#silly little spanish man take me by the hand

[uummyuu]

Hello Myu!!!

Can I request a riano headcanon from a supa strikas?

Because there is very little content related to it on this platform.

Bye <3

riano headcanons

GODD U DONT KNOW HOW HAPPY I AM TO WRITE THIS LIKE LITERALLY IM VIBRATING I LOVE BARKA SO MUCH SILLY LITTLE PURPLE MEN CKSMDMKSMSMSM—

honestly i bet he's kinda the guy who the media would portray as a big flirt/playboy superstar but deep down is a hopeless romantic and genuinely cares about making deep connections with other people. but this desire for emotional connection is what also makes him an inherent people-pleaser, he has to give the people what they want or else they won't want to be around him anymore!

this was his genuine thought process when his mentor relationship with golare started going a bit abusive. his team literally had to tell him that the way golare was forcing his body wasn't good for him and help riano gain the backbone to fire him. (he missed their friendship deeply throughout that time, golare was like a father figure to him)

once golare had been reinstated as barka's coach however, it was all water under the bridge for riano. he was genuinely happy to have his friend back, and to see goldie (the fish he bought golare) doing so well. seeing goldie being well taken care of reassured riano that the friendship he had with golare wasn't one-sided.

anyways barka fc are like his brothers, they all look out for each other in a way (i.e. riano offering free rides/being the designated driver at club outings). but they care for him in return, serving as a support system so that he doesn't crumble under the constant media attention.

should i mention that i don't really see riano as an alcohol drinker? he goes to the clubs purely for the vibes and to enjoy a night out with his teammates. (hah gay)

loves fun drinks though, give that man some sort of cool mocktail and he'll be all over it taking cool aesthetic pictures for his instagram, or whatever the instagram equivalent is in supa strikas.

speaking of his instagram, he loves posting about literally anything that piques his interest, yeah he does some usual behind the scenes posts during practice or after winning a game and whatnot, but he also likes bringing his fans along to see some of his other interests like the weekly latin dance classes he's been taking up. or he'll see a cool bird and post it to his story real quick i dunno—

random thought but this man could rock a pair of stilettos no problem.

source: the one time riano actually managed to get blackout drunk he pulled a whole choreographed drag routine out of his ass, including the black 10 inch high stilettos of course. they have a video of it but they don't dare post it online, it's a team inside joke only >:((

golare has seen the video though and compliments riano on being a good dancer, and riano rues the fact that he was so drunk he forgot the literal routine, he wants to do it again ://.

anyways i'd like to think that riano is a very honorable woman respecter, when girls flirt with him he only discourages it when it goes a little too far (words are one thing, touching him is another). but his type is definitely someone more down-to-earth.

man, woman, whatever else it doesn't matter to him. once a person catches his eye he'll do his best to get closer, he likes to be friends first before progressing into anything romantic. wants to get to know them and let them know him typa thing, no need to rush.

once he does get to that stage though he becomes a hoe for hand holding, or when his partner wraps their arm around his. vice versa as well the man loves his physical affection. wants to reassure his partner that no matter how the media portrays him he will remain loyal no matter what.

deep down i'd like to think he dates with marriage/the future in mind but he won't force it if he does end up reaching a romantic stage with his partner.

[fauustic]

late night bubble bath

((oh yeah the brainrot has hit HARD!!! IM IN LOVE!!! please send me asks / requests about miguel o’hara i might just melt ...))

gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

comfort, fluff. a needy miguel who is just a big kitty.

warnings: mention of wounds, very little blood. taking care of him after a night of insomnia. use of spanish pet names, yet a translator helped me because my spanish isn’t the best. lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 3027

A sigh escapes your lips as you shakily grasp the cup of water along your bedside table. You weren't one to have intense insomnia, yet the anxiety bubbling within your gut served as a painful reminder that you haven't been blessed with a moment of shuteye.

Was it something you had forgotten? You ran through a mental checklist that consisted of taking after Miguel's late nights, and not a single chore was unfinished.

Leftovers for dinner could be found neatly packed away in the place he always checks in the fridge, so there was no need for your love returning from work hungry and tired. Today's laundry was already fluffed and ironed, which will make it easier to begin the upcoming morning. Miguel mentioned off-handedly to you how an important board meeting at his lab had been stressing him out, so you couldn't help but surprise him when he got back home even if it was just prepared outfits.

You leaned back against your pillow before rolling towards Miguel's side of your queen sized bed. You felt so jumpy, your hands itching to do anything. Nights like these you craved Miguel's presence tenfold, as he would be snuggled right in your arms, smoothing the stress out from the tips of your fingers through a careful massage. You could remember the sleepy rambles he'd murmur into the air over the ambience of the television, "Pasar tiempo contigo, brillante. Encantador. Mi pequeño amor. Could bask in your presence always, mi conejito." Miguel would whisper into your ears with a cute sleepiness, peppering your jaw with his lips. It's almost as if he was right beside you, brushing his thumb against your skin as he held your hands.

Thinking so fondly of your boyfriend's habits soothed the anxiety of your insomnia as you tried to remind yourself that he always stays safe and remembers you love him. Once coming home for the first time from work, he can't help but smother you in kisses and silly pet names, showering you in soft reminders of how much love and affection he has for you. And then the second time of the night, he'd do the same thing under different circumstances. It had happened the night before, and it'll happen again. 

Miguel, soft groans escaping his bruised lips, would come through the balcony of your shared apartment that stored your little collection of flowers and greenery, slip through the door you always made sure to crack, and wake you up in the dead of the night to be bandaged and treated by your caring touch with hushed pleas. Whispering sweet things, neediness in every touch. "I missed you, cariño. Been waiting to see your pretty face all day, can I kiss you? P-please, let me kiss you." 

And so you did, resting your fingers on his shoulders and slowly trailing up until they cupped his bloodied face by the jaw. Then, you'd painstakingly kiss him until his blood would mix with spit, his fangs desperately wanting to sink into your tongue. 

Getting so caught up in your little dream, the blaring of a shrill beeping car down below your apartment startled you. Interrupting the glass upon your lips, it spilled onto your nightgown with a gasp.

"Fuck.." you mumbled to yourself, missing your boyfriend more than ever. Changing in a rush, you pulled over one of his flimsy lounge shirts over your head to bask in his smell as a reminder of his presence.

Nueva York was a city that didn't sleep, as the chatter of passersby rang through busy traffic. Bars down below thrived under the limelight, people not in their right mind hid in the shadows of skyscrapers. 

You wondered what Miguel could be doing right now. Scouting the vibrant lights as his claws dug into the beam of a building? Knocking someone senseless under the conditions of justice? Saving a civilian as they fall from great heights? 

Wondering made you sick, the anxiety bubbling in your stomach as if you were the one downing margaritas and cocktails in a scummy bar down below. You needed to distract yourself. So you did anything an adult on a late night would do.

So when you finally came to your senses, you slapped a flour dusted hand over your mouth and groaned.

Apron tied to your waist, hair in a loose bun– nothing too serious, in fact you appreciated how this style still kept your androgynous but still staying practical. Wisps of hair straying from the hold would cloud your vision every now and then, which you'd have to blow out of the way subconsciously while preparing the whipped frosting. The TV, distantly able to still be heard from the living room, echoed quietly through the apartment with an ambience that lulled you to a calm. It was the news, you couldn't help yourself due to late night paranoia, but your hands were busy and your attention was snatched away from your beloved creation.

You've truly outdone yourself this time, you decide as you watch the oven in front of you with an exhausted gaze and a yawn. The kitchen was messy with egg residue and splashes of water and vinegar oil, the clock on the microwave read "2:49" in the morning. It was a kind of chaos you normally wouldn't find yourself to, as Miguel loved a schedule, a routine. It wasn't as if he didn't want you to have your fun, far from that, he simply just loved doing whatever was eventful with you. And you couldn't help but find baking amusing as you observed the small cakes in the shaped pans inflate as time went on.

You found yourself in the middle of your small apartment kitchen floor, sleepily peering into the oven until that sleepiness shifted into fully dozing off. It couldn't be helped, crashing so hard after pulling off a mission to pump out more than a dozen cupcakes, half chocolate batter and the rest strawberry flavoring. Thankfully, you were able to stay awake long enough to take the cakes out to cool, but as soon as the oven made the beep to turn off– the couch was the closest thing to fall into a needed rest.

It's hard to know how long you had exactly fallen asleep for, yet the frantic arms encompassing your form must have been any kind of indicator. It was a startle to wake from, as your mouth couldn't keep quiet before your brain began working. 

"Eeugh! I- God Miguel, you scared me so badly–" You heaved into his shoulder as he practically slumped on top of you, whispering his usual panicky tangents he'd spew after returning from his late nights. 

"Lo siento, lo siento mucho." Miguel buried his face into your neck, nose pushing against your pulse. "Would never purposely scare you, mi lucero del alba. But not seeing you in bed, that made me feel… not like myself." Miguel confessed with a shaky breath and a pause, breathing in the floury smell and just you, swearing a purr erupted from his throat. "Would have fallen on the floor of our apartment if you weren't here, in my arms.  "Te necesito más que al propio aire, baby."

A subtle smile peeked through his tone despite the desperation, the longing in his touch. His forearms pushed against your back ever so slightly, reminding himself that you're here. That you're safe. His hands met your sides, thumbs circling in a soothing motion. You knew it calmed him down to trace shapes within your skin, but you wouldn't be lying if you said you loved the burn of his touch when he isn't even truly doing anything on purpose. It was as if the warmth of his finger tips ignited into flames, searing his touch into you. You'll never be able to forget each circle, heart, or even a very rare star traced into your skin, accompanying every freckle or birthmark you have. Every part of you is adored, loved, cherished. 

"I'm going to be here, waiting for you. No matter where you are or where I have to be."

"I hope so." Miguel hummed, "If anything happens to you," His claws found themselves underneath his shirt that you wore to bed that night, trailing your sides like handing a delicate doll. "Tengo miedo de lo que pueda hacerles. For you I'd do anything." 

His body didn't feel suffocating to be lying beneath, as he cradled the both of you to be meeting halfway. It was heartwarming, being clung to like a teddy bear by a man who's trying to hold up an entire city with his own two hands.

You realized his suit was only partially off, head uncovered as well as part of his chest– the suit clung to his waist like a lifeline. Needing to see his soft little smile that he held so selfishly against your neck, you led his face to be held over yours. A soft whine escaped his lips, missing the warmth your neck provided, but a quick hush quieted himself easily.

"Don't act like a sad puppy, my love." You whispered into his lips, breath fanning an old cut just underneath. Inspecting the damage, Miguel's eyes fluttered shut as you smoothed over the stress lines between his eyebrows. Not too rough today, expect a few cuts and bruises. So in your terms and conditions, today may even be considered a great day. "Aww, look at you. You did so well today, didn't you?" Awarding him with a kiss, Miguel melted into you like a weighted blanket.

Both hands cupping his jaw, you held him there for a long while, relishing in the moments of peace and quiet with him. Peppering quick, feathery kisses over his lips and gliding over cheekbones and freckles upon the nose, kissing the stress line you smoothed out, before doing the routine all over again. You strayed, always did– couldn't resist his alluring features and soft pleas to continue kissing him. 

Miguel isn't always so docile. Some nights he'd storm into your bedroom in a trance of pent-up frustration and stress with bruising kisses and bites that took home amongst hidden skin. But most nights, he could be handled like putty. It was an adorable sight to see, as his fangs peeked through his plush lips from the tension going slack in his jaw.

Your lips finally met his for the first time that night, yet it wasn't heated or filled with ulterior motives. Miguel's mouth met yours, and he lazily tasted every inch of your mouth, grazing his fangs against your tongue by accident. He needed to know every inch of you, and remind himself a hundred times over.

"Miggy.." you mumbled between his kisses, and happiness dripped from your voice as he barely let out a "mm?" Separating for just a moment, he decided to simply nuzzle your hand as a substitute.

"Let me run you a bath."

This sparked his attention, a quirk of the eyebrow and a stare of disbelief. "Eh?" Miguel chuckled stiffly, his nuzzles coming to an abrupt end. "¿Qué piensas de mí, un niño pequeño? I'm no toddler." By his response, he hasn't heard such things in ages. But as you slipped away from underneath his grasp, you padded towards your shared bathroom without a word. He was the one to bicker, but once the plan was in motion Miguel couldn't help but abide with a light begrudge in his step.

"The little cakes can wait, honey. Don't try to use those as an argument to get out of this." Your words would come out as a scold to anyone else, but as you turned to start the water it was clear you simply just cared. Too much for your own good. "Let me just do this for you, I missed you today." You admitted. 

"It's too late for this still, cariño." He groaned with a tint of guilt as you started helping him undress. "I'll just shower, go on. Vete a dormir." Yet he did not swat away your advancements to prepare a towel, nor even the drop of bubble bath mix in the water. Miguel looked at you like a deer in headlights, mouth agape as you did so.

"I added the bubble bath formula only because you told me to sleep." You said deadpan, grabbing the suit that's fallen to the floor to hang it on the rack. Miguel's expressions contorted to annoyed, then shocked, to just downright amused of your antics that always had him guessing. He cackled as you kept yourself busy, until you finally signaled to get in.

It was as if you tried to get a cat in the water, as he stared at the mountain of bubbles that rivalled the skies. "I'm not getting in. I can't lose the rest of my dignity." This time, his tone was solid– nothing sounded as if it could get through to him. But you could read your boyfriend like a book, solve him like a puzzle in a matter of seconds. 

