stomach. Growing and expanding until it toppled over and bursts of white light and relief washed over you.

You thrashed beneath Azriel's body and hold, your chest desperate for reprive. He didn't grant it, no. He gave your throat another brief squeeze, pummelling his hips against yours despite your broken and laboured cries.

"I'm not done with you yet."

[fanaticsnail]

"Thank you"

Word Count: 2,168 Sanji-Pollen "Drabble" Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist here

Warnings: Pollen!Sanji, MDNI, Sanji has inhaled pollen, Sanji can't relieve himself, Edging, Crying, Whimpering, Begging, rutting, Solo!Sanji, Sanji x Afab!reader. smut, p in v

Minors, this is not meant for you.

Tag List: @vespidphoenix @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @sordidmusings @delectableworm @feral-artistry @writingmysanity - We couldn't just leave him like that now, could we?

As the first of the Straw-Hat crew to return to the vessel, you were unsure as to what following the strange sounds down the lengthy corridor would bring you. Nothing in all of your flirtation-ship with the chef could’ve prepared you for the sight gracing your eyes.

His vision was foggy, jaw slacked and a mixture of sticky saliva sweeping down his chin. The beads of sweat pouring from his temples, dampening his cheeks and gluing his soaked blond hair to his forehead as you witnessed his eyes rolling back into his skull. Growls, cries and whimpers were choking through his throat and coating the air with his desperate screams for aid.

Your eyes widened, following the trail of sweat glistening skin over his torso and down to the chiseled ‘v’ of his blonde happy-trail. Everything was red, hot and desperate. His skin rubbed raw with the clawing fingernails of his dominant hand thrusting his cock within his fist with a violent ferocity. Shock held you stationary in the doorway, your hand dropping the objects you had purchased from within town and thudding against the floor; alerting the poor chef to your presence.

He snapped his gaze to you, his body too weak and desperate to shield his aching cock from your vision. Much to the horror of you both, he continued tugging desperately on his abused shaft and pinching his swollen tip as he was brought to the edge of another orgasm.

“I-I’m so s-sorry,” he managed to stutter out through his thrusting, hot and fresh tears falling freely down his cheeks, “I-I can’t st-stop. It h-hurts t-to stop-p.”

“Sanji, what did you do?” you asked him, hastily bringing yourself into his quarters and closing the door behind you. You hesitated, your brows furrowing and eyes panicking at the sight of your friend in a state of complete vulnerability.

The two of you had something unspoken between you; subtle touches as you brushed past one another in the halls, preferential treatment at meal times, and you always seeking him out and gifting him with tokens from your travels – one of which lay abandoned on the floor beside the door.

“Sanji, what did you do?” you again questioned him, your eyes searching his and attempting to dismiss what he was doing to pleasure himself in front of you. You bit your lip, unable to simply cast aside the lewd noises he was mewling at you, desperately calling your name within his shaky voice.

“I-I can’t,” He sobbed, his cock desperately writhing and twitching within his palm, “I can’t cum!” His desperate cry for help broke something in you, you immediately taking pity on him and running over to sit at his side. The mattress dipped at his torso, you refusing to look below his clavicle and search his gaze for answers.

“Sanji,” you hesitated, your hand halting slightly in its descent towards his glistening forehead.

“T-Touch me, please. Please, love. P-Please touch me,” he begged with you, his eyes shutting tightly as he winced out another cry, “I n-need you. Please, I need you.” You pressed your palm against his forehead, taking in his scorching temperature beneath your palm and wincing at the contact.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” you commented, swiping his damp hair away from his forehead and sweeping your palm to collect his cheek, “what can I do? Tell me. I’ll get Chopper-.”

“-NO!” He roared at you, shock springing to your spine at his ferocity. His eyes were open and pupils completely blown with unbridled lust as he managed to wince out, his pace not halting in the slightest as his bicep continued to maintain his bruising rhythm of fisting his veiny cock.

“J-Just-… Just…” he closed his eyes, his breath continuing to stutter. He bit his bottom lip hard, piercing the skin as he attempted to again push himself over the edge of another orgasm to no avail. His body was wrecked with grief, physically shaking. You were unaware of the possibility of someone being struck pale with horror and glow crimson with embarrassment: yet, here lay the poor blonde chef in a puddle of his own sweat, shaking with arousal and frustration.

“Just, what? What can I do? Love, name it,” you cooed down at him. You couldn’t bare to watch another moment of him like this, but truly unaware of how to best aid him in his predicament. Sanji cringed through the pain, gritting his teeth and persevering his unspoken thought.

“Darling,” he called to you, attempting to sit from his reclined position; only to falter back onto his unused elbow as he winced out, “I need you to fuck me.” You were absolutely taken aback by his statement, the seriousness in his eyes and the animalistic tone in his voice. Sanji would flirt with you, sure. You would reciprocate, absolutely. But this was something new entirely.

