—how the tf141 are like when they’re sick.
im sick. that’s literally my only motivation to write this.
i feel like absolute shit but holy fuck i wanted to write this so pls enjoy
no horny juice rn, so its all fluff
JOHN PRICE
when price gets sick, it’s almost like he’s in denial about it. he’s the type to downplay everything—says it’s just a little cough, just a bit of a sore throat. but then, as the fever starts creeping up, you see the cracks in his usual solid demeanor. he’s flushed, his breathing a bit labored, and when you gently place the back of your hand on his forehead, he swats you away at first, grumbling that he’s fine.
“you don’t have to worry about me,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice steady. but the cough that rattles through his chest betrays him, and eventually, even he can’t deny it anymore.
you coax him into bed, tucking the blankets around his broad frame, and he grumbles under his breath about how ridiculous this all is. he’s not used to being taken care of—he’s the captain, the one in charge, and letting someone fuss over him isn’t in his nature. but there’s a moment when you bring him some tea, and he accepts it quietly, his eyes softening just a little as he watches you.
“i’ve had worse,” he rasps, his voice thick with congestion, but when you sit beside him, he leans into the warmth of your presence, even if he won’t admit it. he tries to stay in control, tries to ask about your day or if there’s any work that needs to be done, but you can see how tired he is. when he finally gives in to sleep, his hand rests loosely on yours, a silent acknowledgment that he’s glad you’re there, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.
KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK
gaz is the worst when he’s sick, and he knows it. he tries to be strong about it, but the minute the fever sets in, he’s a mess of sniffles, groans, and dramatic sighs. you find him sprawled out on the couch, a blanket barely covering him as he flips through channels, looking utterly miserable.
“i feel like death,” he complains when you sit next to him, and despite the obvious exaggeration, he looks pitiful enough that you can’t help but smile. he’s not usually one to be overly needy, but when he’s sick? he’s all about the attention.
you bring him some soup, and he gives you a weak smile, propping himself up just enough to take a sip. “you’re an angel,” he mumbles, but even that little bit of gratitude is followed by a dramatic cough that makes you roll your eyes.
he’s restless, constantly shifting under the blankets and complaining about how bored he is, how much he hates feeling like this. you offer to stay with him, and his eyes light up, a mischievous glint behind the obvious exhaustion. “you gonna keep me company?” he teases, voice thick with congestion. “or are you just here to make sure i don’t die on the couch?
you settle in beside him, and even though he’s feeling awful, he still cracks jokes, trying to keep things light. but there’s a quiet moment where he leans into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing finally evening out. you stay there, feeling the weight of him against you, knowing that as much as he’s complaining, he appreciates you being there.
JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH
soap is absolutely insufferable when he’s sick, and he knows it. at first, he tries to play it off—still bouncing around, still grinning, still acting like everything’s fine. but then the fever hits, and it’s like watching a hurricane get knocked flat. he’s sprawled out on the bed, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable no matter what he does.
you bring him a glass of water, and he gives you that familiar, cocky grin, even though he’s clearly not feeling well. “you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he rasps, taking the water and downing it in one go. his voice is rough, but there’s still that glint of mischief in his eyes. “ye know, if i weren’t sick, we could be havin’ a lot more fun right now.”
you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the way his teasing makes your heart flutter. he’s always been like this—flirty, cheeky, always pushing your buttons. even now, as he’s lying there, feverish and miserable, he can’t resist making a comment.
“don’t suppose you’ll give me a wee cuddle, eh?” he grins, shifting on the bed and patting the spot beside him. “might help me feel better.”
you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, but when you settle next to him, he actually quiets down for a moment, resting his head on your shoulder. his skin is warm, almost too warm, and you can feel the tension in his muscles as he tries to get comfortable
“don’t worry,” he mumbles, his voice soft now. “i’ll be back to my usual self soon enough. ye won’t be able to keep yer hands off me.” despite his words, he’s clearly exhausted, and when he finally drifts off, he’s peaceful for once, his usual energy gone, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY
when ghost gets sick, it’s like he’s trying to hide it from the world. he’s not the type to show weakness, not even to you, and it takes a lot for him to admit that he’s not feeling well. but eventually, even he can’t fight it off anymore, and you find him in bed, eyes closed, the tension in his body betraying how much he’s struggling.
he doesn’t say much when you sit beside him, offering him some medicine and a glass of water. he just nods, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the glass, the touch brief but enough to let you know he’s thankful for your presence.
he’s quiet—always quiet—but even more so when he’s sick. there’s no grumbling, no complaining, just the occasional shift of his body as he tries to get comfortable. you adjust the blankets around him, and his eyes flicker open for a moment, dark and heavy with exhaustion.
