#so handsome AAA

[cosmic-mango]

I fucking simp for him SOOOO BADDD 😩😩😩😩🙏🙏🙏🙏

yea, you too

but mostly YOU

[starfayy]

VASH THE STAMPEDE WILL BE MY DOWNFALL I CONFIRM

LOOK AT HIM— JUST LOOK

[roserefrain]

thinking about morden,,, I think that when he gets a bit older he’d be very into like. the angel version of alt fashion. dying his feathers different colors, hanging little charms from his halo, stuff like that

[dalkyeom]

sometimes I’ll be having a really bad day then someone comments “you draw Joshua so perfectly” or my friends send me random shua posts bc he reminds them of me and it makes my day 10x better

[dicksoutformtl]

picture is irrelevant to my tags but i had to post something so i can post so here’s my baby boy buddy 🖤 he gives kisses & follows you around when you water the garden

[lord-luxo]

Cuddles, Charlie with a different fit and clothes swap!!

[kacchanofficial]

i knkw its late but I KEEP GOING TO TWITTER AND I FEEL SO HAPPY AND PLEASED LIKE EEE KACCHAN AND DEKU ARE COMPETING AND BANTERING AND KACCHAN LOOKS SO HAPPY I WEEP I JUST KEEP GETTING HAPPY KACCHAN FEELINGS BC WOW THE MANGA REALLY ENDED ON A WEIRD NOTE FOR KACCHAN AND I WAS SAD HE WAS SO SAD BUT !!! THE FANBOOK HORI MADE WITH EXTRA DETAILS AND STUFF SHOWS HIM HAPPY AND IN THE NUMBER 5 SPOT RIGHT BEHIND DEKU IN RANKINGS EEE AAA MY SHAYLAAAAAA

[tonycries]

Like An Animal - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, cúmplay, mating press, chóking, overstim, oral (female receiving), créampie, dirty talk, Toji really REALLY wants to get you pregnant, spitting, mentioned kids, absolutely filthy, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Need this man so bad you don’t even understand AAA.

Toji Fushiguro didn’t want any more kids. Why would he? They were messy, expensive, and it was a sheer miracle that Megumi wasn’t anything like the little demons he’s seen during drop-off at the kindergarten. He didn’t need another reason to watch Babyshark for five hours straight - and he wasn’t about to change his mind anytime soon. 

Or, so he thought.

“Hey doll, m’home- what the f-”

“Toji! Language!” you hiss, hastily covering the ears of a very oblivious Yuji, who was deeply engrossed in mixing icing. 

Oh? 

Now, there have only been three times in his life that Toji has been truly taken aback. The first being when he discovered that yes, Megumi’s hair really does stand up that way naturally. Second, when he realized that he was falling for you - and that oh shit maybe he does still have feelings somewhere in there after all. 

And finally, right now, the sight of you covered in flour and wrestling three giggly toddlers into some semblance of order in the kitchen. “Welcome home, handsome.”

Oh. 

It made something deep inside him lurch so strangely.

“Why…” Toji rasps, eyes flitting between the mixing bowls messily clinked together and the three toddlers happily stood on stools, flour in their hair and matching smiles on your faces. “Why have they multiplied?” 

“We’re baking cookies!” Yuji exclaims from the counter, swiping a thick wad of dough on Nobara’s hair. To which the latter responds with a swift smack on the head. 

You smirk at your dumbfounded boyfriend, “Well, Toji, it seems that when you leave me alone with a batch of cookies to bake, I have a tendency to summon reinforcements.” Gesturing at the chaos surrounding you, “Megs wanted to bake some cookies before his sleepover at Yuji’s so I had these three over because we have more than enough space.”

“I see…does insurance cover this kitchen?”

Rolling your eyes, “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a spoilsport.” You reach for the batch of freshly baked goods, “You’re just in time to taste-test our latest creation!”

And, well, how could he ever say no to you? Although - flour-dusted and disheveled - some strange part of himself thinks you look even more gorgeous than usual right now, as if that was even possible. His girl was so pretty, even when you’re wrangling three little gremlins. Too pretty. Toji just couldn’t get his head around that nagging little voice saying you looked so pretty especially when you’re wrangling three little gre-

“Ehh? Fushiguro is your dad blushing?”

“Gross.”

“You idiots he isn’t blushing, it’s called ‘swooning’. My mommy says it’s a grown-up thing.”

It was hard to not hear the (extremely loud) whispers from behind you, but it was even harder to ignore the slight red tinting Toji’s ears as he pointedly reached out for the tray you were holding. Fingers barely even brushing against the cookies before a tiny voice speaks up, “Mama, can I have one too?”

You freeze. Toji freezes. You think the whole world freezes except for Yuji and Nobara who stifle giggles behind their hands.

“Look Kugisaki, now he’s really swooning.”

“Yeah, my mommy says that’s also how you get babies. You swoon and pop! they appear.”

Toji raises a brow at Nobara, gritting out a strained, “Your mommy says a lot, huh?” That jolts you out of your reverie, and you flash a gentle smile at a very red-faced Megumi. Leaning down to reply, “Of course, sweetie.”