“-Don’t think about it. Don’t think about me. Just-…nmph-…” he was hit with another wave of lust as the dust in his lungs fuelled his desire further, “-You can picture anyone else. Imagine the most handsome man, or beautiful woman you could concoct. Picture the stupid swordsman, I just-… -f-fuck… Just please, lay with me. Please f-fuck me-.”

You placed both hands either side of his face, pulling his lustful gaze into you and holding his grey eyes fixed on your own.

“Sanji,” you called to him, your voice soft and calm. A whimper fell from his parted lips as you rolled his name over your tongue.

“Y-Yes, my love? Y-Yes?” he asked you, his eyes full of sorrow and defeat. You sighed at his expression, smoothing your hand over his face once again.

“There’s no one else I would dream of doing this for,” you confessed to him, “why would I imagine anyone else?” His actions halted, his body immediately reacting to your words and holding himself completely statuesque. At that momentary pause, his body screamed at him to begin moving once more; a growl releasing itself from within his chest and verbally chastising himself.

“Darling, please. Please,” he begged, thrusting upwards his hips into his hands, “Please ride me. I need you.. -nghh-…, please, I…-hhah-…p-promise I’ll be good. Please.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and feeling the waves of his heated desperation falling off him and coating the room with the perfume of his musky arousal. You stood, facing away from him and removed your pants, pooling them onto the floor to entangle with his bedsheets and pillows he flung carelessly off his bed earlier. Shimmying out of your underwear, you kicked them off to the side, your walls already coated with a shameful amount of arousal at the sight of your desperate friend as he pumped his cock in front of you.

Keeping your eyes closed, you turned around to face him again while bashfully tugging down the length of your shirt to shield your arousal from him. You coyly knelt atop the mattress, avoiding his desperate gaze as he took in every moment of your descent towards him. He continued to fist at his cock at a bruising pace, the heavy slaps falling like punches down his shaft to hit at his groin painfully heavy as he cried out for you one last time.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m…a-aahh-…I’m so, so sorry,” his apologies were flung into the air with a mixture of your name and a variety of creative pet-names. You reached down and collected his unused hand, lacing your fingertips within his slowly and carefully.

“It’s okay, Sanji. If you could just-,” you crawled onto his lap and hovered over his rapidly beating hand tugging his aching cock, “-stop for a moment, and I’ll-…” you reached down and tugged away his hand from gripping his cock in the firm vice-clench of his hand. He whimpered and began gyrating into the air at the absence of stimulation, his tongue darting out to dampen his bottom lip with a fresh coat of saliva.

You placed his hand on your hip and released it from your grasp, reaching down to pull back the skin of his shaft and steady yourself as you made a slow descent to impale yourself atop his throbbing cock. His shiny red tip brushed against your glistening folds, prompting him to let out a feral scream at the contact. Your eyes snapped open, searching his face for any harm or pain, only finding a warm blush dusting his cheeks, his jaw slack and a trail of saliva connecting his upper and lower teeth. You furrowed your brows, hardening in your resolve and sunk the tip of his cock into your core. Another scream erupted from Sanji, his whimpers falling away to become feral growls and ferocious snarls.

“Sanji,” you moaned, the tip beginning to stretch your core as you adjusted to his size. His eyes snapped open as he gazed at your face. Although his vision was blurry and exhaustion was overcoming him from edging his body, he was desperately pleading with himself to be present for this moment. A moment he truly never foresaw ever completing on his own. Although still clad in your t-shirt, your torso hidden from him as you sunk down onto his aching cock, he had never seen something so beautiful. His eyes filled with glassy, fresh tears of relief as you continued slowly coaxing his cock into you.

He unlaced his hand with yours, bringing it to meet the other side of your hip as you descended down onto his cock; fluttering as you adjusted to his size. As you nearly took in his entire length, he mustered all of the strength remaining in his body and sat with you fully sheathed on his lap. His balls were sucked into his stomach with the pressure of his release, the new angle immediately hitting the sensitive underside of your clit with his curved cock with his soft pubic hair tickling against your clit.

In that one swift motion of you taking in his entire length, he was immediately a trembling mess; whining sweet praises at you while physically shaking in his shoulders while desperately clawing at your ass.

He was cumming. Instantly.

Ribbons of his pent up release coating your inner walls with the slickened backsplash of his cum. Twitching, lightly rocking with his entire length disappearing within your walls, he held you so tightly as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, sobbing onto your shirt with tears dampening the material below his closed eyes.

“I-I’m cumming. I’m cumming. O-Oh f-fuck… -nghhh-… I-I… -hh-hahh-… I’m s-sorry. I-I’m c-cumming,” he cried against you, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. 

