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#does this man not know of trashcans?
kingkonoha · 6 months
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“What? You’re married? And you’re a dad?”
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Yuji finds out that 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 has a family. — same au as this ♡
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Yuji Itadori wanted to know more about the world’s strongest sorcerer, who he was lucky enough to have as his teacher.
The two of them walked along the sidewalk peacefully after completing a bit of training.
As Yuji devoured his blue popsicle, his wide eyes stared at the side of his teacher’s face.
Despite the black blindfold covering his ocean blue eyes, Gojo could feel his student’s eyes on him for two minutes straight.
“I’m surprised you haven’t bumped into something yet,” Gojo spoke up, breaking the silence as he smiled slightly. “Why are you staring at me? Something on my face?”
“No, I just had a question I wanted to ask you — can I?” Yuji tilted his head a bit.
“Don’t be silly, of course you can. What is it?”
“There’s a ring on your finger.”
Gojo was silent for a moment, but his amused grin widened. Eventually, he said, “that’s not a question, Yuji.”
“I know, I know, I just . . .” Yuji hesitated. After all, discussing such a personal topic with someone as superior as Satoru Gojo could have been disrespectful. Even so, he took his chances anyway. “Are you married?”
“I am.”
“Really?” Yuji smiled excitedly. He tossed his discolored popsicle stick in a nearby trashcan, and continued his late afternoon stroll with Gojo.
“Yeah, I’ve been married for eight years. Our anniversary is coming up pretty soon, actually. Think I’ll plan some sort of trip.”
“Wow, that’s really cool! Who are you married to? Do I know ‘em? What are they like?”
Due to his unwavering grin, Gojo felt a burning sensation in his light pink, blushed cheeks. Thinking about you had always resulted in him smiling so much, his face would hurt.
“You don’t know her, but Megumi does. Her name is Y/N, and she isn’t a sorcerer anymore, just an ordinary person who enjoys ordinary things, and I love that more than anything. Our daughter is-”
“What?” Yuji suddenly halted his footsteps.
“Hm? Something wrong?” Gojo questioned as he stopped walking, turning around to face the shocked boy.
“You have a daughter? Like an actual kid?” Yuji paused. “How come you never mentioned any of this before? How old is she? I wanna meet your family! Why have I never met them?”
“She‘s four,” Gojo laughed softly, and started to resume his walk along with Yuji. “Guess I had no idea you assumed I had no family, but it’s fine, you can meet them anytime you want. Wanna see a couple of pictures?”
“Yeah!” Flashing a bright smile, Yuji eagerly waited for Gojo to unlock his phone and scroll through his photos.
After only a couple of seconds — as it didn’t take the older man any time at all to find a photo of the two most beloved people in his life — Gojo handed his phone to Yuji, showing him a recent picture of the three of you hanging out at the park.
“Oh man, is that your wife? She’s really, really pretty, and your kid looks like the perfect combination of you both! Well, I guess that makes sense because you’re her parents, but it’s like fifty-fifty! She has your eyes, but Mrs. Gojo’s hair . . .” Yuji zoomed in and out of the photo as he rambled on, even taking it upon himself to search Gojo’s photos for even more pictures. “No way, is that Mrs. Gojo and Fushiguro? Fushiguro looks so young!”
“Yeah, he was around seven years old at the time. Me and Y/N were just dating then, but I knew I wanted to marry her. Best decision of my life.”
“When can I meet them?” Yuji asked, his brown eyes sparkling with hope.
“Why do you wanna meet them so badly?” Gojo reached out and grabbed his phone from Yuji, who had started to scroll a bit too far.
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Smiling, Yuji paused. “You’re kinda like family to me now, I guess. So, I wanna meet the people you cherish the most, ‘cause I wanna cherish them too.”
Gojo didn’t say another word. Not to Yuji, at least. Instead, he hummed with satisfaction at his student’s kind words, and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found yours.
“Hi, baby,” Gojo greeted you over the phone, “Would you mind if I bring a student of mine over for dinner? He really wants to meet you . . . he’s not allergic to anything . . . Okay . . . That works for us . . . Tell my muffin that I’ll be home soon . . . I love you more, bye sweetheart.”
“Okay, we-”
“Great! Which way is your house? Which way? Is it this way?” Yuji excitedly started to run off in no particular direction, and Gojo couldn’t help but laugh.
While Yuji said he simply wanted to cherish Gojo’s family, Gojo knew that it was a bit deeper than that. After all, as far as Yuji was concerned, he had no one. He craved the domestic nature of a loving family. He was all alone.
Once they made it to Gojo’s home, Yuji excitedly greeted you with a hug as if he had known you his entire life.
He adored your food, laughing and chatting at the dinner table.
He adored your home, carefully admiring your decorations and asking plenty of questions.
He was also kind enough to help out with the dishes, and play with dolls with your daughter afterwards, using silly voices as he truly got into the role.
And, later on, when he saw Gojo grab your grinning face and shower it with kisses, and his little girl happily run up to him as he picked her up, tickling her as she giggled, Yuji silently hoped that one day, he too would have a family just as loving.
But, he didn’t have to observe the happy family from a distance much longer, as, suddenly, you and Gojo waved the boy over, and wrapped your arms around him in a silly, loving, group hug.
And he felt loved.
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— PART III —
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blingblong55 · 6 months
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Discipline- König NSFW
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Based on a request:
can we PLEASE stop SLEEPING on brat tamer König?!?! (sorry, please have a good day and feel free to airball this into the nearest trashcan if you don't write this type of thing. And no rush at all <;3)
F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, dom!König, sub!reader, rough!dom, bondage, discipline, established!relationship, jealous!König, degrading, choking, f!ngering
A/N: seriously this is not in any way gentle sex and ofc its all consensual by both parties
At an event which you attended with your boyfriend, König, you had been acting 'out of line' messing with him by wearing that dress, those panties he specified you do not wear and touching yourself from time to time throughout the event. He had to admit, you did look pretty attractive tonight but you still had disobeyed his rules. Something he would not let pass so easily. You enjoyed it now, knowing he couldn't just leave the event or the fact he also couldn't leave the event not even to take some air.
The final straw was when one of his mates complimented your figure. You had gotten up to walk over to get some tissue, your ass jiggling a little and he knew you did that to make the bulge on his trousers harder, probably making the tip of his cock all swollen in the process. He nodded and pretended to get a call, "Sorry mates, duty calls, see you next year." he grabbed your coat and his.
At home, he tossed you on the bed, you knew what was coming and didn't fight back. He tied your hands to the headboard, "this is what dirty whores get for playing too much" he says when you whimper from how rough he was with your wrists. "König, but I was a good girl~" you try to just rile him up more, the way your doe eyes looked at him, the slight pout on your lips but all you receive is the buzzing noise of the vibrator.
"Good girls don't act like they want every man's dick, did you not see how they looked at you, your ass or your tits? Oh, Schatz, you are not a good girl." he ties your ankles to the spreader bar. The leather whips tease your legs. He lets out a deep chuckle, the new dress you bought being torn right in front of you, his hand taking off your bra, his free hand teasing your wet pussy. He chuckles as you squirm, his fingers slowly covering your slick. "Be a good girl and take it." He grabs a vibrator and presses it against your clit, you move your legs but the spreader bar moves them further apart, making easy access for him. The vibrations send waves of pleasure through your body.
You whimper and moan but receive a light slap on your face from the leather whip, he cups your face with one hand, "Take it." He slaps you lightly again and you whimper. Two fingers inside of you, pumping themselves into you, the vibrator on your clit. You shut your eyes, head thrown on the pillow. And as each passing minute went by you got close to your orgasm only to have him stop and get up. "König~" you whine and receive a slap on your inner thighs. "You take what I give you fucking bitch." He spits out and you whimper with a frown. He eventually gets on top of you, grabbing your face in one hand whilst holding a small vibrator in the other.
"What do good girls do, R/N?" he asks, trying to not sound so mad. "Follow rules." you respond. "and why aren't you following my rules, hm. I fuck you when you want, I reward you and treat you like the princess you are but yet you don't follow simple rules." he nibbles on your neck. "Why can't you be a good girl?" he frowns. "But I am-" you get cut off when he chokes you. "R/N, good girls don't wear short dresses to events and they don't walk around when they know other men are staring, you dress like a little fucking slut and only I'm allowed to see that," he growls and places the vibrator inside of you.
"Why can't you listen?" he sits up and grins, creating yet another punishment for you. Before he even turns on the vibrator, he ties you, sits you on his lap and spreads your legs. One finger teasing your entrance, "You don't want me to be upset, right my precious girl?" he whispers against your ear. "No, I promise to be a good girl." you look down at his hand. "Kiss me, meine Liebling," he whispers and you obey, your soft lips against his. He turns the vibrator on, your legs still spread open, his lips on yours, groans leaving his lips. The desperation to just make you his is almost unbearable.
He couldn't take it any longer, maximised the level on the vibrator, and watched as you closed your legs, squirming and biting your lip down. "fuck-shit" you moan, your eyes filled with tears from the denied orgasm from earlier, now letting that knot inside tie up properly. You look at him, your eyes too drunk with the pleasure to focus properly. He grins, loving how easy and sensitive you had gotten. "C'mon meine liebe, let me hear those little noises." He kisses your neck, adoring how much control he is having over you at this moment in time.
He smiles as he watches your eyes roll back, "that's it my good girl, cum for me, cum for me, Schatz." he whispers against your skin. Your legs feel weaker by the second, the knot in your stomach getting more intense, and you begin to moan louder, almost gasping in the process. You whimper and then your juices spill all over his thighs and fingers. He smiles and kisses you, your body weak against his own touch, "oh, you are such a good little thing." he kisses you once more and then as he rests you on the bed, he kisses all over your chest, "my good girl," he repeats as he kisses your tits and then back to your lips. "did that feel good, R/N?" he kisses you again, his voice so soft and smooth, different than the König that had you getting fucked by his fingers seconds ago. You nod to which he smiles, "That's good," he kisses your forehead and then rests you against his chest. "it didn't hurt, right?" always asking for reassurance from you. "No, it didn't" your voice hoarse, your body sticky from sweat and the juices that spilt on your thighs. "okay, that's good," he whispers, grabs your hand and brings it to his lips.
"I love you, my R/N."
"I love you too, König"
Tags: @sugarinte
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thebearer · 1 month
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love, i found you |carmen berzatto x reader|
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prompt: how anchovy berzatto came into your and carmen's lives. or the story of anchovy berzatto, dumpster kitten turned spoiled cat.
contains: mentions of animal being abandoned/ stray kitten. small, malnourished anchovy but nothing graphic (i won't do that to you i promise). mainly fluff. language. richie being a hater a little lol.
word count: 2.9k+
“Chefs, keep the stations clear-” 
“-Has anyone seen Richie?-” 
“-Jeff, I need more branzino for the seven fishes-” 
“-Heard, Tina. There, uh, I think there’s some-” 
“-Carm, have you seen the books for tonight?-” 
“-Has anyone seen Richie? Richie! Where the fuck is he?” 
A chaotic melody of screams meshed together in some kind of disarray of harmony, one speaking over the other, the sound of pots and pans clashing, hisses of sizzling food in them a backtrack to the madness. 
“I’m right here, Sugar.” Richie scoffed, buttoning the front of his jacket. He patted your shoulder in passing, cheek pressing lightly to yours, muttering, “How’re you, sweetheart? Doin’ good?” In passing. 
He was the first to notice you, even over Carmen. The rest of the staff bustling through the kitchen prep, trying to squeeze everything in before the family meal. Carmen had invited you to family, but you were starting to regret agreeing, feeling useless and in the way in the face of the hectic nature. 
“Where have you been?” Sugar huffed at Richie, heels clacking in a stomp towards the office. “I have a million fucking things- oh, hey.” She paused, eyes lighting in a greeting when they landed on you. 
“I didn’t know you were here. How are you?” Sugar hugged you, a soft side hug in greeting that you returned stiffly. 
“I’m good. How are you?” You muttered, eyes still scanning the kitchen. 
Sugar let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ask me in about an hour.” She shook her head. “I have a million fucking things to do as I was telling Richie.” She turned, eyes narrowing pointedly at the man. “Only two dishwashers showed up tonight.” 