“you don’t have to stay,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. but there’s no force behind his words, no real intent for you to leave. in fact, the way his eyes follow you as you move around the room tells you that he doesn’t want to be alone, even if he won’t admit it.
you sit beside him, and for a while, there’s just the sound of his breathing, slow and labored. he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t demand your attention, but the way his hand occasionally brushes against yours is enough. he’s not used to being taken care of, but he lets you stay, lets you be the quiet comfort he needs.
eventually, his breathing evens out, and he falls into a restless sleep. you watch over him, knowing that even though he doesn’t say much, your presence is enough to ease some of the weight he’s carrying, even if only for a little while.
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Hiiii i really like reading some angst stuffs so heres my idea loll!
What about reader never felt like they were ever loved romantically and has been quite the loner for a while. So, to have Gojo confess to the reader has reader confused, but quite happy, but will soon find out that its a dare and Gojo only has the end of the year to make reader date him! (Just say the current month is near december loll)
But as time goes by, Gojo starts to actually have feelings for reader and suddenly reader overheard their convo of Gojo with his friends about the dare...
(PLS IM SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC THISIS ONE OF MY FIRST TIMES REQUESTING SMTHHH. BTW YOU CAN CHANGE THE GOJO TO ANYONE ELSE :3AND ALSO YOU CAN CHOOSE WETHER TO HAVE COMFORT OR NAH. AND THANKS FOR GIVING YOUR TIME TO READ THIS HAVE A NICE DAYY)
-🍰
Sypnosis - Gojo was already known to be a heartbreaker, but you didn't stop to think for a second that maybe -- just maybe -- he was trying to break your heart too.
Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, Gojo is a MAJOR dick in this one, angst
Word Count - 3.1k
A/N - Hi Anon! (STOP IM CRYING I LOVE EMOJI ANONS SO MUCH) So you made the mistake of giving me an angst prompt while also saying that I could maybe add comfort. I will be doing no such thing. Kisses!
! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !
Satoru Gojo was, by every single standard, a lady’s man.
And you, by every single standard, were the complete opposite of every man’s “ideal type”.
How you managed to find yourself in a situation where you told others, “I’m dating Satoru Gojo,” felt like a fever dream constructed by the hardest drug.
The way in which he asked you out was — well — Satoru Gojo. A grand white banner with your name scrawled into it, underneath it the words: Go out with me?
Of course you accepted, though you were thoroughly confused. You had always been an observer from the shadows, not emerging unless it was absolutely necessary.
To have the Satoru Gojo ask you out in front of a gaggle of people was off putting — and certainly not anything that you had expected.
But none of that stopped you from saying yes, which made the snowy-haired male’s smile widen three times in size — if that was even possible.
“C’mon Satoru, it’s an easy 2,500 Yen,” Geto says, a sly smirk curling the corner of his mouth upward as he leans over the back of the couch.
Gojo sighs, jutting out his bottom lip as one of his hands busies itself with running through his hair. It wasn’t a terrible bet — even though the payoff didn’t exactly feel worth it.
“2,500 Yen to ask her out?” Gojo confirms, turning his head and glancing over the rims of his glasses. Geto smirks again, turning his phone and flashing a picture of you at Gojo, just to make sure that he would be asking out the right person.
“2,500 Yen,” Geto nods. Gojo sighs, his body slumping forward dramatically. Geto grins again, watching his best friend crack down — no way was he turning down a bet that he could easily secure.
“Fine, you have a deal,” Gojo holds his hand out, failing to hold back the smirk that curls his mouth upward as Geto slaps his hand against Gojo’s.
The two shake on it, and the bet is made.
But, of course, you were oblivious to all of that. You believed that, for the very first time, someone looked at you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. Someone loved you — really, truly loved you.
And what an extravagant partner Gojo was, buying you small trinkets that he believed you would like, taking you to restaurants that you had looked at on the street for a moment too long — he had even forced himself to learn how to ice skate because you mentioned offhandedly that it would be nice to skate with someone.
For the first time in a very long time, you felt connected to someone. Conversations flowed so easily between you both, never forced or uncomfortable. It was as if you had known each other your entire lives.
Gojo knew that it was fake — you thought it was truly real.
< … >
“(Y/N)! There you are!” Gojo calls out with a flashy wave of his arm. Once you’re in reach of him, he latches onto you, nose nuzzling into your hair.
You let out a startled squeak at the force of his body against yours, but immediately loosen up and return his embrace, snuggling as deeply as you can into his arms.