"Miggy, my love. My other half. My everything." You cooed, dropping to your knees to poke at the bubbles. "You don't get in this forsaken bathtub with just the right warmth and the bubbles I made with my own blood, sweat and tears, you will sleep on the couch until I give you explicit permission to lay with me." His scarlet eyes glowed with genuine fear in his eyes. "And then, you will just lie with me. You would not be able to hold my hands or waist or twirl your finger around my hair– you will be in timeout. No bed, no holding–"

A splash interrupted your words, wetting your legs as his size struggled to stay in the tub. His arm hung out of the side as his feet kicked up on the tile walls, and he looked as flustered as ever. "No me lo puedo creer." Miguel blew at the bubbles that settled on his face. "I'm no dog who needs a bath, cariño." 

Shaking your head at his rare childish antics, you leaned over the tub to kiss the bubbles upon his nose. It was a sweet, domestic little moment between the two of you.

Small little scars littered his form as you glided a soft wash cloth over the grime of the city that washed off onto him. When the fabric slid over a sensitive muscle or wound, he'd hiss a curse and a "be gentle with me, love." You only responded with a lick into his mouth, which earned you a bite to your lips. "I'm not trying to hurt you, just wanna take care of you, my angel." You whispered into the bubbles, shuffling your knees the closest you can to the tub without falling into it– and massaged the tension in his shoulders.

This elicited a groan to rip through the bathroom walls, a low rumble that he couldn't contain to himself following. Miguel was like a domesticated tiger, all bark and bite yet the rare moments of silly tenderness peeking through his rough exterior. "Ah, that feels–" Miguel hisses again in pleasure, his brain short circuiting under your graze. ".. increíble. Tú eres mi medicina." 

His forearm hanging off the side of the tub twisted to bring his grasp to your face, locking the both of you into a heated kiss, one that stored the unspoken words of lonely nights as Miguel's shifts grew longer and more tiresome. "Missed you, baby. I need you, need you always with me. Wouldn't know what to do without you, I'd go crazy." He rambled as one of your soap filled hands snaked into his hair, to lather his curls and simultaneously scratch where he loves. 

It was an endearing sight whenever Miguel openly expressed his adoration of you, both his thoughts and worries.

"I love you more, Miguel." You giggled as his nose scrunched together at the abrupt sensation of water cascading over his head, the bubbles falling from the softness of his hair and down the ridges of his jaw and nose.

Silence comfortably enveloped the two of you as you rinsed him off, scattering kisses on his skin whenever he mumbled declarations of affection.

As you wrapped his curls in a soft, small towel, his sleepy grumble of a question caught your attention. "What about your little sweets, mi amor? Do you need me to help you finish them?"

Laughing, you shook your head only to shush him softly. "No, no baby. Let's just do it together tomorrow once you get some rest." Leading him to stand, you began draining the tub. 

Miguel didn't argue with the idea of that, purring softly as he imagined the two of you frosting little delicacies– something incredibly cozy and lovely. He loved that about you, the way you reminded him about his own humanity, the little hanging reminder that he needs his own time to help to heal and thrive. 

"All done, baby." You slid your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest with a sigh. The towel hung around his waist was as soft as the fleece of a sheep, lulling you into the serene sleepiness your body craved to have. "How was your bubble bath?" The words tumbled from your lips as Miguel led the both of you to your shared bed, tucking you into the bundle of blankets scattering about. 

Before long, he slid into the opposite side with his own sigh of relief. Your hands grabbed at his now clothed chest, peeking at his exhausted, but content expression staring right back at your own. "Perfect, mi conejito." Miguel whispered with honesty, bringing you closer than ever as his breath fanned the crook of your neck.

Sleep began to take you as the strong scent of bubblegum flooded your senses, the slightly damp curls of Miguel tickling your neck and cheek. He intertwined his soul with yours, purring with a calm he could only achieve with you.

"Cupcakes tomorrow?" You murmured into his shoulder, soft and sleepy.

"Cupcakes tomorrow, cariño." A kiss to your neck. "Dulces sueños, goodnight."

[titaswrld]

gryffindor characters modern! AU

according to me….

description: silly modern! AU head canons of the main gryffindor characters :)

pairing: harry, ron, fred, george, ginny and hermione x reader

contains: mentions of substances, alcohol and weed. mentions sexual acts (i think…)

|an: bored and decided i’d made something a little silly. literally just my thoughts lolll don’t take this too seriously

modern AU! harry potter who…

— definitely has a flip phone and refuses to be on any form of social media bc he thinks it’s awful for you

— i think being around his friends who do have social media would give him the spiel on most things tho

— oh he loveeesss house of dragon omg

— only listens to 70s 80s 90s music and some jazz tbh

— i feel like he’s just very old fashioned and he’s happy that way

— such a loving and caring bf since he’s hardly ever even touched the internet he’s pure lol

— def a lil goofball he’d say a little slang term the twins taught him and repeat it back to you…”harry who taught you that…”

— don’t ask him to do no substances i think he’d be kinda against them..not a smoker…occasional drinker.

modern AU! ron weasley who…

— is a stoner! thru and thru. i think he’s a bong rip typa fellow but a blunt or a joint would do it too. doesn’t strike me as a cart of eddie guy.

— big female rap supporter imo…def into latto and maybe dabbles into some meg that’s his girlll lol

— definitely a twea/seltzer guy oml cannot take shots is my hc

— heavy on the lowk himbo boyfriend

— not stupid at all but not super street smart i fear, more of a book smart type of guy.

— super cute and adorable bf overall, he’s a big boy. for sure.

—armmmmssss…. gymrat imo he loves to blow off steam at the gym

—i feel like isn’t a social media person as well…has an insta but doesn’t post on it nor have a lot of followers..no tiktok maybe twitter

—luv him but he was def on drakes side of the beef…definitely a champagne papi

—kinda a video game nerd imo but he’s definitely into the sports ones like FIFA

— buys you n him the crumbl cookie lineup every week and you review them tg in the car pretending to be those tiktok crumbl reviewers😭🫶 (he’s so cute)

modern AU! hermione granger who…

— is 100% on booktok

— do not ask her about the summer i turned pretty or bridgerton unless you wanna listen to her talk for hours.

— don’t play with her and noah kahan…

—or taylor swift

— or chappell roan..

—she’ll have a cute little mixed drink or perhaps a seltzer but do not give this girl no shots she don’t want none!

— her and colleen hoover….

— brings her digital camera everywhere and is most def the camera girl friend….”hermione pls send me the pics from last night”

modern AU! ginny weasley who...

— does not play about female wnba players at all.

— don’t even mention paige bueckers…that’s her girl.

— is a party animal just like her brother.

— loves her chappell roan too.

— always on social media u cannot get this girl off her phone. she’s like an ipad kid u couldn’t rip it out of her cold head hands.

— such a good girlfriend, definitely so protective over her s/o, especially on social media.

— “ginny why’d you respond to every comment under my post complimenting me with ‘& she/he mine..so’…”

modern AU! fred weasley who…

— definitely asks u “english or spanish?”

—definitely goes to too many parties…like at a function every weekend he loves the party scene.

—treats his girl RIGHTT i would compare the relationship to don toliver and kali uchis, flowers all the time, handsy. posting/supporting his girl allll the time

—“i❤️mygf” typa fellow, all his posts on socials are her! all his stories, his highlights and his posts.

— also a weed demon, doesn’t strike me as a beer or seltzer guy but ooooo that liqah….

— dress to impress demon. his gf definitely got him to play it and he got hooked and now he’s a fashion maven.

modern AU! george weasley who…

— is every girls dream man…im talking flowers, boo baskets, burr baskets, easter baskets, omg you say the word and he’s massaging your feet and feeding you grapes.

— always posting his girl just like his brother she’s on his absolutely everything and he has a highlight for her.

— type of guy to post those tiktoks of his girl on his account appreciating her all the time and the comments are like “omg on his account too!” and it’s so cute and adorable.

—isn’t much of a party guy like his brother…will go to a few but i feel like it’s not his thing at all and he’d rather be hanging out with friends instead of at a big function with strangers.

—literally the ken to your barbie and yes he took you to see the movie and yes he got into costume with you. and he did it happily.

— always hanging out with his girlfriend and wouldn’t want it any other way.

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Can you do a damsel in distress reader with maybeee re4r Leon? Need to be saved by this man🙏🏼

OH I LOVE THIS🤭

Summary: RER4 Leon saves reader from when they got captured by the monks in the castle. (Sticking to the game lore bc I love the concept of it) so basically, you’re Ashley.

Warning: reader is gender neutral, short, no smut, no angst, just vibes. SFW.

A/N: imma clean up my account😔 I feel like I can be more aesthetic but lowkey I like how silly my acc already looks

Leon had told you to run so you did. How did this even happen? Leon had led you two out of the maze and into the long decorated hallways on the castle. Then proceeded to lead the two of your further into the castle until a group of zealots, or monks, began to surround you two, screaming phrases in Spanish like “agarradlo!”

“Quick! Get behind me!” He yelled to you as he put his hand out to cover you and push you back. He took out his gun and began to shoot left and right.

When you first encountered Leon, he had told you to duck down whenever he shoots so he wouldn’t accidentally shoot you. And trying to survive, you listened to him. Every time he would point his gun and you were in front of him, he would yell “Y/n get down!”

So it was really unexpected when a monk, tall with its black robes covering its entire body- including the face and head- took hold of your waist and hoisted you up to its shoulder. You screamed in defiance and tried to break free from the monk’s grasp but to no avail. Leon had been too busy shooting the zealots that had weapons and were ready to plunge at him.

“Leon!”

It wasn’t until he heard your voice that something flipped in him. His head turned towards your direction so fast, his neck pained but he didn’t care. He saw the way the monk had captured you and began to take you away and he couldn’t let that happen- not when he promised you that he would bring you back home. He shot the zealots left and right, mostly trying to aim for the head but often times he’d use his combat knife too.

Blood splattered across his skin as he killed those who tried to stop him from rescuing you. He dashed through the dimly lit hallway and shot the zealot that had been holding you hostage.

He didn’t aim for the head as he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you, instead he aimed for the monk’s knee and shot. The monk fell to one knee but still held a strong grip around you. Leon ran up to the zealot and kicked its head with his foot. His strength was like no other. The zealot recoiled to the floor and let go of you. You fell to the floor with a small thud as you closed your eyes tightly in fear.

Leon walked up to the cultist now laying on the floor and with a swift motion he took out his combat knife and stabbed its neck. Blood seeping through its neck and towards the knife as the life began to leave the zealot. Leon sighed in relief before he stood up and walked over to check on you. He crouched down to his knees and gently placed a hand on your shoulder, “You okay?” He asked in his deep voice. A voice that was full of concern but determination.

You slowly sat up and nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” But you weren’t fine. You hated this situation more than anything, you don’t even know how you ended up in Spain. Right in the middle of nowhere. It seems as if bad luck always has had a way of finding you. All you wanted to do was to go home.

Leon was no fool, he knew. But he didn’t press on it. You were strong, although you didn’t believe him. He put his hands around your arms and gently pulled up from the ground, “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was a little bit quieter and softer, as if he knew the real answer already. But you, stubborn as you are, nodded your head and decided to just keep moving, “Yeah, I’m okay. We should get moving,” Leon nodded and began to lead you two further down the castle.

You couldn’t help but feel like he really is your knight in shining armor, always coming to help when you need it. He looked at you with soft eyes every time he saved you, eyes full of care and worry. He cares for you.

[honeyed-hedonist]

SFW:

Rarely cooks for himself because he’s always on the go, but when he does find the time to whip up a meal, it’s always the best thing you’ve ever tasted. 

Dry sense of humor, but will crack a smile (and sometimes even a laugh) despite himself at your puns/jokes/general silliness

Stubborn as all hell. Will fight tooth and nail with you over the dumbest shit just because he’s so obstinate. 

Speaking of stubborn, good luck getting this man to admit he was wrong. You could draft a whole essay in MLA format with a PowerPoint presentation on why, in fact, he’s completely wrong and he’ll still look you dead in your eyes and say “That proves nothing. I’m right.” Sir, no you are not, let me count the ways. 

Don’t let that deter you though! He apologizes for his stubbornness in other ways--whether it’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers or bringing you coffee in the morning, he’s a man of action, not words.

Stoic and standoffish when you first meet him. It takes him a little while to soften, and there’s a big part of him that wants to cave, to break down those walls and open himself back up, but he fights it every time. Despite that, he craves softness and warmth, so when you come along to give it to him in droves, it’s a losing battle for him to keep you at arm’s length

Once those walls are down it’s like night and day. He’s handsy, can’t keep them to himself. He’s always gotta be touching you in some capacity if only to remind himself that you’re real and he needs to cherish every moment he gets with you because he knows better than most how quickly things can change.

Will always make time for you. Doesn’t matter the time of day or night, doesn’t matter what he’s doing, you call and he’s on his way.

Uses all sorts of pet names on you in English and Spanish. Mi cielo (my heaven/sky), mi alma (my soul), chula (cutie), reinita (little queen), mi amor (my love), babe/baby, angel, sweetheart, sunshine, and bunny to name a few. If it’s sweet and makes you fluster, he’s all for it.

Speaks Spanglish a lot, especially when he’s mad. Will switch between both so fast you can hardly keep up, and he’ll stop mid-rant and give you a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders. “My mouth has a mind of its own, bonita. Lo siento.”