And as he mumbles a quick “Thank you”, hastily grabbing another cookie and retreating to a corner of the kitchen - hoping to disappear into the shadows - you risk a glance at Toji. Cheeks flushed hard enough to rival Megumi’s, ah, like father like son. 

“Anyway, don’t just stand there. Come help me n’ the kids, Yuji’s grandpa’s coming to pick them up soon!” you playfully swat at your boyfriend’s sculpted chest, going back to busying yourself with the icing. 

Toji, however, was having an epiphany that was altering his perception of reality, one that he’d probably been denying ever since he stepped in through that damn front door. You. The kids. You and the kids. You and his kids. 

“Mama.”

And Megumi’s little slip-up had been the final nail on his coffin to certify that oh Toji Fushiguro was utterly and irrevocably screwed. And he’d like to blame it all on you being such a goddamn wonder, but he’s got a nagging feeling that the three little gremlins currently decorating cookies share an equal part of the blame. 

What was it that girl had said? Swooning is how you get babies? Because, well, eyeing the way you scooped up a pouty Megumi in your arms, chatting animatedly with a tittering Nobara and Yuji, only one thought rings through his mind - damn right, kid.

---

“-and make sure to brush your teeth. No faking this time, okay? I’ve told Yuji’s grandpa to check. And-”

“No summoning demons, and no summoning the police. Though you’re probably too young for that.” Toji interrupts your little tirade, ruffling the hair of a very disgruntled Megumi. “Have fun, little man.”

You giggle at the usual father-son dynamic, but as you waved off Megumi and his friends, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something in the air felt a bit different. Something a bit tense. A bit exciting.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that hung in the room after that door slammed shut, leaving just you and Toji all alone in the house. Forcing you to register the heat of his large frame looming behind yours. When did he get so close? Or maybe it was the prickly of his gaze on your back, a resounding slam! echoing in your ears as he cages you against the door. 

Or maybe - just maybe - it was the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, husky and tinged with something so utterly dangerous. 

“So…mama, huh?” 

A thrill goes down your spine at his words. “Oh, stop.” you wave off, though you feel your cheeks flaring up in response. Especially as he plows on, “Why? I think you make a great mama.”

You scoff, casting a sidelong glance at the muscular arm just inches away from your head. “Don’t joke, Megs was so embarrassed after that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your back hits the cool door before you can react. Toji’s hands almost painful on your shoulders, muscles rippling as he turns you to face him. You raise your eyes to meet his and oh-

Oh shit. 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies as you take in the man before you. His expression darkened, breaths slightly labored, eyes half-lidded and locked on you. You’d almost have been worried at the sudden flip of personality had it not been for the words that spill from his lips. 

“I’m not joking.” he repeats, voice strangled. 

Great, the man has finally lost it. Despite the traitorous throbbing in your cunt, you try to make sense of the situation. “Toji, this joke has-”

Your words get caught in your throat as he raises a hand to squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrassing pout, looking down at you through dazed eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking, doll?” Leaning down to lick a stripe up a smudge of icing on your cheek. Lingering far too long, murmuring into your skin, “What do you think?” 

In the heat of it all, you manage to choke out, “W-what?”

“Don’t you think,” he mutters, as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each word that comes out of his mouth. “That you’d make the best mama?”

“I mean- yes-”

And then his lips are on yours, shutting you up - bruising. Such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he drinks you in with an aching desperation. Toji breathes in your gasp as you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your front. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth. “Not enough, ma. Need you s’bad.”

The buttons hit the floor before you realize what’s happening. Toji’s fisting your shirt in one hand, too impatient - too starved - he pulls down, down, down. Ripping. Urgently moving down to your shorts- “Those are expensi-” you yelp. 

But it’s useless - the tattered fabric hits the ground faster than your jaw as he groans out a quick, “I’ll buy ya a new one when we shop for baby clothes.”

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, hands trailing up your thighs. He swiftly unclasps your bra, mouth dropping into a soft little oh! at the sight, immediately groping each and every inch of skin he could reach. Tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples on his fingers in wonder. “Oh, doll. These are gonna be s’full, huh? Wan’ taste how sweet you’ll be.”

“T-Toji hah-” you whine, as he takes one nipple in his mouth. Lips wrapped so prettily around your tit as he tugs lightly, sucking harshly like he was miraculously trying to draw milk out. Looking up at you so obscenely through his thick lashes. “Ngh- wan’ more.” you buck your hips, grinding against his thick cock. 

And, well, how could Toji ever deny the mother of his children?

Because he immediately drops to his knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties. Tugging with his teeth, “This what you want, ma?” he slurs. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy, “Wan’ me to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt? Jus’ say the word.”

“Please, daddy.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

And then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds with his teeth. Flashing you a devilish grin at the sinful strings of slick that connect you to the flimsy fabric. Oh Toji had half the mind to tease you about how wet you were already, but no, he had no time to waste.

With a guttural, fucked-out little grunt, he’s surging forward, diving face first into your pretty pussy. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit, licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, as he buries himself deeper into your dripping cunt. Tongue bullying its way past your folds to lap at your slick, not stopping till he’s had his fill of your sweet juices. “M-more.”

Two large hands dip into your waist as he wraps his glossy lips around your pulsing clit to suck harshly, both keeping you still and supporting your weight as your knees weaken. Toji can’t have his pretty girl hurt herself right before he fills her up n’ gets her pregnant, right?