“Satoru!” you laugh out breathlessly, squeezing his shoulders as he lifts you from the ground, easily spinning the both of you in a circle. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”
Gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, setting you down but keeping his arms locked around your waist. He gaze meets yours through the darkened lenses of his glasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Oh god, I know that look,” you mutter teasingly, which earns you an affectionate pinch to your side — one that you swat him away for.
“You wound me,” Gojo sasses back, releasing you only to place a hand flat against his chest as if he had been stabbed. You roll your eyes, laughing breathily at his antics.
“What do you want to do tonight? It’s date night,” you remind him, watching as his face breaks into a bright smile. He reaches for you again, lifting your hand and twirling you around before he tugs you to his chest.
“I was thinking-“ he begins in a sing-song tone. You raise an eyebrow at him, which he quickly leans in to peck. “-we go to the movies, get some cheap froyo, and crash in your dorm.”
You smile at him, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing him.
“Yes please!”
< … >
“The movies? Froyo? God, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re falling for her,” Geto mocks the motion of throwing up, earning a laugh from the snowy-haired boy that stands next to him.
Gojo rolls his eyes, catching the basketball that Geto throws at his chest. He bounces it once against the ground before taking a shot, smirking as it swishes inaudibly into the basket.
“I want her to at least believe it,” Gojo responds with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Geto rolls his eyes, biting back the chuckle that rises in his throat. “What? I’m not lying.”
“No, I know you’re not lying,” Geto bends to pick up the abandoned basketball, bouncing it against the ground and taking a shot of his own — which misses.
“So then why the sudden comment?”
“Because of the look in your eyes whenever someone mentions her or whenever you see her,” Geto says plainly, turning to cross his arms at Gojo.
He purses his lips together, eyebrows pinching in confusion as he silently urges Geto to continue. How he looks at you?
Geto sighs through his nose, then lifting his fingers to pinch at its bridge. The basketball is long abandoned now, rolling into the center of the gym and remaining there.
“Every time she calls out to you with that — stupid nickname, you brighten up like a dog who’s seeing his owner,” Geto points out. Gojo can feel the tips of his ears burn red at that — because even he knew that it was true.
“Toru! There you are!” you call out affectionately, crossing the training fields and practically jumping into Gojo’s awaiting arms.
He smiles warmly as your face nestles into the junction between his neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiarity of your scent and holding you close to him.
“That isn’t true,” he murmurs, scratching at the back of his neck. Geto stands still for a moment, staring at Gojo with a look that could easily slaughter an entire town.
“No? How about when she made you lunch that one time?” Geto raises his eyebrow — his eyes visually calling bullshit as Gojo’s cheeks burn the same shade of red as his ears.
“Ta-da!” you smile widely as you present Gojo with the intricately put-together bento box. He takes it from your hands, allowing his fingers to brush against your own for a moment too long — an action that brought a light blush to your cheeks.
He smiles down at the bento you had prepared for him, feeling his heart swell at the idea that someone cared enough about him to sit down and put so much thought into preparing him a lunch. Gojo is quick to then lean in, pecking your cheek and smiling widely at the dark red hue that coats your face.
“That’s…different,” Gojo tries to argue, but Geto is quick to call out his bluff, laughing loudly in his friend’s face and striding towards the center of the gym to retrieve the abandoned basketball. He bends, scooping it into his palms and bouncing it twice against the ground.
“Oh, I’m sure that it is,” Geto rolls his eyes, twisting his body and shooting the basketball — already displaying annoyance when it misses yet again.
Gojo sighs, the puff of air he releases blowing his bangs from his face. He watches as Geto goes to retrieve the basketball, bouncing it once before roughly checking it to Gojo.
“Careful Satoru, I wouldn’t want you to fall for her,” Geto teases, feeling himself smirk as Gojo’s hands catch the basketball. The snowy-haired male rolls his eyes in response, bouncing the ball.
“That won’t happen, trust me,” Gojo bites back, not failing to notice the knowing glint in Geto’s eyes.
“Sure it won’t.”
< … >
Hey! I’m at the theatre, where are you?
READ
Satoru?
READ
I’m just assuming you’re running late, just text me when you’re here!
DELIVERED
Puffing out the air that you held in your cheeks, you stow your phone away into your pocket, eyes silently scanning the front entrance of the theatre. Maybe you missed him? No, there was no tuft of snowy-white hair anywhere in the crowd — surely he was just running late.