“It’s okay, shh,” you drew your hands to the back of his hair, soothing over the sweat covered, matted locks, “sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re loved. It’s truly okay.” You pressed a small kiss to his temple while he slowly rocked you within his lap, his cum continuing to shoot up into you and dance with your own glistening arousal. Although you had not experienced a release, you could empathetically feel his satisfaction as he was finally able to climax through whatever seemed to hold him incapable of doing so. 

Waves of exhaustion fell from him, his rocking halting as the last few beads spilled over and into your body, your arousal satisfying his unquenchable thirst and smothering the flames of his wild, burning panic. He sighed into you, releasing your hips from his grip and circling his left hand around your hips and hooking his right hand up the middle of your back to cradle you against himself. A small shudder of his shoulders followed by a low rumbly, laugh of relief had you finally able to relax, knowing your chef was finally himself again. You giggled, lacing your arms over his shoulders and whispering down against his temple.

“Are you okay down there?” you giggled as you checked in with him, prompting another laugh to erupt from his parted lips at your question. He slowly moved his forehead away from the crook of your shoulder and neck, placing a small kiss against your neck before looking up at you.

“Hi,” he whispered to you, a coy smile rising to his lips as his eyes finally met yours. 

“Hi,” you smiled back in return. He placed his forehead up against your own, brushing your nose with his. His eyes creased upwards, his relief falling over him in waves as you traced circles atop his shoulders. He slowly snuck a glance down at the point where your two bodies connected, noticing his slowly dissipating harness was still buried within you. He sighed out a content breath before seeking your gaze out once more. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” Sanji huffed a small laugh, “I’ll return the favor, then I’ll cook you something. That sound okay?” You laughed at his suggestion, nodding enthusiastically and placing a small kiss on his forehead. 

“Sounds perfect, chef.”

[theorphicangel]

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐈'𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. | sukuna x gn!reader

word count: 1k

tags: fluff, slightly mean 'kuna, he calls reader 'stupid' :(, modern au

synopsis: you call sukuna pretty knowing all too well how much he hates it when you say that. (or does he?)

You wake to a warm hand wrapped around your waist. Molded into a moon’s crescent, your body is wrapped within a warm embrace. Sukuna’s grip is firm despite currently being under the authority of slumber. The early August sun streams in through the blinds, welcoming you to another day with the sounds of city traffic leaking through the windows of your apartment. 

It seems like the two of you ended up falling asleep on the couch after staying up late the previous night, the tv screen glows with white letters reading  ‘Are you still watching?’

The scent of a husky cologne fills your nostrils, a classic scent of your partner. You don’t dare move to stir the man beneath you. In a deep rhythmic pattern his chest rises and falls, gentle snores leave his parted lips. You take the opportunity to study Sukuna’s features starting with his black tattoos intricately designed on his body and face. 

This may be the single moment where you fail to witness his usual grumpy expression on his face. Instead of the usual crease between his brows or the squinting of his eyes and his lips overturned into a grimace; Sukuna’s expression seems to be one of pure tranquility, unusual from his regular look of disapproval. You take note of the softness of his lips, pink and plump and ever so kissable. His cheeks are slightly puffy from sleep, you fight the urge within yourself to pinch them between your fingers. His overall demeanor is relaxed as he  unconsciously lets his guard down, a rare sight. 

The room remains so quiet you can hear his heart repeatedly thump in your ear, the rhythmic beat provides the gentle temptation of lulling you back to sleep. As stubborn you are, you fight to keep your eyelids open whilst simultaneously tracing over the black tattoos across Sukuna’s arm. With controlled caution, your fingers trace lightly over his skin. You’ve yet to ask him the meaning behind his tattoos wondering whether there’s a sincere backstory or if they were merely a creation from an impulsive moment. 

 In the early stages of dating he had subtly confessed that his first tattoo was an act of rebellion against his parents and as time passed he simply got into the habit of obtaining the rest.

Glancing up to his face, you study the intricate tattoos placed on his chin. You wonder if he designed them by himself or had aid from someone else. What prompted him to do it you wonder, where did he get his inspiration from? How did his parents react to the rest of the tattoos? But you know all too well how little Sukuna cares for others' opinions. 

Nonetheless, you find them pretty to look at. Whether he’s doing some mindless task or lazing with you on the couch, your eyes always fall upon his hypnotic black patterns. And it seemed he always caught you in the act. 

Even now.

“You’re always staring at me, creep.”

His voice is low. Raspy enough to send vibrations across your body. A stirring feeling in your lower gut appears ever so suddenly. So caught up in your thoughts you failed to notice the man beneath you stir awake, heavy lidded eyes gazing at you. A subtle pinch on your waist announces his return from slumber.

“You’re pretty.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even comprehend them. You feel his body stiffen beneath you before hearing a tut leave his mouth and witness him turning his head away. Presumably to hide the way that his cheeks burn up  and how the tips of his ears turn pink. 

Majority of people would be honored to hear a compliment, offering their gratitude or perhaps extend one back.