“Sure ya can handle more, ma?” Electricity runs up your spine as your boyfriend rolls his tongue across your clit just the way he knew you liked. “Y’should be thanking me for not jus’ stuffing you full of my cock like I want to right now.” 

“Then hah- why don’t you?”

Toji pulls away ever-so-slightly, relishing in the delirious little whine of disappointment that leaves you. One that quickly turns into a surprised squeal as he spit a steady stream of spit into your quivering cunt, spreading it across your pussy with his thumb.

Sloppy - it was so fucking sloppy. He looked at you like you were his favorite meal and ate you out just as much. 

Your juices decorating his lips like a badge of honor. Smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw. One which moves as he utters, “Can’t break the mother of my kids, doll.” 

But oh how you’d beg to differ as he brings his face to your sloppy pussy once more, tongue darting out to catch the obscene little drip! drip! drip! of your slick. “Gon’ be the best fucking dad to all three of ‘em.”

“T-three?”

And with that, he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Throwing your left leg over his sculpted shoulder to make out deeper with your cunt. You tug on his hair pathetically, impatiently. Cute little whines of his name leaving you each time he drips into your sloppy pussy, stretching you out, swiping at your clit, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Yeah, three.” he mutters into your folds, “Gon’ give me two more beautiful babies? Gon’ be so round n’ pretty with my kids?” Tongue curling deftly against that one spot he knew would have you keening and rocking your pretty cunt into his mouth. 

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck- hngh- yes!” you moan, body jerking violently at the way he hit that spot over and over.  

He huffs out a laugh, hungry gaze taking in that cute, desperate expression on your face. Toji just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. “Use your words, ma.”

“H-huh?”

“Tell me what you want.”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “Want to so badly. Wan’ you to hah- fill me up hngh- W-wan’ cum-”

“So demanding.” he titters teasingly into your cunt, vibrations making you drag your pussy more erratically on his mean mouth. Now, Toji could tease you with his tongue for hours until you’re crying and begging for his cock. But right now, he doesn’t think he has any more patience nor sanity. “I love that.”

Toji knows by the way your pretty pussy clenches around his tongue that you’re close, pulse urgent on his face as he greedily laps at your cunt. So he speeds up his movements, drinking you in like a madman. 

A hand snaking up to plunge knuckle-deep into your sloppy entrance. Pussy taking him so readily after being stretched out on his tongue. Your adorable, fucked-out little whines of his name going straight to his rock-hard dick as he fucks you with his fingers the way he wants to with his cock. Two fingers thrusting in and out while his thumb draws rapid little circles on your clit. Sinking his teeth gently into your swollen folds.

Bucking into his touch, “Hah! S’too much, daddy. Hngh, g-gonna cum ah! Gonna cum-”

“Then cum, doll.”

And you are - fast and violent. 

Plushy walls clamping down on Toji’s fingers as if your fluttering cunt was trying to suck him up. Mind hazy and your only thoughts being about Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Mmm taste s’sweet, love you on m’tongue.” he grunts, breathing you in and letting your juices slide down his throat. Lewd squelches in time with your cute lil’ whines as you ride out your orgasm on his pretty face. Tongue fucking you through your high. 

“Had fun, ma?” Toji grins once you blink back your vision, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Dangerous little smile only growing at your barely-lucid nod. 

Ah, but even the ever-confident Toji Fushiguro faltered as your shaky hands reached out to pet his achingly hard cock. Swollen and leaking a mouthwatering dark patch against his trousers. 

“Wan’ your cock now, daddy.” you murmur, watching the way his darkened eyes widen ever-so-slightly, breath hitching. “Wan’ you to fill me up over n’ over like you promised.”

Oh you little minx, with all your dirty tricks - you were going to be the death of him. 

With a dark little chuckle of disbelief, Toji rises to his full height. Lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss - tongue licking at the seam of your mouth and intertwining with yours. Forcing you to taste yourself on him. So sweet of sin and all his dreams of stuffing you till you were sure to have his kids - two of them, in fact. 

“Anything y’want, doll.” he whispers into your lips. 

And that’s all that is said before the clinking of a belt rings in the heady air. The realization that you were so naked and splayed out for him while he was still unfairly clothed finally hitting as Toji peels his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the chiseled front, hands immediately reaching to squeeze his large pecs. Running your hands along his body. 

“Ah, fuck.” he shudders, “Y’never change, huh?” 

Yet your greedy hands are momentarily stunned as he lets his pants fall to the floor with his boxers. Rock-hard cock springing up and hitting his stomach. 

He was so painfully hard that it made your cunt quiver in anticipation. Red and throbbing, soaked in precum and glistening in the dim lighting. Twitching at the sound of your voice as you say “Want you to fucking ruin me, daddy.” you blink up at Toji, all doe-eyed and teary after your last orgasm. 

And oh does that make him snap - maybe his sanity, maybe you by the end of this, because before you know it, Toji’s spreading your legs with his knee. Biting his bottom lip as your slick trails down your pretty cunt and onto your legs. 

“What m’girl wants.” he grits out, dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head. “My girl- gets.”