“You’re shitting me.” Richie groaned. “That fuckin’ jagoff- take a chance on me, bullshit.” 
“Yeah, so Neil needs to wash utensils tonight between the floor, ok?” Sugar jabbed a manicured nail into her clipboard. 
“Is there anything I can do?” You squeaked, much smaller than you meant it to. Richie and Sugar turned to you, both blinking, like they’d forgotten you were even there. “Carm invited me to family, but I can help. I can wash dishes if you need me too. I don’t have anything else to do.” 
“That would be-” Sugar nodded in a sigh, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I ever tell you I love you? Seriously.” She turned to Carm, who was passing behind her. “Carm, don’t ever fuck this up with her, you hear me? I’ll kill you.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen muttered, and you knew by the drone in his voice he wasn’t listening, too consumed with other things, discarding vegetable scraps into the trash. 
“This thing is fuckin’ full. Can they not- Oh, hey.” Carmen’s features softened at the sight of you, spine straightening gently. “When’d you get here?” 
“Just a few minutes ago.” You leaned forward, his lips brushing your cheek softly in greeting. “I didn’t want to disrupt. You seemed… busy.” 
Carmen snorted. “Yeah, uh, that’s a word for it. Busy, out of my fuckin’ mind because this trash is fuckin’ full!” He boomed at no one in particular. 
“Now, I gotta take this out and replace it, and that puts us back, and every second counts, does it not, cousin?” Carmen rambled, glaring at Richie, yanking the sides of the trashcan off the rim. 
“Look, I didn’t know that the two didn’t show-” 
“-No, of course you didn’t. Can’t pay attention to shit-” 
“-Alright, let’s bring it down.” Sugar lifted her hands, eyeing Carmen with a slight nod of her head towards you. 
“Sorry.” Carmen muttered, eyes lifting to you. “Sorry, cousin. I-I’m just, we’re fuckin’ booked, an-and I’m so far behind-” 
“-I’ll take it.” You squeaked, a little too eagerly. Carmen’s brows furrowed, you cut him off before he could finish. “No, seriously, you’re all busy. I’ll go take this out and then I’ll help make sure the utensils are ready.” 
“N-No, I can’t ask you to do that. That would be shitty.” Carmen shook his head, pulling the trash bag out of the can. 
“Good thing you didn’t ask me. I offered.” Your hand wrapped over his, squeezing his closed fist gently with a tiny grin. “Go, I got it.” 
Carmen beamed, cheeks tinging pink. If he wouldn’t have been in the middle of the kitchen prep rush, he would’ve kissed you, pressed you right up against the wall and smooched you sloppy. Instead, he let you take the trash. 
“Gary!” Richie called behind you. “Make sure you let her back in, alright? Just knock and he’ll let you back in. You’re a fucking life saver, y’know that?” Richie beamed, pushing the heavy steel door open so you could duck under his arm. 
It was surprisingly warm- well, warm-ish for Chicago in the winter. No snow, no need for a heavy jacket but brisk enough for a chill. The dumpster lid was already flipped over, and you were thankful for that, slinging the bag over the edge, turning to go back inside. 
You stopped, halting just as you’d turned. The tiniest squeak of a cry, desperate and alert. You turned scanning the alley walls, the corners by the dumpster until you heard it again, that same pitiful whimper echoing off the metal of the dumpster- inside the dumpster. 
You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t leave it, whatever it was, it sounded pathetic and in pain. Your eyes flickered back to the building, you could see Gary in the small window, head turned towards the others. They were so busy, you couldn’t ask Carmen or even Fak. 
“I’ll be right back.” You cooed towards the dumpster frantically. “Just hold tight for me, ok? I’ll get you out, one sec.” It was silly, but you felt the need to say it, even if just for yourself. 
Sprinting towards the door, you knocked on the glass rapidly. Gary pushed it open. “I need your help.” You stopped him before he could walk away. “J-Just for a second. I promise.” 
Gary’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, are you- you’re ok?” 
“Yeah, I mean,” You turned towards the dumpster. “There’s something in there. I think it’s a cat? I think it’s hurt.” 
“A cat?” Gary’s eyes widened, still, he followed your furious pace towards the dumpster. “Wait, I-I don’t think- Lemme get Carm-” 
“-No, he’s busy.” You shook your head. “It will just take me a second. I just need you to help me get down.” 
Gary paused, watching you in complete awe- maybe horror- push off a discarded crate towards the ledge of the dumpster. “This is- no, this is fuckin’ crazy, I’m sorry. You don’t know what that thing has-” 
Your small gasp cut him off, eyes rounding in awe. There in the piles of trash, a fuzzy blip of orange fur nestled into the black bags- a tiny, scraggly kitten, mewling helplessly. 
“Oh my God,” You muttered. “It’s a baby.” 
“A baby?” Gary gawked. 
“A kitten baby.” You corrected, lip jutting. “I have to get it.” 
“I really don’t think you should be doin’ this.” Gary looked back at the door then to you. “You can’t go in the dumpster, c’mon.” 
“You want to go in instead?” You huffed, eyes rolling at his disgusted snarl. “Just- I’ll do it.” You leaned to the side, taking a deep breath of fresh air, swallowing down a gag at the expected smell. 
Holding your breath, you let yourself fall into the dumpster, the squishy bags of trash uneasy under your feet. The small kitten whined, crying at the shift of your weight. 
“This is fuckin’ insane.” Gary muttered, shaking his head. 
“Aye, Sweeps, what the fuck?” Richie’s voice boomed, the slam of the door making both of you jump. “Take your smoke break later, you jagoff, I need your-” 
“-I’m not-” Gary huffed in annoyance. “She’s in the dumpster.” 
“Who?” Richie asked. 
“Me!” You swallowed a retch, the pungent stench of the trash filling your senses as you crouched closer towards the kitten. At least it wasn’t summer. 
“Why the fuck is Carmen’s girl in the dumpster?” Richie roared. “Carmen! Get out here now, cousin!” 
“Why is she in the dumpster? Why the fuck are you in the dumpster?” Richie’s furious stomps were muted from the outside. You cringed, still trying to hold your breath, coaxing the small kitten into your hold. 
The poor thing, so small- so fucking small. Shaking in your hold, crying and whining, but turned into the warmth of your palm. A cry bubbled from your chest, mixing with a gag at the smell. 
“Cousin, what? What the fuck is-” Carmen bounded outside, stopping when he saw the top of your head pop up, out of the dumpster. “The fuck?” 
“Your girl’s in the garbage.” Richie shook his head. 
“Yeah, why the fuck- Baby, w-why are you- What are you doin’?” Carmen jogged towards you, hoisting himself over the side of the dumpster, arm extended for you. 
“She found a cat.” Gary rolled his eyes in annoyance. 
“A cat?” Richie repeated. 
“A kitten.” You showed Carmen, pulling the small thing from your chest, where you cradled him close to you. 
Carmen blinked at you. “You went in the dumpster f-for a cat? A cat?” He shook his head, confused. “Baby, that thing could have diseases a-and rabies and shit-” 
“-He’s starving.” You countered, lip jutting in a firm pout. Carmen hated the way he could feel himself melting. The determination in your glare, ferocious yet soft. 
“I could hear him crying, a-and I couldn’t leave him.” You shook your head, petting the tiny kitten’s soft fur. 
“So you climbed in the trash?” Richie snarled in disgust. 
“Climbed right in the dumpster.” Gary nodded. 
“Alright.” Carmen looked over his shoulder at them, a pointed glare on his face. “Just- Lemme get you outta there, alright?” 
“Here,” You handed him the small cat, carefully cradling him. Carmen hesitated, a grimace in his scowl. Your eyes narrowed at him, a warning. “Hold him gently.” 
So he did, of course he did, it’s what you wanted. Passing him to Richie with the same snarl of instructions, pulling you out of the dumpster, a firm hold on your waist as you climbed back over. 
Richie was passing you the kitten with a grimace of disgust, dusting his hands off dramatically. “There. There’s your garbage cat that can not come back in the restaurant. Cousin,” He glared at Carmen. “We don’t want another fuckin’ C. Get shut down for havin’ fleas or shit.” 
Carmen glared at him. “No, he’s right.” You nodded. “Can you bring me my purse? I’m going to see if I can get him checked out. I’ll be back.” 
“Let me come with you.” Carmen offered, motioning for Gary to go get your things, untying his blue apron. 
“Carm, no. You’re busy. I can do it.” You shook your head. 
Carmen rolled his eyes. “No, I’m comin’ with you. Last time I let you do somethin’ alone. End up in the fuckin’ garbage.” He snorted playfully. “Besides, I think there’s a place down the street. The vet has been in a few times. I’ll see if I can, y’know, coerce him to squeeze us in.” 
“Coerce?” You lifted your brows playfully, petting the tiny kitten gently, trying to still his quivering. 
“Yeah, coerce.” Carmen rolled his eyes, swapping his apron out for his jacket, handing you yours. “Give ‘im a free dinner or somethin’.” 
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“No fuckin’ way, no.” Richie shook his head. “Cousin, you’re already late- Sydney is pissed, and you’re not bringing that fuckin’ flea bag in here.” 
You held the small cat close to your chest, still damp from his bath at the vet. Carmen’s coercing had worked, Dr. Vallenti had took the bribe happily, squeezing you both in for a check up. The tiny kitten, barely two pounds, malnourished and positively pitiful. You didn’t even have to ask, Carmen knew from the way you held him close to your chest, eyes rounding just barely when the vet asked if you’d be keeping him. 
“Of course,” Carmen nodded easily, squeezing your knee gently. “Just give him whatever he needs for right now, and what we need t’get. We’ll get it.” 
“He doesn’t have fleas, Richie.” You sneered, cradling the small cat in your jacket to keep him warm. His shake was down to a soft tremble, not as constant but still there. 
“Yeah fuckin’ right, rabies then-” 
“-Cousin.” Carmen sneered. Richie stopped with a huff, throwing his arms up and muttering something as he stormed away. 
“Here,” Carmen muttered, a hand on the small of your spine, pushing you into his office. “I’ll grab you a bowl and a plate for his food, alright? You just, just stay in here, ok? Richie’s right, he can’t be out.” 
“I’ll keep him in here.” You nodded, sitting in the small chair. “Do you have a towel?” 
“Yeah, I’ll grab that too.” Carmen slung his jacket off, running a hand through his messy curls. “I, uh, I gotta get scrubbed up and put my stuff on, but if you need anything just yell, alright?” He ducked out to the small closet, snatching a towel and two dishes off the drying rack. 
“I’ll be alright.” You hummed, fingertip tracing down the kitten’s tiny head. He purred under your touch, made your chest burst with warmth. 
Carmen’s lips pulled in a smile, putting the dishes on the ground for you, shedding his own shirt. You were entirely enamored with the cat, that was for sure, not even a sideways, ogling glance at Carmen’s shirtless figure. 
“Shit.” Your head snapped up, wide eyed at Carmen. “I forgot the dishes. I-I’m so sorry, I can-” 
“-It’s alright, baby.” Carmen dropped his pants, biting back a smirk at how your eyes did drop this time. “Tina got her son and his friend to come in. We’re good, baby.” 
“Oh.” You nodded, eyes lingering on his boxer clad ass, before back to the kitten. “Good.” 
Carmen shrugged on his chef’s coat, walking over to you. “It’ll be kinda a late night.” His eyes softened in apology. “I’ll have someone run you a plate when we get outta the weeds, alright?” 
“Thank you.” You muttered, head tilting back for a kiss. Carmen obliged, your lips pulling him in for a longer kiss than he expected, sweet- left his body burning with heat. “Thank you.” You repeated, eyes shining sweetly. 
“C’mon.” Carmen whispered gently, shaking his head at you. “You know I would do anythin’.” He pressed a kiss to your head, looking down at the small kitten before he left. 
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“I think he likes it?” You whispered, on your stomach next to Carmen. 
It was nearly two in the morning, the two of you just returning back to the brownstone you called home. Lying on the freshly laid tile of the kitchen, you watched the small cat explore the space. 