Calls you often when the two of you are apart. Can’t end his night without hearing your voice. No matter where he is, you can guarantee your phone will ring right before you fall asleep every single night. He always says he’s just calling you to say goodnight, but then the pair of you end up talking for hours. Not that you mind, the lack of sleep is worth it.

NSFW under the cut 18+ NO MINORS.

NSFW:

Oscillates between a hard and soft dom depending on the day he’s had or the mood he’s in, but regardless of that, he’s always the top. 

Eats for his pleasure. When his face is buried between your thighs, it’s not about you, it’s about him and he’ll eat until he’s satisfied, regardless of how desperately you try to shove him off. “Nuh uh, mami, m’not finished yet. Lay back and take it, huh? Be a good girl and let me have my fill. Tastes too damn good.”

Grunts and growls most of the time, but when he’s feeling softer that man 100% whimpers.

A vocal lover--he likes to taunt and tease you, overwhelms you with praise, forces you to answer his questions even in the midst of your fuzzy-headed bliss. “Speak up, princesa. I asked you if you can feel me deep up in that belly. Yeah? There we go. That’s my girl.”

His favorite positions to fuck you in tend to alternate, but he’s a big fan of doggy with his hand around your throat while you’re on your knees with your back to his chest, mainly because it allows him to sink his teeth into your neck and speak absolute filth in your ear. Missionary or a full blown mating press and prone bone are others he enjoys. Also likes to pound into you from below when you ride him--again, this man is all about control so even when you think you have the upper hand, you don’t. 

Big on marking you--with his fangs or otherwise. When you ask him to bite you for the first time he goes absolutely feral, fucks you so hard you can’t walk right or sit down for a week, your chest, neck, and back littered with bruises, bite marks, and a prominent puncture wound at the hollow of your throat.

Stamina for days. My guy could spend hours on end fucking you into the mattress and he does every single time. There are no quickies with Miguel--when he makes time for you, he makes time. Will clear out an entire day and dedicate it solely to taking you apart and piecing you back together just so he can do it all over again. “One more round, baby. C’mon, need it. You’re not gonna deprive me, are you? Nah--you know better. Open up for me, chula, just like that.”

Big breeder balls. (Sorry, I don’t make the rules.) My boy will stuff you so fucking full. Practically cums buckets and loves to watch it ooze out of your abused little hole when he’s finished pumping several loads inside you. “Lookit that, huh? Ese pequeño coño está lleno, ¿no?” (That little cunt is stuffed full, isn’t it?)

To be continued…..

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! Imagine the wife rizzing up Miguel at home first for once lol

Miguel is working out and she can't help but stare at his big ol bakery. She sneaks up behind him and traps a handful of cheek in a tight grasp. Miguel jolts and looks to find his horny wife.

They tease each other a bit before she sits down so he can give her a little show. Some silly booty shaking, then some lap grinding, then some serious pussy pounding with her legs wrapped around his waist and hands gripping his ass for dear life lol

A little Magic Mike Miguel? Perhaps 🤭 Mild nsfw under cut.

A grunt. A deep breath.

You watched him as his back flexed and the ripple of his muscles contorted at every move he made. Heavy small weights, lifted like they were anything but cardboard, sweat etched and oozed from the top of his back, his neck and his hair, done in a small manbun.

The sight made you bit your lip. Sometimes you truly wondered how you were able to get a man like him to be with you, date you and marrying you and out not one but two babies in you.

Too good for anyone else but me.

Miguel had told you once you had asked him out of true wonder. He was magnetic. He was now pushing himself up the bar, making the hard lines in his back to sharpen even more. God you loved leaving marks on that back. And he'd proudly wear them.

He was a solid 6'9", And you barely reached his chin. Thoughts of the previous night when he'd wake up, pissed at the thought someone else fucking you, to actually give your guts a bit of a mean arrangement.

Gabi was at school and Benjamin was with Peter, His play dates with Mayday had been incredibly well, and the little toothy mini version of him and you couldn't help but have lots of fun.

And so were you.

Sauntering over him, you squeezed his well defined, bubble like, and firm ass. He tensed and snapped his neck to look at you, a bit startled at the sudden action.

"Hola, nalgón." (Hey bubble-butt) he smirked at your improved spanish. His sweat acted like an aphrodisiac to your senses, clean, a bit of musky, and the remnants of earthy undertones.

You kissed his back, he coked an eyebrow to you, turning to face you, and still your grip on him was steely. Flushed cheeks and clammy hands, slow panting, full blown eyes, staring with hunger at him. a chill running down his spine.

"Hola, cariño" He smiled and pecked your lips. You chased his lips and he obliged with a knowing smirk, hand cupping your chin, a favorite and subtle way to assert his dominance over you, to then give you a kiss that only fed the fire raging between your legs.

He made you sat on the couch and his hands raked all over his chest hooking his thumbs the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Uh-uh" He shook his head, turned around and you couldn't help but smack his ass. A full on loud smack that send him laughing.

"¿Tienes hambre, mi reina?" (Hungry, my queen?) He prowled at your sitting form to then take your hands and place them over his torso.

"Touch me." you giggled at his command and raked tenderly your hands over him. Firm muscle that shivered under your needy touch. His eyes chasing yours. He cornered you between him and the couch. You groaned lowly as he locked your hips with his bent legs, as he sat ontop of you.

His hands took your wrist and placed them above your head.

"¿Qué quiere mi chaparrita? (What does my darling wants?)

It was enough for a single hand to hold your wrists above you as the other one, cupped your chin, making your gaze to lock with his.

"¿Un masage?" (A massage?)

You shook your head. A dangerous thrill invaded your body and you giggled, licking his thumb. He laughed and kissed your lips, but you needed more and he was teasing. Maybe payback for all the times you had provoked him without much advance, and leaving him with blue balls.

"¿Una buena cogida?" (A good fuck?)

You nodded almost too eager as you bit your lip

He hoisted you up in a swift movement, like if all his training was for a specific purpose, to lift you like he would pick a pillow. It paid off in so many ways, specially if he felt particularly dominating and pissed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, his large hand squeezed handfuls of your generous and plump arse. You hips grind against him, but he smirks. The tips of his fangs baring.

"Let's get some cardio then." He threw you over his shoulder and spanked your ass with the same force you had slapped his before and hauled you to the bedroom

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Valeria x female SO (sfw + nsfw headcanons)

(This woman screams bisexual to me, I just had to write this - sfw and nsfw on Valeria with a female partner. My personal take on her character!)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

SFW: -Valeria is naturally a very dominant and assertive woman, her confidence borders on overzealously. It's been hard for her to maintain relationships, especially with men like Alejandro because there are two people struggling to dominate the relationship. As such, she needs someone who can handle being ordered around (in more than one way). Her energy could either be matched by someone very similar to her (ie. another strong woman), or someone totally submissive. She can enjoy a submissive man erotically, but he'll eventually annoy her and go missing. Submissive women, on the other hand, are a piece of cake. -Has a soft spot for puppy eyes, really struggles to not give in to pleas. She'll resist giving you what you want at the moment because she will *not* let a brat order her around, but she'll give in eventually. You want her to buy you something? What does she look like, a walking ATM to you? She doesn't work her ass off just for you to waste her money on silly things! But you will find whatever you wanted on your bed within the next 2-5 business days. And your next allowance will be a bit more generous. -Could definitely enjoy being a sugar mama, so long as she gets some sugar. Money is just another way to guarantee your submission and she loves to see her partner be grateful to her. -Has some abandonment issues from her past. May secretly feel the need to shower you with material things because you may not stick around if there isn't a material reward. Will need lots of affirmative words and caresses in private when she has a low mood. -Needs good morning cuddles to set the day. If they are disrupted for whatever reason, she'll be in a nasty mood for the rest of the day. -Easily touched by your devotion. Even simple moments where you might casually mention a future together, or wanting to get matching tattoos will make her emotional. -No PDA. Not because she's ashamed of your relationship, but because she doesn't really trust anyone, even the people working for her. -You'll have a whole wing to yourself at her residence. She says it's because she likes to separate her personal life from her business, but really it's because she can't stand having people around you. If she could have it her way, you'd be locked inside forever, away from the gaze of others. She often struggles with posessiveness and you'll just have to accept it if you want to be together. -Is definitely toxic; possessive, easily jealous and prone to angry outbursts. Oftentimes, only you can calm her down.

NSFW: -Valeria can be quite selfish when it comes to sex, will prioritise herself and expects to be completely satisfied every time. Her SO will receive pleasure too, of course, but only after she's had her fun. -Often uses sex to wind down, so will expect to receive on a very regular basis. -Uses toys. If she's punishing you through sex, she'll change the size of her strap-on over the course of the night to make it more challenging for her SO. It amuses her because she likes to see you struggle and writhe underneath her. -Another perk to having you in your own little space at her residence is that you can be as loud as you want. Wants you to use your words. If you don't speak Spanish, she'll order you in her native language and then punish you for not understanding her commands. -Enjoys aggravating her SO. If you're close and begging, she'll do the opposite of what you want and will laugh as you desperately fuck yourself on her for release. -Can be easily manipulated through sex. If she's in a mood where she doesn't want to give you anything, getting her off might just change her mind. Knows this is a tactic her SO uses and will purposefully deny you things just to have sex. -One time you came without permission, so she stole all your clothes as you slept. You were only allowed to wear your underwear until you apologised to her. And when you apologise, she wants it to be sincere and emotional, completely taking all the blame for her actions. Extra kisses for you if you cry while doing so.

Notes: Felt a little inspired writing that bit where the love interest has a whole wing to themselves. I might make a short story on Alejandro kidnapping Valeria's SO for intel and interrogating them with the 141, I think that'd be so juicy!

Update: Link to the short story ^ on A03 + available on my Tumblr profile

[fanaticsnail]

Oh shit the Yandere Doflamingo and that scene from Beauty & the Beast "If she doesn't eat with me, she doesn't eat at all." is so Doffy 🫠

Extra points if he calls her "princesa" which is Spanish (in OP world it would be Dressrosan I guess?) for princess. It has this very nice sound in Spanish.

Extra extra points if he never called any previous royalty by their title bcs why should a Celestial Dragon call anyone royalty? He's the only real royalty! (in his head) But then he calls reader princess (not putting the Reader's name after the title bcs it's still Doffy) It acts as an endearment mostly, but the servants & his crew are like "are we dreaming, did he actually call a princess princess, wtf is happening?"

Would be even better if he sometimes called her "mi princesa" (my princess) he'd be so comforting and such a KIND KING with her.

We need a scene where he gets on a bent knee and takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. Maybe when he saves her from an assassin from the enemy that ruined her country, assuring her nobody will hurt her in Dressrosa? He could cover her eyes with his hand so she doesn't see him decapitate the man after he gets all the information out of him.

Doffy can 100% pretend to be a nice guy the thing is how much patience does he have to endure it ie the time period, cus I think the mask falls of quick if he isn't careful. Though, he was called a charming devil... But yeah, he'll need to tone everything else down around Reader. It'd be so funny.

Not that he'll let his princess escape the gilded cage of strings he spent his time weaving around her even after she sees the reality of the King of Dressrosa...

Maybe she sees him decapitate one of the dukes that got on his nerves? Maybe she hears how he snaps at Violet when she suggests Reader is a "spoiled princess" in an attempt to save her and Doflamingo grabs her by the throat and squeezes her neck and nearly breaks it from absolute rage.

"Yes, but that's how princesses are supposed to be. They can be like that because they have a strong king to protect them. Weak kings can't protect anything."

And then his guards catch his princess trying to flee the next night. How can she be so ungrateful and try to leave? He gave her everything! He wasn't even cruel! He was good with her!

Well, he knows the solution to that little escape attempt...

After all, kings can marry princesses, can't they...

And Dressrosa needs a queen. If she wants to keep his cruelty in check in court, perhaps she should just marry him... having her sit on his lap on his throne as he listens to the rabble of the dukes and whatnot would probably stay his fingers from twitching... His fingers would be too busy cradling her to do anything cruel.

Ugh, and maybe he always brings her pink roses or things she likes just as he always scoured for food for his mom... 😭😭😭 What if he always bends his knees and slouches his spine or sometimes when she is sitting in an armchair he squats to talk to her? What if he gets to finally talk about all the books he reads because Reader is such a great listener and the excitement on her face as she listens to him talk about the recent book he read makes him talk about it more just so he can have her smile all to himself... And then she reads a book she likes to him and he nearly falls asleep on her lap. His mother always read him books in Mariejois while little Doflamingo sat on her lap.

He'd be so protective of her, he wouldn't let her out of the palace unless he is with her or one of his executives. Beause when his mother left Mariejois, she got sick beause his father could not take care of her. His princess and his mother are both flowers that can only survive in the best garden, where they are tended to and spoiled by all the luxuries the world can provide. It's where they bloom the brightest.

Only in the garden of a god can flowers like his mother and Reader be safe and live life.

"Silly little thing... You won't last a day out there in that cruel, ruthless world. Stay here with your king."

Excuse me while I squeal and clutch at my heart. Prior yandere Doffy ask here.

Any time I hear "My princess," in any given context, all I see is this absolutely beautiful scene from The Mummy:

It just needs to be a fic, doesn't it? At the rate I'm falling for Doflamingo, it needs to be its own fic. Your prompt is spectacular, thank you so much for adding to the great simpening for the King of Dressrosa. The head in the lap, the reading to him as he slowly falls asleep: my heart can simply not take such sweetness and softness from the king.