You shuffle on your feet, adjusting the small bag that you had brought with you. The interior is stuffed with snacks that both you and Gojo enjoyed — including his favorite from the local convenience store. You smile to yourself, already picturing the wide smile that would cross his face when you presented him with the snacks.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, which you all but dive for with a speed that feels almost inhuman. You stare down at the illuminated screen, heart deflating as you realize it’s only a message from your mother, checking in and asking you how your date with Gojo was going.
Lifting a shaky hand to your eyes, you wipe away the tears that cling to your bottom lash line. You text your mother back, lying to her about the state of the date and pushing your phone back into your pockets. You glance back down at your open purse, blinking back your tears at the sight of the snacks — what a waste.
< … >
“Sato—“
You pause just outside of the classroom doors, resting your palms against the sliding door and peering curiously inside. Your eyebrows pinch together, eyes narrowing as you listen intently to the conversation shared between Gojo and Geto, both of whom seemed to be in the middle of — maybe — arguing with one another.
“How much longer am I keeping this up for?” Gojo all but whines, leaning back in the seat that he was occupying, his feet propped up on the desk as he releases an annoyed huff.
Geto chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face as he sits on the desk directly in front of Gojo, folding his legs over one another and smirking down at his best friend. Gojo sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face as he leans forward, his sunglasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“Why? Getting bored?” Geto raises an eyebrow at Gojo, lifting his arms to cross them firmly over his chest. Gojo rolls his eyes yet again, releasing a deepened sigh that only has Geto releasing the chuckle that he had been holding in.
“I’m getting tired,” Gojo mocks a dramatic yawn, throwing his arms into the air and leaning back in his chair. Geto raises an eyebrow at the answer, curious now.
“Tired?”
“Exhausted. I don’t think you understand Suguru, she’s so desperately clingy and just — I can’t keep up with it,” Gojo explains in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face and digging his fingers into the skin of this temples, rubbing them in slow circles.
You feel your heart crack the more that Gojo speaks — listening quietly as he lists off all of the things that he seemingly hates about you. Your eyes burn with tears, and suddenly every ounce of love that you ever felt for Gojo seep out of you in waves.
Had he felt that way about you the whole time?
“Hey, you were the one that said yes. You could’ve dropped the bet,” Geto shrugs his shoulders, an action that earns him an annoyed kick from Gojo.
“It’s 2,500 Yen. I’m not saying no to that,” Gojo reminds his friend, waving a finger in his face. Geto chuckles breathily, but pauses at an unfamiliar sound — a choked cry. His head whips around in an attempt to locate the source of the sound, feeling his heart drop to the deepest depths of his stomach at the sight of a retreating figure by the classroom's doors.
Gojo follows Geto's wandering gaze, eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the sudden change in his friend's facial expression. "Shit." Is all that Geto says before he moves to the door, peering out of it just in time to see your figure turn the farthest corner of the hallway – then vanishing.
Geto's eyes flicker to meet Gojo's as the latter leans his chin onto Geto's shoulder, staring at the spot that you had just disappeared from.
"What happened?" Gojo inquires curiously, not failing to notice the way that Geto's spine stands as stiff as cardboard. The dark-haired male swallows the lump in his throat – they were both royally fucked.
"We're fucked."
< ... >
"There, there, c'mon (Y/N), don't let this--"
"He lied to me!" You rub your hands roughly over your tear-filled eyes, feeling your chest tighten as you look away from Utahime's concerned gaze. Her eyebrows furrow together in worry, eyes silently taking you in as you curl into yourself.
She would be lying if she said that she wasn't downright pissed at what Gojo had done to you. After listening to your tearful ramble about what you heard, any and all respect that she had for her snowy-haired classmate went completely out of the window.
Not that there was much respect there in the first place.
"So how much of what he said did he actually mean?" Your voice is a broken cry, trembling in a way that has Utahime reaching out to comfortingly lace her fingers with your own.
"I don't know," she whispers in response, not knowing how to help you. You turn your head away from her, sniffing and wiping your nose with the cloth of your sleeve. "I'm sorry (Y/N)."
You shake your head, breath trembling as you grip at your knees. You screw your eyes shut, still seeing his affectionate smile behind your eyelids – you wish that you could forget it completely. You can still feel him too; you can feel his arms wrapped around you and his lips as they press affectionately to your cheek.
You begin to wonder how much effort he actually put into your dates, you begin to wonder if his affectionate touches were genuine, you begin to wonder if it was him writing his text messages out or if it was someone else entirely. Did he ever care about you?
"Hey."
You glance up at Utahime, sniffling quietly as she reaches a hand out, laying her palm against your cheek and thumbing away the stray tears that roll down your cheeks. Her heart breaks at the sight of you – but her heart also yells angrily at the idea that Gojo would toy with you for a measly 2,500 Yen.