“Yeah, think he’s gettin’ used to it.” Carmen muttered, shaking the small stick so the feather danced over the kitten, grinning when he’d scrunch and bat at it clumsily. 
You pressed your head into your hand, watching the kitten prowl, ears finally perked up instead of flat back in fear. “We have to name him.” You blinked, looking up at Carmen. 
“Yeah,” Carmen grinned. “Yeah, that-that would be a good idea, right?” He beamed playfully. 
You smiled, gently petting the kitten’s back, smiling at how he arched into your touch. “I think it should be something kinda with the restaurant.” You suggested. “Since that’s where we found him.” 
“Yeah? Like Bear?” Carmen muttered. 
Your nose crinkled gently. “He doesn’t really look like a Bear.” 
“No,” Carmen agreed, shaking his head. “More like a Garfield.” 
You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. “That’s such a gimme name.” You shook your head. “Maybe not the restaurant, exactly, but… similar?” 
“Yeah? Like Trash Can?” Carmen muttered, lips curling playfully. 
You gasped lightly, smacking his leg playfully. “No.” You huffed. “Something maybe with food?” 
“Carrot?” 
“No.” You pouted lightly, head tilting towards the small cat, occupied with Carmen’s sweatpant strings. “What about, like, Anchovy?” 
“Anchovy?” Carmen snorted in amusement softly. 
“Yeah, like the fish.” You shrugged softly. “And cats eat fish- well, in the cartoons they do, y’know?” 
“Yeah, I know, baby.” Carmen grinned softly down at you. “You think he looks like an Anchovy?” 
The small kitten turned, perking towards Carmen, padding happily over to him. Your face lit, glowing with beaming pride and adoration as Carmen scooped up the small kitten, let him rub his face into his chest sleepily- sweetly. You thought you might melt into a puddle on the floor at the sight. 
“Alright.” Carmen laughed lightly. “Think you’re right. Think he’s an Anchovy.” 
“Anchovy Berzatto.” You hummed, crawling between Carmen’s spread legs, petting the tiny cat. You smiled so brightly at Carmen, his own cheeks burned, flaming under your radiant affection. 
Your lips caught him again, pulling him in for a sweet, longing kiss over the small kitten’s head. Your hands in Carmen’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, kissing him like a lifeline- it made his head swim, chest swell with adoration. 
Anchovy chirped, teetering on a meow and yawn, little paw stretching in Carmen’s hold. Your forehead pressed to Carmen's, you ducked down to coo at the small kitten, moving to sit in between Carmen’s legs, your back to his chest. 
Home with your little family, complete with the little kitten, Anchovy Berzatto.
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kisses4lao · 8 months
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Yeah, BOO!! Twst men kinks and shit idk
another writers block blurb LMAO
My one coworker bought me ice cream in exchange for a shenhe smut so I'm trying to get done the floyd smut im working on so I can get that to her </3 here's some filler so you guys don't go starving waiting for content
Cw!!! Fem reader, so much filth
NO ORTHO.
Two disclaimers this time: SOME OF THESE MY INCLUDE SAM AND CREWEL, WHEN THEY DO, READER IS NOT YUU FOR THEM. also not proofread teehee
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Loves doing it in public. The fear of you guys getting caught while also having everyone know that you're his turns him on to no extent. He'll be thrusting into you at such a high speed, hand over you mouth as he whispers things in your ear, "someone may hear us, you may wanna keep it down." He says that with the CHEEKIEST grin on his face, he KNOWS how much you're struggling 😭😭
♧Cater, lilia, leona, rook(?), floyd, jade, Sam(would do it in his store)♧
Really like soft, sensual sex. Views it more as "love making", as he puts it. Will be rough if you want him to, but would never hit you. It may be hard for him to be rough at first, give him time. But back to the love making thing, he just can't get enough of you. He loves missionary because he can see all of you, having you in such a vulnerable position and having you let him do this to you makes him feel so trusted. He'll be going at a fast enough pace. Telling you how much he loves you, how much he wants you and how he wishes he could stay like this forever. Seriously the bestest men ever.
♧trey, malleus, silver, azul, riddle, jamil, kalim, jack, deuce,♧
So in love with you he'd try anything you want. Wanna tie him up? He's okay with that. Blindfolds? Who needs to see anyway. Wanna piss in his mouth? He thinks about it for a minute, but decides he'd gladly be your trashcan. In a way, all he wants to do is please you, he wants you to pleasure yourself on him so bad he'd do anything for that to become a reality.
♧kalim, sebek, malleus, ROOK, ruggie(only if you give him donuts), deuce, riddle, azul♧
Possessive sex x10. Would see you with another man and would get so anxious you may leave him. Too much of a baby back bitch to talk to you directly about it so he takes his frustration out by fucking you really hard. Says he's sorry later and tries to talk about it later but he's too shy.
♧just idia♧
SOOOOOO into breeding. Literally so inlove with how his cum drips put of you once he's done. Can't wait until you guys are older that way you guys can actually make a family. Seriously in love with the mating press position and hearing his balls slap on your ass when he's fucking you so hard.
♧malleus, leona, rook, vil, trey, cater, jack, crewel, azul, jade, floyd, jamilly willy♧
Wouldn't mind fucking you infront of a crowd. Not the same as fucking you in public, I mean like ACTUALLY fucking you in front of a crowd. Having hundreds of people watch the two of you express your love to eachother turns him on, he'd really like to do it but wouldn't wanna overstep your boundaries.
♧malleus, kalim, vil, leona, lilia but specifically general lilia♧
Really loves foreplay and can get off just by mouth fucking you. It turns him on knowing how easily you can get overstimulated from his mouth or fingers. He never expects anything in return, and he usually does it after you have a bad day (with consent ofc) so you can unwind more easily. Always runs a nice warm bath after <3
♧malleus (does want something in return sometimes but would never force you), trey, cater, ace, deuce, leona, silver floyd, jamil, rook♧
Kind of on the same page as the last one, LOVES having you sit on his face. Holds you down by your thighs and eats you out for hours on end. Definitely the type of guy to grab you by your waist, one hand rubbing your clit as he bounces you up and down on his tongue. Looks cutely fucked out when he's done.
♧ughhhhhh everyone bc yes <3♧
Uses lots of pet names during sex, will call you things like "darling","beloved","princess", idk may call you schnookums. Type of guy to call you all of these in one breath.
♧leona, rook, vil, floyd, lilia♧
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A/n: might make a part two idk lololilol
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safination · 1 month
Text
Partners in Death...and Life.
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Part I: Radio's not dead
| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor
"Alastor! Pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure!" One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. You chuckle. "I don't think it will be quite the pleasure you think." "Is that so?" Alastor's smile remains constant. "And why would that be? You show him the tray you're holding "I'm here to do your sutures"
You pass the tissue box—the third one already.
Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles. Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes.
Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.
“—and I have this…uh…like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.
Your eyes twitch.
He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”
“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”
Tissue. Sneeze. Floor
Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.
Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.
Pastel pink floor.
Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ear. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum rings.
Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found. The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.
“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”
You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.
His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh…well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “
You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.
“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to that.”
You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.
Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)
“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“
“Doctor.”
“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”
You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now?"
“…Yeah…?”
You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”
“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”
You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”
His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”
You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”
He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”
You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”
“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”
“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”
“Pheny—what?”
“…Angel Dust.”
“The porn star?”
“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”
“Come on, nurse—”
Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting. He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns. You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair. 
His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.
Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs. Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.
“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”
The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.
Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle. Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic.
You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.
You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus. You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.
“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”
The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.
He doesn’t close the door on his way out.
The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.
(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)
You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.
“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”
Silence is your reply.
“Tagatha?”
Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.
The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date. Although… those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.
Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.
Too bad he’s occupied.
You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.
Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA. The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears. The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before
The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.
You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just… a small… single moment.
…..
….
..
.
On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.
Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.
“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”
…Huh? The feather on your hair bristle. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.
“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”
Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.
“What a dated voice!”
A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”
Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That…that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.
“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”
Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”
Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.
“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.
“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”
The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ "Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management. You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “…Doctor?”
Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.
“The… uh… the lights are back.”
You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”
She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”
“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are…difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”
“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”
Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.
You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”
“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”
You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.
You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.
“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”
“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”
“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”
He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”
“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”
“Really, now?”
You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”
“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”
You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”
Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve … almost… almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.
Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.
You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.
Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
You hold your palm out. “May I?”
His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”
Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”
You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”
“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”
He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”
You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”
You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.
“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such…er…interesting decorations around…. May I?”
You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.
“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.
“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)
“I figured you were.”
Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”
You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”
He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”
“How ever did you know?”
You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”
You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.
Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”
Alastor hums in reply.
You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?
Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.
“The wall isn’t over here.”
“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”
“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.
He counts.
“Out loud please.”
He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.
Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”
Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”
“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse…,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well…we…. We certainly could be paid more.”
“Why not become an actual doctor then?”
“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me….and…hm…” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”
He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”
You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”
You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”
“Oh yes...” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor... I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”
“Knitting?”
“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”
“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”
“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”
“Next time then.”
You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”
He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”
“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”
Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh…There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”
“Pardon?”
“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away
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weebsinstash · 2 months
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Hi I’ve been watching Hazbin Hotel and I found your blog which is amazing by the way , and I was wondering what are your thoughts on yandere Alastor ?
Thanks babe! ^^ so i was discussing this with someone recently and, to avoid doing that thing where I have too any concepts on the same post, I'm going to stick with a specific idea I've had of him recently which I will call "canon accurate yandere Alastor"
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imma be honest and say this version would fucking suck depending on your preferences because he
-doesn't love you romantically and doesn't let YOU date
-doesn't wanna fuck you either AND DOESN'T LET YOU FUCK ANYONE ELSE EITHER
-probably does not consider you an equal by any means, like he considers you a good friend and you're charming and lovely and whatever, but he sees you like.... you'd be puking into a trashcan and he's the one holding your hair back, "now see my dear, this is why you shouldn't go out drinking without a proper escort~" like there's a vague layer of condescension and there's a huge massive power balance and experience balance between you two
Like. He's. He's kind of condescendingly cunty to you, he's vaguely looking at you with the energy of "MacKenzie oh my gosh MacKenzie you're so drunk, you're wasted, oh my god let me drive you home, no girl I'm taking your keys, you're too--" like do you get what I mean? He's a traditional gentleman and he comes along and uh, he thinks he sees this raw potential and charm inside of you that he thinks is being wasted by your modern lifestyle which can literally include
- your diet
-your tech use or what you use from day to day
- how you dress
-how you TALK
-how you spend your time
-who you hang out with
Just picture he meets you, you catch his eye, maybe you're at the hotel, and he's entertained by your sarcastic witty replies to his antics that maybe even get a chuckle out of him. You're a spitfire and he likes that!
.... and then the next time he sees you you're like vaping weed from a pen, looking at him with half lidded eyes, playing a game on your phone, too scattered to fully hold a conversation with him, to focus, to be as entertaining to him as before, and he's grinding the teeth in his smile, "oh no, this won't do at all", especially when he sees negative affects such maybe you're watching things he doesn't approve of or you're being harassed idk
I feel like since Alastor canonically drinks and is quite a heavyweight apparently, he wouldn't mind his darling drinking, but he would definitely control how much after a while. If you get too wasted in front of him too many times, he'll completely cut you off. Folks are you aware that getting too drunk can cause an alcohol induced panic attack that can literally take away your ability to move your hands and arms and make your mouth numb. I found this out recently :) whoops. And I feel like Alastor sees that shit and you'd have to EARN HIS TRUST for him to let you drink again and uh, I don't think that's possible
You're kind of like a bestie but you're also like a toy he's playing with and he doesn't like to share. He'll drag you away from doing other things with other people, especially if he doesn't approve of what you're doing and or with whom. He basically views you dating other people as lowering yourself to people who are beneath you and would only want you to give yourself to someone who deserves you, and he doesn't think ANYONE deserves you except him, and he DOESNT LIKE YOU THAT WAY so the man is just like FORCING CELIBACY ON YOU. Like have you ever seen videos of people taking their domesticated lovely groomed pets outdoors and like a stray or even wild animal version of it comes along to. Hump. And the owner is freaking out, "get the fuck AWAY I don't know where you've been" or at least Should? THAT'S Alastor watching 'other people trying to predate upon you' aka YOU trying to get laid or date
You'll be cooking something and he'll come up and try some without asking, "Hah! This is terrible!" and either watch you so he can tell you what he thinks you did wrong once the dish is finished or he takes over and asserts that he wants to show you to do it "the proper way!" and if you're female he potentially inserts a comment about how as a lovely lady you should know your way around a kitchen (in like a positive "I'll show you so you can know for yourself" way but like the underlying misogyny is there lol)
He'll take you out drinking and dancing but don't you dare let him catch you throwing it back or being mildly sexual, or he'll immediately tell you you've had too much to drink and take you home and you two spend the rest of the night like drinking tea listening to the radio, reading books, or watching old timey TV.