But not Sukuna. He got frustrated anytime you paid him a compliment. Instead of a compliment he throws back an insult.

“You’re stupid.”

“That’s mean, ‘kuna.”

“That’s mean, ‘kuna.”  he mimics despite his voice still being thick from sleep. A low groan leaves his throat, his arm leaving your waist temporarily to stretch above his head. 

A double tap on your waist indicates that he wants you to shift over, off from his chest. 

A simple pat on your head is given before he rises from the couch. His warmth immediately leaves  your body and a sudden craving sensation fills your body. His footsteps thump off to the bathroom to freshen up and his infamous scowl appears on his face paired with the crease between his brows. You observe his pink locks as he runs a hand through it.

 Messy.  Just the way you like it. Pretty, just the way you like it. 

It takes everything within your body to hold  back from calling him pretty again knowing all too well that he would end up irritating him further. 

At least that’s what he lets you think.

He wouldn’t ever admit it to you but each time your lips sound out another compliment it takes every bone within Sukuna’s body to not to hold you down and keep you hostage by laying you down and planting kisses all  across your body. 

 It takes everything in him to not reveal how much of an effect your words have on him; how as soon as you call him ‘pretty’  he creates a distance between the two of you, keeping you far away enough so you don’t hear the rapid beating of his heart; so you don’t see the way he avoids eye contact or the way that the tips of his ears burn.

You seemed to be some sort of illness that he couldn’t get rid of.  Something that he couldn’t find a cure for. 

But of course he would never admit that to you. Not ever. Not even if the entire world caught on fire.

But you’re okay with that.  Because even if the entire world did catch on fire, you’d still turn and call him pretty one last time.

And he’d still like it. 

thank you for reading!! reblogs are much appreciated!!

[hoe4hotchner]

I totally just burnt my ring finger lighting up a candle ;-;. Would you be writing a little something about Hotch taking care of the reader when she does likewise? <3

(Hope you feel better soon!)

In Gentle Hands | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader CW: Fluff, you burned your finger WC: 0.8k

           The sharp sting hit before you even realized what had happened. You dropped the match - thankful that it extinguished before hitting the counter - sucking in a quick breath as the flame caught the tip of your ring finger. "Ow!" you muttered under your breath, shaking your hand instinctively.

           You quickly blew out the candle, but the damage was done. The skin on your ring finger was already turning an angry red. You groaned, holding your hand up to inspect the small burn. The pain throbbed, a sharp reminder of your carelessness. You hadn’t meant to get distracted, but in your attempt to light the candle and tidy the coffee table at the same time, you had lost focus for just a second.

           "Everything okay?" Aaron’s voice floated from the other room, the usual warmth and concern evident even though he couldn’t see you.

           You winced. "Uh, yeah… kind of."

           Aaron appeared in the doorway almost immediately, his brow furrowed. His dark eyes scanned you for a moment, taking in the situation quickly. "What happened?"

           You sighed, showing him your finger. "I, uh… burnt my finger lighting a candle. Not my finest moment." You grinned a little awkwardly at the situation.

           Aaron stepped closer, his expression softening as he took your hand gently in his. He carefully examined the burn, his thumb brushing lightly against your uninjured fingers. "You should have been more careful," he said, though his tone was more affectionate than scolding.

           "I know, I know," you mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. "It was just a little mistake."

           Aaron smiled faintly and tugged you toward the kitchen. "Come on, we need to take care of that before it gets worse."

           You followed him, watching as he opened the freezer and grabbed a small ice pack. He wrapped it in a soft dish towel and handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours as he did. "Here, put this on it. It'll help with the pain."

           You did as he said, wincing slightly as the cool pack touched the burn. The relief was immediate, though, and you let out a quiet sigh of gratitude. "Thanks," you murmured, looking up at him.

           Aaron wasn’t done yet, though. He was already rifling through the first-aid kit he kept in one of the kitchen drawers. You watched as he grabbed some ointment and bandages, his movements quick and efficient. There was something so calming about the way Aaron handled things - always so steady, so sure, never overreacting. It made you feel safe, even in a moment as small as this one.

           Once he had everything, he sat down beside you, gently taking your hand again. "Let me see," he said softly, unwrapping the ice pack from your finger. He studied the burn for a moment before applying the ointment with careful precision, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

           You couldn’t help but smile at the tenderness in his touch. "You know, for a big, tough FBI agent, you’re pretty good at this."

           He glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile. "Comes with the job. I’ve had to patch up more than a few injuries over the years." You knew he was referring to Jack, but still smiled at his comment.

           "Right, because lighting candles is so dangerous."

           Aaron chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "You’d be surprised how often I see minor injuries like this," he teased, though his eyes were full of affection. He gently pressed a bandage over your finger, securing it in place. "There. All better."