She knew that he was an asshole – everyone did. But she didn't think he was that big of an asshole.
"How about me and you go out? I'll even text Mei Mei and Shoko," Utahime offers, smiling again at you. You sniffle, cheeks reddened by your tears. Your eyes are puffy, lashes still wet with tears that take their sweet time in dripping down your face.
"Can we stay in instead?"
Utahime nods, smiling again at you. Her arms extend, wrapping around you and tugging you into her chest, squeezing affectionately at you. You sink into her embrace, face pressed comfortably into her shoulder.
"Yeah, of course we can."
< ... >
"You're such a dick!" Utahime yells in a fit of rage, shoving her hands against Gojo's chest and glaring daggers at him as he stumbles backwards. He stares at her incredulously, eyebrows raised to a point that his forehead is wrinkled five times over.
He hadn't expected this behavior from the usually calm and collected girl – but the way that she had stormed at him screaming her head off told him that he had royally screwed up.
Over his shoulder, Geto watches knowingly. He knows that he'll likely be yelled at too, so in mental preparation, he remains completely silent, not wanting Utahime to turn her rage on him prematurely.
"What is this about?" Gojo asks genuinely, his eyes narrowed in confusion as Utahime angrily takes a step back from him, restraining herself from actively strangling him.
"What is this – so you just have no idea what you did to (Y/N)? God, you're dense!" Utahime all but screams, throwing her hands up in a fit of rage.
Gojo narrows his eyes, then they widen – shit. How the fuck did you find out?
"What do you mean?" He pauses for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What about (Y/N)?"
"Oh, don't act so clueless! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Utahime jabs a finger at Gojo's chest, her eyes burning with a rage that he had genuinely never seen in her before. She takes a brave step towards him – in return, he takes a step back.
"I don't--"
"Does 2,500 Yen sound familiar to you?" Utahime raises an eyebrow at him. He deadpans, swallowing the growing lump in his throat and feeling his heart sink.
His silence tells her everything that she needs to know. She straightens, shooting a pointed glare to Geto as well – resulting in him looking anywhere but her direction, gaze flickering around wildly.
She turns her attention back to Gojo, looking him up and down with an expression of nothing but pure disgust. He winces at the glint in her eyes – God, he had really screwed up.
"You're both disgusting," Utahime spits venomously, then turning on her heel and promptly striding away from both males. Gojo turns, exchanging a worried yet remorseful glance in Geto's direction. His friend only swallows, they had both royally screwed up.
< ... >
Gojo suffered with the aftermath of you hearing his conversation – you avoided him like he had been infected with some kind of infectious disease. Any room he entered, you exited. Any time he called out your name with a polite wave, you turned your nose up and continued walking.
In a way, you pretended that he simply didn't exist – that the person waving to you or trying to interact with you was nothing but a phantom, one that you ignored as if it was the only thing that you knew how to do.
"(Y/N)! Hey, can we--"
You stride past him, shoulder knocking against his own as you exit the classroom. He stands silently at its center, lowering his hand back to his side – he had wanted to reach out for you, but something inside of him told him to simply leave you be.
And the day that he saw you happily hanging off of Nanami's arm was the day that he realized – loving someone from afar was the worst pain of all.
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behave
in which fem!reader REALLY wants spencer's attention while he's working
18+ (no smut but sex is talked about)
warnings: mentions of sex, spencer grabs readers wrist to stop her from doing something but its not violent, reader is referred to as a girl, no use of y/n, um i think that's it
WC: 870
a/n: i have damn near 40 pages of spencer WIP so im biting the bullet and posting some of it. also.. if you want a plot... babe this is not the place for you im sorry... ive never even heard of a plot actually. i dont know about rising and falling action... i dont believe in that. it sounds fake
It feels like Spencer has been at his desk for hours.
And for hours you've been lounging on the couch, reading your book in silence so as to let him work. But you're becoming... antsy. Impatient. Every time you drop your book and stare at him, willing your white-hot gaze to draw his attention; nothing. He just keeps shuffling papers, signing, writing, reading reading reading.
At ten, you give up.
You make a show of slamming your book shut, sighing, slowly sitting up, stretching, standing, stretching again--when you turn your head, expecting your little performance to have at least earned a look from him; still, nothing.
"Spence?" you ask, innocuously, as you round the couch and draw toward him carefully, slowly, on light feet. A display of faux innocence. It’s not that you intend to bother him, per se--you're just so bored.
He hums in response, eyes still glued to his work as he searches for something among the mess of paper.