You keen as Toji bullies his massive cock into your cunt on the last word. “Ngh- T-Toji.” you whine, vision flashing at the stretch. No matter how many times Toji stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.” Trying to steady your breathing as he fucks into you in quick, mindless little jabs to fit himself inside your snug pussy. “I’ll make sure of it, doll. How else m’gonna breed your pretty lil’ cunt?”

Your dripping cunt rubs so deliciously against his abs, slick mixing with his precum and smearing across both your bodies. Filthy, and exactly what you wanted right now. 

“Shit, love when your pussy’s so messy. Now, legs.” he rasps, with a quick smack to your thighs. And that’s all that has to be said - your queue to wrap your legs around Toji’s waist, letting his strong arms lift you with ease. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper onto his cock, veins rubbing so deliciously against all the right spots. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck fuck fuck, m’so full.” you keen, heels digging into his hips. 

Sliding down his cock far enough that his heavy balls meet your ass, already so wet with precum and slick. Ah, you were so full of him you almost felt like he was pushing against your lungs.

“Oh, yes.” Toji hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” Finally he gets what he’s been aching for ever since those three gremlins stepped out the door. All the blood draining to his cock at the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he was the only one you could think of. Hey, he needed to get some attention before the baby arrives, right?

“Need this s’bad. Fuck.” he gasps. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, shallow, desperate little grinds of his hips. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you little slut. Fill you up with my seed till you can’t take it anymore.”

Neat little crescents of his fingernails on your ass as his thrusts get longer, more purposeful. Twitching balls smacking against your skin in such a lewd rhythm, matching the cute little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. So deliciously painful. 

“C’mon, ma.” Toji moans, hips out of control now. Taking in the way your head was thrown back, body bouncing each time he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. But oh how he wanted to see the fucked-out expression on your face. “Look at me.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way Toji cradles your head to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Only looking up at him with delirious heart-eyes as he milked himself on your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit feel s’perfect split-apart on my cock. Really made for me, huh?” he gasps into your mouth. “Need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up- ah- need this need this- fuck.”

“Shit shit shit, Toji m’so close. I’m hngh-”

A hand hurriedly unwraps from your waist to draw rapid, desperate little patterns on your cunt. Not even circles anymore because shit Toji couldn’t think of anything aside from the way your pussy was milking him so good- And how he was gonna fuck a baby into you and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-you’ll bake with ‘em. And I’ll tuck ‘em to bed.” the words tumble out of his lips and into your parted mouth. Pussy drunk and babbling, “N’ we’re both taking those three to the park and try not to lose ‘em.”

Dragging himself inside you till his weeping tip kisses your sloppy hole. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by quick, harsh thrusts, “Then at night m’gonna steal you all to myself, and y’know what, ma?”

At this point you can do nothing more than just take it as Toji bounces you on his cock in midair, sobbing out a strained, “W-what, daddy?”

Toji leans impossibly closer, thumb catching on your swollen lips, breath fanning your face as he mutters, “Gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you with my cum all over again, doll. Give it all to you.”

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere and have you seeing stars. And this was no different - yet you see the pearly gates of heaven as you cream around his cock. “Ah! Hngh m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

He lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back, hips stuttering and sloppy now. Breathing out raggedly, “Yeah fuck jus’ like that use me like’ that- hngh squeezing me s’tight gonna cum. Gonna give my pretty baby my cum, fuck a baby into ya- oh-”

Body bowing into yours, teething latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Fingers digging and bruising on your hips, holding your filthy pussy to his cock as he cums with a strangled moan. Hard. almost painfully so. 

White-hot pleasure behind his eyes, pumping thick, hot ropes to fill your snug cunt. Just animalistic movements from such a carnal part of himself as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

Not even thinking of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy. Toji’s cum dripping down your legs and onto his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, who said we’re done, doll?” Toji tuts mockingly, snapping you out of the haze. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

And you don’t even realize it before he’s manhandling you onto the nearby couch. Pulling out only admire his seed gushing out of you, so white and hot and his. Cock twitching to life at the pool of cum and slick slowly forming on the cushion below. Fuck that, you’ll need a bigger couch for five people anyway.  

Ramming his throbbing cock into your poor, swollen pussy. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and bending down down down till your knees were at your tits. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till Megumi gets home. Promises he fully intended to fulfill. 

“Fuck. One more. G-gotta make sure it takes, ma.” he swears into your mouth. Voice jagged, and you almost couldn’t recognize it as your boyfriend’s. Barely even lucid, just mindless motions of his hips as he watched your slutty cunt suck him up so good. “Yeah, who’s cum is that, doll? Who’s that painting your pretty pussy white?”

Drinking in the sobbed out little, “Y-you, Toji! Ah- Hngh-” as he starts ravaging your swollen clit again. Toji’s balls squeeze so painfully as he fucked you like his personal sextoy. And your pussy was so heavenly around him that you were basically asking for him to go harder. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. 

“Ah! Fuck I’m-” throat shot, you can’t even form a proper sentence before you’re seeing stars being your eyes. Walls milking Toji’s thick cock as you cum - almost painfully. Mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! tears streaking down your face. 

Ones that Toji can’t help but lick off, salty on his tongue as he cums again. And again and again. Voice stuck in his throat, eyes widening, the veins popping out on his arms as he pulls your hips closer to his. 