Lastly... I can absolutely see Alastor making some kind of deal with his darling for their soul. He CAN do that (and I think technically anyone in Hell can deal with souls, it's apparently part of the becoming an Overlord process). But I can just see him taking his darling's soul in exchange for anything, it might be really small, it might be really important, but he sees it as safeguarding your beautiful lovely little soul from anyone else who might take it. It truly is like THE HIGHEST FORM OF OWNING YOU, CONTROLLING YOU. It's all according to whatever is in the deal, but I'm sure there's other basic caveats you get... like him being able to summon you at will if you agree to it so he's randomly yanking you away from other people or tracking you when he doesn't know when you are.... or restraining you so you stop running away from him and running out on the town to act so... vulgar
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strawbeelemonade · 10 months
Text
PLATONIC HEADCANNONS: being miles morales best friend but your also a bit insane (Part 2!)
i'm gonna try to remember to start specifying when something is intended to be platonic or romantic.
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🕷- I was literally unable to cram everything I wanted to say in the first one.
🕷- Miles is really only comfortable showing you his drawings.
🕷- He's an incredibly awkward guy, but the words come so easily when he hangs out with you. he doesn't choke up like he does with other people at school.
🕷- When he gets his powers his first instinct is to call you. He’s literally halfway through punching your number into the keypad until he stops and decides against it. He knows your number off by heart now.
🕷- You appear and disappear like a ghost its so random.
🕷- Honest to god, he lowkey thought you were homeless until you invited him over to watch Barbie Mermaidia.
🕷- “Bibble is so me.”
🕷- He’s the only person you let over at your place. its small and in the basement of an old apartment complex. the landlord couldn’t get anyone to pay to live there. you live alone.
🕷- You struck a deal, and they let you crash there as long as rent was on time and you fixed their washing machine for free.
🕷- Miles asked how you got to live there for so cheap. You tell him it’s because someone died on the couch he was sitting on.
🕷- He sits on the floor.
🕷- Miles is so eager to share his new powers with someone.
🕷- No seriously, between all the stress and lying and anxiety its nice to let himself get excited about it. To let himself have fun and see what he can do.
🕷- You guys TOTALLY video tape him trying out his new powers for the first time.
🕷- I can imagine you finding an abandoned alleyway on some random ass street after school and filming Miles Trying to do a backflip LMAO.
🕷- You gotta fish him out of a trashcan after he tries to spider climb up the wall.
🕷- You know that thing where a group of friends duck tapes one of their friends to a wall for fun? You get miles to do that to you.
🕷- You guys can’t stop laughing, The best memories of your lives are in those videos.
🕷- He’ll take you up to the top of buildings to show you the graffiti art he painted!! he’ll let you sign it off with a dick and balls or a heart if you want. You guys do homework up there together as well.
🕷- ’M & (Y/I) were here’ has been painted on every available surface of New York.
🕷- You both have the bright idea to hop on his back and go web slinging around the neighbourhood. He can carry you easily.
🕷- Miles decides If you don’t tell him to slow down, then he’s not going fast enough.
🕷- You NEVER tell him to slow down.
🕷- “Faster!!!“
🕷- Now that he’s got super strength he can put you in an inescapable headlock, he doesn’t do it too tight but he holds you there until you tap out.
🕷- He takes you to the coolest spots with the best views.
🕷- You regularly cover for him.
🕷- “We were at Jamba Juice the whole time officer I swear.”
🕷- Miles side eyes you knowing damn well he was no where NEAR a Jamba Juice.
🕷- ’Thanks’ he’d mouth.
🕷- You and Petter B will get along like a house on fire.
🕷- While Miles is extremely unimpressed by him, you don’t seem to care about any pre-existing expectations one might have when you think of the guy behind the mask of Spider-Man, your cracking jokes and feeding your pet rat a couple of French fries while the three of you sit in the diner, planning your next moves carefully.
🕷- Peter B can tell you’re a good kid. He’s at an age where a lot of your batshit tendencies don’t really faze him as long as your not hurting yourself.
🕷- Speaking of which.
🕷- When him and Miles get the chance to talk alone he warns him that he needs to be careful.
🕷- He tells him that normal relationships aren’t possible anymore. And stresses to him what a life like this can mean for your loved ones. especially since you found out his secret. This line of work isn’t just dangerous for Miles, but for you as well.
🕷- Miles is a little shaken after the conversation, no matter how gently Peter tries to put it. But what he’s implying is clear. He tries to shake it off and enjoy the time you both spend together. He won’t admit to himself that Peter is right just yet.
🕷- It’s just so easy to tell you everything and rely on you.
🕷- There will be a moment sometime in the future when reality sets in, but for now Miles makes the same mistake every Spider-Man does.
🕷- He has a best friend. :(
🕷- On the other hand, Peter comes to the staggering realisation that your actually extremely prone to accidents and danger all on your own. And he appropriately does a complete 180 from ‘casually distant bum-uncle' to ‘I am your dad now’.
🕷- It’s Nothing personal, kid. now stop trying to get in the middle of fights with dangerous criminals and let the adult— or at least the guys with super strength, stamina, speed and resilience— handle it.
🕷- He demands you stay out of the crossfire, but, to no one’s surprise you don’t listen.
🕷- You’re willing to throw yourself in front of Miles to shield him from anything, much to your best friends terror.
🕷- You hold your own surprisingly well against opponents that would be considered reasonable threats otherwise. You’re resourceful, grabbing anything and everything you can get your hands on. you get a terrifying look in your eye.
🕷- No matter how impressed Peter is, He will slingshot you around with his web-shooters to propel you out of the way of oncoming attacks. He will do this for both of you, but feels the need to do it less for Miles. He knows he can take what’s on the other end of the punch. But No matter how untouchable you make yourself out to be, you can’t.
🕷- “Do I want kids?”
🕷- He takes you on as his responsibility just as much as he does Miles.
🕷- Spider-Gwen also looks out for you in battle.
🕷- She’s more laid back, and even a little suave about it too.
🕷- She secretly wishes she had someone like you in her universe. What she wouldn’t give to decompress with you after a long day of patrolling New York.
🕷- She’s actually the most normal about you having a pet rat. You know, the one you grabbed out of a garbage can in a subway station. Yeah, That rat.
🕷- Miles watches you both get along like a house on fire and just quietly falls behind you both since he’s not sure what to do or say.
🕷- He’s so awkward, poor guy.
🕷- Your tendency to go off for days at a time ignites everyone’s curiosity. it’s a concerning habit, and Gwen even endeavours to follow you to see where you disappear to so often.
🕷- She’s unsuccessful.
🕷- It's never said out loud, but when she’s facing the one-way ticket home she finds herself wanting to stay just a bit longer. Not just for Miles, but for you to… She wonders what you’ll get up to while she’s gone.
🕷- …
🕷- Peter Porker vibes with you so hard.
🕷- no wait don’t scroll away wait
🕷- he WILL gift you the freakishly large cartoon mallet. Sorry, but miles didn’t appreciate it for what it was.
🕷- He would be cracking jokes and doing bits with you through out the whole goddamn movie.
🕷- Miles can usually let you do your own thing without sparing a second glance, but the looney tunes laws of physics that Porker exhibits WILL rub off on you at least a little.
🕷- It’s contagious. And when you start flattening eachother into to perfect discs it freaks everyone out a little.
🕷- He’s got enough to worry about in the plot,,, Damn,,
🕷- Spider Noir teaches you how to throw a good punch
🕷- in exchange you let him mess with your phone as much as he wants
🕷- "how the hell do you work this thing?"
🕷- He likes you, he thinks you got a lot of guts.
🕷- You were actually the one to design Miles’ suit. He took inspiration from one of your drawings in your school notebook.
🕷- You've always believed in him, and that made him believe in himself too.
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casuallyawkardd · 3 months
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Hiiii o/
I was thinking about Miguel and reader having to go to a different universe to do something because of an anomaly and they are faced with spider man or better spider woman of that universe who is none other than Reader!
And of course they start to get along and Miguel has to stand there wondering what god he pissed off to deal with two of you kkkkkkk
But what is the situation if Reader 2 (tense moment) says "Oh, you also have a Miguel? It's so nice to know that my husband and I are together in another universe too! working together 😍😍" Just completely oblivious to the fact that Miguel and reader are not married 🫣 🫣 (or maybe even together yet 👀 ""But the two have feelings for each other and have that sexual tension, BUT NOBODY DOES ANYTHING" hehehe).
could you write something please please please.
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or
if you want you could also add this idea to your main story whatever you feel good about. Rsrsrsrs 😁😁
Cute! Love it, sorry the request took so long to fulfill, but enjoy 😘
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Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader
Warnings: fluff, wholesome vibes, awkward beans being awkward beans
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It was another day at HQ, another day being one of the many versions of Spider-Woman, or so you thought. You had been assigned a mission, your partner none other than the Spider-Society leader himself. This wasn't what was out of the ordinary, in fact you had gotten used to being paired with Miguel. And you certainly didn't mind. It wasn't something you'd ever admit, but when the Spider-Man had approached you with the offer of joining an elite group of Spider people a couple of years ago, his looks weren't exactly a hindrance to his proposal.
Course you'd never try making a move on the man. Not only would it be highly unprofessional, but who knows how'd he respond. Miguel wasn't exactly the easiest to predict, he was known to fly off the handle on occasion. You having seen many a poor, inanimate object tossed across the room during one of his tantrums. While you didn't expect a reaction like that, the sour expression you'd seen him give many a spider wasn't something you'd like being on the receiving end of. And that was more likely than a trashcan coming at your head.
Speaking of, you finally spot the man himself. He's on the move, as expected, seeming to be stuck between talking to Lyla on his gizmo and chewing out some of the newer spider recruits. The good news is he's walking in your direction, meaning you don't have to pathetically attempt to catch up to his long strides.
"Hey Miguel," you say before he gets the chance to pass you, the sound of your voice giving him pause as he glances your way.
"Oh, there you are," he says in his usual monotone, coming to a stop beside you as he finishes with his gizmo, as well as giving direction to the new spider recruits on their assignments. When it's finally just the two of you, he lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the skin between his brows and massaging the muscle.
"I thought you said you weren't going to recruit anymore spiders," you comment, a bit of tease in your tone. "That there were too many to keep track of."
"There is," he said, almost woefully, "but with infinite universes, there's infinite problems." Miguel finally turns to look at you, something in his hardened expression relaxing when you make eye contact. It's the kind of moment that has the potential to make you weak in the knees, but gets quickly cut short as he clears his throat and turns away. "Come on, we've got a lot to do today."
"A lot being...?"
"I want to do a patrol in your universe, you just finished with canon event: Venom versus Spiderman, want to make sure that symbiote didn't leave anything behind," he starts, "then Earth-199999, that ones still recovering from the incident with Dr. Strange...There's also been reports of anomalies on Earths 31913, 44145 and 616."
"Wow, that is a lot," you say, wincing at the thought of the headache this day could bring.
Your comment makes Miguel scoff, the corner of his mouth turning upward as he looks back at you, "Don't worry, arañita. The two of us have a good track record, in terms of working together. You'll be back on your couch in time to watch that God awful show of yours."
"Hey! Just because it's a cartoon, doesn't mean it's awful! You'd like it if you just gave it a chance."
Miguel rolls his eyes, a puff of air passing his lips in a 'psh' sound. "Now that, I highly doubt."