This is so incredibly romantic, thank you for steering me in a direction I need to go in for it. There's so many things I want to write for this lanky man: the marine doctor in impel down, yandere Doffy, his Sapsorrow spinoff with Rosinante, kissing booth kisses, I love him. Send help.

[tieronecrush]

I’m finally sending you a request!!

it’s a bit based on Waking Up In Vegas by Katy Perry with Javier x reader.

they have known each other since high school but haven’t seen each other since after graduation, until one night they bump into each other in Las Vegas, while both are there for their friends’ birthday parties.

At some point it’s only them left at the bar and they spend the night drinking, talking about each others’ lives and other things 🫢

they wake up the next morning in the same bed, hangover and married.

I already know I’m going to love this!!

FINALLY have finished this, thank you so much for your patience friend! <3

(re)union with elvis

rating: E

word count:

summary: ask above!

warnings: alcohol use, drunkenness, silly decision making, chatting about marriage/kids/life, discussion of failed previous relationships, vegas marriage, elvis getting annoyed, making out, fingering, unprotected p in v, sloppy drunk sex with ur new husband lol, discussions of annulment/ending marriage, use of spanish (all translated), etc.

Eyes open to sunlight beaming in through the wide opening of the blackout hotel curtains. You shut them again immediately, turning over away from the window, stopping when your hand brushes something next to you. Your eyes spring open again at the feeling, taking in next to you the dark, touseled hair, relaxed brow, hooked nose with a full mustache above plush lips.

Javier Peña.

You completely forgot about the little reunion you had last night at the bar with your high school crush.

And clearly forgot that the two of you ended up coming back to your room—no, wait, this is not your room. Same hotel, though, you can tell from the similar art hanging on the walls and the same blanket at the end of the bed. Must have been nearly missing each other the whole weekend you’ve been here.

A grumble from the man next to you turns your attention back to the bed, pulling you out of your thoughts. Half awake, his arm moves and slings across your waist, tugging you closer. He hums and his eyes slowly peel open, widening as he fully awakens in the low light. His arm stays loosely over your waist, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he faces you.

The two of you take in your bare skin against each other, under the scratchy sheets. Warmth radiates between the two of you, Javier fully pulling his arm away and sitting up, the sheets still covering his lower half as he looks down at you.

“Um…did we…?” Javi’s voice hoarse with sleep and a hangover, right hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he swallows the words that he doesn’t necessarily want to speak out loud, in fear of awkwardness that already coats the air.

The moment pulls a laugh from you, completely involuntarily, and you fall from your side onto your back. With a slow nod in confirmation, you shrug your shoulders with the sound of sheets rustling.

“Guess so,” you chuckle again and a smile stretches across Javi’s lips, a scoff of a laugh as he shakes his head.

“Is it bad I’m kind of mad I got too drunk to really remember that?” his eyes drag along your form under the thin bedsheet, hand coming up to his face to pull his thumb across his bottom lip from the corner, “Don’t really know if it came up last night, but I had a huge crush on you in high school.”

“The Javier Peña had a crush on me?” you tease, shades of memory from last night at the bar with him coloring your mind, seeing his sheepish grin as you beam back at him, “Think you did mention that last night. And pretty sure I told you that I also had a huge crush on you.”

Both of you giggle softly again, your face shifting into a wince as your head pounds from the sounds and strain of laughing. Your hands come up to your face to wipe under your eyes and rub circles in your temples, groaning quietly and opening your eyes to Javi’s face dropped in shock.

With a quizzical expression aimed at him, you open your mouth to question him when he suddenly takes your left hand and crosses the arm over your chest as he brings it closer to him, eyebrows furrowing as he studies your fingers. When you follow his stare, your stomach drops when you see the golden band with a plush oval diamond. His thumb runs over the gem, pressing the ring into you and you can tell it’s cheap, the gold coating a flimsy metal ring.

Javier’s eyes meet yours again, wide eyes and raised eyebrows matching yours, “Uh—-um, I—Did we get married last night?”

Music thumps around you, sending vibrations from the shaking floor throughout your body as you stand in the middle of the dancefloor in the club. Your friends surround you, all dancing along to the pop song with you. It’s a long weekend at the end of summer, and you and your closest friends from college all gathered in Vegas to celebrate your younger friend’s thirty-fifth birthday. She was always a bit of an extra person, so when you received an invitation via email to join her in Las Vegas for the weekend, you weren’t quite surprised that she was going big for her birthday. And besides the fact that you were having fun celebrating with your girlfriends, it was nice to get away for the weekend and let loose completely.

Your drink swishes in the cup in your hand as you dance, facing your friends and unaware of the man approaching you from behind, leaning in asking you just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Care to dance, beautiful?”

Immediately, you roll your eyes at the question, typical of a man to be so blind to a woman having fun with her friends and not wanting to be bothered. A rejection sits on your tongue as you turn around over your shoulder, lips pursed in a sour pout.

The man comes into view, a lilac short-sleeve button-up stretched across broad shoulders and tapering into a waist and thigh sculpted into tight blue jeans. Your eyes flutter back up to the man’s face, soft brown eyes striking into your chest and a warm smile showing off his teeth from under his trimmed mustache.

A gasp slips from your lips out of reaction to the sight in front of you, your own smile widening to match his.

“Javi Peña? From Laredo?”

His arms move out at his sides, showing himself off for you to consider the answer to your question with a chuckle.

“I knew it was you,” he smiles sweetly as you pull him in for a hug, squeezing your arms around his shoulders. From under the fabric of his shirt, you can feel his muscles flex under as he wraps his own arms around you in an embrace, one of your hands dropping to his back and feeling the deliciously taut strength. He smells like tobacco mixed with notes from his cologne, vetiver, musk, and lemon tingling your senses as you take another breath in your hug before pulling away. Your hands remain on his shoulders as you look him up and down, meeting his eyes with an incredulous laugh.

“I can’t believe it’s you! God, it’s been…”

“Years? Don’t remind me I’m old, I already feel like it in this whole city,” he laughs.

You hit his shoulder gently before dropping your arms back to your sides, rolling your eyes playfully as you grin.

“Oh, hush. You can’t say you’re old cause that makes me about to be old. You were only a grade above me, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t spend years running on rooftops and trekking through the jungle in Colombia. That shit ages you. You, on the other hand, don’t look a day over twenty-one. Bet they had to check your ID coming in here, didn’t they?” He sends a wink to you, smile quirking up to one side as it turns into a smirk, the look releasing butterflies in your stomach.

“You probably asked them to check your ID to follow all the rules, Agent Peña. Never pictured you becoming a cop when I knew you in high school, Javi.”

“You think I follow all the rules, hermosa?”

You grin and shrug your shoulders, leaning in closer to hear him better as he continues.

“Hate to tell you, but I am not above breaking some rules to get the results I want. Not too far from the ‘me’ you knew in high school.”

“Hm, guess I have a lot of catching up to do with you,” you nod to the bar across the wide dance floor, “Wanna grab a drink and chat? My treat.”

He rolls his eyes this time, shaking his head as he leans in, lips brushing your ear as he speaks to you, “Couldn’t live with myself if I let a woman as beautiful as you buy me a drink. You go find us somewhere to chat, I’ll grab us a drink.”

Goosebumps trail down your spine, nodding at the instructions and giving him your usual drink order. The two of you linger near each other in the middle of the sea of bodies before you step away first, brushing past him in search of somewhere for you to talk.

A couple of hours have passed since you and Javi have retreated to the corner of a booth in the back of the club, multiple empties on the table in front of you and a few tequila shots taken courtesy of both of your friend group’s happy for your little high school reunion.

Over the course of your catch-up, you’ve learned about his time in the DEA, now retired back to his father’s ranch in your hometown of Laredo. You could tell from the quip of his lip that he was omitting details at certain parts of the stories he told, likely covering up unsavory bits that would paint him in a bad light. It would have likely done little to quell the flames of lust that were licking inside of your torso, the slow and low lilt of his voice going straight to your core whenever he made a flirtatious comment or told a harrowing story about chasing down bad guys all around Colombia. You pictured him hot, sweaty, relieved with his chest heaving, immediately placing the visual in a different location — over you, under you, behind you. You weren’t picky in your choices.

 The long-abandoned high school crush you had on Javi came rearing back with a vengeance, heart rate pounding in your chest to the point you were convinced he could hear it over the music. It was an intimate position to be in, hip to hip with his arm around the back of the booth, leaning into each other's ears to speak, breath cascading over each other’s necks and shoulders.

You’d told him about your time post-high school, going to university not far from him in Texas, and receiving your degree. You’ve held a handful of jobs over the last fifteen years or so, ending up with a new position not too long ago. It brought you back to Laredo, purposefully, in order to care for your aging parents. Javier understood your troubles, despite the fact that Chucho was still healthy and working the ranch with him, he still felt the need to slow his father down by shouldering the majority of responsibilities to keep the business running.

Life was turning ordinary for the two of you, and surprisingly, the topic of marriage or partners or family of your own was not brought up until now.

“So, have you met anyone? Married, kids, the whole nine yards?” Javi questions, his eyes leaving your face to stare at the ice clinking around with the whiskey in his glass. It made you smile, his reservations in waiting for your answer. You’d wondered the same thing yourself — who had been lucky enough to lock down Javi Peña?

“Nope. Well, not right now. I actually was engaged in my early thirties to a guy I had met while living in Austin, but as it got more and more real that I would actually have to marry him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to happen. Turns out he was cheating on me for months with his coworker who he always went with on ‘business trips’. So, no marriage, and no kids for me.”

Javi’s eyes come back to you, sympathy washed over his features as his arm strewn across the back of the bench curls his hand to play with the hair at the back of your neck.

“Shit, I’m sorry, cariño. Sounds like a stupid motherfucker to mess things up with you.”

You wave off the comment, shrugging nonchalantly,  “Nah, I mean, clearly I’m not marriage material cause haven’t been snatched off the market still in years. And they actually ended up getting married, so it worked out for them in the end.”

“No, that’s total bullshit. You’re incredible — you were incredible already in high school, and now? Just another level.”

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as you shake your head.

“Tell that to all the age-appropriate eligible bachelors. If there even are any at this point,” you say with a laugh to break the tension building, swallowing down your nerves as Javi locks his eyes on you, raking them down and back up quickly. His tongue prods out to swipe his lips, shrugging his shoulders as he looks back into your eyes.

“I’m an eligible bachelor. Age-appropriate, if that’s a dealbreaker.”

“Oh, c’mon, no one’s got their ring on you? Really?” you can hear how surprised you sound, unable to hide the disbelief in your tone.

Javier laughs and keeps his eyes on you as he speaks with a smirk playing at his lips, “Nope…Well, not sure if you remember her, but I did almost get married to Lorraine. Told me she was pregnant, and I was gonna do the right thing. The night before the wedding she told me she got her period…” he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes falling from yours to the table in front of you, “Left her standing at the altar alone the next morning. I was back at my pop’s house, packing up to take my job with the DEA. Left the US not long after.”

“So, someone’s nearly reigned me in, but didn’t work out.”

“Did you want to get married and have a baby? Or do you still want to, I guess?” you pause and internally scold yourself for the overly personal question spurred on by your inebriation, “I’m sorry, Javi, that is not my place to ask when I’m drunk off my ass.”

“S’alright, cariño. I asked you first, technically. Only fair I answer, too,” he smiles to himself before setting his glass down, turning in his seat to face you more, “I did want to back then, just didn’t feel right with Lorraine. Kinda like what you said, it felt off the closer it got to actually doing it and when I saw an out, I took it…But now? Now, I am—God, it’s a little embarrassing, but yeah I do want all that. The wife, kids. T-ball practices or dance recitals and date nights. I dunno, though, think it might be too late for an old bastard like me.”

A hand of yours rests on his midthigh, shaking your head with an encouraging smile, “Definitely not too late for you, Javi. You’re a handsome, great man. Bet I’ll be hearing around town that you’re shacked up in the next year,” a soft laugh falls from your lips and Javi grins while his eyes drink you in, lingering at your lips. The heat of his stare makes you squirm, adjusting in your seat and sipping your drink.

Just when the tension was mounting from the moment, your best friend from college walks over, one of Javi’s friends following and both approaching your small corner of the club. They tell you that both of your groups are heading back to the hotel, the same hotel, and you deflate as you start to gather your bag next to you. Javi’s hand reaches out and squeezes your thigh gently to grab your attention, one look shared between the two of you that was an invitation to stay and keep talking. With a smile, you silently agree and tell your friends that you’ll make it back together.

Your best friend dawdles, and as you’re about to tell her that you’ll be alright, Javi reassures her with his kind smile, “I’ll get her back safely, you have my word. Fought off drug dealers and soldiers and a few sicarios in my day. She will be back at the hotel and chipper for the girls’ birthday brunch tomorrow. Cross my heart.”

Both you and your friend laugh, standing to give her a hug goodnight and telling her that you’ll be just fine, to which she replies, “Probably more than just fine. Tell Javi he can join us for brunch when you wake up with him tomorrow.”

You gasp and roll your eyes as she walks away with a laugh, heading out of the bar with your friends before you sit back with Javi, jumping into a whole different conversation.

The early hours of the morning have crept in, cool desert air from around the city wisping around your skin as you stroll down the strip with Javi. The two of you are leaning against each other in a drunken stupor, giggling wildly as you talk to each other and get stares from other people out at this hour — which is a lot, it’s Vegas.