Hips burning now as he breeds you like some animal. Like he was ready to fill you up until he was shooting blanks and couldn’t anymore. Cum squelching out of your sloppy pussy and seeping into where you were joined. Ah, well, the couch was ruined - time for Plan B. 

Which is why Toji found himself wrestling you onto the cool floor, cock still twitching inside you, spreading you for him on whatever flat surface he could find. Milking his cock so he can cum more than he has his whole life. 

Both of you barely lucid at this point. He wasn’t even sure if he could cum again - but by God if he wasn’t going to try. He was drunk off of the feeling inside you, so warm and wet with him. So perfect to carry his child.

“Hngh- yes yes yes wan’ carry your child, daddy.” you whine. Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck at this point. The only thing he cared about now was the feeling of your sloppy lil’ pussy wrapped around him and whether Megumi would want a brother or a sister. 

“Hm, yeah? Like the idea huh, you little slut. Fuck s’perfect f’me- ngh-”

Running on just the sting of your nails down his back and your legs pulling him impossibly closer. Barely even thrusting at this point, just frantic shallow, grinds to milk his swollen cock. Trying to fuck out something delicious. It hurt, but it hurt so good. 

So good that Toji doesn’t even realize when he’s cumming again. Just faint little tingles before his cock is shooting thin, long wisps of cum, making you squeeze around him as he fills you up again and again.Your own orgasm just a small spike of euphoria before he starts moving inside you. Again.  

Ah, he wonders, vision hazy at the edges - but still perfectly capturing the white gushing out of your ravaged cunt. Taking in the messy floor, and your even messier pussy. Where to next, huh? He hasn’t even fucked you in the kitchen yet.

“N-next?” you repeat, eyes widening as much as they possibly could through the exhaustion and the urge to pass out. And oh he said that out loud too? Whoops.

“Of course.” he pools the cum trickling out of you on two fingers, shoving them in your mouth. Making your head spine as you choke and gag around his thick fingers, pressing the back of your tongue. Only two things ringing in your mind, Toji’s unforgiving cock - raw and hot, dragging against your ravaged walls again and again - and the words that spill from his lips.

“Besides, we gotta practice for the fourth one, too, ma.”

A/N. Fully believe this man will fuck you till both of you pass out. 

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[raikkonenvettels]

my honest reaction to these masterpieces

fem!simi doodle dump to force me to draw more

fic here

Girl Sebi while I'm at it

All girls

wips because I'm so lazy :c I don't want to draw, ever

Sebi+Seppi

[livecrow]

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

cw: debatable self-deprecation, kidnapping, noncon

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.”��

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[beefy-the-stronk]

THE GANG'S ALL HERE LETS GOOOOOO

Finally colored them all 😭 Like I said before, feel free to take any inspo or reference I don't own these chucklenuts

Alrighty design explanation/hc time:

[Edit:] I added an extension cus I forgot to earlier aaa, don't want this huge wall of text to be unchecked

Sam:

- He's partial heterochromatic

- I hc him as mid 30's so he's got some Grey's

- Chubby, but decently built arms

Joel:

- Shirt is ripped because of mouth, i noticed this in his sprite and other people's observations

- gave his shirt stripes cus I wanted him and Sophie to have more distinction in their warthdrobe

Sophie:

- butterfly etching on her pants

- She is missing a tooth, makes sense with her age and rowdyness. Also has a bandaid on top of that.

- she has a big overlayer shirt cus again, helps distinguish her

Dan:

- Fingerless gloves, he's cold but he needs his fingers free to record or play games😩

- he has NO hair anywhere, maybe even has Alopecia

- Wear's a sick denim vest hell yeah

Hellen:

- TALL and also very build like a heavyweight champion (so muscular and a bit of pudge)

- also greying, I personally think hc her as 40

- I am obsessed with how everyone gives her coveralls, so I'm including them. Tho, she mostly wears them during excursions. At the apartment, she takes it off and wears her normal turtleneck and sweats

Xaria:

- she has a nasty scowl and sharp teeth, basically she both a barks and bite.

- some makeup too cus GOTHHH

- she's taller than Dan with the boots on, and is decently built too with strong shoulders

Monty:

- short and it's hard to tell, but I made him chubby under the coat. Unlike Sam tho, his arms are thinner.

- also has sharp teeth, and a scowl

Leigh:

- she has a huge head 😭 yes that was on purpose, her sprite had a beeg head

- she's taller than she looks, but hunches over and crawls a lot

- fun fact: I made her avert her gaze because she looks absolutely horrifying looking forward like everyone else

Rat Baby:

- gave him a lil bandana cus why not

- I think he's relatively big here, like a small dog

Papineau:

- he's not as tall as hellen but he's still huge

- AURA

- no constructive comment but I do find him handsome VuV

Ernest:

- bundled up in many layers

- very thin underneath tho

Roaches:

- he's a bunch of roaches can more can I say lol

Morton:

- he's def just a huge cricket underneath the layers

- he is quite fond of the colorless rubiks cube sksk

[deerspherestudios]

Hey!! Thank you so much for day 3, i loved the way you wrote mychael and made him react to the MC's decisions. The way we discover more about his personality, how he reacts to the world around him and MC's decisions makes me love him more every single update !1!!1 comfort character fr fr

Now, for the question, how did you come up with the words ktchreikrichein and greighkhen? (and what does the last one mean lol)

Tysm for your work, effort and, of course, sharing your silly lil mushroom man with us :) take care !!