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A day spent patrolling and capturing anomalies was the definition of draining. The trip to your home turf was a good start to the day. Uneventful as the symbiote had been thoroughly dealt with, you were even able to convince Miguel to grab something to eat since the two of you skipped breakfast. Sitting on top of your apartment complex, overlooking New York, all while munching on some greasy burgers and fries was a surprisingly nice change of pace. Miguel even seemed to relax, that was until an alarm sounded on his gizmo.
It turned out that the reports about an anomaly on Earth-44145 were true. A universe where Norman Osborn was Spiderman had sightings of the Green Goblin flying about, wreaking havoc on the streets of New York. A couple scrapes and cuts, some bruised ribs and a few minutes dealing with two Normans in one room, the anomaly was subdued and the two of you were able to get back on track.
Earth-199999 was surprisingly very different from the universes you usually visited. Similar to your own, but with many more superheroes. After checking in on the Peter of this universe, as well as Dr. Strange, Miguel made a comment about they weren't even a dent into the cast of characters this universe had spat out. When you pried, Miguel let out a reluctant huff, mumbling something about showing you some other day.
Earth-31913 was Webslinger's territory and he was a big help in taking out a Sandman variant. The anomaly being in a universe based in the Old West was a terrible combination, the villain nearly taking out half the town. You could've sworn Miguel had a heart attack when you took the risk of toppling the old water tower to weaken the enemy, Miguel having to claw his way through a mound of wet sand to retrieve you. He looked almost ready to rip you apart himself, but when he found you relatively unharmed he calmed down.
Stepping into the final universe of the day, you let out a heavy sigh, "I don't think I can do this ever again," you huffed, "five universes in one day, three of them with different anomalies, I know we're superheroes and all, but I don't feel super right now."
Miguel didn't respond right away, tapping away on his gizmo for the hundredth time that day, "Then don't be so reckless. You're putting your body through the ringer without needing to."
"Don't tell me you're still mad about when I stole the Goblin's glider."
"You didn't steal the glider, your suit caught on one of the blades and you flew seven blocks, flailing and screaming."
"I did not flail. I-"
"Hold on," Miguel held up a finger, making your teeth grind together in annoyance. He was quiet for a moment, focused on the device on his wrist before looking into the distance. "Anomaly detected. Washington Street."
With that he was off, you needing to take a deep breath to gather your bearings before following after. You took inventory of your surroundings as the two of you swung through the air, looking for the differences that made this universe unique to itself. Surprisingly, it seemed like many of the other New York cities you had seen before, modern day with cars honking in the streets and civilians bustling to and from their destinations.
The two of you landed atop one of the tall buildings, Miguel scanning the area to pinpoint the anomaly in question. You did the same, in your own way, using your eyes over technology to overlook Washington Street, heightened senses working to your benefit.
Spotting a small building just down the road, your eyes lit up in delight, "What about over there?" you asked, pointing to the business in question.
Miguel looked up, walking to stand beside you. Once he realized what you were pointing at, he frowned in disapproval, "An ice cream parlor? How old are you again?"
"Har, har," you laugh sarcastically, rolling your eyes and activating the gizmo on your wrist. "C'mon, I've never seen another universe that had a Let's Be Dairy, besides the one in my universe," you started to explain, tapping away on the device, "plus, if I got sent to another universe against my will, I'd want something sweet to make me feel better."
Before he could respond, your gizmo pinged, picking up on a signal coming from the anomaly's presence. Ignoring your shit eating grin, Miguel led the way to the ice cream shop, overthinking how the two of you were going to get in while you simply landed by the front door and opened it, his plans flying out the window, much to his dismay.
It had grown late in this universe, the shop only having one or two customers still inside. While you were admiring just how similar it was to the one in your universe, Miguel brushed by, muttering something about going to search for the anomaly and leaving you to your own devices. While ordering your usual, a familiar chill went up your spine. The same one you had felt when you joined Spider-Society. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Was there another spider in this universe?
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Miguel had been searching for an embarrassingly long time, at least to his standard. The ice cream parlor wasn't that big and yet he had spent almost an hour searching for the damned anomaly. He wondered if something had gone wrong with his tech, smacking the device on his wrist with his palm in frustration. After pacing circles around the shop, to the point even the other patrons were looking at him funny, he felt he had finally cracked the code.
All this time, he had expected the anomaly to be hiding. Maybe in a backroom or in the bathroom, and yet here they were. Pinging on his device and showing they were in a corner booth all along. He debated finding you first, out number the target for a surefire capture, but he figured you were indisposed at the moment. Most likely on your second helping of the 'delicacy' this parlor provided.
His back was pressed against the wall, the anomaly just on the other side. All he had to do was round the corner, capture the anomaly and drag it and you back to HQ. With a deep breath, he lunged forward, device at the ready to capture the anomaly. As he prepared to launch the instrument, the wind was knocked from his sails at the sight before him.
First, he saw you. Mid bite of what did indeed look like a second helping of ice cream, eyes wide in shock at his sudden arrival. Across from you in the booth was...you. At least she looked like you. Sure, her hair was longer, a different color and texture. Her spidersuit was different too, concealed with an oversized jacket, but every facial feature of hers matched yours. What the hell...
"Jesus, Miguel, you gave me a heart attack," you said, the you he knew, hand going to your heart to will it to start beating again.
He didn't respond right away, eyes darting between the two of you. "What..what am I even looking at?" he settled on asking, a pinch of annoyance hitting him when the two of you exchanged teasing looks.
"I found the anomaly," you said.
"And it's me," said the other you.
"Told you anomalies like ice cream."
"Vale, vale, I get it," Miguel huffed, tech used to capture an anomaly now put away. Sighing heavily, his arms crossed over his chest, taking in the sight of the two of you once more. Finally, his eyes settled on 'you'. "How did you get here?"
"Well..." you started, "I was on my way home, after a long day of saving New York city," 'you' added the last bit in a teasing tone, "and suddenly there was this portal and boom! I'm in another New York, glitching in and out of reality."
"You're not glitching now."
"I gave her a day pass," you chimed in, the other you lifting her wrist to show the device in question.
Miguel's eyes narrowed, "Those are for exclusive personnel only."
"Oh, stop it. I'm not just gonna sit here and watch a version of me suffer," you pout at him and he scoffs, rolling his eyes at your childish behavior.
"Well, if you two are done, we can send you back home," Miguel looked to 'you', who nodded eagerly at the opportunity. The three of you made your way out of the ice cream shop, Miguel and you walking shoulder to shoulder while other you tagged along behind. She watched contently as the two of you bickered, in a way that made her smile nostalgically.
"You two are cute," she finally said once you three stepped outside, "I'm glad that I have a Miguel in another universe too."
That comment gave you both pause, looking back at her, "You have a Miguel in your universe?" you asked.
She nodded eagerly, tugging her suit to reveal her hand, adorning a wedding ring. "Yeah, our husband," she said it like it was the most obvious thing to know and your jaw dropped. 'You' didn't seem to take notice, continuing on, "Well, the Miguel in my universe isn't Spider-Man, he's just a scientist. But he helps out when he can, my man behind the computer I guess," she chuckled softly. "Anywho, I should be getting home, yeah? He's probably got dinner ready, don't want my Miguel to worry."
"Right," Miguel finally spoke after a long pause, scanning 'you' with the gizmo and creating a portal to her dimension. "You know, if you're ever interested in helping out other universes..."
"Hmm, I'm good," the other you said, smiling. "One of me helping out is good enough." Flashing another cheeky smile, she stepped through, the portal shutting after her. With nothing left to do, Miguel and you returned to HQ, a long day of work behind you both.
"That's crazy isn't it? I mean, it makes sense, but it's still weird meeting another you," you rambled as the two of you walked through the hallway. Miguel didn't say much in response, just humming in acknowledgement. "A universe where we're married, you don't suppose-"
"Are you free this weekend?" Miguel interrupted, stopping in his tracks and facing you. The suddenness caught you off guard, but you caught up quickly.
"Yeah, why?"
"We should do something together."
One of your brows quirked upward, "And what would we do?"
Miguel shrugged, "Well, you keep raving about some ice cream parlor back in your universe. Let's start with that."
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Tags: @prettylittlebrowngirl @khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219 @edgycatx @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @jebsoxnoshansk @thedevax @erissco @its-carlerrr @muimui06 @cheezit-luv3rr @leo-lvr @stqrlightrs
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daisynik7 · 7 months
Note
I’ve had this in my head for awhile
“promiscuous” by Nelly furtado for Toji Fushiguro- smut
Promiscuous
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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader
Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Word Count: ~2.0k
cw: p*rn without plot, smut – PIV sex (doggy), degradation, public sex, nipple play, fingering, sex without a condom, spit play, daddy kink, breeding kink, cream pie
Summary: You’re a waitress working in a ramen shop at the racetrack. There are always the regulars that come in during the odd hours of the day, killing time with a bowl of ramen or takoyaki, waiting to either win or lose. Toji Fushiguro is one in particular that catches your eye. When he continues his losing streak, you decide to cheer him up in the only way you know how.
Author's Note: Thank you for the request for the y2k karaoke party my lovely @batafuraikisu! I love you so so much, you’re always so sweet and so supportive of me! I hope you like this one for your man Toji! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.
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It’s noon on a Tuesday morning. A gun fires off in the distance, signaling the start of the next race. The regulars you’re used to seeing gather around the monitor, watching as the horses they placed their bets on gallop around the track. Ken, one of the cooks behind the counter, rings the bell; a fresh order of chicken karaage is ready to serve. You stack it on a tray, balancing it as you walk to the dining area, waiting for the race to end, knowing everyone’s attention is on the finish line. 
When horse number #4 eventually crosses, followed by #1, then #3, most of the men groan, tossing their crumpled tickets into the nearby trashcan. Goro, a retired grandpa you’ve befriended throughout the years, pumps his fist in the air victoriously. “I knew Prince could do it! Wahoo!”
You smile at him, setting the food down at his table. “Congratulations!”
He pats your hand gratefully, snapping his chopsticks in two, popping a piece into his mouth. “Thank you, dear. Please ask Ken to make three more orders for me.” He points his thumb to the others, moping in their seats, some taking long drags of their cigarettes. “Figured these losers could use a little treat.”
Giggling, you respond, “Coming right up.”
On your way back, you notice a familiar figure slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Toji Fushiguro is a new regular from the past few weeks. He’s significantly younger than the others, and also undeniably attractive. Naturally, you take an interest in him. It’s rare to find someone with his muscular stature around here, considering the usual crowd consist of middle-aged men with beer bellies or elderly fellows hunched over from old age. While you never minded these type of men before, it was a pleasant change of scenery to see someone like Fushiguro grace you with his presence. 
Behind the counter, you add an order of takoyaki, hoping to lighten up his mood. It’s obvious his horse didn’t win. He’s been this way for the past two weeks, continuously betting on the wrong one, none of his choices even placing. When the food is ready, you pass it out to the depressed men smoking in the corner, who wave at Goro in thanks. The friendly old man joins them, trying to lift their spirits by offering a round of drinks. Everyone in the restaurant is gathered together because misery really does love company. Well, except for Toji. 
You approach him consciously, remembering that you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with each other, whenever he would place his order. Silently, you slide the food over to him until he notices it. He peeks at you with one eye open, glancing at the little plate of octopus balls in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”
“It’s on the house,” you say, smiling.
Glaring at you, he responds, “I don’t need your pity.”
Yikes, you think, standing your ground. Not quite backing down just yet, you explain, “It’s not pity. Consider it thanks for always supporting our business. You’re a regular now.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, studying you thoroughly. “So, this isn’t because I’ve been sulking here for the last two weeks, right?”
You shake your head. “Nope. Absolutely not. But if you really don’t want it, I’m sure Goro and the others will happily eat it for you – ”
“I’ll eat it,” he interrupts, pulling it towards him, finally relaxing. 
You smirk. “Great. Have a good meal.” Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer before you turn on your heel, leaving. 
Just barely do you hear him mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”
~~~
The next day, Toji is back, nodding at you as he walks into the establishment. This is the most he’s acknowledged you personally before, and part of you feels a sense of accomplishment. As if you’re slowly getting through to him. 