           You flexed your hand carefully, feeling a bit ridiculous for needing this much attention over such a small burn. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel grateful. Aaron always knew how to make you feel taken care of, no matter how minor the issue was. "Thank you," you said softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to his cheek.

           Aaron's hand moved to rest on your lower back, pulling you closer. "You don’t have to thank me," he murmured. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time."

           You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder. "Promise."

           For a few moments, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of his body against yours making you feel more at ease. The pain in your finger was already fading, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the soft hum of the kitchen around you.

           "You know," you said after a while, glancing up at him, "if this is the kind of treatment I get every time I get a little hurt, I might start lighting more candles."           

           Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "Let’s not test that theory."

           You laughed too, the sound light and happy, as you snuggled closer into his side.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟐: 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤/𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐢 ♡

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Your two professors were more than happy to show you some tips and tricks to help you study.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.36k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Colleg Au. Suggestive. 

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Professor!Yungi x Student!Reader 

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Swearing. Pet names. Hints of sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Some man handling. Mingi and Yunho are HUGE.

Thank you, @mixling-blog, @yugy-oh, and @senpai-of-doom, for requesting Mingi and Yunho for this day. ♡♡♡

Note: I actually forgot to finish this day, and I'm so sorry. So I'll be making a part 2 once kinktober is done cause I had this whole idea but i just lost track of all the fics and this one got put on the bottom of my list by accident ahhhh.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

There was a secret code in college, an unspoken rule if you will. Never, ever, by any means, fall in love, or sleep with your professors. And yes, they might be handsome, and they might be only seven or so in age difference. But never, EVER, be romantically or sexually involved.  And this rule stuck by most students and more professors. There were young girls who always fawned over the brooding, tall, and mysterious drinks of water known as their music or mathematics teachers. And boys that would whisper among themselves who was the hottest, Ms. Kim, the science teacher, or Mrs. Park, the criminology professor.

But you? You swore the minute you only got barely accepted to the college―since you were late for the cut―that you would not look at your teachers in such an inappropriate and unprofessional way. Besides, you were one day going to be joining them as a professor once you pass your training exam. You always wanted to teach visual arts and Theater and this college has allowed you not only to study such majors and degrees but also train so that one day you’ll be able to teach them yourself to others.

You worked hard, studied instead of sleeping. Sleeping instead of hanging out with friends. Your life revolved around your work, and yet when you met the stand-in, since your normal teacher was away for a couple of weeks. It was like your brain no longer understood how to function. And the worst part…

Theres two of them.

Both are strong, tall, and deviously handsome. One had a voice so deep you could feel the vibrations of his vocals every time he spoke, and the other had eyes as piercing as the sun and a smile that could kill. To say they were your ideal type would be an understatement. And what was the icing on the cake? They are huge. Beefy broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs, heavy chests. They were like super soldiers, and oh, how that made you swoon. Wanting nothing more than for them to pick you up and throw you around as if you weighed nothing. If you were to stand in between them, you surely would be caged in the best way possible.

You met them during the first term, six months ago. And every day since was a little unspoken game of cat and mouse. You didn’t flirt at first, still wanting to be professional but as your late hours at the library grew or the time spent sitting in an empty classroom for some quiet as your dorm was too loud to considerate became more common. Mr Park and Mr Jung came to your aid to help you with your studies, of course. First, they would sit at the front of the classroom while you were at a row of desks. They would explain about being a teacher, cheat sheets of sorts, and tips for when to do your first training shift. Helping you understand the ins and outs of navigating college students. And then it slowly moved to one of them sitting next to you, Mr Song, you could smell his cologne, the musk of his natural scent. His arm would brush yours, occasionally making you see how his large biceps were. And they were definitely the same if not larger than your thighs. Your body felt so small next to him.

And then Mr Jung sat on the other side of you. The feeling of being caged was coming to reality, and it was burning a fire inside of you. You tried to brush away these feelings. They are your professors, after all and one day, co-workers, not some school crush to dot over. But they were so smooth-talking, charming, with flirtatious smiles, and your mind couldn’t help but wonder since they are so naturally big, were they big else where…

“You get all that peach?” Mr Jung’s voice snapped you out of your lewd thoughts, redness suddenly pooling on your cheeks. You see that’s why Mr Jung had given you such a nickname, Peach, was because of the shade of pink your cheeks would be whenever he made eye contact with you. Deep down you knew your professor shouldn’t be nicknaming his student but then again you didn’t take the classes they taught, and the longer you thought about it, the more okay it was to flirt back. After all, you were all adults.

“You seem a bit distracted today?” Mr Song grumbled behind you, making a shiver dance down your back. My god, if that man sounded like that on a regular, you wondered what his bedroom voice sounded like, or even better, his morning voice. “Is something bothering you?” he asked, placing his large hand on your shoulder, stopping you from turning to the side to see him. No, instead, he slowly rubbed his fingers deep into your tense muscle, making you feel relief surge through you. You almost forgot to answer the question, too focused on the older man's hands doing wonders on your shoulders.