Javi’s arm is around your waist, hand curled at your hip and his fingers rub gentle circles that send your nerves firing throughout your entire body. Your own arm is resting against his back, feeling those same muscles as earlier. He’s strong, steady, even in his inebriated state, and safe. In any other situation, you’d be anxious to walk back to the hotel along the street, too many characters milling about for the alcohol to keep you calm. But with Javi next to you, there’s a freedom in it, the way he makes you feel protected despite the short amount of time you’ve been reunited. Even in school, he was a troublemaker but only in the way that he stood up for people, got into fights on behalf of the underdogs, always concerned with fairness and righteousness. It was honorable, that he always was a protector, wanting to do right by people that were affected by those doing wrong.

Ramblings about life filled the space between you two, bright lights blinding you against the midnight skies. Javier is in the middle of saying something when you stop in your tracks, the sight across the street captivating your attention as your own light blinks with an idea in your head.

It’s a small wedding chapel, a carport out in the front with a classic car parked in the middle, and kitschy decorations littering the outside with a hot pink and cream color scheme painting the facade.

Javier walks a step or two before his arm around your waist tethers him back, his eyes looking at you before turning toward the opposite side of the street. He laughs to himself, tucking into your side again as smiles.

“How many people got married tonight, d’you think?” He leans his head to the side to rest on yours, the small affection making your idea seem even better in your wasted mind.

“I dunno. But I could guarantee two if you wanna,” your head turns to him on your left, a Cheshire grin stretched across your face as a giggle slips from your chest. Javi looks at you, confused for a moment before it all clicks, and his expression turns to one of surprise.

“You’d wanna do that? With me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We spent the whole night talking about how we both wanted to get married and have kids and all that, why not do it with each other? I mean, I had a massive crush on you in high school. Would be my dreams back then coming true,” you say with a laugh, biting your lip as you await his response.

It’s a beat of silence as he contemplates the offer, surveying between you and the chapel across from you.

“Fuck it. Let’s get married, cariño.”

“Yes! Let’s go before we chicken out,” an infectious smile fills your face, eyes crinkling as you rush across the street with him, hand-in-hand. Upon entering the chapel lobby, you’re greeted by a chipper employee behind a large reception desk. The two of you give over your IDs, anxiously waiting with each other’s hands linked together, sharing quiet, excited laughs. Once everything is settled, the employee directs you back to a room to get ready in, offering a too-small suit jacket to Javi that sits two inches above his wrists, a sight that sends you into a fit of laughter.

He brushes off your teasing and takes the bouquet that another employee arranges quickly for you, holding it as you lean over and primp yourself in the mirror by cleaning up your makeup and fixing your hair.

Javier stands behind you, watching you with tender eyes and a faint smile on his face. Making eye contact with him in the reflection as you finish, heat spreads at the back of your neck and across your cheeks at the way he’s looking at you.

“Ready, hermosa?”

Turning around and standing to your full height in front of him, bouquet held out to you. You take it, wrapping your hand around his and nodding.

“Ready, Peña.”

“Think I should be saying that to you,” he winks and drops his hand from yours, turning and grabbing something off of a table across the room. Crossing back to you he holds up a costume veil, eyebrows raised in questioning, “Wanna complete the look?”

“Of course. Don’t think I would look like a bride without it since I’m not wearing any white,” you grin and stand still in front of him, letting him put the headband securely behind your ears. Delicate fingers lift the veil to cover your face, a warm, closed-lip smile lighting up his eyes.

“Haces una novia hermosa. You make a beautiful bride.”

The sincerity laced in his voice despite the drunken haze chokes the words in your throat, only answering by taking his hand with your free one and leading him over to the chapel’s double doors. He gives you one last look before slipping in first when you’re called up, whispering to you, “See you in there. Don’t get cold feet now.”

After a couple of minutes, the doors open for you again, and immediately you’re faced with Javi standing next to a costumed Elvis impersonator. The traditional wedding march playing through tinny speakers, everything overwhelming you to the point that when you make eye contact with Javi, the pair of you break out into uncontrollable giggles. His shoulders shake as tears prick your eyes from the ridiculousness, your tipsy minds thinking everything is extra funny.

Calmed down at the altar, you stand across from him and half listen to the officiant attempt to maintain his accent throughout the ceremony. Each of you exchanges drunken repetitive vows, given cheap rings that were paid for at the front desk. Javi slips yours on and squeezes your hand, giving you his to do the same.

At that moment, rings and vows given to each other, knock-off Elvis pronounces you husband and wife by the power vested in him by the state of Nevada.

“You may now kiss your wife, dude.”

Javier chuckles as he reaches up to lift your veil away from your face, leaning in as he drops it at the back of your head. One hand cups your jaw, the other dropping to your hip to pull you in closer. He catches your lips in a kiss that’s all teeth from your smiles, mouths relaxing as he deepens the embrace when your arms wrap around his neck and the flowers rest at his back.

He huffs into your mouth, tongue tracing your lip and slipping against yours when you open your mouth for him. A soft sigh melts your body into his touch, the two of you completely wrapped up in each other.

“Alright, alright, lovebirds. We got another wedding to get to so you guys are gonna have to quit sucking face in here and take your party of two outside. Congrats,” the officiant has dropped his character, Javier pulling away from you and glancing at him.

“Thanks, Presley. See ya,” he calls out over his shoulder as he takes your hand, receding down the aisle, throwing off his jacket, plus your veil and bouquet on the desk as you make your way out of the chapel building completely.

It’s a rush from the elevator when it reaches Javi’s floor, limbs fumbling over each other as you frantically stumble down the hallway, mouths attach in a potent kiss. Javier’s touch is only adding to your intoxication, clouding your mind with his wandering hands and his tongue against yours.

He grips your waist as he reaches his room, pressing you against the solid wood door as he exhales into your mouth. Pulling away mere millimeters to speak, his low and gravelly voice rasps out to you.

“Front right pocket. Room key’s in my wallet,” he kisses you again, hands moving from your waist to your ass as his lips trail from your mouth and along your jaw. Your own fingers slip into the front pocket he directed you to, taking out his wallet and attempting to fish out the plastic card as his teeth graze at the sensitive skin on your neck.

“Fuck, Javi…Here.” You pass the key card to him and he unlocks the door, wrapping his arm around your back and walking you inside the room as he catches your lips in a rich kiss, a whimper slipping from your mouth and into his. The plush mattress hits the back of your legs and he lets you go to fall backward onto the bed, staring down at you with his chest rising and falling quickly and swollen lips parted.

“Cristo, eres hermosa, cariño. Te deseo tanto. Puedo tenerte, mi esposa?” Javier lifts one knee to rest on the mattress, leaning over you and pressing open-mouth kisses at the open chest of your night-out dress.

“Javi, that all sounds very sexy, but I think I need a translation,” you sigh as he tugs the neckline of your dress down, exposing your bare breast to the chilled, conditioned air. Javier chuckles as you gasp from his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple, darkened eyes combing up to meet yours with a devilish smirk.

“I said ‘Christ, you’re gorgeous, darling…’”

His fingers slip a strap of your dress off of your shoulders. 

“And ‘I want you so bad…’”

The other strap.

“And I asked ‘Can I have you, my wife?’”

With one tug to the body of your dress, your full chest is bared to Javi, who in that moment you realize is technically your husband.

Your sexy, heroic, competent, charming husband.

Damn, your drunk self kind of hit the jackpot.

“Can I, baby?” he asks again, one hand reaching down to palm his growing bulge in his jeans. The sight makes you salivate, this man above you asking to have you, telling you how badly he wants you, calling you his wife.

A rush of arousal floods between your thighs and you nod, lifting yourself to sit up on your elbows under him.

“How do you say ‘my husband’ in Spanish?”

Javi’s smirk deepens, the dimple in his right cheek cavernous with the satisfaction painted on his face.

“Mi esposo.”

“You can have me any way you want, mi esposo.”

The groan that comes from Javier is guttural, as if something is unleashed in him and rumbles it’s way out. He moves with a fervor after those words, stripping you of your dress and lacey panties, carelessly tossing them aside. You sit up fully, working his button-up undone as he fumbles with his belt and jeans. As you push the material off of his shoulders, he kicks off his pants, left naked from his lack of underwear.

You chuckle softly at the choice and bite your lip, looking up at him playfully.

“Guess you’re always prepared for a quickie.”

He smirks with a slow nod, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Didn’t know where the night would take me. And now I am incredibly glad for my choice.”

A gasp leaves your lips as he kisses you passionately, pushing you back to the mattress as he climbs over you. Your legs spread for him, leaving him room to nestle between your thighs. Everything is blurred in your inebriated minds, burning touches on sensitive skin, teeth grazing with purple bruises left in their wake.

His fingers slide through your arousal, collecting your wetness with two of his fingers, slipping in and out of you at an expert pace. The heel of his hand rubs against your clit, the combined stimulations and your laxed body working you up quickly to a peak. Moans and whimpers of his name fill the space between you, coming down as he guides you through your orgasm.

With the fingers once inside of you, he strokes himself, glistening in the low lighting coming from the neon outside on The Strip. Your fingers dance across his strong chest, feeling the muscles of his biceps flex under your touch.

“You okay, amor?”

His voice is hushed, tender and sweet.

“I’m okay. More than okay. I want you, please, Javi. Please, mi esposo.”

“Fuck, say it again, cariño.”

The head of his cock pushes into your tight walls, feeling the delicious stretch of him inside as he gives you only a few inches of himself.

“Mi esposo.”

A moan slips from his mouth, kneeling between your legs and filling you completely with one strong thrust.

“Again.”

“Mi esposo.”

A hypnotizing rhythm is found in his hips, fucking you deeper with each hard snap of his lower half. His thighs hit against the backs of yours with slaps, alternating with your own moans and whimpers, deep grunts from Javi.

“Fuck…” he breathes with a long exhale, head rolling back to reveal veins in his neck. Fingers grip at your thighs, one drifting up to toy with your nipple before it drops between the two of you to circle your clit.

“Javier—Fuck, gonna come…” you whine, eyes screwing shut as the coil inside of you tightens with a burn.

“Eyes on me, cariño. Wanna see your face when you come for me.”

At the next hit of himself against that particular spot inside of you, your eyes snap open as the coil snaps, walls clenching around him with repeated moans.

“Oh fuck, Javi, yes…”

“Good girl, good fucking girl…”

With a few more thrusts, he spills inside of you, twitching as he lets go of a moan of your name. Once the both of you have come down from the highest peaks of the night, Javier slowly pulls out of you and falls back to the bed.

“Do you think we’re gonna remember any of this when we wake up?” you ask, laughing softly as you slip under the sheets with Javier, fatigue catching up with you from the long night.

“God, I hope so. Don’t want to ever forget anything that’s happened since we got into this room,” Javi winks as he extends an arm for you to cuddle into, faint laughter from both of you.

“I can’t believe we got married by an Elvis impersonator.”

“And he was so bad at it.”

The two of you are now in a fit of sleepy giggles, laying your head on his chest and his hand behind you playing with your hair.

“Go to sleep, cariño. Got breakfast to get to in a few hours.”

You groan and close your eyes, adjusting your position next to him.

“You’re invited too, y’know.”

“I’ll gladly come with. Now sleep, esposa.”

“Night, Mr. Peña.”

“Night, Mrs. Peña.”

Between the two of you, you were able to piece together most of the previous night. The memory of the horrible Elvis impersonator and the wild chapel interior made you laugh hysterically again, Javi wiping the tears from your eyes when you couldn’t stop.

Once everything had been recounted that you could remember, save the details of the last activities of the night — those were certainly memorable, just not spoken out loud — Javi studied his ring before taking your left hand with his, eyes trained on the two pieces of jewelry laying together.

“So, what do we do?”

You’re silent for a few beats of your heart, loud in your ears as you sit up, pulling the sheet to cover your chest and facing the man next to you.

“No idea.”

The next words were laced over each other, your voices interrupting the other:

“Is it weird to say that I don’t regret it?”

“I don’t know if I really want to retract it completely.”

You laugh out of the tension built, shrugging your shoulders and nodding your head for Javi to speak first.

“I don’t know if I really want to say that it was a horrible idea, that we should completely backtrack it…” He cards his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I mean, yeah, probably shouldn’t have this be legally binding marriage for the rest of our lives, but maybe we could, I don’t know, try some version of us?”

Relief washes over you at his thoughts, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“I agree. I think just like, being married fully after this would be silly, but it also doesn’t mean that if we do something about that, we would never have to see each other again.”

“Exactly,” he nods confidently, eyes locking on yours before they drop to your lips. You make the move to lean in, capturing him in a slow, morning kiss much different than yours from late last night.

When you pull away, Javi’s smirk is plastered on his face, hand holding yours and running his thumb over the ring.

“So…an annulment? And then a date when we’re back in Laredo?”

“I’d really like that, Mr. Peña,” you say with a grin, pecking his lips.

“Alright, it’s a plan then,” he nudges his nose against yours before giving you one last kiss, “Now I promised I would get you to the birthday brunch, so let’s get this show on the road, Mrs. Peña.”

tagging some mooties: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @deathwife @johnwatsn @darkroastjoel @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif @cannolighost @undrthelights @jksprincess10 @bearsbeetsbeskar @perotovar @leslie-lyman @cupofjoel @egcdeath @mrsquill

[sanguineterrain]

if you give a spider a pastry... | miguel o'hara

Summary: Mango turnovers and a bloody Spider-Man. Basically, a regular night in New York. 