Throughout the morning, he sits in his usual seat, watching race after race, groaning at the end of each one. He’ll rush out of the shop only to return minutes later with a new ticket in hand. It’s a sad cycle that continues past lunch, still no luck. 
Your coworker is serving him today, so you haven’t said a thing, a bit nervous that he might snap at you for “pitying” him again. However, you’ve been exchanging knowing glances here and there; you can tell he’s watching you, and you don’t mind it. Not at all.
After setting down a table full of ramen bowls for a particularly cheery bunch of winners, you brush past him, his hand grabbing your wrist firmly to stop you. “Hey.”
You face him, alarmed and excited at the sudden contact. “Hello,” you say, stepping towards him. 
He doesn’t let go, eyes scanning you up and down. You swallow nervously, not quite sure what to do or say. “Do you need something?”
It takes a beat for him to respond but he does, smirking. “I do, actually. I need some pity.”
You crack a smile, teasing, “Oh, so now you want my pity. What do you want? Karaage? Another takoyaki?”
“I’m not really hungry for food right now.” His grip tightens around your wrist, electricity radiating from his touch straight to your chest, sending your heart racing. 
Normally, you wouldn’t do this type of thing, but you can’t help yourself: you’re far too curious to let an opportunity like this go to waste. Mouth grazing his ear and as confidently as you can muster, you whisper, “My shift ends in an hour. Think you can be patient until then?”
His grin widens, teeth showing like a predator who has set their sights on its prey. “Sure. I have a feeling this will be worth the wait.”
~~~
As expected, Toji remains seated in the same spot until you’re done. When you start to approach him, he stands up, ready to follow wherever you lead him. You wave goodbye to Ken and your coworker, who stare at the two of you curiously. Ken even yells out your name, asking, “What are you up to?!” 
Ignoring the question, you walk briskly down one of the corridors towards the exit. Toji trails just behind you, not speaking. You turn into one of the single vacancy bathrooms you usually use, pulling him inside with you, locking the door with a loud click. 
His back is pressed to the door, staring at you, cocky. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
“Shut up,” you say, clutching his collar, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He chuckles into your mouth, tongue swiping yours, hands arounds your waist. They slide below your ass, squeezing your flesh between his large fingers. You moan, dragging your lips down his neck, sucking on his skin. 
His thumbs hook on the waistband of your jeans, tugging you closer to him. The bulge in his sweatpants is throbbing and hard against you as you grind your body on his, eager for more. He hums. “And here I was thinking you’d be nervous around me. Who would have thought you’d be so promiscuous?”
You laugh, your hands gliding under his shirt, fondling his muscular body. “Are you that surprised? I don’t offer pity takoyaki to just anybody.”
“Lucky me,” he smiles, nipping at your bottom lip. 
Soon, you’re both stripped naked, clothes tossed hastily onto the floor. He licks his lips as he studies your figure, hands roaming your body, pinching at your nipples all perky and hard with arousal. He flicks his thumbs across them, asking, “You like having your tits played with?”
You nod, watching hazily as he bows down, lips near your breasts. “Good. Feed them to me.”
You obey, squeezing one in your hands, guiding it into his mouth. He puckers his lips around the sensitive teat, sucking until you whine with pleasure. You pull out of him slowly, releasing you with a loud pop. He does the same with the other side, suckling on your nipple until it’s plump and aching with arousal. 
“Think you’re wet enough for me?” he growls, reaching for your throbbing clit, flicking it with his fingers. “Bet I can make you wetter.”
“Then do it,” you moan, grinding against his hand. “Fuck me with those fingers.”
His eyes widen, two beefy fingers sliding into your entrance, stretching you out. “Fuck, you’re bad. So ready to get finger fucked by a total stranger. Nasty slut.” He sticks his tongue in your mouth, slobbering all over you as he pumps his digits in and out of your pussy, rubbing his thumb on your clit. After several more strokes, you come for him, gushing around his fingers until they’re coated in your slick. 
“Shit,” he swears, letting you ride out your orgasm on his palm, thumb still circling your bud. “It’s real creamy now. Perfect for my cock.” He pulls out, stroking his dick with his wet fingers, spreading his own precum around the tip. “Bend over for me, sweetheart.”
You’re needy and desperate for him to fill you up now, obedient to his every command no matter how crudely he spits it out to you. In this moment, you’re nothing but a cock sleeve for Toji, waiting to be stuffed full. So you follow his orders, bending over with your hands flat against the wall, sticking your ass out for him. He smacks it, watching with mirth as your skin jiggles from his harsh touch. He nestles his cock between your cheeks, grinding it against you. “Goddamn, that’s sexy,” he growls, spitting into his palm, lubricating his shaft with his saliva. “Do you want it?”
“Yes,” you breathe out, anticipating. “Give it to me.”
“Tell daddy exactly what you want,” he coos, slapping your bottom once more, teasing the tip up and down your folds. 
“Fuck, I want daddy’s big cock inside me!” you cry out, thrusting yourself onto him, his dick sliding smoothly inside you. 
He laughs, gripping your hips tightly as he starts to thrust. “Yeah, you want daddy’s cock pounding this wet pussy, huh? Look at you swallowing me up. Fucking whore.”
The degradation only spurs you to throw your ass back onto him, fucking you deeper and deeper until your knees are wobbly, legs shaky. He rails you harder, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his dick disappear with each plunge. “This pussy was made to be bred. You want my cum inside you? Ask for it. Beg for it.” 
“Please daddy! I want your cum!” you plead, unashamed. Really, whatever figurative chokehold this man has on you is outstanding. To have you begging for his seed, desperate to be stuffed with his load, it’s concerning and riveting all at the same time. 
“Louder,” he demands. “Let the whole racetrack hear how much you want daddy’s cum.” He reaches around to stimulate your clit, massaging it between his thick fingers.
“Give me all your fucking cum, daddy!” you moan, choking on your own spit, drool trickling out the sides of your mouth. It’s pointless now to deny how fucking cock-drunk you are for him. Useless to save face when you were already so blatant about seducing him from the start. All you can do now is comply and hope that none of your coworkers can hear you screaming from the other side of the wall. 
“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear,” he purrs, flicking your bud rapidly. “You’re going to get all this fucking cum.”
He comes as soon as you tighten around him with your second orgasm. He doesn’t stop stimulating your clit until he empties his load inside you. Slowly, he pulls out, marveling at the lewd sight of his cock coated in cum. “Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to gaze at the mess the both of you made.  
You gradually come to your senses, carefully picking your clothes up from the floor. When you’re fully dressed, he steps to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing your forehead. “Are you working tomorrow?”
With a weak smile, you respond, “Yes.”
He grins back, brushing your lips with his thumb. “Good. See you then.”
~~~
The next day, coincidentally, Toji’s horse places first, ending his miraculous losing streak. After collecting his winnings, he waits for you until your shift is done, waving the earnings in his hands, smiling. “Guess I got myself a good luck charm now,” he says, winking at you. “Want to make me a winner again?”
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fuxuannie · 11 months
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Omg i didn't see requests are open but hello sjchsudb
Going anon because I am a coward
Anygays! Ahem Caelus x reader general hcs pls 👉👈 i love wet cat man wit all my heart
Thank you! And stay hydrated >:(((
* pairing : caelus x gender neutral reader
* prompt : request ♡
* authors note : wet cat man strikes again! caelus fans i am feeding you, for i too lack content of him <\3 most of these r silly and just remind me of a current dynamic of me and a good friend of mine lol
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ּ ִֶָ ࣪✦ CAELUS is a bit of a man failure, still love him though(≧∇≦)
───── ❝ headcanons ❞ ─────
— he is so incredibly clingy and dan heng is so sick of it, caelus is practically glued to you and will only let go at the promise you'll come with him, or if you're not allowed then you have to reply to his 500 texts daily
— he really likes it when you count the scars on his chest, i imagine he's got tons of scarring and hes a weirdo who sleeps without a shirt and you just trace your fingers over his past scars
— he'll love to talk about the recent expeditions he went on over a cup of coffee, french toast for him and your own favorite snack.
— he tries to avoid looking at trashcans when hes with you but cracks a joke every now and then (gaining a slap to the back of the head for it)
— he tries his best to make good memories, cause a part of him knows the difference between you and him. you were merely mortal, he was.. idk something. but definitely was different. he wants to make sure he has enough smiles from you that he'll never forget how you looked when you were in your happiest moments <3
— the type to say happy anniversary the day before your anniversary cause he got rlly excited and thought it was that day
— he really likes animals and will get distracted if someone has a pet, its a problem when hes visiting someones home and they have a dog he has to play with it for 2 hours minimum
— makes random ass noises when hes bored "rawr" "caelus???"
— likes to hum, especially when you're running your fingers through his hair. he usually does it whenever he feels relaxed
— if you're taller than him, he loves tiptoing to kiss your nose, if youre shorter then he does the same thing but leans down instead lol
— his hair is kinda long enough to style, and he wouldn't really mind if you wanted to do. just ask and he'll happily let you do whatever you want
— he likes to give you his jacket, just randomly he'll sling it over your shoulders (then you not so subtly admire his arms lol)
— he likes back hugs where he leans on you and like his hands around your waist slowly slithering tighter (but not enough that ita comfortable) and ajsnehwksbdj
— his smile is one of your favorite things about him, march 7th and dan heng have listened to you ramble about the way you smile for hours.
— but caelus really likes eye contact, its weird but being able to look into your eyes brings him such comfort. he loves just grabbing you by the chin so he can stare at his beautiful partner.
— sometimes people ask where you found a man like him and you answer he was on the side of the road in the rain sitting in a box giving you kitty cat eyes and he stole your heart just like that (you also say you wish you left him there)
— despite the goof he is, you love him with all your heart. and he'd probably kill a man for you if you asked
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nqmonarch · 1 month
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Valentines Day w/ HSR Characters!
Doing Calc homework and am very stressed, i can feel it everywhere in my body. the math is just not mathing mentally today (i looked at trigonometric identities today so maybe thats why)
Just writing out some messy ideas to take a break
Btw if u sent in a request and I haven't answered it yet I am working on it thank you for your uh question ask thingy i appreciate it, i like to know what people like to read bcus tbh i like to write anything altho jingyuan gets like +10 points cus he fluffy
Valentines Day With Some HSR Characters (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Stelle)
Jing Yuan
Jing Yuan is old school romantic. You cannot tell me he wouldn't arrive home with a big bouquet of roses (does HSR even have roses?) and 20 other gifts, including but not limiting to boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and at least one gag gift. There's gotta be at least one, he'd make a dad joke out of it too.
Then he'd reserve one of the best restaurants on the Luofu and bring you there. He'd probably have booked a private room, thank goodness because no one wants to hear the general continuously compliment you until you're a puddle on the floor. What he is best at is attacks. But if he gets a compliment in return he'll freeze up for a moment before playfully returning it.
Jing Yuan doesn't put on his normal coy facade today, instead he just embraces how much he loves you because he's happy to still have you in his life.
Blade
Blade does not know it's Valentine's Day. It's not his fault, cut him some slack. Anyway Kafka probably reminds him that it's Valentine's Day about half way through the day to which he goes into a silent panic. You can't tell he's panicking he's just staring at the wall with a blank face, he actually looks like he wants to murder someone.
The two of you end up celebrating though! He... pulls something together, it really is something. Sure he smells like blood and the waiters are scared, and taking over this restaurant for a Valentine's Day dinner was definitely not in the script but... It could be worse. He's trying his best, really.
Afterwards you and Blade share lots of cuddles! Something he's pretty good at! Holding you just tight enough, and keeping you close to his side-- you just won't be able to get up if you want to get water or anything. He doesn't say too much but you can feel the love in each caress.
Dan Heng
Dan Heng doesn't really like going out, why would he when all he needs is right by his side? So the two of you stay on the express in the archives. What matters isn't where you are but the company. He'd probably get you a few trinkets from different places he's collected over the years, a necklace, a sick looking compass, whatever fits your vibe.
Dan Heng would probably also write you a love poem, and make you read it or awkwardly recite it in front of you. If you read it out loud though he will get unbelievably embarrassed and snatch it away from you. He'd give it back but he'd take some coaxing, be nice okay? His face is already red.