Aaa thank you so much for the praise!! He's just a goober and I love showing multiple sides to him! I'm just glad everyone likes him as much as they do <3

As for the 'language', I'll put a read more here since I ramble a little:

Honestly, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I just crunched a couple letters together. I've mentioned before his language is a lot of clicking, hissing, growling; the less people can pronounce it the closer the vibe is to his language I intended, as well as sounding like clicks and growls.

Here's a rough translation of what I was going for:

ktchreikrichein - person of pleasant appeal (synonymous with cute, handsome, pretty, beautiful, etc; a compliment in visual appearance.)

greighkhen - person of inconvenience (synonymous with mischievous, dangerous, troublesome, annoying, etc; Mychael was calling you a troublemaker)

Inspired by the language structure in Toki Pona, the intent here is the last syllable sounds like 'khein' = person.

So adding 'ktch' = look/see + 'reikri' = pleasant/nice has the meaning "person that is nice to look at" or 'greigh' = trouble/problem has the meaning "person that causes problems."

At the end of the day it's just some silly fun with nonsense syllables.

[belovedenzo]

hearts/wires // mattheo riddle

summary; the riddle brothers had agreed to share you until tom gets too jealous and makes you choose. while you may have chosen him- your desire for his brother still burns beneath you. mattheo burns for you just as much and wants to make sure you know who you truly belong to.

warnings; language, cheating, poly themes (?), angst if you squint. SMUT 18+

words; 1.9k

notes; aaa I hope you guys like this one, i'm a bit nervous about it. @shyamanuensis ty so much for this idea, I hope I did it at least a little bit of justice. this is for my mattheo lovers.

Sibling rivalry has existed since the beginning of any time line- including this one. It had all started when you realized both Riddle brothers had a crush on you. How could you choose, really? How could you pick just one when they both want you just as bad as the other? The Riddle brother’s- two of the most handsomely feared in your year, maybe even out of the whole school. 

 Sharing seemed to work for a while. After it was decided that you just couldn’t choose they agreed that sharing is caring- it was no big deal. You were also quite excited with this idea, both Riddle brother’s completely smitten and devoted to only you? That sounded like a seraphic dream before you realized how emotional the two can truly be.The nature of both relationships began to heavily differ as time went on- causing a rift in the balance of said emotions. 

 All of your mate’s said there was no way this would happen, but it did, Tom fell in love with you. First it was a glimmer of jealously in his eyes as he watched Mattheo run his hand down your back from the other side of the common room. Then it began to escalate- leading to Tom dragging you out of rooms and falling apart in front of you.

 “Really, I can’t stand watching him touch you like that. He doesn’t need you the way I need you.”

The line was drawn once a punch was thrown- leaving Mattheo with a busted lip and a bruised ego. You had never seen the red hot fire you saw in Tom’s eyes that night anywhere else before. Part of you felt fear and the other part of you actually felt loved. 

 “I’m tired of sharing! You have to choose y/n. Me or Mattheo?” 

  This decision was harrowing… but in the end you chose Tom. Not because you didn’t like Mattheo, but because you did. Mattheo has never been the sort for emotional connection and ‘love’, everybody knows that- including you. As Tom fell for you, you fell for his even more cold hearted brother. The farther you got from Mattheo, the easier it would be to get over him. As far into his brother’s arms as you could go. 

 At first this really did seem like the best choice and Mattheo actually took it pretty well, or so you thought he did. In your mind all you were to him was a good fuck but over time you really did become more than that. Out of any girl he’s toyed with, you were his favorite and he didn’t plan to actually stop playing with you. 

 He left you alone to be ‘content’ with Tom- or at least for a while. Deep down the brunette knew that he could please you better than his uptight sibling. Before he knew it, you would be crawling back behind closed doors just for him. It was just a matter of time before you’d give in. 

 ‘Giving in’ took you longer than he truly desired. His poor sweet angel tried to be loyal to his poor naive brother- he oddly liked that. Mattheo lost count of how many disposable girls he used to get your attention but it would be worth it. None of them mattered- simple, miniscule pawns to make his queen jealous as she sat in the throne of a phony king. He was the true king- the ruler of this entire relationship and you would soon figure that out.

 Once you did figure that out, you were putty in his hands. The idea of the one you truly wanted in the arms of these girls began to bother you more than the idea of cheating on Tom. He had successfully broken you to do rapacious acts behind the back of his competition. 

 Tom was sweet with you, it was hard to deny. But what Tom couldn’t do was satisfy the animalistic desire you hid inside. The animalistic desire to get fucked so hard you meet god. A good boyfriend, a scholar, an intellect- Thomas Riddle is a lot of things. The one thing he is not is a better lover than Mattheo Riddle. 

 It wasn’t all that hard in the end to get you here, under him in his dorm while Tom is gone- studying in the library. All it took was a few reminders of how good he made you feel. Whispers and subtle touches through the day- really any time Tom was none the wiser.

 “You missed me huh, baby?” 