“I-I uhmm…” You were lost, suddenly feeling Mr Jung’s hand grip the top part of your thigh, rubbing circles on your exposed flesh where the hem of your shorts are. “It’s just. M-mr Jung…”

“Don’t worry, Peach, and I said already. Call me Yunho. We are going to be co-workers soon. You should address me and Mingi as such.” He included his friend and co-worker at the end, letting you know what you’ve been told for the thousandth time, call them by their first names. “You seem tense, darling. What could ever be the cause of so much tension in this pretty body of yours.”

Your eyes snapped open now, looking at Mr Jung―uh you mean Yunho―in his intense stare. Did he just call you darling? Now, your face was definitely redder than a tomato at this point. “Y-Yunho…”

Yunho groaned, biting his lip while rolling his eyes slightly. he had to pull back for a second before returning his hand to your thigh. “God, my name sounds so good when you say it.”

You looked away for a moment, feeling your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. The next thing you knew, a pair of large beefy arms pulled you by your waist until your ass was placed onto a board, hard, lap. “Say my name Doll Face. I wanna hear what my name sounds like coming off your pretty lips.” All barriers were gone and lines were being crossed. But none of you cared anyone. The flirtation became too much, more so for the men it seems and with Mingi’s lips finding the sweet spot behind your ear you couldn’t help but moan;

“Mingi…”

“Fuck, that’s it. Such a good girl.” The hold Min had on you got tighter, and his huge biceps caged your back against his heavy chest. Your mind was spinning at the sheer thought that all Mingi and Yunho had to do was squeeze you tight enough that you’d break. They are so much bigger than you, stronger than you. They could throw you around and do as they pleased to you and all you could―would―do is lay back and take it.

“We knew you’d be such a good girl for us peach. Just look at you, head empty already when we have barely touched you.” Yunho chuckled, squeezing your thigh, letting his long fingers slip towards where you needed them most. “you want us to touch you, darling? Teach you some real lessons?” He emphasized the word ‘real’, all knowing that He and Mingi were going to teach you anything but a real lesson in this moment.

“Please…” you retched out for Yunho, gripping his perfectly iron button-up, pulling him towards you. “Please show me…” He drew his lips to yours quickly as Mingi’s bit down onto your shoulder while his hands loosely move to open your legs, letting Yunho cup your entire wet cunt with his huge hand. You were most definitely in for a night of your life.

-♥︎

[lunarw0rks]

the scenario: you’ve been really pent up lately, stress between work + everyday life and graves decides that he’s gonna help you de-stress (by riding him 🤭)

in the act, you’re practically fucking yourself stupid, like into oblivion…deep in. and you don’t even realize how overstimulated graves is getting until he literally pulls you off him (he came about three times prior)

🗝 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣 🗝 𝔭𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔭 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰

a/n: anon -- send me that audio you were talking about, too!! ;) not proofread/edited. warning(s): nsfw, established relationship, overstim. (g & r), stress relief but make it steamy, husband!graves, fem!reader ───have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗

As if the day couldn't have been worse, you dropped your keys when you made it to the door. Every muscle ached as you bent down to pick them up — now upright with a tight scowl on your face.

The lock struggled until you jerked the key around a few times, finally hearing the click when it budged. With a flustered grown, you stepped inside and shut the door behind you, greeted with the comfort of your home. Dim and quiet, but still preferable over the migraine-inducing fluorescents of your workplace.

Your purse slid off your shoulder, falling somewhere on the hard ground. Frankly, you didn't have a care in the world about picking it up. That was a task for the morning — the first day of the weekend after a hellacious work week.

You made your rounds in the kitchen first, cracking open the first bottled beverage you could get your hands on. Flavored water, though if it would've been alcohol, you weren't in any mood to refuse. You finished the drink with heavy breaths, setting it down on the counter.

"Tough day, darlin’?" His well-acquainted voice hits your ears soothingly, shifting your attention from the counter below you to him. Wearing one of his old PT shirts and boxers, still visibly disheveled from lying in bed.

You bite back the urge to be snarky, reminding yourself that it’s indeed not the fault of the man comforting you that’s got you so worked up.

“Just work.” You mumble, then let out a defeated sigh. It’s your shitty boss, it’s the overwhelming workload, it’s everything, really.

With his lips pressed into a line, he nods as if he’s simply accepted your answer. You know by now that his wheels are turning, however.

“Mind if I help?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You didn't get a full breath of air until his back finally hit the mattress, nor did you bother to get undressed fully. Instead, straddled him in your work clothes; panties pulled aside, button-up disturbed and slightly open from his yanks.

Graves found it best to say nothing unless it was muttering a comfort or praise into your ear. But you still hadn't let go of those frustrations yet — even with his honeyed worship.