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x baker!gn!reader 

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings/tags: injured Miguel (he's okay dw), brief arguing. mostly fluff and sass. first meeting.

A/N: hi y'all! I watched ATSV yesterday and the Miguel brainrot has advanced <3 this is my first time including Spanish in a fic. Since Miguel is Mexican, I did research and tried to incorporate Mexican slang. It's not the responsibility of any reader to correct me—however, I appreciate corrections of the Spanish, if offered. :) 

A/N 2: also, the timeline/universe details are vague in this one, but I pictured that the reader is not in Earth-2099. 

If you enjoy this fic, please let me know through comments and reblogs ♡

the divider

Something is trying to crawl into your dumpster. 

You've armed yourself accordingly (got a dust broom out of the closet) and after fifteen minutes of agonizing over whether you should go outside or go to bed, you have decided you are going to deal with the pesky raccoon once and for all. Or cat. Or opossum. Whatever. You just hope it doesn't have rabies. 

Slowly, you edge open the back door of the kitchen to the bakery. You tap the outside railing a couple of times with your broom. Clink clink. There's no sound in response, so you step out a little further, hitting the broom bristles against the stairs. 

"Ba-boom, ba-boom!" you shout into the alley. You'd read you're supposed to make noise to scare off raccoons. Or was it bears? 

No, that doesn't make sense. When's the last time you saw a damn bear in New York? 

You wait, heart rate climbing. There's no more noise, so you open the door all the way and quickly shut it behind you, gripping the broom with both hands. You jump out into the open. 

The dumpster is covered, which is wildly embarrassing for you. However, right next to the dumpster is a giant dude in what you assume is a Spider-Man costume, though it's not like the one you've seen. 

His stomach is covered in blood.

"Holy fuck," you say, dropping the broom. "Shit. Fuck! Oh my—uh, s-stay right there, don't move."

"Sound advice," he says dryly, startling you. "I was going to do a little dance for you."

Okay. Blood loss has different effects on people. You can't take it personally; this dude has half his guts in the alley. 

You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, shakily typing in your passcode. As soon as you do, a glowing orange rope—web?—shoots out and yanks your phone right out of your hand. 

"No," he grits out. "Todo bien."

"Everything is not fine. What is wrong with you, dude? You're bleeding out!"

"I'm not bleeding out, dude; most of the blood isn't mine."

"Yeah, that's definitely not true," you say. "Look, I don't know what would possess a person to come out here ten o'clock at night and do… whatever this is, but I'm not letting someone die next to my dumpster. Give me my phone!"

"No," he says, hissing in pain as he shifts his weight. "You're overreacting and hysterical."

"Hysterical?" 

You can't see his face but you know he's rolling his eyes. 

"Can you relax?" he asks. "Chale, I'm not itching to bleed out next to your dumpster. I'll be on my way as soon as my body repairs itself enough for me to move."

"You're literally insane, man. Absolutely bonkers. You've lost your Silly String."

"Silly String…" he echoes.

You strut up to him and try to snatch your phone. He dodges you a couple of times, then swats at you like a cat. 

"Enough," he snaps. "Don't make me web you."

"Web me? Okay, you know what? Screw you, man. I'm not gonna call anybody. Bleed out for all I care. Keep the goddamn phone, I'll get a new one. Christ."

You pick up your broom and stomp up the stairs, yanking open the back door and slamming it behind you. Fucking New Yorkers. First rule of living here: mind your business! You try to be a good Samaritan and get verbally accosted by Spider-Man on steroids. Typical. 

You fume for about two full minutes, glaring angrily at your shelf of baking trays. Then you hear the bane of your existence groan in pain outside. All the anger leaves you. 

You can't just ignore him. Accelerated healing or not, he's vulnerable. What if someone tries to attack him? 

This is probably the worst idea you've ever had. You walk to the fridge anyway and pull out two mango turnovers. You nuke them in the microwave, which physically pains you to do, but you're in a time crunch, so. 

You open the door gently this time and step outside. 

"Spider-Man?" you ask quietly. 

You hear him sigh. 

"¿Qué quieres?"

You go down the stairs and walk so you're in view again. He hasn't moved from his position. Your phone rests on his uninjured thigh. 

"Sorry for yelling at you," you say. 

He stiffens, then looks away. 

"You don't need to apologize. I… Soy un cabrón."

"Yeah," you say, walking over and sitting across from him. "Little bit." 

He sniffs the air, his suit's eyes narrowing at you. You set the paper plate with the pastry on his thigh and take your phone back. 

"What's this?" 

"It's a mango turnover," you say. "I've been experimenting this week."

"Why is it on my leg?"

"What, did you think I was gonna feed you?"

"Take it," he orders. "I don't want it."

"Are you allergic? I have other flavors."

"The flavor is not the problem."

You bite into your own pastry. You puff out air, trying to cool it down. 

"Ih hah," you tell him through a mouthful. 

"Oh, really?" he deadpans. 

You swallow. "I'm trying to extend an olive branch here, Spider-Man. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Why did you come back out?" he asks exasperatedly. 

"I didn't want you to be alone," you say. "What if someone tries to pull off your mask and ruin your secret identity? That's, like, totally devastating in the superhero world, right?"

"And what exactly would you do if they did? Throw a pastry at them? Whack them with your broom?"

"I'm wily," you say, biting into your pastry. "You should eat it before it gets cold."

"No."

"They came out pretty good, if I do say so. Priya—she's my other baker—had her doubts, and I did too, honestly. But this seems like a success."

He remains stoic, likely glaring at you. You finish your pastry and flick the crumbs off your mouth. 

"You'd be doing me a favor, taste testing," you add. "Gotta make sure it suits other people's palettes." 

"I already did you a favor by getting rid of the people who did this," he says, gesturing to the blood. 

Your mouth pinches unhappily. 

"I wish you'd let me take you to the hospital."

"It's unnecessary. I'll be fine soon."

"You're nuts, Opossum-Man."

"Opossum-Man?" he asks, sounding comically offended. "I'm clearly a spider."

"I think that's subjective," you say. "But I'm only calling you that because I thought there was an opossum in my dumpster. Turns out it was you." 

"That's ridiculous," he says. "Wait, what do you mean it's subjective? I'm obviously Spider-Man." 

"Well, what are the pointy things under your eyes?" you ask. "Those throw me off. They look like fangs. I thought you were supposed to be a spider. Those are, like, bat features." 

"Spiders do have fangs," he says with a huff. "How do you think they incapacitate their prey?"

"I think you're giving the New York public school system way too much credit here, dude. I didn't learn all that. We had a unit about bees. How come there's no Bee-Man?" 

He scoffs. "What would that even entail? A guy who flies around pollinating the city?" 

You giggle. 

"You're kinda funny, Spider-Fangs."

"I do stand-up in my spare time. Speaking of…"

He pushes himself to stand with a quiet grunt. You stand with him, arm outstretched in case he needs help. Not that he'd take your help. But still. 

He's a big guy. You'd figured as much by his giant shoulders, but standing in front of him really puts it into perspective. You have to crane your head to see his face. 

He hands you the plate. You pull the saddest pout you can muster.

"You're not even gonna taste it?" you ask. 

"No."

"Okay," you mumble, defeatedly taking the plate.

He looks at you for a long moment, then tilts his head forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

"Mierda—okay, fine. One bite."

You bounce on your toes as he takes the turnover and lifts his mask up to his nose. You're transfixed by his exposed skin, the dark freckle on his jaw, his full bottom lip. Wow. 

He barely opens his mouth, biting the corner. He chews, swallows, and pulls down his mask. You miss the view immediately. 

"It's good," he says. 

"Holy crap, was that a compliment? Did Spider-Man call my pastry good?"

"I take it back." 

"You can't," you inform him cheerily. "I'm going to put it on my advertisements. Opossum-Man approved! Sales will skyrocket."

He walks away, limping only slightly. Well, you suppose that's better than how he was half an hour ago. 

"Good night!" you call after him. 

He pauses, then turns. 

"How are you getting home?" he asks. 

"Oh, I live right above," you say, pointing behind you. "No worries."

He nods. 

"Órale. Don't visit uptown for a while."

You salute. "You got it, Opossum." 

He flings a web string and then he's gone. It's only then that you look at the plate and realize he took the pastry with him. You can't help your little grin.

[mrssabinecallas]

just a pinch.. |H.C|

Pairing: Miguel O’hara / f!ADHD!reader

in which the fearless leader of the spider society has a soft spot for his right hand (wo)man and her silly little habits :,) <3

CW! lowercase intended, headcanon formatting, fluffy fluffy fluff, very VERY broken spanglish (i don’t speak spanish as good as i used to so some phrases will be from google translate </3), some swearing, ADHD reader

NOT PROOFREAD >:D CHAOS

credit to my friend kelley for making that for me :D ^^ let’s pray she doesn’t see this and doesn’t find my tumblr account she would be ashamed of me

miguel has always been nicer to you than everyone else, he doesn’t really know why but he just gravitates towards your energy

your bubbly personality is a very stark contrast to his brooding aura

opposites attract i guess 🤷🏼‍♀️

but when you started to just hang around in his presence more, he picked up on some of the strange things you did…

for one, you literally could not sit still

he thought about webbing you to a chair just to ease his own anxiety by the constant movement

he also noticed you can’t be comfortable in any normal position

you always have to be doing something strange

usually that entails sitting upside down in chairs or with your feet propped up on the wall

constantly fiddling or picking at something

whether it be the necklace around your neck or a loose thread on your suit, something was always being messed with

miguel found all of these.. quirks, for lack of a better word, endearing

it was strange to him

he had been in love before, but he felt he wasn’t capable of love anymore

so when he started falling for you of all people, he was in denial

he just chose to ignore it, but you were like a leach that wouldn’t leave him alone

clingy af fr

one morning he came to get you from your apartment because you weren’t answering calls on your watch

one knock, no answer

second knock, still no answer

he grew increasingly worried about you and just walked right into your quarters

the door was unlocked

*que fight or flight miggy whos prepared to tear apart the house to find you*

only to find you in your bathroom with your headphones on

BLARING music

and taking some sort of medicine

you didn’t even hear miguel come in, so imagine your horror to him just hugging you from behind

“miguel? the fuck?? you scared the shit outta me…”

“¿que estas haciendo mi amor? estaba muy preocupado por ti..” (what are you doing, my love? i was worried sick about you…)

“i’m taking my adderall?”

“what does that do??”

“my adhd meds? keep me from going bonkers,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his face

“you have adhd???” he was completely clueless

“just a pinch” lol

this explained basically all of your strange habits that he came to love

since then, he always made sure to remind you to take your adderall

he could always tell which days you forgot, you become a lot more hyperactive than usual

sorry guys i had no idea how to end this but i haven’t seen any fics with an ADHD reader so i thought i’d contribute 🫶

ADHD PEEPS REPRESENT

love you all, if you enjoyed please show some love, and STAY FUCKING HYDRATED OR ELSE

RAAHHH

[fauustic]

aa hello!! could I request a miguel x enby reader in any way??

the genre really doesn't matter but maybe a little fluff?

for an idea i was thinking the reader works as a florist and miguel knows them meeting them as spiderman. he begins taking a liking to them so he comes to the shop often getting flowers or small bouquets, but each flower means love or care, or notice me? (I'm thinking it would be really adorable if he just, late night studied floriagraphy for them) in the flower language, and they start taking notice to it, and eventually ask him?? idk this is silly but if you wanna write it!!

I hope you have a lovely day!!

(( stares at the miguel gifs i've used so far with a longing gaze... i only have so many left ..

i really hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for your request! it was super sweet. ))

nonbinary reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

fluff. like pure fluff. its literally just miguel pining after a little silly florist.

warnings: literally none except the use of some language. possible use of incorrect spanish because i'm learning so i have help of a translator in some parts :) let me know if i can fix anything!

word count: 3742

The smell of all kinds of flowers flooded your senses as the floral shop's door opened with a little chime, a beautiful melody that brightens every beginning of your shift. The shop that has become the core of your life was nothing too fancy, hidden away in a cozy little alleyway accompanied by a coffee shop and another restaurant– a safe space along the bustling city. 

Your identity wasn’t something that you mentioned often, but with the support of your coworkers you couldn’t help but express yourself easier. Being able to incorporate outfits of all kinds in your daily life without much more than a stare, some days you’d adorn a long skirt and a tank top, finished off with a floral-patterned apron to keep yourself tidy. Other days, you didn’t exactly confine yourself with a particular style because you were just you. As free and as happy as ever.

That was one of the many things you loved about the city you found yourself in. The growth and ability to thrive in Nueva York was a symbol of diversity, no matter who you were or where you had come from. It was different back home, so the newfound independence pushed you to be more talkative and approachable because you didn’t need to worry about others' thoughts. Labels and identities were celebrated in the cultures you intertwined with.

So when you found out you aligned with the embodiment of being nonbinary, you snatched it up like a piece of treasure and hadn’t looked back at who you were once before.

The love you had for flowers was immeasurable, somehow finding ways to include floral in your outfits no matter what you were wearing. A lovely white magnolia, fresh and healthy, found shelter in the secure pocket of your apron. Another flower was tucked upon the sunhat you adorned, a light pink peony settled right within the ribbon.