Then when the night draws to a close the two of you would curl up together on that sorry excuse of what he calls a bed. The majority of your body would be on Dan Heng's using him as a pillow, and his arms would be wrapped around your body keeping you still and warm.
Dan Heng's bed is not it man. Personally, I'd get back problems.
Stelle
"You are the one who deserves the golden trash the most," Truly romantic words from Stelle as she hands you a golden trashbag. That is just the first of the gifts she gives you tonight, and the one that's most valuable to her. It's the thought that counts right? You still have no idea what she's talking about when she mentions fighting Sampo as a trashcan...
The two of you spend a romantic night together, walking down the quiet streets of Belobog, and-- did Stelle just investigate a trashcan again? You should be used to this. On the bright side, every time she gets something cool she comes up to you with the biggest smile on her face, it's beyond adorable. Sometimes the trashcans even have good stuff, like a scarf Stelle lets you wear that thankfully doesn't smell like trash.
It's just good to spend time with the person you love. She spends her time catching you up on everything new from her adventures, and when it's too cold to stay out any longer the two of you head to the Astral Express. Where you shower together and then doze off on one of the Express' couch cushions while playing games. Your head rests against Stelle's reminding you, you're never alone.
Okay I need to get back to homework, fun break thanks guys. Imagine being alone on Valentines Day couldn't be me, I have my Calc Homework. It told me I was integral to it <3 legit peak partner material.
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unclewaynemunson · 1 year
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Pt2 to this post is here 🤗 | AO3 link
When Eddie stumbles out of his room the next day, still half asleep and purposefully headed towards the coffee machine, he notices a crumpled piece of paper on the table. He frowns when he sees it's the note he tossed in the trash a day earlier. It's folded open again, and there's a mysterious, slightly gross looking stain on it, but the number is still clearly readable.
He takes a good few seconds to stare at the digits, written neatly with a blue ballpoint, as if the guy was doing his very best to make sure that none of the numbers would be unreadable. He can't believe that Wayne is invested enough in this to get the note out of the trash for Eddie, even though Eddie already made more than clear how utterly uninterested he is in this Steve person. He shrugs, crumples the note back up again, and tosses it back into the trash.
It goes on like that for a while: every time Eddie wakes up or gets back home, the number is staring at him from the table, only to be crumpled in Eddie's fist again and again and again. Neither Wayne nor Eddie say anything about it; it becomes a tacid game of who can be the most stubborn, and they both know that both of them can keep that up for a very long time. Eddie knows he could just tear it up, or burn it, or poetically bury it at the base of a tree at the edge of the woods outside the trailer. But something's stopping him. It isn't the guy, or even the idea of the guy – he's sure as hell that this Steve wouldn't be for him at all. No, it's the memory of the look on Wayne's face after he gave Eddie the number, all excited and proud of himself. It's the knowledge of how immensely lucky he is to have an uncle like that, who supports him and loves him exactly the way he is, even actively wants him to be happy with another man. It's the flash of disappointment that crossed Wayne's face that first time Eddie made a whole show of throwing the note away. That's the reason he eventually, after almost a whole week of moving the note from trashcan to table and back again, finds himself standing at the phone with the piece of paper in his hand. The note has become truly disgusting by now, with all kinds of unrecognizable smudges on it, but thanks to Steve's clear handwriting, Eddie can still read all the digits.
It doesn't take long before 'Steve Harrington' picks up the horn on the other side.
'Hey, um, this is Eddie,' Eddie says, suddenly feeling awkward about the whole thing and wondering if he should've thought through what he was about to say to Steve. 'You met my uncle at a baseball game, last weekend?'
'Oh!' Steve sounds surprised. 'Eddie! Yeah, yes I did – Wayne, right?'
'Hmhm.'
'I didn't really expect a call anymore, to be honest,' Steve says.
'Yeah, sorry 'bout that,' says Eddie. 'Listen, to be honest, I'm not calling because I actually think this is gonna be something. From what I heard – not to sound like a dick or anything, I'm sure you're perfectly nice and all that – you just, totally don't sound like my type, you know? But my uncle won't drop it, and it'd probably make my life a whole lot easier if I could just prove to him that not every random queer guy he meets is a good match for me, so... Do you wanna meet up for coffee sometime? We can establish what a terrible match we are, I'll pay for your drinks, and then we can move on with our lives without any gnawing guilt or “what if”s playing around in our minds, and we'll never have to think about each other again. How does that sound?'
'Um...' There's a pause of a couple of seconds on the other side of the line, then a small sigh. 'I guess the free coffee sounds good?' It sounds more like a question than a statement, and suddenly, Eddie feels a bit stupid about the whole thing.
'I'm sorry,' he blurts out. 'I totally get it if it's not really what you expected of this. You met my uncle, and I know he's pretty awesome, and, like, wildly attractive and stuff, but if you expect me to be like him – that's not at all what I'm like, you know. So it'll probably be good for both of us to get that out of the way. To establish that we are not at all attracted to each other and happily move on.'
'Yeah, yeah, sure,' says Steve. 'Sounds good. I can't wait to find out what a terrible match you are for me.'
Eddie is relieved to hear the guy softly chuckling. 
Pt3 Seriously the response to this silly lil AU has been sooo lovely, thank all of you so much for your kind words and hilarious tags, it made my day 🥹 Altogether the whole thing will probably get to +/-7 parts, so if you feel like that’s a bit much to keep following, please don’t feel awkward about telling me you’d like to be removed from the taglist, I don't wanna spam anyone!
Taglist: @phantypurple @love-kurdt @eddiemunsonswife @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @swimmingbirdrunningrock @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @yourebuckingkiddingme @th3-r4t-k1ng @messrs-weasley @moonshadows-13 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @xjessicafaithx @yournowheregirl @henderdads @lwhoscribbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon
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wayfayrr · 6 months
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I've been on a little bit of a first kick recently - so here's a first meeting of reader and him based on this piece of the dolls au by @ovegakart (this amazing comic piece in particular) and on the topic of tagging people I've got some new friends on discord who have a love of first so consider this a gift <3 @fanfic-fairy-fountain @dreaming-of-lu @angry-trashcan @neverchecking <333 enjoy!
[masterlist]
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“Hello..? Time… Sky… Link? Is anyone there?”
As if being forced into Hyrule wasn’t bad enough when I was with the chain, now that cursed shadow decides to push it even further by separating me from them? Why not just kill me outright… Is it to try to give the heroes hope? Wouldn’t it be worse for them for it to kill me outright than string them along with false hope?
“IS ANYONE HERE? HELLO??”
Where even am I? It looks like… Oh. Alone in catacombs, yeah if there’s anywhere to be killed by a malicious shadowy entity it would be in catacombs. Are there going to be redeads here?  If the rest of the monsters are anything to go off of it’s going to be much worse dealing with them now. They can’t handle sunlight though, can they? 
Then that means the pile of rubble in the centre here should be the safest place for me to think through the best way to handle all of this. If the shadow really wants to get to me then of course that won’t stop it but I have to try something right? Is sitting on top of what looks like a grave a little disrespectful? Yes. Do I have many options at the minute? No.
“-Wait-!”
WHY IS THE GRAVE SLIDING OPEN - WHAT WAS THAT!? WHY DOES IT SOUND LIKE SOMEONE IS YELLING?? 
“What… happened? Where is this place?”
I think without a doubt the sound I’ve just made is the most blood-curdling scream I’ve ever let out and - WHY IS HE COVERING MY MOUTH!?
“I’m sorry I know you’re confus- ACK.”
Was biting him the right option? Probably not! But it’s the only thing I could think of to do seeing as well, I'm not exactly calm at this moment in time. Despite the fact that this man has known me for, what, the span of less than a minute, he seems to have at the very least noticed my panic. Backing off like you would with a scared animal - do I really look that petrified? It’s taking everything in me now to not give into my racing heart. 
“I’m sorry, I must’ve overstepped your boundaries. But please can you not be so loud?”
“....”
“... yeah. Yeah I can be a bit quieter”
“So you uhhh-”
Where do I even start - this man just - He just crawled out of a grave. What do you even respond to that with??? 
“...You come round here often?”
[name]. [name] what the heck was that. That's how you flirt with someone at a bar not speak to a living corpse.
“No, I don’t really?”
“Yeah, I figured. I -”
“Are you alright?”
“Look I’m just a bit overwhelmed, I was separated from my group and dropped here then you- You crawled out of a grave and now I’m just?? I’m just stressed and this is only things that have happened today. Now I know that you’re probably more stressed for obvious reasons, but I’m just - I’m sorry for screaming.”
He took a step closer to me at that, not trying to be intimidating, but more cautious. Asking for permission to touch me with an invitingly open outstretched arm, one that seemed to promise some sort of salvation from all the stress I’ve been feeling. One that I was embarrassingly quick to accept. His touch - His hold, is so warm for someone who should really be so cold, there’s definite comfort in feeling his heart beating as well something that proves he’s alive. It didn’t last for long though, as he pulled himself away, reluctantly if I were being bold in how I was to describe it. His fingers lingered, resting on my arm in such a teasingly wanting way. He’s definitely a link thats for sure, that helps me to be more comfortable around him than I would have been with anyone else. He looks like he’s about to start crying.
I - oh god I’m the first person he’s seen since he came back to life. 
“Are you alright link?”
Was that the wrong thing to say? He hasn’t introduced himself to me,  I shouldn’t have said that. It seems like now it’s his turn to look confused - more so than he already was. 
“you how do you know my name?”
“I just guessed, the group I was with before they - well they all looked similar and went by the same name ‘link’ so I just assumed it was the same with you. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
“No it doesn’t.” Why is he reaching for my face? He’s got such a soft look on his face, do I remind him of someone? He’s been dead so it could be possible I guess, but it feels like there’s more to how he said it than just something that simple. 
“Oh my dearest love...”
His hands are so soft… it’s hard not to just lean into his touch and stay there, but there are more important things to be dealing with right now. As much as I’d prefer to not have these questions answered. 
“What do you mean by that link? I don’t - I don’t think I’ve met you before.”
He’s so warm, I hate the fact that he’s most likely going to stop holding me when he realises I’m not the person he’s really ever going to want in a relationship. 
“You haven’t but, I can already tell that you’ll be my beloved soon enough.”
“I’m sorry? We’ve only just met how can you tell s- ACK”
This has to just be a link thing. What is it that makes them fall so quickly? But to hold someone so tightly when you've only just met them - when you’ve only just come back from death?  That doesn’t seem like a healthy thing for him, not in the slightest. 
Is my shoulder wet?
Why would it be wet - he was tearing up earlier and - no there it is he’s sniffling as if he’s trying his hardest not to cry. Even if he’s mildly delusional how cruel would you have to be to not help someone go through something as tough as this clearly is. It’s not hard to gently rub his back as he cries onto me, it’s not hard to hum to him as he clutches me like a lifeline, it’s not hard to be here for him when I have to do so little for him. 
“Link? Would you like to talk about it? I don’t know you but - but I’ll be here to listen to you.”
“Thank you. It’s simply that I - I don’t know why or how I got here, It’s simply that I woke up in there after everything then I saw you -”
“[name]”
“[name] and well you know what has happened since. I have to thank you for being here though, there’s something about you, some kind of energy that just feels like a part of myself that I lost. You feel like home to me [name]”
With that last sentence, he burrows his head even further into my neck seeking what I can only guess is comfort. He’s probably just desperate for another person's touch right now, rather than him having fallen in love with me from the briefest interaction that didn’t even go that well.   There’s no harm in waiting here with him for a moment though. What could go wrong in this amount of time?
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lacontroller1991 · 1 year
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Boxes of Dye and Boxes of Tea (Obi-Wan Kenobi x F!Reader)
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Main Master List || Star Wars Master List
Warnings: Obi-Wan being jealous, Obi-Wan being insecure (but not for long), one sexual comment (18+ please), slight age gap (reader is of legal age)
Word Count: 1.2k
Author's Note: I switch between POVs a lot in this, each POV switch is noted by a series of dashes. Anywho, enjoy!