Even after you pulled your first orgasm, even after his warm spurts of cum filled you — you had no desire to stop.

The silver lining? Whatever got you so worked up had long passed. Now, all you could scrounge in your psyche was the sensation of your husband's cock crammed up inside you.

His tip, reddened and slick with his seed and your arousal, still upright and swollen despite how long you've been using your cunt as a means for abuse. Nothing but a toy, at least while you were in the midst of a sour mood.

But Graves had no qualms about that; watching your tits bounce, your face contort as you moaned, the sweat rolling down your forehead until it went between your cleavage. His rough hands are on your hips, aiding you in swallowing every inch of him. Each time you'd clench or constrict around him, he felt another jolting sensation — inching him towards yet another release.

You hadn't stopped once, only slowed when you needed to readjust or cope with the burning of your thigh muscles. The pleasure was too divine to halt entirely — evident in how you had successfully overstimulated yourself and him.

"That's it, doll. Look at you..." Though his smirk had turned more into a muddled expression of ecstasy, his praising and bluster prevailed. Your soaked, pillowy cunt pulsing around his length, rendering him officially pussydrunk.

The lude squelches increased in volume when you began rocking against him at a wicked pace, feeling your third orgasm approaching rapidly. Remnants of the previous were leaking out of you, either spilling down your inner thighs and onto the sheets or being fucked back into you when he would thrust upward to meet you.

Graves' head snapped back against the pillows, yet again ready for another quick release. Every time he thought you would be too fatigued to continue, you rutted and got more desperate for another rush of erotic euphoria. It was too much, even for him — but you were too goddamn attractive like this, using him as an appendage to fuck away the frustrations, mouth wide open, hair ruinous and damp with sweat.

With the little strength he had left, he found himself determined to make this orgasm triumphant over the others. Before, all he had done was lay back and be used, but currently he found himself sitting up to meet you chest to chest.

His speech was slurred, as desperate as your bellows of pleasure. "Good girl, gorgeous. Keep usin' my cock— gonna cum again, aren't you? Atta' girl." His thumb found your puffy clit, circling and applying pressure to surge your approaching finish. Focusing on much of anything when so deeply stimulated was hard enough — however, this, he could manage.

How your moans had gotten louder, how you began to tremble all over again, it was worth it. Your eyes rolled slightly, head in the crook of his neck when you came undone around his cock for a third time. Nails dug into the tanned flesh of his shoulders, muscles tightening as the coil in your abdomen expelled all at once.

Overwhelming pleasure coursed through you, heightened by the two climaxes before. This one is the most daunting, the most fiercely shown on your body.

He had reached his own finish while you were too lost in your own. You only noticed when you heard his desperate grunts, that hot searing deep inside you as his cum spurted deep within you. Your back seemed to be stuck in a partial arch, every muscle in your thighs burning and aching for rest. But your mind was a fog, a fog with only one thing on your mind; more pleasure.

Graves fell back against the mattress as the remainder of his intense orgasm retreated, completely out of breath and flushed.

With less effort than before, your hips resumed a meek grind, powering through the ache of over-exertion. Another whimper slipped you as your nerves fizzled with the mounds of stimulation resuming all over your body.

His eyes shot open again, hands digging into your sides and forcing them to halt, "no more, sweetheart, you're exhausted." He slurred, taking a few seconds to lift you off of his now softening length. His cock fell limp against his thigh, slick and with a milky ring where you had creamed in the heat of the moment.

"I-I'm sorry, baby. Got carried away, huh?" Your chest heaved repeatedly, eyes lidded and drowsy — and all from your own doing. He barely lifted a finger, so to speak, and you were fucked-out. To think seconds ago you were desperate for another release and rutting again was miraculous. You found yourself slumped on top of his sweaty chest, still in the midst of catching your breath.

"You could say that darlin'. Don't think there's anything left down there." Graves chuckled slightly, though the expression was subdued with exhaustion.

He snaked up an arm, brushing away your sweaty strands and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "Christ, you're shaking."

The sheets shuffled as they rubbed against each other until the throw blanket was draped over your trembling frame, engulfing you both into a literal bed of warmth.

Your eyes drooped without effort, the flutter of his heartbeat muffled as your senses dulled. The last sound you heard before plunging into much-needed sleep was his soothing voice. "Get some rest, sweetheart. Just sleep for me now..."

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober - Day 10

10th — breeding kink, Mark Webber

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Mark watched as you were playing with your nieces and nephews, the two of you tasked with babysitting. Watching you take care of a child stirred something in him, a primal, carnal need to get you pregnant. You felt his energy shift, turning your head over your shoulder to look up at the man seated on the couch. His eyes burned through your clothes, darkened with lust, a look you fondly recognized. 

“We’ll leave soon, baby,” you promised, delicately setting your hand on his forearm. 

Mark was practically pulling you out the door as soon as you were relieved of your job, hurrying you into the car. 