  You whimper against Mattheo’s lips as he asks the question against you. His two fingers dug deep into your core at the knuckle, pumping you at a painfully slow pace. He had been at this a while, hovering over you and teasing every crevice of your heat. 

 The weak sound you made wasn’t an answer, his hand movements coming to a halt. “Use your words, don’t be shy.” His tone was laced in sickly saccharine venom, causing a lump to get caught in your throat. He had complete control of you from this position, making you feel feeble and pathetic to his touch. 

 A sound of disappointment ripped through you before your eyes met his. He watched you struggle against him for more friction with a smirk on his face. “I missed you.” Your voice came out weak and strained, desperately wanting him to resume his movements. 

  This response satisfied him for now as he began to give it to you just like you wanted, this time faster and deeper. “Oh yeah? I knew you would. My sweet brother just can’t make you feel this good, can he?” 

  This time you learned your lesson and made sure to give him and actual answer in fear of him stopping again. “No… not like you Matty. No body feels as good as you.” You mewl, hands gripping the fabric of his jacket like a plea- a promise even. 

  He chuckles, leaning in to give you a small kiss on the lips- the last shed of mercy he has for you. “Good girl.” He knew all the right spots and angles to get you to your high fast with just his fingers alone. His soft praise took the edge off and made your mind float in fulfillment. 

 He watched from above as you fell apart- clenching around his digits and holding onto his shoulders for dear life. You chanted his name like a mantra- and just from his fingers alone, what an addicted little slut you were for him. He didn’t give you long to recover before he was flipping you over onto your stomach. “I’m gonna give you what you want but we have to be fast- unless you want your boyfriend to watch.” 

  He drops his pants and lines himself up at your entrance like second nature, proving further that he knew your body better than anyone else does. Within the first few slams of his hips against yours- your a drooling mess against his pillow. Sounds that you never knew existed in your lungs escaped out of your mouth into the silk fabric. 

 “You take me so good- this pussy is mine.” He groans beneath his breathe as he uses all his force to ram into you. If it wasn’t for the firm grip he had on your hips you may have went flying across the bed from the vehemence of his fucking. Just like always- he fucked you like an animal, like a depraved sex demon. 

 One of his hands snake to your clit, rubbing it much more gently than the rate he’s thrusting at. This brings you closer and closer and the edge again, a knot forming in the bottom of your belly. 

 His movements become erratic and ridged- his breathe getting faster, meaning he’s close as well. His hands line back up to grab your hips, pulling you impossibly close to achieve a new deeper angle. Mattheo has always loved seeing just how deep inside of you he can go before he’s slamming into your cervix. 

  You both fall apart, his body waning over you to bring your figure close to him. For just a short moment it felt slightly deeper than transactional as he came deep inside of you. But just a moment later he pulls his body from yours like it was nothing to him- even if it secretly was. His fingers drag against your sides- soothing your second climax as you begin to come down. “Now you go in that bathroom and make yourself presentable for Tom.” His hand quickly comes back to smack your ass, your body jutting forward in surprise at the sudden contact. 

  Your hands let go of his sheets and at the speed of light you were hopping off Mattheo’s bed and rushing to the bathroom to get ready. You spent time in the mirror- checking for markings of bruises of any kind. Using Tom’s hair brush you quickly fix your hair before tossing it next to the sink. Your fingers dabbed around your face, fixing the light make up you had worn over to the Riddle brother’s dorm. 

 That’s when you heard it- a framilar voice, “Mattheo… where is y/n.” 

 “I don’t know she’s your girlfriend isn’t she?” His voice was coated in bourbon flavored honey- sardonic sweetness, scornful. 

 Within a second you were exiting the bathroom, trying to come off as nonchalant. A faux smile sat on your lips as your eyes met Tom’s. Your sweet boy didn’t seem to think twice of any of this.

 “You could have just told me she was in the bathroom.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head, clearly already tired of Mattheo’s presence. All this did was cause a silent smirk to appear across Mattheo’s face- sly and untelling. 

 He stood up as you made your way over to Tom and took his arm into yours.  “I wouldn’t wanna interrupt the couple’s alone time.” He knew what he was doing as he watched you snuggle into his brothers side innocently. 

 Tom’s arm pulled out of your grasp and threw it’s way around you watchfully. There was an odd moment of silence before Mattheo snuck out the door of the dorm- but not before glancing in your direction. 

 The room fell even more silent, leaving you alone with the one that’s supposed to be yours. Though he is yours- but you aren’t quite his. As your eyes meet, you feel the back of your mind wander to the boy that just previously left after doing unspeakable things to you. “I love you.” He said, an affirmation.

 You listened to him talk about his day and all of the things vexing him just to make him feel untroubled. However, Mattheo had left a slit in the sky when he left. You were his- till the very end. Tom just doesn’t have to know that. 

love, spell

[2amriize]

.ᐟ RIIZE scenario: idol!reader meeting idol!riize ༉‧₊˚.

req: hi i love all of your riize stuff !! I’d love to see riize with an idol reader like you what group they would be in and how they would meet or interact ?? like an award show, mc, backstage , etc

note: hiii! i did my first exam today AAA! i can't wait to be free again and be more active...

pairing: idol!riize x idol!reader— masterlist

⭑.ᐟ shotaro

You had managed to debut in ILLIT thanks to your dancing skills, as you had caught people's attention as a professional dancer. For that reason, your manager told you that you would be doing the "Impossible" dance challenge with Shotaro. You were quite nervous because you knew how great a dancer he was; you were basically a fan of his and loved watching his dance videos. When you met in the hallway to record the video, both of you were a little nervous, but after a few takes, you relaxed. After filming, you talked for a few minutes, with you telling him how much you admired him, and him thanking you and saying he liked your dancing style too. From that moment on, you would greet each other whenever you met.