You come to a stop in front of the mahogany desk, tracing the edge of it idly with wandering fingertips.
"What are you looking at?" you ask, in reference to a photo he seems to now be studying intently.
"Nothing you need to see," is his muttered response, quickly flipping the photo face down on the desk and picking up a form walled in migraine-inducing tiny black text. You watch the way he scans the paper, brow knitted, and eyes squinted, clearly not paying you very much attention.
You move languidly around the desk, letting the wood drag against your hip the whole way, before reaching for the overturned photo--just to see what he'll do.
Spencer catches your wrist, his grip gentle and warm but not without portent. "What did I just say, grabby?"
Sadly, they're the most words you've gotten out of him since this afternoon.
You sigh dramatically and drape yourself across his lap, looping your arms around his neck. To your initial satisfaction he shifts slightly to accommodate you--and then continues to look over your shoulder like he hardly notices the pretty girl on top of him.
"When will you be done?" you purr, tracing his jaw with a finger.
"I'll be done when I'm done."
God, he can be stubborn.
"Can you be done any sooner than that?"
"What do you think I'm going to say to that," comes his flat reply, still not sparing you a glance. You watch enviously as his eyes dart down the paper he's reading over your shoulder.
"Then I'm staying right here until you're finished."
"You can stay here if you can behave."
You scoff, bunching the fabric on the back of his shirt in your fists. "What do you mean, if I can behave?"
Finally, you hear Spencer set down his pen, and he leans back in his chair to regard you. His gaze finally on you is like an ice bath. You literally have to repress the urge to shiver under his evaluation; the slightly raised eyebrows, the line of his mouth a little harder than usual. His 'you know exactly what I'm talking about so don't play dumb' look.
For a few tense seconds, you let your eyes dart between his, not wanting to break first. Unfortunately, you think that look of his could freeze saltwater.
"Fine," you mutter, flushing when you look down at his shirt collar instead. If you're being reasonable, he probably is doing something important. You drag your gaze back up to his and see that his eyes have softened.
"Thank you," he says, gentler, squeezing your leg before running his hand over it back and forth a few times. "I know I'm not being very fun today. When I'm done we can do whatever you want to do."
The urge to say, 'whatever I want to do?' is strong, but you manage to bite your tongue as he reaches back over you to continue his work. Instead, you content yourself to lean against him, allowing his solidity and warmth to envelop you for some immeasurable stretch of time.
Rain starts up, battering the windowpane and accented by deep rolls of thunder. The scratch of Spencer's pen on paper, the rustle of files, and the scent of patchouli and amber begins to lull you into a doze--a comfortable place between awake and asleep. It's the kind of comatose unconsciousness that bends and liquifies time, and you don’t even realize you fell asleep until you’re waking up.
Spencer murmurs your name, brushing your hair carefully out of your face. "Did you fall asleep, angel?" His voice is soft, just above a whisper.
"Mhm," you groan, rubbing your eyes. "How long has it been?"
"A few hours," he sighs. "That file took a lot longer than it should have, I'm sorry."
You're still bleary as you speak next;
"The thing was sex."
"What?" he laughs, rubbing your leg as you adjust yourself in his lap.
"You said we could do whatever I wanted to do when you were done, and it was sex. But now I'm tired."
"Let's get you to bed," he begins, "and revisit the sex idea in the morning. Does that work for you?"
You smile against his shirt, eyes already fluttering closed again.
"Mhm..."
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one piece men hcs: period sex
featuring the blorbos of my choice- law, bartolomeo, bellamy, corazon, and doflamingo
warnings: blood (obviously), narsty boys (looking directly at barto), smut, period eating
nsfw under the cut, minors dni 🫵👁️👁️💢
Law:
• im sorry babe, he may be a doctor and he may not be squeamish about touching peoples organs and blood, but he will not go down on you on your period 😔 (coward).
• hes kinda weird about period sex, he'll do it if you ask him super sweetly and look at him with those big pathetic puppy eyes, and he'll sigh dramatically and agree to it, but he really doesnt like doing it on the bed, he prefers the bathroom where its easiest to clean.
• usually he's kind enough to finger fuck you when you ask for it, but hes quick to pull his hand out of your pants and run to the sink to wash his hands off before shooing you to bed with a peck on the forehead. hes a busy man, hes got work to do.
• when he does have time, though, he'll make sure to take proper care of you afterwards.
• he'll offer to bring you water, a snack, pain meds, a towel, a hot pack, hell he'll even carry you to the shower if your legs are too shaky to stand on and clean you off with a gentleness so rarely seen from a man like him.