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One of the defining rules of the Jedi Code is to be humble. Humble about your life, your wardrobe, your attitude and your appearance. It is also one of the defining rules of the Jedi Code to not form romantic attachments to anyone, let alone someone in the order and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi? He broke both. It’s not like he could control who he loves, after all, underneath the worn armor, robes, and tunics, he is human. And with being human comes human emotions like lust, love, jealousy, insecurities. 
Despite being trained in the ways of suppressing his emotions so as to not let them cloud his judgment, nothing could have trained him for the day that he sees you; his secret, younger, lover with a male about half his age. Normally, it doesn’t bother Obi-Wan who you talk to because he’s not normally a jealous guy, but after one snide comment from Anakin about the gray in his hair, it has Obi-Wan questioning everything, and seeing you talking with someone half his age? Well, Obi-Wan can’t help but to feel jealous and insecure.
Turning on his heel rapidly, Obi-Wan narrowly dodges your line of sight and rushes down the numerous halls towards his chambers as doubt clouds his mind. Would you leave him for that guy? Is he too old for you? Do you need someone more youthful to keep up with you? The questions storm in his mind as he looks over his appearance. He’s still in great shape, but he does note that he looks more exhausted than normal and his hair is starting to show his years of… wisdom. Sighing in annoyance, Obi-Wan frowns at his appearance. Just how can you find him attractive? Picking up a book, he tries to focus on the words but to no avail.
With a pep in your step, you all but skip towards Obi-Wan’s quarters, a present in your hand. After meeting up with your friend who grows tea leaves, you finally collected a large enough tea collection that will hopefully last Obi-Wan’s next upcoming mission.
Knocking on the door, you quickly hide the present under your robe and put a smile on your face as the door slides open, revealing a somber Obi-Wan with wet hair, causing your smile to turn into a frown of concern. “Obi? What’s wrong?”
—---------
Hearing the knock of his door, Obi-Wan cringes slightly knowing that it’s you on the other side. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, it’s more of the fact that he doesn’t want to be seen by you, but still, he heads toward the door and opens it, revealing you standing there with a smile on your face that quickly turns into a frown. “Obi? What’s wrong?” Sighing, he backs away from the door as you hesitantly walk into his room, closing the door behind you, not really sure how to handle the man in front of you. “Did the Council say something? Are you going on a mission sooner than we thought?”
“No, little one. It’s nothing. I’ve just been a bit lost in my head today, that’s all.” Seeming to not buy his excuse, he watches as you sit yourself down on his bed, arms still clasped together in your robe. 
“You can’t fool me, Obi. What’s really going on?” Normally, your forthrightness is admirable, but now, he’s seriously disliking it.
—-------
“I’ve just been feeling a little…. insecure, I guess.” You quirk up an eyebrow as you look around his room, trying to find something, anything that will give you a clue and then you spot it just lightly poking out of the trashcan in his refresher. It’s hardly noticeable, but you’re a female, you know what a box of hair dye looks like. Looking back over your lover, you notice that only two spots are freshly dyed, given with how unblended they are. The spots right above his ears. The spots where gray streaks begin. It suddenly clicks in your mind. 
Without revealing the present, you remove your cloak from your body and move to stand in front of him. “Why are you dying your hair?”
—-------
Obi-Wan lets out a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but you remain still, trying to comprehend. Letting out a sigh, Obi-Wan’s hands reach up for your hips and drag you into him while your hands move to his scalp, lightly running careful fingertips through his damp locks as he loses himself in the feeling. “Anakin pointed out that my hair is getting more gray and that I’m looking older and I guess I just wanted to remain youthful for you.” He’s embarrassed to admit it in fear that you’ll laugh at him, but instead, he feels a feather soft kiss against the crown of his damp head.
“Oh Obi-Wan, my handsome, handsome man, please don’t change your looks for me. I don’t care what you look like. I love you for you. I love your humor, your wisdom, your sarcasm, your penchant for tea, the way you call me ‘darling’ or ‘my love’,  and the way you hold me in your arms at night. I love you as a lover and I admire you as a Jedi. Besides, obviously you’re going to age slightly. You’re fighting in a war and not to mention, I’m sure training Anakin definitely wasn’t stress free, so I really wouldn’t worry about a couple of pieces of hair.” Obi-Wan smiles softly at your words as you continue to roam your hands throughout his hair, lighting scratching his scalp.
“You’re right darling. I guess it came over me because I saw you with that one guy in the hall, who happens to be your age.”
“Who, Sid? He was only giving me something that I asked for,” Obi-Wan watches as you move your robe to the side and reveal a wrapped box. Turning around, you hand the box to Obi-Wan as you take a seat next to him. “Go ahead and open it.”
“Darling, you shouldn’t have.” Obi-Wan has told you numerous times to not get him any sort of gifts, but you, ever being thoughtful, never listens. Tearing the paper off, he looks down at the box before removing the lid and spotting a variety of tea bags, and a lot of them. “Tea?”
“Yeah, I spent some time collecting a variety and Sid had the last ones I was looking for. I figured that I could make you something before your next mission and hopefully it’ll last.”
“This is so kind of you.” He sets the box to the side and brings you in for a hug, feeling foolish about overreacting to something that he didn’t know.
“Anything for you, my love. And you wanna know something?” He pulls away and makes eye contact with you, a mischievous grin gracing your lips.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to say something inappropriate?”
“Because you know me so well,” you lean forward, your hands sliding up his thighs ever so slightly. “I really, really love your hair the way it is. I especially love tugging onto it while we make sweet sweet love.” And if Obi-Wan wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now.
=fin=
General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @fairchildflag @tavners
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captain-mj · 1 year
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I have an idea.
Werewolf 141, except Soap who is a Wulver. This does not get discovered until Soap starts leaving fish on Ghosts desk.
Listen... Listen... Wulvers are one of my favorite creatures (ignore that I have a ridiculous amount) and I fucking love this. Also wrote this super sleep deprived and I did not edit so good luck y'all
Ghost stared at the fish on his desk for a stupid amount of time.
Was this a prank? It was a weird prank. Maybe if he was a cat shifter, it would make sense, but this was... odd. He didn't even get the joke.
Slowly, he knocked the fish into the trashcan.
Alright, just gonna... ignore that.
He grabbed the paperwork and went back to work as normal.
The next time, Price was with him. They both just stared at the fish.
"Why is there a fresh caught carp on your desk?"
"I don't know." Ghost was now angry. It was annoying, gross and made the room smell awful. He didn't fucking like fish normally, why the fuck would he want it RAW and WET on his desk. "Do you want it?"
Price grabbed it immediately. "Yeah. I'll give it to the cooks or something... Who did you piss off?"
"A dead man." Ghost growled. Whoever was doing this was going to keep a chunk taken out of them. Maybe lose a leg too. He staked out in his office for a while but caught nothing.
Ghost didn't bring it up to anyone else just yet. The culprit might get skittish and stop.
Instead, Ghost shifted and sat under his desk one day. He was a large wolf, but he had made sure he could fit under his desk when he got it. At the time, it had been for if he wanted to take a break from paperwork, not hide out in an attempt to catch a criminal. His insomnia would keep him up forever anyway.
When he woke up to a fish, now placed right in front of his nose, he almost went ballistic.
The nerve.
The audacity.
How had they managed to not wake him up? He woke up at everything! A FNG sneezed on the other side of the base and he woke up!!
Soap noticed something was wrong. "You alright, Lt?"
"I'm fucking fine." He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Soap.
Soap winced. "Aye..." Ghost shoved down the feeling he got from that. He didn't have time to feel bad!
"Have you seen anyone acting weird lately?"
"How so sir?"
"Coming in with wet hands. Going near where my office is. Lingering."
Soap looked confused. "No. I can't say I have. What's going on?"
"Nothing." Ghost grabbed his tea and escaped into his new room. Luckily, there's no fish to deal with. His room is clear. Thank goodness.
His office... His safe space... No longer safe...
Okay, a touch dramatic there. Ghost drank his tea and told himself that he needed to focus on work, not his tiny mystery.
He woke up again. Head down on his desk. Tea cold. Was there a fucking gas leak? Since when did he sleep so much?
Soap was there.
With a trout.
"You motherfucker." Ghost threw himself over the desk, watching Soap jump back and start sprinting down the halls. He chased after him. Soap tried to shift to get away, but that was ineffective. Ghost slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground before he got his arm around his throat.
"I don't care if you look like a mutt, I'll still kick your ass. Now shift back and explain yourself."
Soap did not shift back, instead wiggling to try to get away. Ghost tightened his grip until Soap stopped fighting him. He slowly shifted back, clearly embarrased.
"Hey, Lt. Fancy seeing you here."
"Why? Just why?"
"So... ya see... I am not a werewolf."
"You turned into a wolf, did you fucking not?"
"Actually.... I am a wulver."
"A wulver?"
"I uh... bring people fish."
"Why me?? Why did you bring me fish??" Ghost sounded accusatory.
Soap stuttered.
"Don't wulvers do that for people who are poor? Or can't feed themselves?"
Soap looked panicked.
"Fuck you."
"I'm sorry!" Soap yelped. "I don't know. i just wanted to... do something for you."
Ghost glared but dropped him. "Don't do it again."
Soap shakily gave him a thumbs up.
"I like mugs. Give me those next time."
"Yes, sir."
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angrythingstarlight · 2 years
Text
*This couple is so cute and reminded me of baker bucky and his peach*
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He would be so offended if you brought any gadgets into his kitchen.
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Pairing: Baker!Bucky x Reader
Warnings: Smut, overstimulation kink, dom Bucky.
A/N: Sinday Drabble #2
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Bucky watches in disbelief as you take a handful of his freshly picked garden tomatoes and plop them into the vegetable chopper. The affable grin that's always on his face dissolves faster than frosting on a warm cake.
"How could you do this to me?" He breathes out, the betrayal cinching around his heart. "How could bring that into our home? Our. Home. Peach."
"Theres nothing wrong with taking a shortcut Bucky," you protest, clinging to the device for a second, sliding it out of his reach after he makes a swipe for it. "I thought you'd like it."
Inhaling deeply, Bucky tips his head back, rolling his shoulders while his eyes close. "Peach. Get that thing out of our kitchen."
The irritation coming off him is palpable. And enthralling.
Seeing your tall, chubby baker getting so worked up over anything baking related shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. But you're not responsible for what your pussy likes.
And right now she likes her man struggling to maintain his composure because she knows what happens to her when he loses control.
"But it's so easy and fast," you tease, your stomach rushing to your feet as he drags his eyes open to stare at you, brow raising.
"Peach." He says, an unmistakably intense and menacing undercurrent in his tone sets off alarms in your head.
You swallow, pushing the offensive item behind you, fixing an innocent expression on your face even as your ragged breathing reveals your excitement. "And y'know sometimes you need a little help finishing. It happens to everyone."
Sky blue eyes narrow. He sets the knife beside his cutting board. The faint clank of metal hitting granite resounds through the brightly lit room. He ambles toward you, languidly raking his gaze over you.
Your breath hitches and your thighs clench. The way can make your your sweet baker become so damn feral is a high you can't get enough of.
Bucky reaches around, grabbing the chopper and tossing it, tomatoes and all into the trashcan by the sink.
"Hey," you sputter, falling silent when he leans into you, surrounding you with his spiced orange scent. Bucky places his hands on the counter, his round belly pushing into you, caging you in.
"When have I ever needed help finishing anything, little Peach?" He draws out your nickname, savoring it on his tongue.
He lowers his head, tilting his chin so he can peer into your eyes. "In fact didn't I help you finish four times last night? And if I remember correctly, I wasnt the one crying that I couldn't take anymore."
"Maybe. That was ages ago. Who can remember who said what or-" who sobbed his name so loud when he was fucking you from the back, that you're sure all the neighbors heard you. You purse your lips, heat fans across your cheeks at the memory of him taking you apart over and over and over. And then once more because according to him, you look even more beautiful when you're cockdrunk.
Like he can read your mind, like he knows which naughty, filthy images are playing in your head, he slides his warm, rough palm up the column of your throat and grabs your chin.
"Or what Peach?" he asks softly. "Do I need to show you that I don't need any toys to help me finish? Do I need spend all day ruining my pretty little pussy until she can only cum on my cock?"
And I-
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