“Why so rush, Mark? We don’t have much to do this evening.”

“Seeing you like that, taking care of a kid was making me feral. I want to knock you up so fucking bad,” Mark hissed, making heat rush between your thighs. 

His hand reached down to rest on your thigh, hiking up your skirt and thumbing over your panties until a wet spot had formed. Now, you were just as desperate as he was, practically tumbling out of the car once he parked in your drive. 

“M’gonna breed you and fill you up with my babies,” Mark growled into your neck as he reached around you to unlock the door, pushing you inside. 

The words made arousal smear between your thighs, gushing from your pussy as you grew even more bothered. He groped you under your sundress, and you struggled to pull it off. 

Mark aided you, stripping you bare in seconds, his clothes joining yours in a trail to the bedroom. Mark manhandled you onto the bed, wrestling you onto your back. He grabbed your legs, holding them together and bending them upwards, leaving your hips raised slightly off the bed. 

He started with his head immersed between your thighs. He circled your clit with his tongue as he held your hips in place. Your thighs clenched around his head as he dipped his tongue into your entrance and fucked you with his tongue. When you began to beg for more he slipped one and then two fingers inside you. He pumped them languidly as he latched onto your clit once again. By minute five, he had you clenching around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you. He could’ve come in his pants just tasting you, but he had a goal tonight. He stroked himself a few times, his breath catching as he slid a thumb over the angry red tip of his cock. You reached out, wanting to touch him, possibly taste him. He grabbed both of your arms and pinned them above your head with one hand and you whined in protest. 

He slid his cock through your dripping folds and pressed a kiss to your cheek, a silent promise that he’d make it up to you. You arched against his touch, and opened your legs further, beckoning him in. He enjoyed teasing you as he gathered your slick on the head of his cock, but you were beginning to squirm against him and he was getting impatient. 

He inched inside you, barely meeting any resistance as your greedy hole swallowed his cock. Your walls fluttered around him, and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to last. 

Slowly, he rocked his hips against yours. You let out a high-pitched mewl as he gradually picked up his pace, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling and back arching against him. He fondled your breasts which would soon be filled with milk for your future child. He couldn’t wait to see you with a round belly holding his child. He placed a palm on your stomach as he rutted into you, imagining what it’d look like in a few months. He knew that maybe it wouldn’t take the first time. He’d pump you full of his seed as many times as it took. Your moans were like music to Mark, his hips stuttering before hot cum sprayed into your womb, his cock nestled right against your cervix as he released, trying to get you pregnant. The sensation was startling, making you cling to him and hide your face in his warm neck, whimpering his name. 

“I’ve got you,” he panted, staying buried in your pussy. 

“M’sensitive!” you gasped when he began to rock his hips once more, sending shocks through your cunt. 

“No need to worry, I will do all the hard work tonight.”

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[mandarinmoons]

You bit your lip as you tried to hold your giggles back, tip toeing to Spencer as his back was turned to you and all of his attention was turned towards the hot stove.

You woke up to the sound of what seemed to be like a yelp of pain and rustling through the cupboards, an all familiar sound you recognised as Spencer probably cut into his finger again and was searching for a band aid. You chuckled to yourself as you muttered, “They’re in the bathroom counter” to yourself. Even with having an eidetic memory he never seemed to remember the exact place for the first aid kit.

Only a few steps away from your boyfriend, you took the last leap and lightly wrapped your arms around Spencer’s waist, making him jump.

“Someone’s jumpy this morning.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Spencer’s response was mumbled and you caught on to the annoyance in his tone and his lips in a light pout, which turned into a smile a second later as you kissed his cheek.

“I’m sorry. Did you find a bandaid?”

“How did you… I woke you up, didn’t I?”

You nodded and rested your chin on Spencer’s shoulder, your attention drawn to his hands as he quickly turned over the eggs and bacon on the frying pan, trying his best to cook each side evenly.

You felt your eyes get droopy again as the body heat radiating from Spencer felt like a warm blanket. Instinctively you felt yourself nuzzle into his neck and Spencer squirmed as your nose hit a well known sensitive spot on his neck.

“Are you trying to make me burn breakfast?”

“Hmm no, I just can’t help myself when you’re so warm.”

Spencer laughed as he felt your arms tighten around him, for someone not usually so keen on physical touch, he felt as though he’d rather die than go a whole day without your snuggles.

“Breakfast is ready.”

“Five more minutes.”

Spencer grinned and turned the stove off, moving to the side so he could wrap his arms around you too.

“Oh, I forgot something.”

“Yeah? What did you forget?”

Taking Spencer’s hand, you pressed your lips to the finger he had accidentally butchered, a light wince coming from his mouth before being replaced with a giggle.

“What was that for?”

“Love heals all wounds, especially if it’s my kisses.”

“They sure do love, they sure do.”

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