The alley your store took home in held a usual quiet atmosphere soothed by the comforting ambience of bird chirping due to housing a small little section for trees scattered about the alleyway. It reminded you of where your love for nature first began. Yet as you misted a bundle of Irises blooming upon a full window-sill, doused in a beautiful sunny haze, the tranquillity washing over you was unfortunately interrupted when a cat bumped against the shop’s window closest to you. It was loud, shaking the Irisies you just tended to.

Jumping from the sudden chaos happening outside your floristry, you couldn’t help but rush out the door with the watering pot still in hand. Did you need to get involved? You couldn't help but wonder to yourself when you noticed the little feline looked as if it was running away from something, but before you could intervene the answer dived past you on all fours, claw marks left in its wake. The figure, you have recognized from the news, was the talk of the city– broadcasts nicknaming the hero “Spiderman.” But what was he doing trying to grab one little kitty with the intensity of a predator? Surely Nueva York had more crime than that.

Entertaining the idea of watching such a well-respected hero having difficulty catching a feline, you played it off as if you were watering the flowers that decorate your shop– but in reality you just wanted to have a good laugh at seeing the man who has made criminals beg on their knees for forgiveness speak to the cat in desperation.

Funnily enough, the cat did climb one of the many large trees planted around your shop, and even if it was a bit hard to hear from the distance, this Spiderman guy wouldn’t stop trying to call for it to come down.

“Come ‘ere, gatito.” He shouted towards the cat at the tree’s base, his claws digging into the bark as if he was contemplating scaling the tree himself. “If I don’t bring you back with me, you will have to give up treats for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?” His next step was to “psspspssp,” which just came out as a weird hiss. The cat only hissed back, which only fueled his discontentment even more. Without another moment to spare, Spiderman scaled the tree in two leaps, plucking the cat from the branches with a cautious hold. When he landed on the ground, he caught you staring a little too hard.

But the scene was just too hilarious, having to stifle a hearty giggle with the back of your hand as you noticed he was walking straight towards your shop. But luck wasn’t on your side today, as he stood right behind you. The window mirrored how he was holding the cat the same way as before, held like a little baby with its arms reaching out to you. You only laughed harder, crumbling to your knees as water splashed at your boots from the watering can. He didn’t dare to utter another word, obviously finding amusement in your little laughing fit over something so stupid.

“Did you get it out of your system, jardinero?” It was no doubt he was smirking under his mouth as he loomed over your laughing form. A ruffled meow followed his question, which only made you double down on your giggles. “Oh my god– I can’t breathe. Holy shit–” You cried out, rolling on the side to only have a flurry of Wisterias cloud your vision. 

“Who knew the biggest baddest hero that Nueva has, could barely even catch a little animal?” You cackled into the air, which instantly made him defensive. 

“I did not have a difficult time with this little pest, he’s as agile as a Roomba.” His tone was flat, if not a bit irritated. If you didn’t notice the soft chuckles escaping him softly, you would have thought he was genuinely bothered. Spiderman scooped up the cat in a more comfortable position, belly facing the both of you as the cat’s back lied against his arms. “Lo que sea–” He muttered through his mask, shaking his head in disbelief. After a short pause, it's clear he had nothing else left to say. “That’s enough entertainment for you today.” It was clear he was done once he spun on his heel, cat in arms and not even sparing a wave.

Something overcame you, as you called out to him. Maybe you were just as stricken as all his other fans, but as he paused with an awaited glance– you rushed through the waves of color in your floral shop before stopping to a bundle of crimson petals. Plucking a single bloom, you rushed out your store in a flustered mess so he wouldn’t have to wait long. 

There wasn’t much to his suit, so there was no way you could easily position it in a way the flower couldn’t fall. So you just settled with putting it against the cat’s ear, the feline wearing it without a care.

You sighed, smoothing out your apron in nervous relief. This was an eventful start to your day, to say the very least. But Spiderman didn’t move from where he moved despite being eager to leave just a moment ago. Instead, his attention was fixated at the bloom in his grasp.

“It’s an Amaryllis. Truly a beautiful one, right?” Your tone shifted, excitement lacing your voice at the opportunity to explain a flower to a stranger– let alone someone that is apparently a huge deal.

“... What does it mean?” When your attention snapped to his masked face, you weren’t able to distinguish his wonderstruck expression. You gladly took the chance to ramble about what you knew about the flower, and explain the exact reason why you chose it. 

“Amaryllis have multiple kinds of meanings you see– every flower does– but they’ve always been a symbol of hard-earned success due to its representation of determination and pride. I thought it was fitting because I was able to watch you in action, and you deserve a reward for your civic duties.” You couldn’t help but include some form of humor in your sprinkles of a compliment, but the truth was there. No matter what he had to do under the mask, he deserved to be reminded that his successful missions help so many people. It may have not been your cat, but you were happy that someone will now return back home to their fluffy companion. “And the scarlet coloring of its petals kinda matches your suit, so in a way it kind of reminds me of you.” The masked man in front of you was completely silent, until the gloved hand meeting his shoulder shook him from his daze. “Good work, Spiderman. Can’t wait what next animal you’re going to save,” The spell you unknowingly put him under was slapped away in an instant at the little jab.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips before he could turn away, which only encouraged your teasing more. He waved behind his back, keeping his focus on what’s in front of him. “What will it be, a giraffe? Maybe a walrus–” Spiderman was gone by the time you sputtered the second animal, leaping away with an iron grip on the feline to a nearby building rooftop.

“What about something cool like a whale shark? Now that’d be something to read online..” You mumbled to yourself, brushing off your apron one last time before clutching your trusty watering pail and beginning your duties for the day.

Which is how Miguel O’Hara found himself hunched over his computer, staring at a gallery full of vibrant botany with a sigh. He couldn’t express it under the mask– he had a purpose to not allow any sign of weakness when the suit is on, but he was absolutely smitten by you over some stupid mishap on his end and a nervous, endearing ramble about your knowledge of flowers. The nightlife seeped into the windows of his home, neon lights reflecting off the walls. It was late, but Miguel was determined to shove some kind of information down his brain to make him not look like a complete fool when he arrived at the floral shop again. He was a chemist, for god’s sake– botany wasn’t too far off, was it?

He was just so enthralled with you, the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly at the opportunity of ranting about your favorite thing. The scent of fresh flowers entering his senses through the slightly cracked door of the floristry– it was a place he wanted to spend all his freetime in. Having been surrounded by the burning smell of chemicals and the pollution of such a technologically advanced city, Miguel craved to surround himself with so much nature. Or maybe, secretly, he just yearned to have a space of his own that was hidden away from the evils of Nueva York.

It took him a little while to finally work up the courage to stroll in, not having the mask around his head while he met someone as Spiderman always gave him a weird feeling. But he pushed that aside, chanting the knowledge that he crammed in his memory so he wouldn’t stupidly ask for a bundle of flowers that probably didn’t even exist.

Stepping foot in the floral shop for the first time was like a big breath of fresh air, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the influx of sweet scents. It reminded him of you, the same smell of blossoms clinging onto you even after you walked through the alleyway to give him that Amaryllis. He still kept onto it, dried against the confinement of his wallet. 

Miguel was going to start browsing even though he already knew what he wanted simply because he wanted to know this place inside and out– it was a part of you after all. But he didn’t go very long unnoticed, your voice making him well-aware of that. 

“Hey, welcome to Nueva’s most diverse little flower nursery! Happy to see a new face, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know!” Your voice came from the back of the store, yet you peeked out and was able to study him from afar. He tried his best to be stoic, nodding in understanding before quickly averting his gaze to the waves of flowers you clearly took very good care of. 

Miguel, when faced with attraction to another, struggled deeply with bringing it into words. It didn’t exactly help his case when you haven’t met him outside of being Spiderman, so he devised a subtle plan to get closer to you. He wasn’t religious, but he still prayed that you would pay attention to his little requests and specific choosing of flowers.

And you did, of course you did. Your attentiveness squeezed his heart with a grasp he’s never felt before. After transforming into the Spiderman 2099 he’s come to accept, Miguel just couldn’t bring himself to fall for another. But when it came to you, and your silly little knowledge about flowers and the way he watched you tend to each and every one of them with the same amount of tenderness, the sweetness in your touch made him fall even harder. He imagined your hands grasping his own, as if he was as fragile as a flower. The idea made him flustered.

“A bouquet of red tulips and camellia, please.” He found himself asking you, his index, middle, and ring finger drumming along your counter in a soft rhythm. You were caught by his words almost instantaneously, a certain look in your eyes that even he couldn’t decipher. A knowing smirk erupted on your features, not being able to help yourself at teasing this new customer. “That’s so cute, you found yourself a soulmate?” Miguel choked at the proposal, the question rolling off your tongue in a singsong as you began skipping along the shop you owned. 

The gracefulness you had in every step distracted him, plucking every sense of dignity he had as if he was a flower getting its own petals plucked by your graze. “Only a flower connoisseur would know the meanings behind such simple flowers. It’s what makes them interesting, but I suppose the mix of bright crimson intermingled with a calming purple brings a sort of intensity most people don’t get.” You unknowingly held the bouquet to your heart, a smile blessing your lips. “Camellias are standard flowers that convey longing, mostly a yearning for one out of reach. While a red tulip is a promise, the subtle intention of trying to tell another that you want to spend the rest of your life with the recipient. It’s a big commitment to use such flowers for a bouquet, hopefully you know what you’re getting into.” You wrapped it without a second thought, framed with a sweet soft yellow. 

The cashier popped open as he paid.

“I do,” Miguel peered into your gaze, “I know exactly what I’m gettin’ into, mi sol.” He couldn’t help but utter, scooping the bouquet from your stunned response with a cheeky smile.

“W-What’s your name..?” Your composure lost, you demanded an answer as your finger twirled around an Amaryllis. You had kept one close by since your run-in with Spiderman, your thoughts never swaying from the masked hero until now. The stranger now seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to blurt out anything stupid.

Breathing in the bouquet he picked out, his shoulders sagged just a bit in relief. “Miguel,” He picked up a red tulip, the darkest hue in the bunch, and gently placed it right beyond your ear. “Miguel O’Hara.” His gaze flickered from your name tag and the flower he placed upon your curls, a satisfied quirk of his lips dashing his features. He sounded your name out like a blessing, and the two of you shared a stare that almost knocked you down. 

As he left the floral shop, with the little chime of the door signalling his exit, Miguel had waved behind his back with his other hand keeping the bouquet close to his chest. It reminded you how the masked man occupying your thoughts gave you the same gesture in goodbye, and you couldn’t help but pry the red tulip he placed upon you with delicate hands. 

Bringing it to your nose, suddenly red tulips smelled a lot more honey-like.

The two of you found each other in this routine for weeks now. Neither of you could break, he’d walk into the floral shop and continuously order different kinds of bouquets– sets of flowers that practically screamed, “love me back, you’re all I think about, notice me my dear.” Pink roses hugged by Peruvian and Stargazer lilies, the next week would be more simple– a pair of red roses intertwined with fresh caspia.

His voice was distinct, over the many years you’ve operated this little floral shop hidden away, the only two times you’ve heard the little rambles of his and the light accent within his tone was of course from him, but you kept help but think you’ve heard him somewhere else too. It made you nervous thinking about it, was it truly stupid to think he may be Spiderman? Over just one simple interaction with the masked hero and all of a sudden a person with a similar voice and mannerisms begins parading around your store and buying the most mushy, cliche bundles of floral you’ve ever seen? At this point, Miguel has helped generate an amount of revenue you haven’t seen in months.

By the time his next visit came into fruition, you couldn’t help the question that has loomed over your consciousness for the last week.

“Do.. do you-” You stumbled over your words clumsily, picking at the new floral he’s offered this time. Red roses surrounded by pink, finished off with a row of calla lilies. A beautiful balance of red, pink, and white. “Miguel, what are you trying to say with these bouquets?” You breathed out heavily, the nervousness of speaking about something weighing on you to someone you’ve found yourself attached to crashed against your usual calm and teasing attitude. You were out of your element.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the sudden question, which he averted from your gaze almost immediately. 

Your mind was working a million miles a minute, and as you were trying to get the questions out as fast as possible you stumbled over your words like how you usually do, which in any other situation Miguel would cackle as you burn into the ground in a flustered mess.

“Are you into Spiderman?” You yelled into the empty floral shop, placing your hands down upon the counter in accusation with a thud. A moment of silence hung over the two, bouquet still in your grasp like it's glued to you.

“Am I- what-” Miguel’s jaw practically fell open, in which his fangs were finally on clear display to you. You only could point, stuttering in an embarrassed flurry of limbs as you tried your best to explain yourself. 

“That’s not–” You mumbled as his gaze only widened more, not believing the question he just heard. “I meant are you like–” The silence on Miguel’s end wasn’t making this situation any better. “Are you into me?” You blurted out again, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Like– are you sure you’re into me? Like I didn’t know you would like me like that because I know I express myself a bit differently but–”

Miguel cut yourself off with his hands grasping yours, the bouquet now shared between the two of you. “I-” He sighed, casting his gaze downwards before facing you with a look of determination. As you spent time with Miguel, you came to understand that he never was good at talking about himself. Everything clicked into place as he nodded slowly, not a hint of doubt in his silent confession.

“I thought you’d notice sooner or later,” He huffed, dragging his thumbs against the skin of both of your hands. “Since the moment I saw you with an ungrateful gatito crowding my arms, I can’t lie that you piqued an interest I didn’t know I could feel.” Miguel sighed, leaning forward to lean against the counter opposite of you. “Who you are, how you express yourself– that's why I became so drawn to you, cariño.”