Bartolomeo:
• NASTY BOY ALERT 🚨🚨🚨
• you dont even need to ask, he'll be able to smell a hint of blood from across the room and hunt you down like a shark.
• begs you to let him eat you out while on his knees, massaging and pawing at your thighs.
• "c'mon sweetheart, i just wanna help ya~"
• VERY enthusiastic eater, if he could stick his tongue up any further into you he would.
• likes when you sit on his face so he can feel the blood and cum dribble down the sides of his face.
• as he's fingering you, he'll suddenly pull his bloody hand up to his lips and suck the liquid off each digit before shoving them back inside you to do it again with a big cocky grin.
• hes fucking ravenous.
• fucks you like an animal and likes watching you coat his cock in red multiple times.
• truthfully, there might not be much blood left to leak out of you by the time hes done with you.
• dont worry, he'll make sure theres plenty of cum to leak out instead.
• hes super super sweet afterwards.
• "im so sorry, i didnt think i'd get so carried away there," he'll scratch the back of his head sheepishly.
• acts like a mother hen while he cleans you up so youre all nice and pretty again- hes usually pretty good about cleaning up after himself when it involves you.
• gets sad and confused when you vehemently refuse to give him a big wet kiss afterwards.
Bellamy:
• another nasty boy, but its more of a theatrical thing.
• hes fine with licking other peoples blood off his face, this isnt much different to him.
• he does play it up for you a bit (and the invisible audience in his head, he has to look cool for them always).
• makes a big show of lapping it up while locking eyes with you.
• the wide, wolfish grin on his face while his tongue swipes over the stray blood dripping off his lower lip makes you whine.
• he'll finger you whenever you ask even when you arent menstruating, it makes no difference to him, he just likes seeing you come undone on his hand.
• will let you dry hump his towel-covered thigh if hes too busy with something like a log or a paint manual (hes a study-at-the-last-possible-minute kinda guy).
• he'll fuck you however you need him to.
• want him to put you in a mating press and make you squirt all over his stomach?
• no problem.
• need something slow and tender like sitting in his lap while he gently rocks into you?
• he can do that too.
• hes a man that aims to please, and will almost never turn down the opportunity to stuff you full of himself.
• surprisingly decent at aftercare.
• he'll make sure youre mostly clean and get some water for you both before he stuffs you under his arm like a teddy bear to cuddle.
Corazon:
• hes surprised when you first ask to have sex with him on your period.
• he didnt think he would be very into it at first but the seemingly deeper intimacy of it...
• and the way youre so much more weak and pliant for him when youre like this... it does something to him.
• something clicks in him that hes gotta take care of you.
• only you.
• he's reluctant to eat you out, but he'll do it while looking up at you to make sure youre enjoying it.
• hes careful with foreplay and even more careful with the main event.
• the tenderness of the moment will probably make him cry, he feels so connected to you like this.
• doesnt even let himself savor his own release (if he even cums at all, your pleasure is so much more important in this moment) before he trips over himself to get you snacks and water and pain meds and anything he could possibly think to make you more comfortable.
• make sure to cuddle him tight and give him a big thank you kiss for all his hard work.
• he might cry again, hes just so full of love right now.
Doflamingo:
• on one hand, he thinks its kinda dirty and filthy.
• but on the other hand... hes kinda into the dirty and filthy aspect.
• he doesnt eat you out, but if you really beg him, he'll make his string clone do it while he holds you.
• even if its not the real doffy, his tongue alone makes you melt into a puddle on the mattress.
• as soon as you've cum enough for his liking, he'll shove the clone out of the way and get to work on stretching you open for himself.
• hes not very comforting, but he'll make sure youre more than satisfied so long as he gets satisfaction too.
• is decent enough to let you adjust to him but his patience does have a limit, so hurry up and relax for him already, hes got other things he needs to get done today.
• hes not as gentle as you want him to be, but he'll get you to the finish line even if you cant keep his pace.
• having you so sensitive and compliant for him like this makes him all the more cocky (unfortunately).
• heavy on the teasing dirty talk.
• "so weak and helpless for me, pet... what would you even do without me here to take care of you?"
• always makes you cum hard on his cock; if you squirt, all the better for his ego.
• he has to admit, something stirs in his gut when he sees your blood dripping out alongside his cum.
• not very hands-on with the aftercare portion; it truthfully wigs him out being that vulnerable, even if its you.
• he'll send a maid in to help you clean up with anything that you might need or ask for.
• what really surprises you is the pretty bouquet that comes in along with the other aftercare items.
• ...