⭑.ᐟ eunseok

In NMIXX, you were always the one in charge of speaking because you were very outgoing and had a knack for capturing people's attention. Thanks to this, you were hired as an MC for a music show. Alongside you, they chose Eunseok from RIIZE as your co-host, as he was quite popular for his looks. At first, both of you were quiet and shy, but little by little, Eunseok started joking around, and you became closer. You realized you had many interests in common, and after your contract as MCs ended, you stayed in touch, meeting up occasionally when you both had time to go to cafes or PC rooms.

⭑.ᐟ sungchan

You had known Sungchan since you were trainees, but you hadn’t had the chance to talk much during that time. Years later, you finally debuted in AESPA, and he debuted in NCT, later redebuting in RIIZE. Not long after, the company informed you that you would have a stage together, so you practiced together for several weeks. Both of you had great respect for each other, knowing how hard you had worked to get where you were, even though you didn’t know each other deeply. After the stage, you would exchange supportive messages and sometimes send each other snacks and drinks.

⭑.ᐟ wonbin

Both you and Wonbin were quite awkward when meeting new people because you were both very introverted. In your group, IVE, you were known for being pretty cute. One of the poses you had created for fan meeting photos had become famous, with many idols imitating it. Wonbin was one of them, using it often in his photos. Although you had never spoken before, one day you ran into each other in the hallway before a stage, where you were both waiting. Wonbin, a bit shy, started talking to you, saying how much he liked the pose you had created, sparking a small conversation. You couldn’t help but be speechless at how handsome he was in person. After that meeting, you started greeting each other every time you met, becoming closer over time.

⭑.ᐟ seunghan

You and Seunghan had been invited to a new variety show where idols would teach their dances step by step. In that episode, you were going to teach Seunghan the new dance from KISS OF LIFE, and he was going to teach you RIIZE's new comeback. Before the recording, you had never spoken before, but you quickly became friends because you had very similar personalities. You also decided to exchange numbers, staying in touch and becoming closer friends. When the video was released, many people started saying you made a great duo, leading to you both being chosen as the main MCs of the show.

⭑.ᐟ sohee

RIIZE was a new group that was gaining a lot of attention. Your group, STAYC, although several years into your career, still had significant recognition. You, in particular, were known for your voice, being the singer for many soundtracks. So, it didn’t surprise you when your manager told you you would be recording another song for a new K-drama, but this time it would be a duet with Sohee from RIIZE. Of course, you already knew who he was, as he was also famous for his voice. During the recording, you didn’t talk much, but afterward, when the song became famous and you had to do stages together, you became closer. You often went out for dinner or drinks at night to celebrate its success, gradually becoming close friends.

⭑.ᐟ anton

Out of all the English-speaking members of New Jeans, they had chosen you for an award show. It was the annual K-drama awards, and they decided to have two idols who could speak English to translate some things since it was an international broadcast. You didn’t know who the other presenter would be until a few days before the event, but when you went to practice, you found out it was Anton from RIIZE. You had seen him many times on social media but had never met him in person. You connected quickly because, although Anton was initially quite quiet, you didn’t stop talking to him and asking questions, which helped you both build rapport. It wasn’t a surprise when, after the awards, you decided to exchange numbers to stay in touch.

masterlist // taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori @enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123 @sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries @synkjellies @ramyeonzprincess @yuzuksi

[samurai-smoocher]

Cryingggg this is everything!!! Goemon looks insanely handsome here like oh my gosh!!!! Look at him drawing his sword for me!! Protective samurai mode activated!! And Eris just blushing over him? Such a mood. She thinks he’s the most gorgeous when he’s about to fight, so this moment is literally her dream come true since he’s fighting for her. AHHH I can’t get over how stunning the art is. The perspective?? So good it’s making me emotional.

Art by @10duck_cm on Crepe!!! Seriously, such beautiful work!! I’ve been staring at this straight for the past 15 minutes aaa. I think it’s embroidered into my brain shshshsh

Taglist: ask to be added or removed

@leonsdearest @strawhatwife @brahms-and-lances-wife @cicidarkarts @askewhammer @pastel-kaleesh @vergils-beloved @sweet-samnang @dabisblueflamebaby @mr12xu @crescentpotion @brutally-loving @fandomfan-102 @fictodreamer @frankys-wife @dexbian @babyghoul138 @elon-btch @patchestpk @hsrwife

[damianselfships]

OH MY GOD SQUISHY TYSM FOR @ING ME

LOOOOOKKKK MY HUSBAAANNDDDDD HES SO PRETTY HERE PLAYING THAT GUITAR AAAA!!!!!!

happy 1 year anniversary!!!