Now your jaw was the one to drop, before dropping your head to the counter the two of you shared in exasperation. “Oh my god! I knew it, I literally knew it. But I didn’t want to seem like some crazy person, you know? But I was right, what the fuck.” He couldn’t but laugh, which earned a warmth spread throughout your chest. Miguel only let out a chuckle and it had your insides twisting as if you were on a rollercoaster.

“You are too much, mi sol.”

“I wasn’t the one buying flowers to subtly tell someone I have a massive crush on them!”

Miguel frowned for only a moment, before leaning in just a bit closer. “Since I put in so much work to flaunt my love for you, do I earn a kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, before practically melting into his touch upon your jaw. Miguel met your lips and it almost felt like rain after a long drought. You didn’t know you wanted to kiss him so badly until his mouth was already on yours, his other hand trailing up the sleeves of your shirt and pulling your floral apron closer to him. 

When the two of you separated after becoming putty in one another’s grasp, Miguel mumbled right upon your lips, breath fanning the blush you felt;

“May I please visit you still, mi corazón? I wouldn’t know what to do without coming here, swallowed by your scent and surrounded by what you love the most.”

You only laughed, nodding against his hand upon your cheek. It soon became a nuzzle, relaxing against his touch like the cat he saved when you first met him. 

“Don’t start asking stupid questions, you know you’re more than welcome to come find me wherever I may end up at.” Miguel smiled, full of teeth and unapologetically showing his fangs.

The two of you intertwined like bonded stems, peppering kisses on one another until the door chimed once again.

[av1xtg]

It's so funny to me that it's so obvious when I get a new hyperfixation because everything everywhere for example tis blog suddenly turns to what ever hyperfixation I have. . .

NOW I WANNA TALK ABOUT HUSK AND MY HEADCANONS FOR HIM BECAUSE THAT SILLY GRUMPY OLD-MAN CAT IS TAKING OVER MY BRAIN (contains a bit of huskerdust and bad grammar because english is not my first language but I have no respect for it so /j)

So I fully headcanon that husk has the most un organised and dirty room for some reason, like he never even bothered decorating it.

He hates baths and oils and stuff like that because it's really hard to take off from his wings and fur.

He refused to wash his hands with water and he cleaned his hands like cats do before eating food or serving drinks so charlie forced him to at least use wet wipes (idk how to write tht but hope you understand it)

He loves old fashioned love songs, usually mumbles some lyrics he still remebers while working and the others like to hear his singing.

The fluffies fluff ever, he doesn't really use any products (only dry shampoo from time to time) AND STILL HIS FUR IS EXTREMLY FLUFFY.

He got extremly bad body dismorfia when he arrived at hell.

The others tease him alot whenever he does any cat sounds.

Instead of a glass of water on his nightstand he had a bottle of whiskey or any other alcohol.

If he's in the mood (and charlie asks nicely + a day off) he might do some magic tricks to entretain the other guests.

Whenever he speaks spanish he always calls evryone pendejo (as a mexican that is also my favorite curse word I gotta add that). Like him and vaggie are fighting and she desn't know he speaks apanish so she starts insuting him in spanish and he goes "CALLATE LA PINCHE BOCA PENDEJA TUERTA" (traduction: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING ONE EYED WOMAN) and she shuts up because she didn't expect that. (Now they speak in spanish together sometimes)

One time Sr. Pentious gave him catnipp because angeldust dared him to and husk went WILD. Like everyone was laughing nd half th hotel was filled with cat scratchs while husk followed Sr.Pentious who was escaping with the catnip in hand from him kind of wild.

He wants hugs and he won't admitt it.

Used to be a bit to proud as an overlord which is also half the reason why he lost to alastor.

Fucker cries a lot and won't admitt it because he already stablished to everyone that "I don' give a shit about anything and fuck y'all" and now he just can't.

He falls asleep a lot during work because he is drunk.

He owns a phone but uses it like a grandma, he puts on the glasses to read and everything

He once had a very bad night and got EXTREMELY DRUNK and ended up doing a karaoke with charlie and Sr Pentious.

Alastor would ocationaly take him to the Overlords meetings as his "body guard" and he would get extrembly embarrased because everyone recognised him and he knew they all thought of him as a failure for being an Overord who lost his own soul to Alastor and was now forced to obey him.

Thanks to loser,baby I think Husk may be a pet names man (affectionatelly both romantic and just with friends)

Husk reminds me a bit of "No surprises" by radiohead (i don't really know how to explain it but yeah)

I think his relationship with angel (romantically speaking) would be really gentle like, cuddles, hugs, little kisses, cause he wants to show that romantic relationships don't always need to have sex included (angel appretiates that)

I feel like they told each other their felling for the other but bth came to the conclution that maybe they are not in the best mental state to get into a relationship at the moment so they asked charlie and vaggie to help a bit.

I have more but this is getting a bit long so I'll make a part two!!!!!!!

(Have some photos of the silly 70 yr old grumpy cat-man)

[twola]

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control.  But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table. 

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before. 

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey.  He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.” 

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?” 

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up. 

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.” 

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for. 

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss. 

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse. 

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence. 

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin. 

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside. 

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility:  a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,”  he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick. 

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

[wraithdance]

The TF 141 Compatibility Love Report

For: @mikichko

Disclaimer:

This is based on my personal opinion and interpretation of you and the character.  the user makes no claims to be a real doctor or any medical professional. I will knock all this shit over and plead insanity in a court of law, so please don’t sue, jump me or take my kidneys, fingers or toes. 

The Doc says your TF 141 Perfect Match is…

John 'Soap' MacTavish!

Romance: Structure! Responsibility! Hard work! You're the constant that keeps all the plates spinning in your universe. That's why Soap as a partner would be a match made in heaven. He'll meet you passion for passion and help you realize things about yourself you may not even recognize (doesn't matter how self aware you are babes, he'll teach you a trick or two!) If you play things close to the chest and prefer to keep emotions at a safe distance, he's the partner who will take the time to chip at your walls brick by brick. (that's a promise and a threat)

This lover boy is actually super emotionally attuned to those he loves. He will ease your mind with the obvious devotion he has for you and maybe you'll only be a little bit embarrassed if he insists on painting a few boudoir portraits... or five. Soap would encourage you to stop and smell the roses sometimes and not get so stuck on the fine details. Not to say he wouldn't absolutely live to challenge you when he sees fit! It would be worth it to be in the dog house as long as he knows he did what he could to make you see that he's there and he's not leaving (even if you want him to). Whether it's as the man at your back supporting you or the bruiser at your side ready for you to say sic, he's ready and willingly. Silly mornings teasing him for his awful Spanish, relaxing days on the couch cuddled up and...

Sex: I'm gonna hold your hand when I say this... your coochie is in danger girl :(

For at least the first month Soap will make it a mission to keep you under him in as many positions as he can get you. Slow and intimate or so nasty you can't look your neighbors in the eyes, Soap is going to do it all. If you have even an ounce of submissiveness or praise kink in you, Soap is exploiting that asap. He wants you on your knees and every worry out of your head so he can fuck all thirteen letters of his name into you until it's the only thing that's left. Lovingly of course. If you're a bit on the secretly kinky side he's so down and will encourage you to take what you need from him, no matter how crazy it seems. True love lmao.

Possible points of Contention:

Doesn't know when to quit

Second hand Embarrassment

Bringing the filter-less white boy home to the family

Your Poly Pairing (haha) is….

GHOAP- Now before you run away!! This traditional fan fave pairing is the perfect blend of danger and comfort. Soap would be the outwardly loving partner who'd cry with you over tiktoks, while Ghost snorts under his breath but makes sure nothing disturbs your peace. Despite his intensity and a possible learning curve at the beginning, Ghost and you would act as a mirror reflection of each other (Layered, looking for the deeper meaning and efficient at what you do.) He’d take you seriously and be an excellent counsel for you to lean on. Johnny will act as a natural buffer and bring a 4 speed magic wand, the spirit of fun and spontaneity to this threesome. Good luck if they tag team you or identify a threat though...

[plum-pitt]

Holy shit. I just realized i’ve never even yapped about my headcanons for the rise guys. This is a criminal offense on my part! Must be rectified immediately!!

Disclaimer: Don’t think there’s a lot of hot takes here, but feel free to disagree and talk about your own interpretations if you’d like!! Headcanon is fun and i love discussing it. it’s all fictional and since the text doesn’t give us much concrete shit on these topics we’re all free to make our own, equally valid readings of it. :3

Leo- Transmasc He/Him, gay as fuck who here could’ve guessed, ADHD haver, definitely smokes weed. Fluent in spanish from watching telenovellas as a child. Wants to be a flirty whore/aff so fucking bad but whenever he sees someone he’s legitimately attracted to any charisma he might’ve had gets thrown out the window and into a woodchipper in favor of helpless stuttering. His portalling mishaps early in the series have led him to silly sidequests all over the world that he just,,,, doesn’t really talk about. This won’t come up until they’ll end up in some random ass place and find out just how well travelled and connected he actually is. He’s also got a job at Hueso’s for fun and extra cash to fund his addiction to pot and ordering stupid shit he doesn’t need online. He’s a server, wears rollerskates to “move faster” on the job, just ends up running into shit more often than not. Great with the kids tho, performs little sleight of hand magic tricks and tells jokes to make them happy, never had a fussy kid he couldn’t calm down in a snap. Calls himself Hueso’s nephew and nepotism hire, ignoring the fact that he’s actually a decently competent and well liked employee outside of the several skating related accidents. Shell was cracked badly in the invasion, when they sealed it up, he asked Mikey to paint the healed cracks gold, mimicking the japanese practice of Kintsugi.

Mikey- Definitely queer but not into labels ;3 He/Him is what he defaults to, but any pronouns work for them. Semi fluent in italian, don’t ask me why, just feels right, let chef boy speak italian dammit. One of those mfs on instagram who insists on posting pictures of the food he makes, except his actually looks good and not painfully mediocre so they get a pass. Has been tagging walls in hard to reach spots all over the city for years at this point, after Raph confronted her abt it, fearing that he’d get caught someday, he told him that he’d stop. Yeah, that was a lie he kept doing it, just sneakier now. Makes money off of art commissions, still broke as hell tho cuz he spends it all on bougie ass ingredients and art supplies. Post canon definitely delved more into mystics and spirituality, trains with draxum but also took up meditation in his free time. Fucks with weed and the occasional psychedelic when working on art, says it helps get the creative juices flowing. Considering asking donnie to forge some documents for him so he can attend college online and earn a psych degree. His speech patterns flip on a dime between vague, wise fortune cookie therapist man and typical gen-z slang so abruptly it gives anyone not already familiar with him total whiplash.

Donnie- NonBinary They/He Bisexual but i can’t decide if they’re the kind that can’t stop pulling or can’t pull to save his life. Fluent in several languages, ASL, French, Russian, Japanese. Actually one of their few acedemic endeavors that he doesn’t typically show off and gloat about, makes it all the scarier when his siblings hear him muttering vaguely threatening sounding shit in russian when shit doesn’t go their way. Has tried most substances for “research purposes”, ultimately decided he doesn’t like the feeling of their big ol brain being hindered under the influence, this has a few exceptions tho, mainly when it’s with Leo. Has John Bishops IP address and threatens to drop it on 4chan to “see what happens” every time he tries messing with their family or stopping him from “borrowing” material resources from the US government. Almost considered bs-ing his way into college before they used a cloaking broach to shadow april at school for like 2 days. It was there they learned that the education system fucking sucks and he probably knows more than most professors about his topics of interest anyway. Does freelance work for cash, as far as their brothers know they’re not building and selling anything dangerous (which is code for probably arming both sides in a far away military conflict with deathrays). Spends his free time cyber bullying children on roblox and twitter, and caring for their greenhouse of plants that all have names. (yes he grows weed. his GeniusGrown™️ zaza is known far and wide for its consistently excellent quality. and no, Leo does not get a family discount. Mikey does tho.)

Raph- Someone please send the big man some help😭 he/him(?) Definitely queer in some way shape or form but refuses to confront any identity crisis because he’s just so busy keeping his dumb ass siblings outta shit. Tried weed once and will never touch a substance again, makes his anxiety spike real bad when he doesn’t feel in full control of himself. Runs around with Cassandra and sometimes Jr to do vigilante justice on the side of he and his siblings’ usual patrols. Living garbage disposal and i mean that quite literally. He has and will eat anything, rocks, toys, silverware, sometimes on accident, sometimes on a dare, and sometimes just because he wants to. He grew up gnawing on the legs of furniture, rusty sewer pipes, really any nonliving thing that he could fit his choppers around (unlike donnie who just bit any living creature within a 5 mile radius of his location). Since the invasion made Leo step up as leader Raph has been able to step back a little bit and not have everything in a chokehold, he has a mini crisis about his place in the family and his sense of identity without being a leader. Tries to hide how much it’s affecting him but ofc, living with mikey, this does not last and his ass FINALLY gets chucked (very lovingly) into therapy. Loves to knit, definitely in some kind of old lady facebook group centered around it (he has so much nursing home gossip floating around in his brain hehe)

Alright that’s all for the teetlez. lmk if yall wanna hear about my thoughts on the rest of the main cast, or some of the side cast! Can’t promise i’ll have this much to say on all of em but i’ve definitely got thoughts lol. I might even make a post diving into different character dynamics. idk tho, my fingies are tired typing all that shit😭

Anyway i hope u enjoyed my ramblings, have a lovely day :3