• it doesnt happen very often, but he'll stay to cuddle with you for a little bit before the maid comes if you manage to grab him before he leaves- you dont even have to say anything for him to know what you want.
• he supposes he can indulge you sometimes.
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"You can check if you like" | Peter Maximoff x F! Reader
Summary: Peter comes back from a mission with a wound and you patch him up. He takes the opportunity to tease you.
Warnings: nsfw content, fingering, teasing, Peter being a cocky asshole
"Oh my god what happened to you?" you jump up from your seat when the team gets back from their mission, noticing the bleeding coming from your boyfriends head. You'd be lying if you said he didn't look hot all bloodied up, but you were too concerned with his wellbeing to indulge in the urge to make out with him.
Peter gives you his usual cocky smile, ignoring your concern "I'm fine babe, its just a scratch." You aren't convinced, but you know he wont go back on the statement, ever the cocky bitch despite his constant dramatics. You raise an eyebrow at him to indicate you dont believe him, "Please just let me look at it anyway"
Peter rolls his eyes and groans, smiling at you playfully while he does so - but he doesn't protest and takes you to one of the bathrooms with a fwip.
Though he does that all the time, you never expect it - and the speed always makes you feel ill and disoriented. You take a second to ground yourself, before getting the first aid things out of the bathroom cabinet to sort him out, and speaking to him as you rifle through it. "You're okay everywhere else yeah, nothing got through your suit?"
"You can check if you like" His tone is suggestive and he wiggles his eyebrows, and you roll your eyes at his answer - taking that as a no. He watches you for a second, and then sits down on the closed toilet lid before you have the chance to tell him to.
You move to stand in front of him, subconsciously situating yourself between his legs where he was practically manspread, and you push his goggles onto the top of his head, trying to make sure his hair stays tucked under them and out the way. The cut looks deep, and you wince a little thinking about it. You lock eyes with him as you pick up a little cotton pad and alcohol to clean the wound - you've done this a fair few times and he knows the drill, but you warn him regardless. "It's gonna sting a second Quickie"
You press the alochol soaked cotton pad on the wound, making sure to be gentle, and Peter grips onto the nearest thing when you do so, which happens to be your thigh. The feel of his hand on you shoots to your core immediately, and your breath hitches for half a second before you catch yourself and ignore it. You keep cleaning the wound, eventually moving on to clean the dried blood around it, and Peters leg is bouncing as he starts to get bored and restless.
You lock eyes with him and lean back a second. "Peter, sit still, find something in here to distract yourself im nearly done i promise" There's a certain look in his eye when he looks at you, and you can see an idea forming in his head, and you worry slightly what ridiculous idea you've accidentally caused him to have, but you get back to what you're doing anyway.
As you grab a roll of bandaid and scissors to cut it down to fit the wound, you feel a hand at the top of your thigh, fingers hooking into your panties to get them down a little - you try to ignore it and focus on finishing what you're doing, holding the roll up unrolling a little bit to see how much you need.
You hear a little cocky laugh from Peter as his finger prods at your folds and you could have ripped his suit off him there and then. But you try not to react, steadying your breathing before you look at him. "Whats funny"
He looks up at you, a shit eating grin on his face. "You're so wet and i haven't even touched you"
A pink shade dusks over your cheeks as you roll your eyes, in your head you know exactly what made you wet, but you know he'll poke fun at you for it so you don't tell him. "Shut up"
You cut a bit of a bandaid off the roll, big enough to fit the wound, and as you do so, he slides a finger into you, thrusting it in and out at a painfully slow pace - but he doesnt take long to slide a second finger in. He is still in his suit, and the gloves of the suit feel weird. The feeling is foreign but good. Your breathing goes a bit shaky as you try to concentrate, putting the roll down and picking up the bit you cut off, flipping it around to peel the back off, struggling a little fiddling with it.
Peter speeds up his fingers, curling them inside you to hit the spot that makes you whine a little, earning the same shit eating grin as before as he makes sure to keep hitting that spot. He brings his other hand to circle your clit as you finally get the back off the band aid, and you moan out as he draws figure 8's over the sensitive bud. "Fuckk Peter"
You stick the band-aid over the wound carefully but quickly, placing your hands on his shoulders as soon as you're done, breathing heavily and whimpering a bit. "Peter please"
He speeds up the finger on your clit, practically vibrating it and you moan loudly, legs shaking as you try hold yourself up properly and your walls clench around his fingers a little.
Thats when he stops. You look at him with pleading eyes "What the fuck"
He laughs a little "You've finsihed patching me up"
You look at him dumbfounded and annoyed, you open your mouth to protest but he speaks before you.
"You wanna check under my suit now?"
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